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Description
The place was dark, not in total darkness though. Overhead fluorescents cast an unhealthy glow over the glossy transport of the place's patrons.
The silence was then intruded upon by the clicking of heels as a diminutive figure scoured the area for her car;
"Oh come-on Smith," she berated herself, "... it must be around here, somewhere!"
Sarah Jane looked fruitlessly for her hired VW. She'd been in America now for almost a month, staying with her friend Kate on a well-deserved holiday which, in truth she'd enjoyed roughly for the first four days. It wasn't that she had anything against the country, just holidays.
Sarah just got crabby on holidays, she'd start by criticizing reporter's styles in the papers and then bemoaning the various 'Ken and Barbie'-types on the TV.
Try as she might, she'd lain on the beach for a couple of days but then, eventually had to ask her friend;
"But what do you actually 'do' on a beach?"-How very English!
The reporter was even tired of Vegas (not to mention, skint!) especially the men here who seemed to treat her as some sort of 'lucky charm' for their gambling or fair game for their advances;
"Hey, I just love your accent, babe!"
"Don't call me 'babe'!" She now muttered as she finally spotted her yellow Golf and stomped toward it, fumbling in her bag for her keys.
If only they hadn't all been so boring. Which one was the worst? Frank Hobbs, definitely-Mr Tupperware! Sarah now felt she knew every item in his catalogue from sealed-tight beakers to sandwich-boxes that 'Keep that bread fresh for days!'
She shuddered at the thought of meeting him again, surreptitiously casting a glance back over her shoulder to check he wasn't stalking her with a complimentary lunchbox or some-such.
Of course, that tax-inspector ran Hobbs a close second in the tedium sweepstakes;
"I'm telling you, honey-you wouldn't believe what some people put in their tax-returns-"
"Lord, save us!" She gasped and paused a couple of feet from the Volkswagen's rear bumper, casting a glance over the silent automobiles. Life had certainly got dull since that day she'd stepped out of a Police Box ten, no fifteen years ago-except of course when she'd met-up with her friend again in his tall, silver-haired guise.
Sarah Jane Smith felt that familiar ache again then when she thought of how she'd pouted and packed her bags, threatening to leave only to be greeted by those big eyes and the words, "Sarah, how did you know?"
She sighed. It would be nice to see 'her' Doctor again. Sometimes when she felt down she only had to think of that toothy grin to cheer herself up;
"Oh come-on Smith, for Heaven's sake get a grip!" She separated the car keys from the bunch in her hand and muttered, "There's more to life than saving the Universe!" She sniggered then threw her hands and head back expansively, "HE WALKS IN ETERNITY!" She bellowed, the statement echoing off the cold, concrete walls before dying into silence. Maybe she'd overdone the gin and tonic and should ring for a taxi?
It had hurt at the time that he hadn't said goodbye. Was it just 'one-upmanship' on his part or was he deftly avoiding any corner that she might be backing him into? What were 'they' all about? What was she to him, just a pet, a little lap-dog to yap and wag her tail in adoration? Did he just care too much to stop putting her at risk, hence his abruptness at letting her go? She'd probably never know...
Smiling, she rested her elbows on the roof of her car and put her hands to her mouth in the style of 'The Indian Love-Call';
"When I'm calling you-ooo-ooo!"
Silence. Sarah was definitely no singer! She smiled and decided a taxi might be the order of the day after all! Suddenly a breeze sprang up from nowhere and she frowned, turning to see where it could be coming from in the sealed environment of the underground vault. Sarah felt a chill through her tweed jacket and clasped it to her, tightly. Something was about to happen, something big!
The reporter felt fear and something else, an uneasy precognition then, like a belated answer to her call a sound began to reverberate around the basement garage, a sound she thought she'd never hear again!
The cacophony started-off low, almost a feeling than a noise, something you could sense in the fillings in your teeth. It began to escalate and became the familiar wheezing, trumpeting noise she'd come to know and love, filling her alternately with joy and trepidation.
Sarah began to scoot around the parked cars, looking for the tell-tale sign of a flashing blue reflection bouncing off the walls. She couldn't see it anywhere...
The sound ended abruptly with a dungeon-door clang and then everything was silent once again. She weaved between the parked cars looking for her favourite anachronism, now out of place (as ever!) as well as out of time!
Standing in the centre of the car-park she could now see most of the area but couldn't make-out the shape of a tall, blue box;
"Think Smith, think!" Surely he hadn't got that 'Chameleon Circuit' fixed after all? Crouching low against a silver BMW, she scanned the area through the windows of the car in silence. Then she began to make-out the sound of footsteps echoing from back where she'd been before she'd started her frantic recce.
Cursing under her breath, Sarah spun around just in time to see a silhouette framed in the door of the stairwell that presumably led to the lobby or street. Pushing herself away from the German automobile she launched herself in the direction of her rental and that staircase, grumbling obscenities at her skirt and heels all the way;
"I should have worn my Nikes!" She gasped, charging toward the now-closed door and throwing it open. She panted, looking at the stairs that proceeded heavenward, "Oh HELL! I'm going to need an oxygen tank after this!"
Sarah could just make out footsteps far above her;
"Slow down, Doctor. My legs aren't as long as yours!" She muttered plaintively as she slipped her shoes off and began to sprint up the stairs two at a time. Sarah wheezed and wished she'd spent more time in the gym instead of the darkroom.
She was loathe to call his name out-she didn't want to start a reunion looking like a pillock! Her slim-fitting pencil-skirt was hampering her stride as she flung herself around on another landing, pinwheeling on the handrail.
Two landings later she had slowed-down considerably, losing hope of meeting her old friend and beginning to trudge. Look, do you really want to see him again that much after he fobbed you off? He could drag you off again into who-knows what danger with that 'Olympian Detachment that involves risking everything, just to put things 'right';
"Wouldn't I rather be on the beach?"
Taking a deep breath she redoubled her efforts, yanking on the handrail to 'slingshot' herself up the steps. Her hands now slippery with sweat, she spun around the next wall and bounced off the tall figure standing perfectly still and silent, two steps up, gazing at her intently...

TO BE CONTINUED

Description
The place was dark, not in total darkness though. Overhead fluorescents cast an unhealthy glow over the glossy transport of the place's patrons.
The silence was then intruded upon by the clicking of heels as a diminutive figure scoured the area for her car;
"Oh come-on Smith," she berated herself, "... it must be around here, somewhere!"
Sarah Jane looked fruitlessly for her hired VW. She'd been in America now for almost a month, staying with her friend Kate on a well-deserved holiday which, in truth she'd enjoyed roughly for the first four days. It wasn't that she had anything against the country, just holidays.
Sarah just got crabby on holidays, she'd start by criticizing reporter's styles in the papers and then bemoaning the various 'Ken and Barbie'-types on the TV.
Try as she might, she'd lain on the beach for a couple of days but then, eventually had to ask her friend;
"But what do you actually 'do' on a beach?"-How very English!
The reporter was even tired of Vegas (not to mention, skint!) especially the men here who seemed to treat her as some sort of 'lucky charm' for their gambling or fair game for their advances;
"Hey, I just love your accent, babe!"
"Don't call me 'babe'!" She now muttered as she finally spotted her yellow Golf and stomped toward it, fumbling in her bag for her keys.
If only they hadn't all been so boring. Which one was the worst? Frank Hobbs, definitely-Mr Tupperware! Sarah now felt she knew every item in his catalogue from sealed-tight beakers to sandwich-boxes that 'Keep that bread fresh for days!'
She shuddered at the thought of meeting him again, surreptitiously casting a glance back over her shoulder to check he wasn't stalking her with a complimentary lunchbox or some-such.
Of course, that tax-inspector ran Hobbs a close second in the tedium sweepstakes;
"I'm telling you, honey-you wouldn't believe what some people put in their tax-returns-"
"Lord, save us!" She gasped and paused a couple of feet from the Volkswagen's rear bumper, casting a glance over the silent automobiles. Life had certainly got dull since that day she'd stepped out of a Police Box ten, no fifteen years ago-except of course when she'd met-up with her friend again in his tall, silver-haired guise.
Sarah Jane Smith felt that familiar ache again then when she thought of how she'd pouted and packed her bags, threatening to leave only to be greeted by those big eyes and the words, "Sarah, how did you know?"
She sighed. It would be nice to see 'her' Doctor again. Sometimes when she felt down she only had to think of that toothy grin to cheer herself up;
"Oh come-on Smith, for Heaven's sake get a grip!" She separated the car keys from the bunch in her hand and muttered, "There's more to life than saving the Universe!" She sniggered then threw her hands and head back expansively, "HE WALKS IN ETERNITY!" She bellowed, the statement echoing off the cold, concrete walls before dying into silence. Maybe she'd overdone the gin and tonic and should ring for a taxi?
It had hurt at the time that he hadn't said goodbye. Was it just 'one-upmanship' on his part or was he deftly avoiding any corner that she might be backing him into? What were 'they' all about? What was she to him, just a pet, a little lap-dog to yap and wag her tail in adoration? Did he just care too much to stop putting her at risk, hence his abruptness at letting her go? She'd probably never know...
Smiling, she rested her elbows on the roof of her car and put her hands to her mouth in the style of 'The Indian Love-Call';
"When I'm calling you-ooo-ooo!"
Silence. Sarah was definitely no singer! She smiled and decided a taxi might be the order of the day after all! Suddenly a breeze sprang up from nowhere and she frowned, turning to see where it could be coming from in the sealed environment of the underground vault. Sarah felt a chill through her tweed jacket and clasped it to her, tightly. Something was about to happen, something big!
The reporter felt fear and something else, an uneasy precognition then, like a belated answer to her call a sound began to reverberate around the basement garage, a sound she thought she'd never hear again!
The cacophony started-off low, almost a feeling than a noise, something you could sense in the fillings in your teeth. It began to escalate and became the familiar wheezing, trumpeting noise she'd come to know and love, filling her alternately with joy and trepidation.
Sarah began to scoot around the parked cars, looking for the tell-tale sign of a flashing blue reflection bouncing off the walls. She couldn't see it anywhere...
The sound ended abruptly with a dungeon-door clang and then everything was silent once again. She weaved between the parked cars looking for her favourite anachronism, now out of place (as ever!) as well as out of time!
Standing in the centre of the car-park she could now see most of the area but couldn't make-out the shape of a tall, blue box;
"Think Smith, think!" Surely he hadn't got that 'Chameleon Circuit' fixed after all? Crouching low against a silver BMW, she scanned the area through the windows of the car in silence. Then she began to make-out the sound of footsteps echoing from back where she'd been before she'd started her frantic recce.
Cursing under her breath, Sarah spun around just in time to see a silhouette framed in the door of the stairwell that presumably led to the lobby or street. Pushing herself away from the German automobile she launched herself in the direction of her rental and that staircase, grumbling obscenities at her skirt and heels all the way;
"I should have worn my Nikes!" She gasped, charging toward the now-closed door and throwing it open. She panted, looking at the stairs that proceeded heavenward, "Oh HELL! I'm going to need an oxygen tank after this!"
Sarah could just make out footsteps far above her;
"Slow down, Doctor. My legs aren't as long as yours!" She muttered plaintively as she slipped her shoes off and began to sprint up the stairs two at a time. Sarah wheezed and wished she'd spent more time in the gym instead of the darkroom.
She was loathe to call his name out-she didn't want to start a reunion looking like a pillock! Her slim-fitting pencil-skirt was hampering her stride as she flung herself around on another landing, pinwheeling on the handrail.
Two landings later she had slowed-down considerably, losing hope of meeting her old friend and beginning to trudge. Look, do you really want to see him again that much after he fobbed you off? He could drag you off again into who-knows what danger with that 'Olympian Detachment that involves risking everything, just to put things 'right';
"Wouldn't I rather be on the beach?"
Taking a deep breath she redoubled her efforts, yanking on the handrail to 'slingshot' herself up the steps. Her hands now slippery with sweat, she spun around the next wall and bounced off the tall figure standing perfectly still and silent, two steps up, gazing at her intently...

TO BE CONTINUED