#him and craig got invited to sit in once…don’t ask them the color of anything like for a pacifist stan was ABT that violence!

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 29

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 29 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 29/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - Prepare yourselves for fluff my friends, ‘cause these next few chapters are full of it.]

The Doctor and Elise exited the TARDIS.

“No, Amy, it's definitely not the fifth moon of Cindie Colesta. I think I can see a Ryman's,” the Doctor said.

An explosion came from inside the TARDIS and threw the two of them to the ground as the TARDIS started to take off by itself.

“Amy! Amy!” the Doctor yelled.

As the Doctor stared at the spot where the TARDIS once stood, Elise looked around them.

They were on earth obviously, but where?

The Doctor stood up and brushed himself off.

What were they supposed to do now? Where would they stay? How would they get the TARDIS back? What if they never got it back?

“Hey”, the Doctor said, kneeling in front of her, “Elise, look at me”.

Elise snapped out of her thoughts and looked at his calming green eyes.

“I will get Amy and the TARDIS back. I promise. It’ll be okay”, he told her, “This will just be a daddy/daughter trip, okay?”

Elise nodded.

“Now come here”, he said.

Elise wrapped her arms around his neck and the Doctor rubbed her back to try and keep her calm.

They just needed to find somewhere to stay while he figured out what they were going to do. The first thing the Doctor did was sonic an ATM to get some money.

He smiled remembering doing the same thing after he met Donna. The Doctor looked down at Elise as he remembered the other ginger that had magically appeared in his TARDIS.

He got them something to eat and checked them into a hotel for the night. If the TARDIS didn’t appear soon, he was going to have to go shopping for some new clothes for Elise.

Elise slept curled up into the Doctor’s side that night. She missed Amy and the little blue box she called home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day, they wandered around the town for a while until the Doctor spotted a card sitting in the window of a shop. He picked it up and smiled, recognizing his companion’s hand writing.

They followed the directions to the house and rang the doorbell.

A man threw open the door and said, “I love you.”

The Doctor smiled. “Well, that's good, because I'm your new lodger. Do you know, this is going to be easier than I expected.” He took the fluffy pink keys from the man.

“But I only put the advert up today. I didn't put my address,” the man said.

“Well, aren't you lucky I came along? More lucky than you know. Less of a young professional, more of an ancient amateur, but frankly I'm an absolute dream.”

“Hang on a minute, mate. I don't know if I want you staying.” The man looked down at Elise. “Umm, the ad didn’t say anything about having kids”.

“Oh, well Elise is very well behaved”.

“She doesn’t cry or anything? Throw temper tantrums?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that”.

Elise gave the man a small wave.

The man took the keys from the Doctor. “Give me back those keys. You can't have those.”

“Yes, quite right. Have some rent.” The Doctor handed the man a bag with money in it. He had of course keep some for himself and Elise, just in case they needed anything. “That's probably quite a lot, isn't it?” the Doctor asked, “Looks like a lot. Is it a lot? I can never tell.” The Doctor invited himself in and Elise followed behind him.

The lights upstairs flickered, giving Elise a bad feeling. There was something wrong about the upstairs.

“Don't spend it all on sweets, unless you like sweets,” the Doctor told him, “I like sweets. Oh!” The Doctor put his hands on the man’s shoulders and air kissed him on both cheeks. “That's how we greet each other nowadays, isn't it? I'm the Doctor. Well, they call me the Doctor. I don't know why. I call me the Doctor, too. Still don't know why. And this is Elise.”

“Craig Owens. The Doctor?”

“Yep. Who lives upstairs?”

“Just some bloke.”

“What's he look like?”

“Normal. He's very quiet.”

There was a loud crash.

“Usually.”

The Doctor entered Craig’s flat.

“Sorry, who are you again? Hello? Excuse me?”

The Doctor looked up and saw the stain on the ceiling. “Ah. I suppose that's dry rot?” he asked.

“Or damp. Or mildew.”

“Or none of the above.”

“I'll get someone to fix it.”

“No, I'll fix it. I'm good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I'm the Doctor, don't call me the Rotmeister. This is the most beautiful parlor I have ever seen. You're obviously a man of impeccable taste.” The Doctor hopped up on the counter. “We can stay, Craig, can't we? Say we can.”

“You haven't even seen the room.”

“The room?”

“Your room.”

“My room? Oh, yes. My room.”

Elise tugged on his pant leg.

“Our room. Take us to our room.”

Craig led them to the room they would be staying in. “Yeah, this is Mark's old room. He owns the place. Moved out about a month ago. This uncle he'd never even heard of died and left a load of money in the will,” Craig said.

“How very convenient. This'll do just right. In fact…”

There was another loud crash from the flat above.

The Doctor touched his tongue with his index finger and tested the air. “No time to lose. I'll take it. Ah you'll want to see my credentials. There.” The Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and shower it to Craig. “National Insurance number. NHS number. References.”

“Is that a reference from the Archbishop of Canterbury?”

“I'm his special favorite. Are you hungry? I'm hungry.”

“I haven't got anything in.”

They went into the kitchen and the Doctor started raiding the fridge and cabinets. He and Craig talked as he cooked. “You've got everything I need for an omelette fines herbes, pour deux. So, who's the girl on the fridge?” the Doctor asked.

A photo of Craig and a woman sat next to a postcard with Vincent’s self-portrait.

Elise smiled sadly. She missed Vincent.

“My friend. Sophie,” Craig told him.

“Girlfriend?”

“A friend who is a girl. There's nothing going on.”

“Oh, that's completely normal. Works for me.”

“We met at work about a year ago, at the call center.”

“Oh really, a communications exchange? That could be handy.”

“Firm's going down though. The bosses are using a totally rubbish business model. I know what they should do. I got a plan all worked out. But I'm just a phone drone, I can't go running in saying I know best. Why am I telling you this? I don't even know you.”

“Well, I've got one of those faces. People never stop blurting out their plans while I'm around.”

“Right. Where's your stuff?”

“Oh, don't worry, it'll materialize. If all goes to plan.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Less than twenty minutes later, the omelets were gone and Elise was curled up in the Doctor’s lap.

“Oh, that was incredible. That was absolutely brilliant. Where did you learn to cook?” Craig asked.

“Paris, in the eighteenth century. No, hang on, that's not recent, is it? Seventeenth? No, no, no. Twentieth. Sorry, I'm not used to doing them in the right order.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit weird?”

“They never really stop. Ever been to Paris, Craig?”

“Nah. I can't see the point of Paris. I'm not much of a traveler.”

“I can tell from your sofa.”

“My sofa?”

“You're starting to look like it.”

“Thanks, mate, that's lovely. No, I like it here. I'd miss it, I'd miss…”

“Those keys.”

“What?”

“You're sort of fondling them.”

“I'm holding them.” Craig dropped them and got up.

“Right.”

“Anyway. These, these are your keys.” He picked up a key ring and held them out.

The Doctor got up with Elise in his arms. “We can stay?”

“Yeah, you're weird and you can cook and your daughter doesn’t scream her head off. It's good enough for me. Right.” Craig went through the keys. “Outdoor, front door, your door.”

“My door. My place. My gaff. Ha ha! Yes. Me with a key.”

“And listen, Mark and I, we had an arrangement where if you ever need me out of your hair, just give me a shout, okay?” Craig winked and the Doctor winked back, not understand the cue.

“Why would I want that?” the Doctor asked.

“In case you want to bring someone round. A girlfriend or, a boyfriend? Elise’s mother maybe?”

“Oh, Elise’s mother and I aren’t together, but I will. I'll shout if that happens. Yes. Something like, I was not expecting this! By the way, that. The rot. I've got the strangest feeling we shouldn't touch it.” He patted Craig on the shoulder and left the living room to put Elise to bed. He laid her down on the bed and covered her with the blanket.

Elise was out the moment her head hit the pillow. She slept more than the average Timelord, but maybe it was because she was so young.

He hoped she wouldn’t wake up while he was gone. He had some shopping to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Elise woke up and sat up in the bed. She panicked for a moment before she remembered where she was.

At the foot of the bed was a small backpack (covered in a galaxy pattern of course) with a note on it.

“To: Ellie. From: Dad.”

She looked in it and found new clothes. There was also a sketchbook and some colored pencils. Elise got dressed, emptied the backpack except for the art supplies, and made her way into the living room to wait for the Doctor. She walked past the bathroom where Craig was waiting outside the door.

The Doctor was singing very loudly.

Craig knocked on the door. “Doctor.”

“Hello?”

“How long are you going to be in there?”

“Oh, sorry. I like a good soak.”

A loud banging noise came from upstairs.

“What the hell was that?” Craig asked.

“What did you say?” the Doctor asked him.

“I'm just going to go upstairs. See if he's okay.”

“Sorry?” Craig left the flat.

“What did you say?” the Doctor asked, “Craig?”

Elise heard a loud thumping sound come from the bathroom and she rolled her eyes.

The Doctor came running out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and Elise followed after him.

The two of them met Craig near the stairs.

Elise rolled her eyes again when she saw the Doctor holding an electric toothbrush instead of his sonic screwdriver.

“What happened, what's going on?” the Doctor asked.

“Is that my toothbrush?” Craig asked him.

“Correct. You spoke to the man upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he look like?”

“More normal than you do at the moment, mate. What are you doing?”

“I thought you might be in trouble.”

Craig laughed. “Thanks. Well, if I ever am, you can come and save me with my toothbrush.”

A phone started ringing inside the flat.

Craig pushed past the Doctor to go and answer it.

The Doctor started to go upstairs as a blonde woman came in the front door.

“Oh! Hello,” she said, looking at the half-naked man and small child before her.

The Doctor came back down the stairs. “Ah! Hello. The Doctor.”

“Right.”

“You must be Sophie.”

The Doctor air kissed her cheeks like he had done with Craig.

Sophie looked at Elise. “And who might you be?” she asked.

“This is Elise. My daughter”. The Doctor softly smiled at her as he lovingly ran a hand over her hair.

“Daughter? Oh”.

The three of them went into the flat where Craig was talking to someone on the phone.

“No, Dom's in Malta. There's nobody around. Hang on a sec.” Craig walked up to the Doctor. “We've got a match today, pub league. We're one down if you fancy it?”

“Pub league. A drinking competition?”

“No, football. Play football.”

“Football. Football. Yes, blokes play football. I'm good at football, I think.”

“You've saved my life. I've got somebody. Yeah, all right, I'll see you down there. Hey, Soph.”

“Hey, I thought I'd come early and meet your new flat mate.”

The Doctor walked over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of milk. He looked down at Elise. “Are you hungry?” he asked her.

Elise shook her head.

“Do you play, Sophie?” the Doctor asked.

“No, Soph just stands on the sidelines. She's my mascot,” Craig said as the Doctor took a drink of the milk straight from the container.

If Amy were here, or if Elise were older, she would have smacked him for being so rude.

“I'm your mascot? Mascot?” Sophie asked, offended.

“Well, yeah, not my mascot. It's a football match. I can't take a date.”

“I didn't say I was your date.”

“Neither did I.”

There was an awkward pause, before the Doctor broke the silence. “Better get dressed.” He handed Craig his toothbrush back.

“The spare kit's just in the bottom drawer,” Craig told him.

The Doctor nodded. “Bit of a mess,” he said before slamming the door in Craig’s face.

The two adults looked down at the small child.

Elise went over to a chair and sat down while Sophie and Craig talked quietly. Elise wasn’t listening to their conversation anyway.

Humans were so odd sometimes.

[ddaddsprompts]

The dads at a fall fair? Doing stuff like pumpkin picking, hay rides, and haunted houses?

“Hay ride!” You hear Amanda scream in your ear as a large bed of hay approaches, and quickly all of the other kids are just as enthused. The sun is setting after a long day at the fair, and what would be a better time to take a nice ride than now? The driver seems surprised at the amount of kids and adults alike squeezing themselves in, but you’re glad that everyone is here. You love being able to bond with all the dads in the cul-de-sac. 

The ride is anything but quiet, but it still manages to be calming, the cool breeze and the falling leaves making you feel in the spirit of autumn. Light conversation is travelling, but for the most part everyone is relaxed and no one looks angry at anyone, so that’s very good. The air has you day dreaming, probably looking like a weirdo, recounting the events of the day.

Damien 💐 and Hugo 🧀🍷 - “You aren’t going to let go of my hands, correct?” Damien is clutching onto both yours and Hugo’s hands very tightly as you walk towards the haunted house at the center of the fair. You heard that it was advertised as ‘the scariest haunted house in Maple Bay’ but you see it fit to keep your mouth shut in this situation. Damien is already losing all color in his face.

Hugo has an eyebrow raised and looks mildly concerned, stopping all forward motion and giving Damien’s hand a tight squeeze. “We’re both holding on, Damien, couldn’t let go if we wanted to.” Damien’s mouth opens as if to ask why they stopped walking, but the only thing that comes out is a small defeated noise when he hears someone scream. “You could cut off the circulation to our hands somewhere else, Dames, we don’t have to go in the haunted house.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to force you into anything, we can go-” Damien cuts you off with a ‘shush’ and continues pulling the three of you towards the offending haunted house with a burst of determination. You aren’t sure that it’s the best idea, but you aren’t about to crush his hopes and dreams. His steps get noticeably slower as you get closer, but he still gets himself to the entrance. 

(Getting through the place whole different ballpark. And a lot of screaming. Damien screamed especially loudly when a fake bat touched his shoulder, and you distinctly remember Hugo trying to stop giggling. You also remember Lucien sitting at the exit with Ernest by his side, both of them laughing and going on about how they could hear Damien screaming from outside)

Robert 🔪 and Joseph ⛵ -“Hey, y/n!” While you’re wondering around and trying to find something to do while Amanda runs off with her friends, Joseph calls you over to the pumpkin patch where he’s standing, holding a bunch of medium sized pumpkins in his hands. “Come help me pick out pumpkins for the kids!” He waves you over and accidentally drops a pumpkin in the process, watching the stem break off before he slowly backs away from it.

You laugh quietly as you jog up to him, watching him study the two pumpkins left in his hands. “Awe, you’re getting some for the kids to carve for Halloween?” You start looking over the large expanse of pumpkins, all different shapes and sizes. There are some especially huge ones over by the stand where you pay, and you try to imagine how many pounds of pumpkins guts you would have to scoop out of one of those suckers.

Joseph picks up another pumpkin that he’s taken the time to inspect and almost drops it again, this time making sure not to make the same mistake. “Carve? Heavens no, the twins are 8, them with knife would be a disaster, have you seen what they can so with scissors?” He chuckles and thanks you as you take one of the pumpkins from him. “I might have them paint the pumpkins, that would be fun, right?”

At that moment, Robert walks by with a large pumpkin under his arm, keeping his distance, but laughing loud enough to gain attention. “Painting pumpkins? This is why your kids don’t think you’re cool, Christiansen.” Joseph tenses up a little, but he turns around and gives Robert a smile. “But hell, I wouldn’t let those kids near sharp objects either.” Robert takes a sip of the drink in his hand, not alcohol for once, and nods.

(In the end, things go smoother than you expected. Joseph does accidentally say “Rob” once, and you can feel Robert nearly growl back until Joseph corrects himself, but but that’s the extent of hostility. You’re almost proud of yourself for starting a civilized conversation. You remember Robert inviting you to help him carve pumpkins and Joseph inviting you to help out with a few fall activities at the church. The pumpkins bring people together.)

Craig ⚾ -“Y/n, look at this cow!” Craig looks amazed as a cow licks his arm, his twins running around inside the petting zoo and rushing to feed the animals. He reaches in slightly to pet the cow and River laughs when it licks her face. Craig backs up slightly and intently waits for you to pet the cow. 

You laugh, but reach your hand in carefully, giggling even more when the cow licks and tickles your arm. Hazel holds her hand out and is extremely amused as a sheep eats from her palm. You remember petting zoos, what magical places. Especially as a kid. Being surrounded by sweet, kind animals felt so fun! “This a weird cow, I like it.”

Your daughter turns a corner to see you and Craig and is immediately running for the petting zoo, wallet in hand. “A petting zoo? Dad, you should have called me!” Amanda runs over and sees a tiny pony, her horse-phase instincts kicking in as she pays to feed the miniature pony a carrot. Briar giggles as she almost gets knocked on her butt by an alpaca. 

“The kids really love petting zoos, huh?” Craig nods and holds River’s hand out to pet a baby goat, grinning as he does so. He’s so in his element with his kids. He even lets them buy more food to give to all the animals.Amanda looks at ease with another carrot in her hand to feed the pony.

“This place is awesome, bro!” Craig his daughter enjoy themselves as he pets the cow some more. You’re sad to know once the girls are done you’ll have to leave this cow so that you don’t look weird.

(Hazel almost got away with sneaking a lamb out of the pen, but she was put to a stop. Craig tells you to meet him later after he take the girls to find ice cream)

Brain 🐟 and Mat 🎸♩ - “They have the best funnel cake here, and I am not willing to miss it.” Mat is holding as cup of coffee while he searches for funnel cake, a man on a mission as you and Brian follow behind. Brian just laughs, eating some fries that you and him picked up on the way to Mat’s destination.

While Mat speed walks in front of you, you don’t want to bother him with conversation, but Brian notices you urge to speak. “You know, fair food is great, but did you know some places literally deep fry butter?” You feel your stomach churn a little at the thought and take a sip of the water in your hand, hoping that you’ll never witness someone eat deep fried butter.

What would be the purpose? Wouldn’t that make everyone involved sick and waste a lot of butter? “Brian, please don’t tell me you have eaten deep fried butter.” Brian breaks out into a hearty laugh as you walk a little faster to catch up to Mat, who’s peering around a corner like he’s found something.

Mat shouts out ‘a-hah!’ before quickly shuttijg his mouth and staring at the ground, hoping that he hasn’t drawn any attention. “Oh, it was terrible, but someone told me I couldn’t do it, so of course I did!” You laugh and shake your head along with him when you see Mat tapping his toe in line, trying to avoid all eye contact and social interaction.

Brian walks up and whispers something to Mat before taking his place in line, and then Mat scurries back over to you, looking relieved. “He said he would order- sometimes he’s nice to have around- he’s never afraid to asl anyone for anything.” You nod, completely understanding how useful Brian’s boldness can be to someone with anxiety.

“Well fellas?” Brian walks over with a giant plate with an equally giant funnel cake, enough to feed a whole family. Maybe twice. He’s wearing a giant grin on his face. “Go big or go home, right?”

(You all got though about a third of the funnel cake before you couldn’t take anymore, you even begun pawning it off to any of the other dads you saw while walking. Your stomach sure was full for the day, and you remember Mat going back to ask for a recipe for the Coffee Spoon so he could make funnel cake for special occasions.)

The cool breeze hits you in just the right way as the hay ride stops, and you grin at the sound of everyone smiling and laughing. “So what do you guys think, one more time around on the hay ride?” Almost all of the other dads are grinning back, ready to tell some embarrassing kid stories on their way back around.

-Mod Arin

[sending-the-message]

I buy and sell memories by TobiasWade

You know those people who treat everything like they've just been asked to climb mount Everest? Where every little thing is an insurmountable ordeal, whether it's waking up, taking a shower, or even just going outside? Almost as if the whole world was an elaborate conspiracy designed solely to slightly inconvenience them, god-forbid some effort was actually required to survive.

That was my buddy Craig. What irritated me the most is that he wasn't always like that either. Growing up he read philosophy and filled notebooks with plans about what he was going to do when he grew up, meticulously mapping out possible career paths with their required steps. He graduated high-school with nearly perfect grades, and after he was accepted into MIT, I figured his whole life was pretty much set.

The only thing that could have stopped him from getting what he wanted was getting something he thought he wanted, and her name was Natalie. Controlling, obsessive, jealous, always putting him down for this or chewing him out for that. I have no idea why he stuck with her, but two years later when he dropped out I can only imagine that was the cause.

They broke up soon after, but the damage was already done. Craig was an absolute mess. He couldn't get out of bed without a beer, and every time we talked it was just him bitching about how much he missed Natalie and how worthless he felt without her. I thought it was just going to be a phase and that he'd move on, but the obsession just kept growing in an endless feedback loop.

He couldn't do anything because he felt like shit. He felt like shit because he couldn't do anything. And on and on, doubts feeding doubts. Hating her and loving her, and then hating himself for both. Even though I've known him since we were kids, I was getting to the point of just giving up on and cutting him out for good. Last week I decided to tell him to his face: one last shot at taking some responsibility for his life.

I hardly recognized the guy who opened the door. Clean shaven and grinning from ear to ear, Craig invited me inside. His apartment was immaculate all the way down to the gleaming grout in his tile floor. His laptop was open to spreadsheets and a color coded calendar. I couldn't believe the transformation. I congratulated him on finally getting past Natalie, but he didn't understand what I was talking about.

"Natalie? Who is Natalie?" he asked.

I thought it was a joke at first, but she was just one piece of the puzzle. He kept talking about high-school like it was yesterday, and how excited he was to start MIT. It didn't take long for me to realize the last two years of his life were completely gone. He seemed obviously better for it though, so I held my tongue in case I accidentally reminded him of something that sent him back into his depressive spiral.

It wasn't until I left when I noticed the business card half-concealed beneath his entry mat. Black card, back and front, with nothing but the words "I buy and sell memories" and a phone number.

I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't just seen the results. It was one thing to discard shameful or destructive memories, but the chance of buying new ones too? Maybe I could remember what it was like to travel the world without any of the expense or inconvenience. Or learn new skills without the effort of practice. My fingers were actually trembling as I dialed the number.

An automated voice guided me through the steps of setting up a free consultation. By the next morning I was in the office building, checking the directories for "Dr. Sinclair". Sure enough, there he was, his office listed as Cognitive Reconstruction.

"It's not magic," the beak-nosed doctor told me as I sat down. "My team has mapped a large archive of neuronal patterns which can be replicated with their corresponding electrical signals."

I didn't really understand what that meant, but throughout the session he drove his case home. Folders filled with brain scans, a wall cluttered with degrees, and my own mounting excitement proved an irresistibly combination. Within the hour I had signed consent for the treatment.

"We're going to put you under for this part," Dr. Sinclair told me. "The fluctuations of the conscious mind make it impossible to get an accurate reading of baseline activity. Just write down a list of memories you'd like to have when you wake-up."

I did so before reclining on his sofa while he set up the anesthesia mask.

"I'm not going to have to forget anything to make room, am I?" I asked.

"Old telephone numbers, the occasional date or address - nothing but clutter. Deep breaths now."

It seemed too good to be true. I was absolutely euphoric as I inhaled the strawberry scented gas. Dr. Sinclair briefly studied the list I wrote before crumpling it up in his hand.

"These are rubbish," he said, his words distorting like a radio with a weak signal.

The anesthesia was muddling my mind, but a brief surge of panic still flooded my veins. I started to sit up, but he put a hand over the mask and pressed my head firmly back into the couch.

"Most people prefer to hold onto their good memories, mind you," he said. "The ones they sell me tend to be a tad more... exotic. Why don't you just relax and let me choose?"

It wouldn't quite be accurate to say I fell asleep then. It was more like I fell awoke, slipping in an and out of consciousness so subtly that I didn't even realize time had passed. One second I was struggling against the mask, and the next I tore it off my face and sat up panting. Only now I was sitting on the sidewalk. The mask lay at my feet, dangling from its severed chords. Dr. Sinclair was nowhere to be seen.

And everything in the world was wrong. The roar of traffic bludgeoned me from the nearby street. I flinched and cowered as my every instinct screamed a warning for the impending collision, even though I was well out of harms way. Dark clouds had begun rolling in from the sky and I shuttered to imagine some phantasmic presence leering at me from behind them. The eyes of passing strangers cut me with their disdain.

Everything in the world was normal. I was the one who was wrong. In the space of those odd hours on Dr. Sinclairs couch I had lived through the nightmares of a hundred lives. A man like my father had beaten me to within an inch of my life, although I knew he wasn't the father I grew up with. My hand burned as it had when it was torn off by a tractor, even though I could see its perfect vitality at the end of my wrist. I had been shot at, maimed, humiliated, and betrayed a hundred times, and so could I feel the blood of my victims as fresh as the day they were choked to death by hands that were not my own.

I don't know how long I sat there screaming on the sidewalk before someone called the police. I'm vaguely aware of an ambulance picking me up, but my internal world was so much more vibrant and clashed do disorientatingly with the one I saw that I couldn't keep them straight. The hellish memories were mixed with my own so seamlessly that I couldn't figure out which were true and which were not. Maybe I had done these things, hurt these people. Maybe I deserved to suffer.

But the maddening conflict of a hundred contradictory memories made it impossible to maintain any coherent identity. By the time I got to the hospital, I couldn't have told you my own name. I didn't even know whether I was a man or a woman, having lived distinctly through the most traumatic ordeals of each.

Next I was able to make sense of the world was within a hospital room. Dr. Sinclair was there as I had seen him last, peering down at me from over a clipboard. His presence was branded into my mind, and I couldn't turn away from him to look at who he was talking to on my other side. He was the point of singularity: the one common aspect in all my separate lives. The person I most feared and most needed in the whole world. I had seen him from so many different eyes and known him from so many different minds that all these thoughts conjoined into an amorphous blob of desperate hope.

"Patient exhibiting signs of psychosis, schizophrenia, and multiple personality disorder," Dr. Sinclair was saying. "He is a danger to himself and others, and must not leave this room until I consent. Is that understood?"

"Yes doctor."

"I know he's your friend, so if you'd like to be reassigned -"

"No doctor. I can handle it," Craig said from my other side. "I just want what's best for him."

"We all do," Dr. Sinclair replied, his voice oozing with compassion. "I'll check in again at the end of my rounds. Buzz me if he remembers anything about that man."

I turned to Craig as the doctor exited the room. Craig was wearing a white lab coat as well, his own clipboard hanging limp at his side. My mouth twisted with uncertainty, trying to make sense of which language was natural to its shape.

"Get some rest," Craig said. "The Doctor knows best. He's going to make you better again."

"He did this to me," I managed to match my thoughts to English.

"Me too," Craig grinned. "He was my professor at MIT. He told me I was failing, and that I'd be expelled unless I participated in the experiment."

"But the nightmares -"

"Yeah, I guess I missed that part," Craig said. "I just had my last two years erased. I've been relying on him to fill me in on the details."

"Then why the fuck did he fill my head with this shit?"

"Sorry. We had to," Craig sat down at the end of my bed. "All those memories you've got came from the last two years of clinical trials. Someone has been trying to disrupt the study, and we need you to access the common memory to find out who it is."

"Then go ask them. Why'd you have to put them in me -" my words were failing. There was so much pain, and loss, and suffering spinning around my head. No-one should ever be forced to bury their son or endure their loved ones wasting away from cancer. Not once. How was I supposed to survive it dozens of times?

"That's the thing," Craig said. "They're being killed. One at a time. Every person who has participated in the study. You're the only one with their memories now, and our only chance of stopping whoever is doing this before he gets us too."

Craig patted my hand as he stood to leave. I was speechless, comprehending but bewildered by the situation I was forced into.

"And besides," Craig said as he passed through the door. "These memories will make you stronger if you can get through them. Stronger than you thought possible. Nothing will be able to hurt you after this."

"And if I can't get through?" I asked.

Craig shrugged. "Then you'll be left behind, same as everyone who can't move on from the past. Same as you were going to do to me. But don't worry, because I think you're going to be fine. Eventually."

I had no intention of helping Dr. Sinclair after what he'd done to me though. If I could push myself to examine each painful memory until I found clues to the one trying to kill him, then I figure I might just help him finish the job. Dr. Sinclair had turned me into a living nightmare, so it only seemed right to show him some terror of his own.