The Timelord & The Prophet
Prologue
St. Mary’s Orphanage was small in comparison to others in the region. It was made of dark bricks with a marble statue of the holy mother herself looming atop the roof. Not far from the doorstep sat a girl with dark locks of hair just reaching her shoulders. Peach chalk dust rose up sprinkling itself on her uniform. Her delicate hands drew the gaunt face of the man with thick hair that consumed her mind. A forgotten notebook laid beside her, open to a page where a drawing of the stranger approaching, was clearly visible. Black hair hung closely around his thin face, a cane sprang out with each step he took, his suit jacket billowing out behind him. His name was Death and his shiny shoes came to a stop mere inches from the mural of a garden the girl had drawn. Amid the garden were white blocks as markers for the angels that watched nervously overhead. His soulless eyes swept across the mural before swinging upward, a small scowl biting at his lips. The lord’s firstborns were such nosy little brats.
The girl shook her long bangs out of her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Hello Death.” She greeted with a smile. His eyes met hers but his head remained raised for a moment. “I told the angels not to worry, that you’re just here to talk but..” she trailed off in a shrug, turning her attention to the chalk drawing.
Death studied her curiously. She was so indifferent to what he was. Then again she was a child and her innocence could easily be idiocy. His eyes glided to what she was working on before gluing onto her again. “Do you know who you are?” he asked, his empty voice echoed through the silent night.
The chalk paused in her small hand as she looked up. “I’ m no one yet.” She began, sitting up. “Pastor Jim will name me Jocelyn and raise me to hunt as he does. After I turn 18, I’ll leave and never see him again…because of what I do with Dean Winchester.” Setting the peach chalk aside, she grabbed the notebook with both hands and flipped through the pages. She stopped on a picture of woman in her mid-thirties with wavy brown hair and a tanktop with ‘Led Zepplin’ on it in faded words. “But I’ll meet Pamela who’s like me, so I adopt her last name – Barnes.” She stroked the page with affection then glanced up at Death. “I’ll be Jocelyn Barnes.” She finished proudly.
“Pamela Barnes.” Death repeated, studying the drawing before returning his attention to the girl. “Explain how she’s like you.”
“She’s psychic too!”
“There’s a substantial difference between a physic and a prophet.”
She tilted her head, staring at him blankly. “What does sub-sandwhich-tial mean?” she asked.
Naïve indeed, Death decided. “…You’re not the same.” He said shortly. Biting her lip, she stared at him a moment longer then picked up the peach chalk and continued to draw. “…Who is Jocelyn Barnes?” he asked, wondering just how advanced her God-given gift was.
“Me silly.” She answered without looking up.
Death never did have patience for the hairless apes. “…And what else?” he pressed.
Now she understood but still she didn’t meet his gaze. “Escort to the Timelord.” She said.
“The Doctor.” Death mused.
“Mm-hmm..” she hummed. “It’s why you’re here. Poking,” Her dark eyes hesitantly met his. “for your long lost son.”
Emotionless as ever, Death was unmoved. “Tell me what you know.”
“The Timelords were your version of children weren’t they? But the Doctor had to blow them up..for the good of Earth…over there..” she waved her hand in place of ‘another dimension’ which wasn’t quite in her vocabulary yet. A sad gleam coated her eyes as she looked down at the uncompleted chalk-drawing of the Doctor. “The Doctor’s the last one left. What he did haunts him, but it fuels him to help others, no matter where they are or what they are.” A smile sprouted on her lips the same instant that a frown grew on Death’s face.
The end of his cane found the base of her chin and raised her head so he could get a good look at her. “You consider the Doctor a hero?” Death asked. With some difficulty, she nodded. Death studied her long and hard. “Don’t.” he said retracting his cane. Turning on his heel, Death began to walk away but the moment she blinked her eyes, he had disappeared.
The girl shook her long bangs out of her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Hello Death.” She greeted with a smile. His eyes met hers but his head remained raised for a moment. “I told the angels not to worry, that you’re just here to talk but..” she trailed off in a shrug, turning her attention to the chalk drawing.
Death studied her curiously. She was so indifferent to what he was. Then again she was a child and her innocence could easily be idiocy. His eyes glided to what she was working on before gluing onto her again. “Do you know who you are?” he asked, his empty voice echoed through the silent night.
The chalk paused in her small hand as she looked up. “I’ m no one yet.” She began, sitting up. “Pastor Jim will name me Jocelyn and raise me to hunt as he does. After I turn 18, I’ll leave and never see him again…because of what I do with Dean Winchester.” Setting the peach chalk aside, she grabbed the notebook with both hands and flipped through the pages. She stopped on a picture of woman in her mid-thirties with wavy brown hair and a tanktop with ‘Led Zepplin’ on it in faded words. “But I’ll meet Pamela who’s like me, so I adopt her last name – Barnes.” She stroked the page with affection then glanced up at Death. “I’ll be Jocelyn Barnes.” She finished proudly.
“Pamela Barnes.” Death repeated, studying the drawing before returning his attention to the girl. “Explain how she’s like you.”
“She’s psychic too!”
“There’s a substantial difference between a physic and a prophet.”
She tilted her head, staring at him blankly. “What does sub-sandwhich-tial mean?” she asked.
Naïve indeed, Death decided. “…You’re not the same.” He said shortly. Biting her lip, she stared at him a moment longer then picked up the peach chalk and continued to draw. “…Who is Jocelyn Barnes?” he asked, wondering just how advanced her God-given gift was.
“Me silly.” She answered without looking up.
Death never did have patience for the hairless apes. “…And what else?” he pressed.
Now she understood but still she didn’t meet his gaze. “Escort to the Timelord.” She said.
“The Doctor.” Death mused.
“Mm-hmm..” she hummed. “It’s why you’re here. Poking,” Her dark eyes hesitantly met his. “for your long lost son.”
Emotionless as ever, Death was unmoved. “Tell me what you know.”
“The Timelords were your version of children weren’t they? But the Doctor had to blow them up..for the good of Earth…over there..” she waved her hand in place of ‘another dimension’ which wasn’t quite in her vocabulary yet. A sad gleam coated her eyes as she looked down at the uncompleted chalk-drawing of the Doctor. “The Doctor’s the last one left. What he did haunts him, but it fuels him to help others, no matter where they are or what they are.” A smile sprouted on her lips the same instant that a frown grew on Death’s face.
The end of his cane found the base of her chin and raised her head so he could get a good look at her. “You consider the Doctor a hero?” Death asked. With some difficulty, she nodded. Death studied her long and hard. “Don’t.” he said retracting his cane. Turning on his heel, Death began to walk away but the moment she blinked her eyes, he had disappeared.
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