DOCTOR WHO AND AN UNRULY CHILD

CHAPTER 1
The Girl Who Was Different






  The club was foggy, in a London back street; the music was loud and
 annoying.  Police Officers had often been called to the "The Juvenile 
 Delinquent" a local London night club that served as a place for
 juvenile offenders to gather and compare blades and bikes.  This night
 tall figures roamed about the fog - the helmeted, caped figure of policemen  
 dancing to the beat.  They drank and danced the night away until they
 decided it was right time to frame up everyone. 
 
  The youths ran from the club as fast as they possibly could.  The police
 were used to this scattering and reached through the fog to pick up the
 punks like bobbing for apples.  They all seemed anonymous to the police
 who tossed them around like coins at a carnival.  Dragging out young
 men and women one of the police officers looked down at the girl who
 was different.

 "Eh!  This one looks peculiar, eh?" Said the Police officer with his
 usual vocabulary.

 "EH!" Piped up another bobby "I know that one!  She's that unruly child!
 The one who lives with her grandfather in an old scrapyard."
 
 And so the police carried the young, different, girl kicking and
 screaming all the way home.  Another night of wild drug use and
 endless partying ruined by the pigs.

 The policemen shone their torches onto the gates, holding the beam to
 the faded notice:

 I.M. Pervert
 Porn Merchant

 There was another sign below the first written in crayon, it's lettering
 brighter and fresh:
 "I'm Naked - Keep Out!"

  The policeman was a dirty voyeur so he immediately tried the entry-gate 
 and it creaked open beneath his hand.  He looked through, shining his
 torch around the little yard looking for a cheap thrill.  There was
 no naked man.  Just an incredible mixture of broken-down objects,
 old cupboards, bits of furniture, dismantled car engines, chipped marble
 statues with arms and heads and legs and naughty bits missing, disregarded
 thrown out film cans from the BBC, and something odd.

 The policemen turned their torch beams on a square blue shape in the
 far corner and saw with some astonishment the familiar shape of a police
 box WITHOUT any graffiti or broken windows.  They were instantly suspicious.
 At that time Police Boxes were a common enough sight on the streets of
 London but one that hadn't been vandalized beyond recognition was unheard
 of.  The police officers fought back the urges to beat it senseless to
 get it more in line with what they were used to.  

  An odd thing to find in a junk yard, thought the policemen.  Maybe
 this particular one had been stolen by I.M. Pervert for his own strange
 sexual practices before it was destroyed on the street.  There were
 rumors that I.M. Pervert had so ruined the good name of police boxes
 that they were all to be banned for safety reasons, that one day every
 constable would carry his own personal walkie-talkie radio. 'He must
 be one massive pervert.' thought the policemen.  Still, the pervert
 must have stolen it and lugged it off to his yard.  They would usually
 arrest people for this sort of thing but they were worried that he'd
 enjoy it.

  The policemen grinned, imagining the desk-sergeant's reaction if they went
 back and asked if anyone had reported strange men molesting police boxes.
 They paused for a moment listening - there seemed to be some kind of
 electronic hum.  Probably some battery powered marital aide - it was
 very faint.

  The policemen realized that the old man was nowhere to be seen.
 With nothing else to do to pass the time the officers surrounded Susan
 and smashed her with billy clubs, laughing and leaving her for near dead.
 Closing the little gate behind them, they went on their way, thinking
 of the mug of hot sweet tea and sausage sandwiches waiting at the
 end of their patrol.  





  Next night, the policemen checked the yard again, but the police box
 had vanished.  Later they learned that the strange old pervert who was
 the junkyard's proprietor had vanished too, together with granddaughter,
 the different girl who often threatened the local school.  Two teachers
 from the same school were missing as well.

  In all the resultant fuss the policemen forgot about the oddly sited 
 police box.  In time they came to think they must have been drunk and
 delusional from the sickly sweet fog in the dance club that night.
 Even if they hadn't, it wouldn't possibly have anything to do with
 the disappearances.  After all, you couldn't squeeze four perverts
 into a police box - could you?   The officers thought up a new sick
 little sex game to play with their wives and friends.
 
  On the afternoon following the policemen's jolly beating of Susan,
 everything was normal at Hold Still School.  The long school day
 dragged on and on until finally the students just left and said
 screw waiting for the end of the day.  It was already 10am for pete's
 sake!  As the history class scurried away from Susan who had
 strapped several bombs across her waist, Barbara Wright came to a 
 sudden decision.

 "Susan!" She called.

 A girl paused for a moment before lighting the fuse.  She was tall
 for her age, with short dark hair framing a rather elfin face.
 Her breasts were pert and still growing but Barbara forced this out
 of her mind as she was trying not to ogle over school girls anymore.

 "Yes, Miss Wright?"

 "Just wait here for a moment, and I'll go and get that book I promised
 you.  I won't be long."

 "Okay, but please hurry.  I would like to blow the fuck out of this
 place before lunchtime." said Susan Foreman obediently and eagerly.

 She sat down on a nearby desk and struck up matches so she could watch
 them burn.  "Can I play my radio while I'm waiting?"

 "If it's not that crazy 'death metal' music you played last time dear."

  Barbara Wright went out of the classroom and splashed her face with
 cold water. 'This shouldn't be happening' she thought 'she's an
 antisocial lust vixen.  I have to resist.' she insisted to herself.

 At the sight of her, a group of scuffling, laughing children instinctively
 quieted down and began making obscene gestures with their fingers.
 Everyone knew Miss Wright was an uptight bitch.

  Someone had once said, rather unkindly, that Barbara Wright was a typical
 schoolmistress. She was dark-haired and slim, always neatly dressed,
 a face that would have been even prettier without it's habitual expression
 of superiority and disgust.

  There was undeniably some truth in the unkind remark.  Barbara Wright
 had many good qualities, but she had never ONCE seen them listed in
 the bathroom stalls where she often read about herself and saw very
 unflattering drawings in her likeness.  She had a strong conviction 
 that she knew what was best, not only for herself but for everyone else
 in the world.  It suited her temperament to be in charge, to be a
 dominatrix that would snap lovers in two as quickly as arouse and
 control them.

  She went into the empty staff room - most of her colleagues were 
 even quicker off the mark than the children - selected a thick 
 volume from the shelves and judged the weight in her hands.  It
 was just right, if Susan got out of hand she could use it to club her
 unconscious.  Halfway back towards the classroom she paused outside
 another door, marked "Science Laboratory", hesitated a moment, and then
 went inside.

  As she'd hoped, Ian Chesterton was still there, reading some magazine
 filled with nude women, cleaning up something, she hoped from some 
 experiment.  He was a cheerful open-faced young man in the traditional
 jacket and flannels of the schoolmaster, about as different in temperament
 from Barbara Wright as a demon from hell and someone addicted to laughing
 gas.  Ian Chesterton took life as it came, going about his duties with
 bored indifference refusing to think about anything too much.  Despite
 their differences, the two were very good friends, perhaps because
 Ian Chesterton was one of the few people in the school who Barbara Wright    
 could be openly honest about wanting to shag.  He was certainly the
 only one who ever dared to tease her.

 He looked up as she came in, "Oh, hello, Barbara. Fancy a shag?"

 "Obviously not."





 Ian groaned. "Oh well, ask a silly question!"

  Barbara was frequently sharp-tongued, especially when tired, worried,
 or stimulated.
  "I'm sorry." Said Barbara quickly.

  "It's all right, I'll forgive you - this time."

  She perched on the laboratory stool, showing Ian some of her cleavage. 
 "It's just something that's worrying me rather.  I don't know what to make
 of it."

  It was unlike her to be submissive at all or to confess helplessness, and
 Ian was immediately confident he'd be having her a guest over at his house
 that night.  

  "What is it?"  he paused and dropped his voice to a low soothing tone.  
 "Can I help?" Ian cooed as he reached out his hands to caress her shoulders.

  "Oh, its one of the girls.  Susan Foreman."

  Ian's eyes widened. "SUSAN FOREMAN?!  You find her attractive too, do you?"

  "I most certainly do!"

  "And you don't know what to make of her?"

  Barbara shook her head.

  "Me neither," said Ian ungrammatically.  He looked thoughtful for a
   moment. "How old is she, Barbara?"

   "About fifteen."

   "FIFTEEN!!!"  Ian ran his fingers through his already untidy hair.
   "Do you know what she does?"  He realized this sounded awkward and
    continued "In my science classes, I mean?"

   "No, what?"

   "She lets out her knowledge of combustion a little bit at a time" he
 said explosively.  "I think she doesn't want to blow up the school all
 at once.  That girl knows more about bombs than I'll ever know.  Is she
 doing the same thing in your history lessons?" 

   "Something very like it."

   "Your problem's the same as mine then?  Whether we stay in the business,
 or risk jail time and go for her anyway."

   "No, not quite."

   "What then?"

   Barbara Wright leaned forward on her stool, trying to see if Ian even
 noticed how low her top hung down. "I'm sorry to unload all of this on
 you Ian, but I've got to get in touch with someone.  I don't want to 
 go to anyone official in case I get in trouble.  I suppose you're going 
 to tell me I'm a sick disgusting loony."

   "No, I'm not."  Ian looked down Barbara's top as he pretended to wash
 test tubes and glass Petri dishes in the laboratory sink, throwing them
 about the room carelessly.  "Go on."

   "Well, she tried to kill my history students.  I had a talk with her
 and told her she ought to specialize.  She'd be a natural for a military
 explosives and demolition expert, if she wanted."

   "How did she take it?"

   "She was cautious about it, but she seemed quite interested.  She said
 she always looked on killing people as more of a hobby than as a career
 choice.  She said she thought about joining the police for a while but
 she felt she just was too moral to go into that line of work." Barbara 
 paused. "I told her it would mean a good deal of extra study, offered
 to work with her at home all night and day.  I could live with her, 
 stay with her constantly.  She would never have to leave my sight for
 a second if only she wanted.  The whole idea seemed to throw her into
 a kind of panic.  She said it would be absolutely impossible because her
 grandfather didn't like lesbians."

    "Bit of a lame excuse isn't it?" said Ian thoughtfully. "Her grandfather
 is that weird old pervert isn't he?  You think he'd love lesbians."

    Barbara nodded.  "Anyway, I didn't pursue the point, but the whole
 thing seemed to upset her somehow.  Since then her homework's been,
 I don't know erratic - sometimes brilliant, sometimes god awful and
 half burnt."

    "Yes, I know what you mean," said Ian. "She been much the same with me.
 She tried to light me on fire for a laugh last week."

    "Anyway, I finally got so worried and irritated with all this I decided
 to have a talk with this grandfather of hers, and beat the living hell out
 of him until he let me move in."

    Ian smiled to himself.  It was very typical of Barbara to get herself
 worked up and go marching off to beat up some perfect stranger.  
    "Did you indeed? What's the old boy like?"

    "That's just it," said Barbara worriedly. "I got her address from the
 school secretary at knife point, 76 Tossers Lane, and I went along there
 one evening."

    By now Ian was busily preparing a microscope slide from some suspicious
 looking fluid in one of his test tubes, head bent absorbedly over his work.

    "Oh IAN!  Do pay attention!" snapped Barbara, angry that he would look
 away from her chest.  Her ego crushed.

    "I am paying attention," said Ian boredly.  "You went along to kick
 his ass one evening.  AND?"

     "There isn't anything there.  It's just an old junkyard." 

     "You must have gotten the wrong place."

     "It was the address the secretary gave me.  And I threatened to stab
 her if she did that!"

     "She must have gotten it wrong anyway." Said Ian infuriatingly.

     "No, she didn't!  I stabbed her the next day and checked.  Ian, there
 was a big wall on one side, a few adult movie houses on either side, and
 nothing in between.  And that nothing in the middle is the junkyard, 76
 Tossers Lane." 

     Ian finished his slide and put it to one side. "Bit of a mystery....?
 Still, there must be a simple answer somewhere.  We just have to find out
 for ourselves, won't we?"

     "Thanks for the we," said Barbara lustily. She looked at her watch.
 "The poor girl's still waiting in my classroom.  I'm lending her this
 book on the French Kiss Revolution."

     "What?" Said Ian surprised.

     "Opps!  The French Revolution, I mean." Barbara replied very embarrassed.

     Ian looked at the bulky volume "What were you going to do - club
 her with it?  All right, what do we do?  I doubt if it will do any good
 to tie her up and spank her until she talks."

     Barbara drifted off into a distant fantasy before shaking her head.
 "NO!  What I thought we'd do is drive to Tossers Lane ahead of her, 
 wait till she arrives and see where she goes."

     "Got it all worked out, haven't you?" Said Ian admiringly "ALL RIGHT!"

     Barbara looked hesitantly at him.  "This is - if you don't want to 
 go back to my place."

    "No, not really!" Said Ian as he threw on his jacket ignoring Barbara.
 "Come on, lets' go and take a look at this mystery girl."

    They went out of the laboratory, along the corridor, and into the
 classroom, which was empty except for Susan Foreman and the sound of
 rock and roll blaring from her anachronistic walkman.

    Barbara raised her voice "SUSAN!"

    Susan looked up. "Sorry, Miss Wright, I didn't hear you come in."

    "I'm not surprised!"

    Susan's face was alight with deviousness "Aren't they fabulous?"

    She looked every inch your average normal teenager, thought Barbara.
    But she WASN'T.  She Wasn't,...

    "Aren't WHO fabulous?"

    "The Police!  They'll go from number nineteen to number two in the 
 charts, in just a week."

    "The Police are lead by Sting, the stage name of the Honorable Aubrey
 Waites," Said Ian solemnly "It's not so fashionable to be upper class
 these days.  Sting used to be a school teacher as well, which he sung
 about in Don't Stand So Close To Me, which is what you're listening to
 now.  Isn't it?"  Ian wasn't exactly a pop fan, but he had the uncanny
 ability to sing songs from the future.   He found it helped to keep in
 touch with the interests of his future pupils, so he'd know what they
 were talking about, at least some of the time.





    Susan looked at Ian like he was a hunk of walking sex "You are surprising.
 Mr. Chesterton!  I wouldn't have imagine you'd know things like that!"

    "I have an inquiring mind," said Ian.  "And a sensitive ear." he added
 drily.   

    "Sorry," Said Susan, and switched off the Sony walkman.

    "THANKS!"

    Susan looked at the bulky volume under Barbara's Wright arm.  She 
 stepped back worrying that Barbara might use it to bash in her head
 to disarm her.  "Is that the book you promised me?" 

    Barbara handed it over. "Yes, here you are." 
 
    "Thank you very much" said Susan politely. "Oh a book about the French 
 Revolution! It will be such fun to burn!  I'll give you the ashes tomorrow."

    "That's all right, you can keep them until you've finished with them."

    "I'll have it burned by tomorrow," Said Susan calmly.  "Thank you,
 Miss Wright, goodnight.  Goodnight, Mr. Chesterton. I'll be thinking
 of you."

    Ian looked thoughtfully at her.  There WAS something different about
 Susan Foreman, despite her apparent interest in him.  Her speech was
 almost too pure, too nice for a deranged sociopath.  She had a way of
 observing you cautiously all the time, as if you were a member of some
 dangerous alien species.  There was a certain, attractive unruly quality
 about her.....

    "Where do you live Susan?  I'm giving Miss Wright a lift home, and there's
 room for one more in my bed...in my car.  Since we've kept you late, it
 seems only fair that you should get a ride as well.  It will soon be dark."

    "No thank you, Mr. Chesterton.  I like walking home in the dark. It's
 erotic."  Susan put the walkman in her bag and turned towards the door.

  "Be careful, Susan" Said Barbara.  "It looks as though they'll be fog
 and police again tonight.  See you in the morning."

    "I expect so.  Goodnight."

    The two teachers waited till her footsteps died away and Ian took
 Barbara's right arm.  "Right - Car park quick!  We are about to stalk
 Susan Foreman!" 


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