Guardian Who (Quiet Remembrance: Part 2)

Quiet Remembrance: Part 2

It wasn’t until they were halfway back up the stairs that the Doctor whirled around, his slender pointer finger a little too close to Jack’s nose for his liking, exclaiming that he remembered why they were there.


“The signature! The Isfolkais!”


Something clicked in Jack’s mind and the memories came rushing back. How could he possibly have forgotten? He felt something stir behind him.


That’s when he noticed something on the back of the Doctor’s hand.


“Doctor,” he began, voice a little shaky, “when did you get those tally marks on the back of your hand?”


The Doctor furrowed his brow, slowly turning his hand over to discover the marks—6 of them total—etched on his hand by what he immediately identified as the ink of the pen he kept in his pocket.


“Someone,” he stated, “or rather, something doesn’t want us going down into the vaults.”


“Huh?” came the question the Doctor had expected.


The Doctor looked around cautiously. The darkness down here could hide many things a little too easily. He knew of too many dangerous things that lurk in the shadows.


And it was quiet. Too quiet. Even for a library.


“Jack. We have to get down there.”


“Tell me something I don’t know,” he replied sarcastically. “Like how another three marks just appeared on your cheek.”


The Doctor unconsciously touched his cheek, noticing stray sets of tallies appearing on Jack’s pale skin as well.


His hearts began to beat faster.


“Run.”


Jack didn’t even have time to react. Before he knew it, the Doctor had grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, running down the stairs at nothing short of a sprint.


How many times had they done this? he wondered as they flew past the books (Jack now literally flying). The tally marks—growing in number each time that he glanced at Jack or one of his own extremities—had given him some sort of idea. But how many times had it taken before they started to record it? How many times had they been forced to forget?


One thing was for certain. They were close to finding out the information they had come for.


They passed doors upon doors marked with strange runes of long-lost races. The Doctor thought he saw one marked with the circular characters of Gallifrey. He was too focused on the task at hand, but thought he would very much like to return to see what the Library remembers about his home planet.


Little of their skin remained unmarked, now. The Doctor saw movement in the still shadows out of the corner of his eye, but knew better than to turn to get a better look. Jack remained unwavering, staring directly ahead with determination.


For, at the very end of the hallway that they had just run into, was the “Other” door, marked as such in plain Gallifreyan…English…Raxacoricofallapatorian…The runes changed depending on who was reading them. It was there, he knew, that they would find knowledge about the Isfolkais.


They weren’t even a hundred feet from the door when forgetfulness embodied stepped in front of it, barring their way. The two came to a screeching halt, Jack’s thick eyebrows shooting up, his mouth slightly agape in shock, fear, and sudden recognition at the creature that stood before them.


It horrifying, something taken straight from one of Pitch’s nightmares. Slender and tall, it stood no shorter than six and a half feet. Its long hands were four-fingered, with the third finger thicker and longer than the rest. The depressions between the joints were darkly colored, giving them a skeletal look. That only followed theme with the rest of its appearance, for perched on top of its shoulders was an egg-shaped massive head that Jack could only describe as a cross between a human skeleton and the typical human depiction of an alien. It was bald. Its immense forehead comprised of half its mass. Its small, beady eyes were deep within the circular pits that its protruded brow formed, making it look like it didn’t have eyes at all. The bones that formed this brow and its cheekbones were visible, its sickly gray skin was pulled tight over these features. Between the two pits was a v-shaped hole that could possibly be its nose (or lack thereof). The skin wrinkled, its lines leading down from the cheekbones to what could only be its mouth. This was nothing more than a slight circular indentation, as it was also covered with pale epidermis. Its head ended in a pointed chin, attached to the body by a wrinkled neck.


Jack couldn’t help but smirk a little in spite of himself. The thing—frightful as it was—was wearing a thin and wrinkled black suit, white collared shirt, and tie. Like some sort of alien tax collector.


It was then that the name came back to him. Of the same conversation that he and the Doctor had had innumerable times. The name of the thing standing before them. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, and frowned. He remembered about the thing that stood between him and his people, and wanted nothing more than to freeze it where it stood. But he knew that was useless, as he had already seen it, and would forget again as soon as he looked away.


It was a Silence.