Chapter Eight: Lizzel

Deep in the tunnels of the New London Underground, Holmes glared down at Holly, who was revitalizing a gash on her leg. "What exactly did that acorn do to Lestrade?"

Holly wasn't listening however, and therefore didn't answer. It had just occurred to her that magma flares regularly disrupted communication between the surface and the Haven and she was mentally hitting herself for panicking like that.

"MISS SHORT, what have you done to Lestrade?" The angry voice broke into her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh! Beth! Ah-I-I don't know. That's never happened when I do the ritual. She's not dead, though...right?" Holly’s eyes widened involuntarily.

"No, according to Watson she's alive, but her brain patterns aren't normal. What happened?" Holmes' tone was cold; Holly could tell he was furious.

"Er...." Holly wracked her brain for a probable solution.

"Oh my, Holmes! She's waking up!" interrupted Watson as he helped Lestrade into a sitting position. "What happened, Lestrade? Are you feeling all right?"

"I, yeah, yeah, I'm okay.... No! I'm great! I've never felt so ALIVE!" Lestrade leapt happily to her feet and started laughing, completely ignoring her companions bewildered expressions. (Oh, if this was an anime!)

"That never happens when I perform the ritual, either."

*******

A cripple walked sadly down the streets of New London, his face hidden under the grimy hood of a shabby cloak. If anyone had been able to see his face, they would've have recoiled in horror. It was distorted and disproportioned, with greasy blonde hair, starting to grow from just above his ears, occasionally blowing in front of his huge, abnormal yellow eyes. It seemed impossible that this face could be looked upon with anything but disgust.

And yet, once, there had been a person who had looked on that face with adoration. So long ago now, but still as clear as ever. They had taken her away from him. Stolen his precious child. How he missed her, poor innocent little Lizzel. He would do anything to see her again, to see what she had grown to be...but he knew it would never happen. Pulling the cloak tighter around his frail body, the man limped off into the descending gloom.

*******

Wiggins awoke with a groan. His head felt like it was being beaten continuously with a large hammer. Opening his eyes blearily, all he could make out were dark shapes with fuzzy edges, melting into the black around them. He opened his mouth to groan, but thought better of it. He settled instead, for remembering how he'd gotten here and what he was doing here. It only took a few minutes.

This was where he made his first, and last, tactical error. Once he understood his situation, he, for some unknown reason, said: "Ah." Unfortunately, saying ‘Ah.’ hurt. So, to make up for this, he said: "Ow."

The dark shapes with fuzzy edges came into relative focus and Wiggins realised there was half a dozen of those monsters from the tunnel glaring at him. At least this is what Wiggins thought they were doing. It was rather hard to tell, being surrounded by pitch-blackness and all.

"You’re awake. Good." For some reason, that will never be explained and most likely never understood, Wiggins suddenly realised the beast-things’ voices were very reptilian.

"Erm." Wiggins lost his sudden brilliant comeback at the sight of the thing licking its own eyeballs with a long forked tongue.

There was a rustle of cloth as the Thing crouched down in front of him, offering him a bottle. "Drink."

Deciding that he really didn’t have much choice in the matter, Wiggins drank. The contents of the bottle set his mouth on fire. And, like fire, the burning sensation spread throughout his body. Inexplicably, Wiggins found himself wanting more and was slightly annoyed when he found there was nothing left in the bottle. He didn’t have much time to dwell on this particular thought because he suddenly began to see bright swirling lights. The lights were terribly beautiful and Wiggins decided that it would be very enjoyable, and in fact very sensible, to follow these lights wherever they were going. For they were certainly going somewhere.

The monster followed silently behind Wiggins as he stumbled drunkenly out of the room and down the corridor. The Master had been right. This was easy.