This had to be it.
He’d been stuck here for — how long? Days? Weeks? Months? Time had lost all meaning in these tunnels. He’d been here so long that he’d all but forgotten why he had been sent down here in the first place.
The only thing keeping him going was the thought of her. He knew that she’d be there waiting for him. She had promised. It was the one memory from his past life that he remembered. She would be there. She had to be there. Otherwise all this was meaningless.
He was the last survivor. He knew that much. None of the others had lasted. Some had died, some had succumbed to madness, others had simply disappeared, never to be seen again. He was alone. That knowledge made him all the more determined to succeed, to get out of this hell-hole.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but he was breathless. He drew the pistol from its holster — he wasn’t even sure if it still worked — and sat down with his back against the wall. The uneven rock wall was uncomfortable and dug into his back, but he didn’t care. He just needed to rest for a little while. He felt the end was near, but he needed to be on top of his game for any last-minute challenges Fate might have in store for him.
He closed his eyes. Unconsciousness took him quickly, and his head slumped to the side. Visions swirled in his mind’s eye. Past blended with present and with future, confused images flashing into his subconscious for a moment, then vanishing.
“Guilty.”
The word echoed through his brain. It was the word that had sent him here. The word that no-one ever wanted to hear. The word that struck fear into the hearts of everyone.
What was he guilty of?
“Guilty.”
How had this happened?
“Guilty.”
Why had it–
He awoke with a start, his eyes flicking open. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but down here it didn’t matter. All he had to do was press onward. The end had to be near. She would be waiting for him. She would be there. She had to be.
He stood unsteadily, bracing himself on the wall as he pulled himself up. He was hungry and thirsty, and his supplies were getting low. He holstered the pistol and started walking again for a few paces, before breaking into a light jog. His boots clip-clopped on the hard floor and echoed around the tunnel. They pinched his feet, but he had to keep going forward.
As he jogged, the never-changing scenery of the tunnel’s walls either side of him, his mind wandered. Fragments of lost memories remained just out of reach, tantalising him with promises of truths perhaps best forgotten. But still her face was there, urging him onwards, pushing him forwards.
“Guilty.”
The word that had haunted his dreams while he slept was pounding at the boundaries of repressed memories now. He knew that behind the walls his mind had put up, there was a torrent of pain and suffering. He didn’t want to let it out. But every time—
“Guilty.”
Thump.
Cracks were appearing.
“No,” he said out loud to himself. “Please.”
“Guilty.”
Thump.
A flash. A vision. A room. Dark, with small shafts of light beaming in through the dirty window.
“Guilty.”
Thump.
He was sitting in a chair. In front of him, there they were. Those who decided his fate, whether he liked it or not.
“Guilty.”
Thump.
The walls were coming down. He couldn’t stop them. He kept running, but the memories were seeping out. The horror.
“You stand accused of forbidden knowledge,” said the voice. His blood chilled, and shivers ran down his spine. “How do you plead?”
He was speechless. He couldn’t respond. Whatever he said would damn him. He had no control of this. The voices were coming in thick and fast now, flooding his brain — so much noise — and he couldn’t stop them.
“Guilty,” most of them were saying. “Guilty.”
They had already made up their minds. There was nothing he could do that would make a difference.
“Guilty,” he said. The voices stopped for a moment. Everything seemed to be frozen in time.
The memory faded. He was still running. He grit his teeth and tried to concentrate as best he could, willing the walls within his mind to push themselves back into place.
“Guilty,” the voice still continued, softer this time.
He tripped on a loose stone and fell to the ground, skidding along the floor a short way. It hurt.
He lay on the floor and closed his eyes to concentrate fully. He had to control this.
Be still, he said to his troubled mind. Be silent.
The angry sea of images threatening to break into his mind’s eye swelled and roared for a moment before calming, settling and quietening. He was in control. It was all right. He was safe, for now.
He couldn’t think about the past. He couldn’t. How he had discovered this ability, this curse. It was too much. The memories threatened to swell and overcome again, but he pushed them down forcefully, and they stayed quietened.
Focus, he said to himself. Calmness. That is what will get me through this.
Opening his eyes, he got to his feet and started walking. He did not break into a run this time, he simply walked, his back straight and upright, staring straight ahead. This was different. This was focus. He felt centred, at peace. But it was taking all his concentration and effort to remain that way. He didn’t know if he’d be able to hold it. But he had to try.
Minutes flowed into hours as he walked. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, always straight ahead, never deviating from its course. When would it end?
He pushed the thought out of his mind and continued to walk. He had to stay absolutely focused, otherwise he would fail, and he would never get out of here.
Suddenly, a voice. He couldn’t tell if it was in his mind or if he was actually hearing it. But it sounded like her.
“You’re going to make it,” she said. “I know you will. I’m waiting for you. Just a little further.”
A door opened. Brilliant white light flooded into the tunnel from the other side. A silhouette stepped into it. A familiar silhouette. A comforting one.
He came ever closer, not breaking his focus for a moment. He had to take his time, to maintain his control, otherwise it would simply slip away from him. He was going to make it.
As he came closer to the blinding light, he saw her face. She was crying, but she was smiling. She extended her hand to him.
He kept walking. Closer now. It was definitely her. She had kept her word.
He reached out.
He took her hand.
And it was over.
Discover more from I'm Not Doctor Who
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
