I walk through the doors of a comic book shop. At a small table not too far in front of the doors sat Matt Smith.
"Doctor!" I blurt. "Gosh, I mean Matt Smith. Can I have your autograph?"
Matt looks up at me from his seat. "Well, I was just wrapping up, So no." He scoots his chair out and stands. "Besides, I know who you are, Ms. Dodge. I also know what you think of me and I know you'd rather have David's name on paper."
"I would like to have Tennet's name, yes. But you are the Doctor too," I said confused. "I don't know what you think or why you think it, but I have always liked you." (For the record, I have always liked Matt Smith as the Doctor. The moment he put that Bow-tie on and faced down a giant eyeball, I was in it.)
"That's a shame," he says. "That we cannot get along."
"What?" I'm dumbfounded, confused, and upset.
Matt points towards the inside of the building. "You'll find them all there. Well, not Capaldi or Whitiker, but they are all in there. Have fun. You won't get me." he turns and walks away.
I can't express how heart-broken I am at his words. And that he was a jerk about it. In a daze, I wander over to the area that Matt Smith pointed out. I'm thrown into another round of confusion. At a long table (set up as if for a long line of fans getting autographs) are four Doctors. But each one is having an issue with decay. Hartnell's face is black, green and mostly missing. I can tell it's him becuase of his hair and clothes that are also rotting away slowly. Next to him, Troughton and his face is similar. I can tell its Troughton becuase of the clothes and wig. Of course, Pertwee was next in line but he had more life in him. I didn't need to look at his clothes to know it was him. His hair was fine and only half his face was suffering from necrotic influence. The fourth Doctor that was sitting at the table was a mystery. I could not decipher his face, his clothes were a mix of many Doctors, his hair was messy and undefined. But the other three Doctors kept calling him "Baker." However, I knew it wasn't. I didn't know how I did. But I didn't just know it. I was stone solid that it was no Baker at that table.
"Sorry, excuse me. But which Baker?" I interrupted them. I wanted to know who they thought they were talking too. The moment I ask this, the fourth man lowers his head, sighs, and shakes his head.
"Tom, of course," says Pertwee.
"I thought it was Connor," says Hartnell.
"Connor? Where ever did you get Connor? It's Tom," says Pertwee.
"Baker's a Baker," says Troughton.
"There are two Baker's," I say. "Is it Tom or Colin?"
"Sweet lady, says Hartnell. "I assure you our colleague's name is-in fact-Connor."
"Jon says the other Baker is Colin not Connor," says Troughton.
"No, that Baker's first name is Colin, Bill. It's Colin!" corrects Pertwee.
I look over at the fourth man. He is still shaking his head in frustration but he isn't saying or doing anything to correct the others. I certainly can't figure out why he won't tell his identity. But now my focus is on the fourth man, and as distractions go at least these Doctors are speaking to me normally and not being jerks. "All right you three, listen up," I say with authority. "There is no Baker here. There's no Baker, Tom or otherwise! Now, who is the fourth man?"
"Yes!" They all say at the same time. The fourth man chuckles but keeps his head down.
I smack the table, I'm so frustrated. It alarms the three man and now I have their complete undivided attention.
"Now, look here, young lady-"
I cut off Hartnell who was going to lecture me about slamming the table. "You three will tell me the identity of the fourth man at this table!" I demand.
Finally, the three of them give him the eyeball. They turn to him and spend some decent time looking him over and staying silent while they do it. Finally, Troughton breaks the silence. "You know, we don't know him."
"Well, how do you like-not Tom," says Pertwee. "I would know."
"I do believe it's undecided, my dear," says Hartnell. "It appears she hasn't decided yet. That must be why he's wearing strange clothes."
"Fruit? What's the Fruit about?' asks Pertwee. "Budget cuts again?"
"That's nothing!" says Troughton. "The Sonic was replaced with sun shades and a spoon!" All three men spend a moment to huff and shift awkwardly in their chairs. Obviously not happy about the sun shades, spoon, and fruit. It was like watching old men complaining about "these hoodlums these days" Then, I quickly wondered if this is what goes on in the head of the Doctor. That thought was interrupted.
"You know, young lady, you have been one of the very few to stop at our table and ask for our autographs. I'm sorry we can't give them to you," says Hartnell.
"She's full of fire," says Troughton. I think he tried to leer but it didn't work out so well.
Pertwee pushed him back into his chair. "Listen, the fourth man at this table is not from our era. He has that new T.A.R.D.I.S. smell and he's too young to be a Doctor."
"He's not young!" objected Troughton. "Add a wig and fancy make-up, I could be 35 again."
"Bollucks!" says Pertwee.
"Language!" says Hartnell.
Troughton mumbles and shifts in his seat. He puts on an air of disinterest now.
"My dear," starts Hartnell. "It appears we cannot agree on the identity of the fourth man. And we believe that she has not decided on whom to withdraw from the pool of the living. So, you must be satisfied with the only information we have: which is another Doctor will be dead within the year and it won't be a Baker."
I was shocked, heartbroken, and confused. In a daze, I simply thanked them and walked away further into the building. But I was so upset, I woke myself up.
1. I know it's not a Baker.
2. They said it isn't from their "Era." I assume this implies that the next death of a Doctor will not be a classic Doctor but a modern one.
3. Male. It isn't Whitiker.
4. Is fruit, sun shades, and spoon a clue? Or was that a legit huffing session from the Old Guard sitting around complaining about the new boys in town? Becuase personally, I don't think it's Capaldi. But that means nothing.
5. What was the purpose of the appearance of Matt Smith? If it turns out that we lose Matt Smith, I'm legit gonna cry until my stomach retches from my body.
6. Please, please, please, let this be a stupid nightmare and I'm an idiot. I want to be an idiot!