“So, tell me: why are we going to find missing people? Isn’t that, like, the police’s job, or something?”
“Since when have you ever seen me do anything normal, Amy? No, I’m here because everything smells of fish…like the Ice Warriors.”
“Green, clunky beings. Live in ice. They actually had nothing to do with fish, but I always smelt that essence of fish when I was around them. Do you know what I mean?”
Amy shot The Doctor a confused look.
“Anyway…” the man replied, striding ahead down the large street, managing to always be at least five paces away from the lady. Miss Amelia Pond (known to her friends as ‘Amy’) watched the mysterious Doctor Who. Intelligence, wit, humour, none of that made up for The Doctor’s strange idiosyncrasies. And it was those, like The Doctor’s talking to himself, that Amy easily became sick of. Today, The Doctor had bounced out of his flying machine, The TARDIS, without telling Amy a single word about where he had brought her. Even trying to peek at his ‘psychic’, telepathic paper was not enough to let her into the secret. She wanted to know why newspapers were stacked up under his main control-console…newspapers that pointed to a simple English town, barely a blip on the map of life.
“…And he was a jolly man…a bit off his rocker, if you know what I mean.” He stopped suddenly, turning to see the redheaded Scottish girl waving furiously. “Did you say something, Amy?”
“Slow down! Okay, so where are we, when are we, and what has it all got to do with you?”
For, of course, it was always hard to tell with a time-traveller.
“We’re in the lovely village of Bridgestone- isn’t that a nice name? Bridge...stone-”
“Doctor…” Amy growled a warning.
“Okay, we’re in present-day Bridgestone (lovely place) because of reports, mostly news. People from this little sleepy village have been going missing.”
“Well…that makes sense," she replied, concerning The Doctor's curiosity. "So where are we headed?”
The Doctor turned again, almost crashing into his companion. She gave him an even bigger glare, crossing skinny arms over a lithe body.
“The centre of town. Where everything seems to be happening. Isn’t that nice?”