The Dreams of the Doctor

Light passed from my vision, leaving me lost in a cloud of despair and uncertainty. When I at last came to, I felt different. My body was not my own. I glanced down to my hands and saw that they carried scars that were unfamiliar to me.

I wore clothing I had never seen before. As I looked up, I saw that I was in the train car, yet despite my earnest cognizance, I couldn't help feeling like it wasn't real. Then, as i raised my foot to walk, I stumbled over something that shocked me. There, on the ground, was my body.

Me. Myself. The man who was me, yet wasn't.

Not at that moment, anyway.

I laughed when I understood. Not from amusement, mind you. I simply knew of no other way to express what I felt. I kicked my own body, yet felt no pain. It was a feeling like no other. Finally, my curiosity waned, and I turned to investigate my surroundings further.

I passed into a large room with a double bed in its center. There was a woman sitting on it, staring at the wall. She carried a bundle of cloth in her arms, yet I could not see the face of a child. I approached her and asked her where I was. My own voice startled me, yet I recognized at once where I knew it: I was the Doctor. This was some memory of his, perhaps of his failures.

The woman ignored me. She simply stared off at the wall, seeing nothing. As I turned to leave, a frantic voice rang out, and I looked back to find several people suddenly there, studying the quiet woman. To my surprise, I knew them all: the Chicken Lady, the man I had killed at the Doctor's house, and another from the village. The Chicken Lady stepped closely to the quiet woman, who was now sprawled across the bed, writhing and clawing at her head in violent desperation.

"She was fine this morning," the Chicken Lady said worriedly.

I turned and left the room.

The train melted away into an expanse filled with an earthy smell. The distant walls were tangled with roots and spiderwebs. I felt a curious sense of familiarity as I wandered through the dark, as though it were an old friend. The darkness did not last long, however. I spotted a window that glowed with a soft, comforting light. When I peered through it, I saw the Chicken Lady once again. There was another I recognized, the quiet woman from the room before, yet now, she resembled someone else I had once met.

It was the Chicken Lady's sister. It was the Pretty Lady.

The Pretty Lady was curled into the fetal position on the bed. Her body was not yet swollen, but her skin was gray and rotted, her hair as brittle and dry as straw. The Chicken Lady stood over her, muttering inaudibly to herself, until finally, she looked up and commanded someone I could not see clearly to fetch the Doctor. Spinning on my heel, I moved to the next room.

The Pretty Lady was now engorged nearly to the point of bursting. Her agonized moans and bodily spasms rattled her bed like clattering teeth. The man I had killed was standing over her, rocking back and forth. The Chicken Lady was across the room, folding towels and weeping silently.

Suddenly, the man, Janek, snapped his head towards me and glowered. I felt an undeniably urge to approach the Pretty Lady. I spotted a medical bag beside the bed, yet as I bent down and looked inside, all I saw was a length of medical adhesive and a syringe filled with sedative. I reached into the bag and then felt my hands set themselves to a task I could not hinder. I bound the Pretty Lady's hands and administered a sedative. As I stepped away, Janek spun me around by my shoulder and pointed his finger at me.

"You're useless, you fucking charlatan. Get away from my house!"

I stumbled back in fear and shame. Before I could turn and flee, however, my boot caught on something large and heavy. It shifted as I fell.

Then, it spoke to me.

It begged for help.

Another voice accused me of lying, of failing to fulfill a promise.

A dozen cries filled my ears, until I could feel the guilt clawing up from my stomach. All of them hated me, feared me.

They blamed me for their suffering.

My head swam as I staggered across the dead and dying. Their wails muted all other sounds, until a buzzing static bled through and enveloped me.

I suddenly awoke in another room. The Doctor was standing in front of me, smirking with contempt as he lifted a cigarette to his trembling lips.

"You wish this was over, don't you?" he said to me. "You understand now what it's like, surrounded by rotting cadavers, blaming you for the plague. Forced to hide like a dog after all you've done for them. Now you see why I have to escape this place."

He paused for what seemed like hours, and then he went on.

"I can hear the walls talking to me. Can you hear it? My little girl is calling to me. She needs me to save her, to protect her."

I stared into his eyes as he inhaled. Emptiness stared back at me.

"I want to go home," he said softly.

Then, he straightened. He towered over me menacingly as the pain in my head swelled.

"I must escape this accursed place. Show me where the exit is. Where? Where is it?"

The world around me faded away; once again I was completely alone, adrift in a vast sea of desolation.

When the walls of the train car came into view, I ran. I ignored everything around me, for I knew that it was all a dream. I passed the Doctor as he interrogated what appeared to be me, laying on the ground. I passed great roots of trees taller than the sky and blacker than midnight. I leapt across dusty furniture and piles of rotting cadavers. I never once stopped, for I could hear the screams of something chasing me. Through its feral roar, I could hear what sounded like words, yet I could not understand them. Walls appeared before me, blocking my ceaseless flight. I splintered the doors from their frames, smashed the tables and chairs that hindered me.

Then, a tunnel came into view, and a flash of light brought me flailing back into the land of the living. I saw him watching me with fear in his eyes. But more than that, I saw shock.

He turned and ran from me, shouting for me to stay away from him.

I had broken his hold on me.

I rose to my feet and pursued him, vengeance pumping in my veins. He reached the end of the train car and collapsed to his back. He was trapped, just as I had been. I stood over him as I raised my pistol to his heart. He said nothing as he watched me. His eyes did not waver; he felt no remorse for what he had done to me. I understood him then, that he was the same as I.

He was surviving in the only way he knew how.

Had our paths crossed differently, things might have played out in my favor, but in the end, it mattered little. His life was placed in my hands, and despite every shred of reason in me telling me to end his life, I chose forgiveness.

When he sensed my decision to spare him, the Doctor relaxed his body, but only slightly. He opened his mouth, but held his tongue. Then, he asked for my help, offering his own in return. I pointed to my map where the exit was located.