(This story takes place between the books 'The Turing Test' and 'Father Time')
It had been a long time since he drove this fast, so long that he couldn't truly remember. But there he was, behind the wheel of a GTO, cruising down a two-lane blacktop, top down, wind in his face, "La Grange" blasting from the rear speakers.
No worries, just a man, the open road, and a muscle car. The desert flying past his vision in a dusty blur, cacti standing erect in the hot sun, possible critters laying low while the bright sun peaked in the sky.
The wheel vibrated in his hands slightly. He checked his rearview mirror and watched as a cactus reached the vanishing point. He saw the mountains growing larger on the horizon, mythic stone monsters thrown up as barrier to what lies behind them.
He allowed himself a quick vision - a tall, white haired git with a mighty nose driving an old yellow roadster through green fields on narrow roads at impossible speeds. The old git looked familiar, possibly an old relative or a drinking buddy from his days in England.... which days in England? He instinctively knew he spent some time over in that part of the world. Not just recently, but a long time ago as well.
He shook his head, focused on the road. A glance at the speedometer showed he was redlining at a buck-twenty. He took his foot off the gas, and let the car slow down to a normal speed, tapping his foot on the brake - almost in time to ZZ Top, now jamming through "Jesus Just Left Chicago."
"And I just left Gallifrey," he muttered.
Where is Gallifrey?
He shook his head. Sometimes the thoughts appeared like rabbits from a hat. One minute nothing, then Presto!
"What is Gallifrey?" he whispered to himself. Annoyed that his mind couldn't fill in the gaps, he turned the wheel hard and stomped on the brake. The GTO spun around twice before setting to a halt in the middle of the blacktop, pointed towards the mountains.
He ejected the tape from the player, turned the car off. He stepped out of the car, ran a hand roughly through his curly hair, and turned his attention to the sky.
It was full of possibilities: hopes, dreams, nightmares, follies all fighting for their piece of the universe.
A universe he used to travel through with ease - or so he believed.
In a police call box. Like the one sitting in the house he rented out here.
But, nobody could travel throughout time and space in a police box, he thought.
He looked out at the sky like he was a young kid forced to stay in the house for being bad while all his friends romped around the neighbourhood. A child's voice echoed in his head, "Can I play, too?" He wanted to be among the stars so badly. The chance to wander all over hell and creation like it was his own back yard...
But, you can't see the universe in a police box, he reminded himself.
He got back behind the wheel of the GTO, hesitated a moment before turning the key - there was another familiar looking mate, this one looking more like an older brother with his curly hair, long coat and long scarf. The blonde in the schoolgirl uniform walking next to him in Paris was a looker - Paris - a new image... a chubby, middle aged man with cow eyes, showing those universal signs of both love and lust. Only to be replaced by a stocky dark haired man, face full of paranoia. Turing and Greene, the one time he remembered being in Paris, so what was the deal with the older brother and cute bird?
The anger and frustration rose up in him. He gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The car roared to life with the turn of a key. He stomped on the accelerator, tires spinning, generating white smoke in the hazy desert air. The car lurched forward, the back end fishtailing before blasting down the two lane black top. The surge of power, speed, excitement charged through his body, bashing against the fear and loathing running through his mind...
What mind? All he knew was that he had a name - the Doctor, more of a title really - and that he wasn't like most of the people he met here. He would get into some kind of trouble everywhere he went, but somehow manage to be the hero - defeating the villains, righting the wrongs, champion of the underdog - as if he was destined.
But how could he know this - any of this, when he couldn't remember what his childhood was like? How can he know about quantum physics and Leonardo Da Vinci, when he couldn't remember his first date, his first kiss, his first concert...
He felt the racing double heartbeat in his chest - another sign of how different he was (never mind living the last seventy years without ageing one bit) - and downshifted the GTO, bringing it to a more peaceful cruising speed. He reached into the box of cassettes he took along for today's drive. Rossini, he thought, was nearly perfect driving music. As The Thieving Magpie battled the wind for supremacy of sound, he downshifted his mind and decided to concentrate on the road.
Another fragment - a sour looking woman with an ugly short haircut and beaded dress, pointing a dagger-shaped, vermillion-taloned finger at him, her face filled with righteous anger. Je` Accuse!, she seemed to bellow at him.
What did I do to make her so angry?
And just who is she?
The fragments had been coming quicker lately; sharper, detailed. He felt as if a revelation was on the horizon. Not that he ever slept much, his few moments of unconscious rest were plagued by violent explosions, embodiments of evil, oddly dressed people following him around, getting into trouble, causing trouble... he felt both a part of the action and emotionally detached at the same time. Were they all visions from a long time ago?
A cold breeze slapped him back to reality. The GTO continued its pursuit against the mountains, now blocking out the sun in a manner of geological defiance. The image spoke volumes to him and the way he was now: incomplete, sometimes incoherent, and waiting for the change to come.
He punched the accelerator, and wished his mind would be whole once again...
