Loving the Alien: Part Seven

It's time for the final episode of my Doctor Who story. Rejoice!

Previous episodes can be found in the sidebar.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Noel the Silent was terribly, terribly depressed.


For one, there was the whole ‘looking like a monster’ thing. Everyone who met him screamed. Absolutely everyone. Even the morbidly obese people who came into the complex every day. These people must have felt like throwing up every time they looked in a mirror, but still they totally lost it when they walked in and saw Noel. It was dispiriting.


Then, of course, they would spend some time with Noel, and get to know him, and tell him their secrets. And that would be lovely, and they would be happy, and Noel would start to believe in the beauty of the universe and the importance of friends.


And then they would look away, and they would forget all about Noel. And then they would look back and they would scream again and they would shout, “Help! A monster!”


Sigh.







He pulled himself together and pressed the buzzer. The door to his office slid open and in waddled his latest client - a huge, sweating man with a terrible multi-coloured shirt. The client took one look at Noel and screamed.


“Please be seated,” said Noel as pleasantly as he could, gesturing to a large, padded, reinforced seat in the middle of the office.


“Right – sorry,” said the client, shuffling his massive frame towards the chair. “They showed us a picture of you before but…”


“But you forgot, yes. Never mind.” Noel reached down with one long, spectral arm and pulled a flask of Adipose Solution from the crate. “Here.”


The client took the flask and lowered himself into the chair, wheezing and groaning as he did so. “Do you guys freak yourselves out, then? I mean, like, in the mirror? Are you like, whoah, who’s that?”


Noel’s fingers twitched and the slightest blue spark glowed around his fingers. No – must not fry the clients, no matter how unoriginal their observations. The rules were very clear about that. “No sir – we are immune to the forgetting. Now, if you could drink the Adipose Solution and we will begin the confession.”


The client opened the flask and started slurping away at the liquid within. As he did, Noel became aware of something peculiar. Something was moving behind the ventilation grill above the door.


“So anyway…” said the client. “Where do I start?”


“Um,” said Noel, “Just all the bad things you’ve done. Whatever might make you feel guilty.” He peered closer at the grill. A tiny white face appeared through the slats. Was that… was that Flimbleby?


“OK.” Said the Client. “Well, for one, I literally never flush the toilet in a public place. No matter how big the poo…”


That definitely was Flimbleby behind the grill. The little Adipose who had escaped with the Artist Woman. What was he doing back? Noel felt a little flicker of happiness. For some reason the Adipose didn’t forget the Silence, so he and Flimbleby had become quite good friends.


“…and when I’m driving I like to get right up behind people and blast my horn. I drive a really sweet BMW…”


Flimbleby gave Noel a wave. Hmm. The Client was going to be ages. Unless…


Noel interrupted, pointing at the Client’s shirt. “Is that something on your shirt?”


The Client looked down. “What? No, I don’t think so.” He looked back up at Noel. “Aaarg! A monster!”





Noel stood up and lunged over the desk. “Woooooo!” he cried. The Client scrambled to get out of this chair, falling onto the floor and scrabbling towards the door. He turned the handle, sobbing with fear, and crawled out into the corridor.


Noel shut the door and reached up to the grill. He popped it open and grabbed hold of Flimbleby.


“Hello Noel!” said the Adipose happily. “It is me – Flimbo! I have come to rescue you!”


“I am delighted to see you, Flimbo. I’ve been so depressed. How can you rescue me?” Noel set his little friend down on his desk. He was smiling, not that it was very obvious on his nightmarish face.


“Well, first you need to rescue my friend, Doctroo. He is amazing and he will help.”


Noel looked around his office. He really did hate this job. Maybe it was time to move on.


Through the door he could hear the moans of the Client, the popping of flesh and the tiny giggle of newborn Adipose.


“I can do that,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



Rafe Pembroke gazed out at the binary sunset, humming happily to himself. This had been the greatest idea of his life. And he had to do literally nothing. People were queuing up to have their guilt erased and their fat walk away and they paid through the nose for it. The Silence believed they were on some noble religious mission, so they were no problem. And now he’d even realised how to turn a profit from those troublesome Adipose. Pembroke Soap. The future.


There was a noise at his door. A high pitched noise… was it giggling? And the crackle of electricity…


Suddenly the doors burst open and in flowed a tide of tiny white Adipose, all laughing hysterically. Hundreds of the creatures charged into the office, covering everything like a giggling white carpet. At the door Pembroke could just make out Steve and the other Silent guards, struggling under the weight of dozens of Adipose.


Steve the Silent shook himself violently, sending Adipose flying in all directions. He uncurled his long limbs, preparing to fire. The little balls of fat ran away, squealing. Then, before Steve could fire, he exploded into millions of pieces.


Noel strode through the door, blasting another guard with an electric bolt. Behind him walked The Doctor, carrying Flimbleby. Pembroke turned to run, but the floor was made of Adipose. He skidded and slipped, trying to get to his secret door. But it was no good.


He fell, and found himself carried by an army of Adipose. They took him to the feet of Noel and The Doctor.


“Look…” spluttered Pembroke, “Why don’t you just let me go, and we’ll forget all about this…”


Noel looked down at him. Pembroke could have sworn his alien face was smiling. “Yessss….” Hissed Noel. “Forget…”


And that was the last time Rafe Pembroke remembered anything, ever again.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Helvetica Jones looked across the forest outside her cottage. The sun was low in the afternoon sky, and it smelled like it would snow.


The cottage door opened and out walked The Doctor. He handed her a mug of tea and stood beside her, enjoying the view.






“Those things I did…” she said. “I can’t remember them. I was that horrible woman, destroying those things…”


“You were the same person you are now. A person who loved art. And wanted to engage with it. And what more beautiful way to engage with something than to break it?” The Doctor took a sip of his tea. “All art is violence, you used to say. I guess eventually just touching things wasn’t enough for you.”


Helvetica turned to face him. “But those things are gone forever. I smashed them to pieces, then went to that horrible place to have my memory wiped and my fat sucked out, and carried on as if nothing had happened.”


“Nothing that can’t be made again. Art isn’t there to be worshipped.” The Doctor swigged down another mouthful of tea. “Oh – except Bowie. I went and fixed that. I was in danger of losing half my music collection.”


“You met Bowie?”


“Well, technically we both did. You tried to kill him, I hit you with a broom, David and I spent the rest of the weekend in Soho. I think I may be the only one of the three of us who remembers any of it.”


Helvetica giggled and drank her tea. The cottage door opened again, and out scampered Flimbleby.


“Hello! Hello! All your cake is gone!”


Helvetica bent down and picked up the Adipose, brushing cake crumbs from his mouth. “You can have all the cake you want, Flimbleby. Without you that dreadful place would still be running.”


“I am amazing!” proclaimed Flimbleby, spitting currants in her face.


“Which reminds me!” said The Doctor. “I have a reward for all of us. David was very grateful for my intervention.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


A blue light came up on the stage, illuminating a tall, thin man with floppy hair. Flimbleby bounced up and down on seat. He had never been to a music show before. Either side of him, The Doctor and Lady Helvetica leaned forward in their seats.


The man on the stage started to sing, and it was the most wonderful sound. His voice was floaty and mysterious, like if the night-time had a voice.






“Lift me up plees! I cannot see!” he squeaked. The Doctor lifted him up gently, and held him so he could see the stage. The man stood in the darkness, doing the beautiful singing, as if he was singing to Flimbleby himself.



                             “But if you pray, all your sins are hooked upon the sky…
                                     

                                               Pray and the heathen lie will disappear.

                                Prayers, they hide the saddest view.

                                                 Believing the strangest things, loving the alien…”



Flimbleby bit into a sausage and smiled. He was the happiest Adipose in the world.





THE END