The room was dark, save for a single light hanging from the tall ceiling. The light cast strange shadows about the room, leaving an eerie sense of foreboding. The women gazed, wild-eyed, about the space, her figure trembling slightly as her gaze rested on the bed. The Doctor, however, was oblivious to the panicked woman and stepped further inside the spacious room.

"There's no door," he said after a long silence.

"What?" The woman jerked her gaze from bed to look about the room. He was right, there was no door leading out; they were trapped.

"What is this place?" The Doctor muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. With another glance about the eerie room, he noticed a long desk propped up against the far side of a wall with piles of books stacked on top of each other. He strode over and picked up the first book on the stack, and brushed away the thick dust that obscured the title.

"The Bad Wolf," he whispered in surprise.

The woman could see the book he held and felt her heart constrict. She recognized the book and knew that what was contained inside the pages was the writings of a mad man. Her gaze wandered back to the bed where the bloodied restraints dangled at the bedside. The memories she had so wished to repress, were now slowly ebbing back to the forefront of her mind. She recalled how the metal had dug into her wrists, remembered the endless nights gripped in the agony of the nightmares.

She found herself standing by the bedside, looking down at the pristine white sheets, only they were not white, but red. The sheets were stained red and shredded as if a wild animal had been unleashed. But the memory faded and the bed was white and whole one again. She reached down and took the restraints into her hand. There were still bits of blood crusted long the cloth, a firm reminder of what had transpired.

"Read this," a firm voice jostled her from her thoughts, and she looked up into the green eyes. He held the book out to her, expecting her to take it, but she found she could not move. The thought of touching the thin pages revolted her.

"What is it?" She asked instead.

"It's a journal," he said after a pause, noting her clenched fists. He flipped through the pages until he picked a random entry in the middle, and then began to read her nightmare aloud.

"Day 50. The experiment has proven fruitful, though the adrenalin injections have caused the subject's heart to stop completely, she has managed to resuscitate herself without assistance. This goes to further prove my theory of the Wolf. It, however still lies dormant, but with time, I am sure I can bring the Wolf to its full potential."

The woman's lips thinned, her fingers deftly roaming the lining of the bed.

"What else does it say?" She asked softly, determined to avoid his eyes.

"It goes on and on about the experiments. There seems to be no resolution, only that the author hopes each new experiment will be the final one…" he stopped suddenly, and when she looked up she saw his eyes wildly skimming the pages.

"What is it?" She asked breathless, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Silently he lay the book down on the bed, the first page glaring up at her. He then took from his jacket pocket the page he had ripped from the book in the long hallway and lay the thin paper beside the book. Her name was printed on both pieces of paper.

Day 1, the first entry read, the subject, Rose Tyler, has been successfully restrained, and we begin with the first experiment.

"Dear gods," he breathed, running his fingers aggressively through his hair.

She leveled her gaze at him, but he no longer knew she stood before him. He was lost to his mind, where a single name echoed soundlessly. He continued to skim the two pages, rereading, again and again, the name that had haunted them both for years.

Slowly she asked again, "who was she?"

For a moment he did not answer but continued to flip through the book, searching.

"She…she was a friend of mine…many, many, years ago…" he replied hastily, his eyes never leaving the printings in the book.

She watched him scramble for the answer he desperately wanted; that the name printed on the pages was not the girl he had once known. She waited for the realization, waited for him to look up at her with recognition. Her hands fisted themselves in the sheets, twisting them as she continued to watch him read the book. But the moments ticked by, and no such moment came. Finally, unnerved by his silence, she walked around the bed to peer down over his shoulder.

"What do you see?" She asked impatiently.

He straightened slowly, then flipped the book back to the first page.

"Look," he pointed at the printed name, then flips to another page, "her name is mentioned again," and flips to through a few more pages, "and the last time her name is written."

The women frowned, the author's writing had been hurried which made the words difficult to read, but her name was clear against the white page.

"So?" She asked, true confusion marring her brow.

"Look what he says on the next page." He turns the page to reveal the next entry.

Day 115. Each day brings us one step closer. The Wolf continues to lie dormant, and I believe it is the subjects doing that keeps the Wolf locked away. Somehow she can keep the beast from rising. It is her will against ours, but the Wolf is now starting to fight against her too. Some days the creature wins, and others the Wolf. There are two souls fighting inside one body, and when the Wolf wins there is a catastrophic change. We have had to move this creature to a more substantial room as the building was almost burned to the ground. We must be careful in our next step. The Wolf is desperate, it is fighting desperately for release, but this creature wishes to keep it to herself. She thinks she is master of the body, the soul keeper, so now we must find a way to suppress her mind to release the Wolf.

The woman leaned away from the bed, a flood of memories flashed before her eyes. She felt sick. She saw and felt the pain, remembered the desperate attempts to keep the beast locked away, trying to keep those mad people from releasing what they did not understand.

"He writes as if she is no longer human…" His voice jostled her, and she thanked the gods his back turned so she could wipe away the tears that had escaped down her face.

"He no longer considers her human…she isn't human…" he continues to read, and she considers ripping the book to shreds. She doesn't want him to see, nor does she wish to remember anything that transpired during those days. Desperate for control, she clasps a hand over her mouth to hide the tremble of fear and regret.

"No longer human," she says aloud, clearing her tight throat, "how is that even possible?"

How well she knew.

But he shook his head, his eyes now fixated on the wall in front of him, anger now bristling in them.

"They hurt her…" she heard him whisper. Then with sudden precision, he gathered the book and paper to his chest, determination tightening his jaw.

"What are you doing?" She asked, uncertain of how to comprehend the man before her.

"We need to find Clara." He shoved the paper into the pocket in his jacket, the book still clenched in his hand.

The woman raises her brows, "And what of your friend?"

He turns to face her, his face grim.

"You are right. Something is exceedingly wrong with this place." With that, he strode back to the table and began to examine the remaining books.

She watches him, trying to grasp his reasoning.

"Is that all? You find your friend was tortured, experimented on, and you walk away?" The disgust in her voice was palpable.

"No," he gazed back at her with conviction, "my friend did not live in this world…or rather…she was trapped in a parallel universe. Do you know what those are?" but before she could answer he rattled on, his voice rising as he spoke, "they are specialized forms of altered universes created by every decision we've ever made. There are millions if not billions of them, and once Time Lords might have been able to jump to those moments, but as of now it is impossible. This," he holds up the book, his arm shaking with anger, "this book shows the very moments that were passed in this room. Not only does it appear that we have crossed universes, but we have also entered a very specific moment in time. Among everything, we have entered this very moment, as if on purpose. This cannot be an accident," he stated to himself, but he looks up at her in the span of a second, a soft look on his face.

"But you were right. Something is coming, and whatever it is, I believe has found us."

Skeptically she asks, "what do you mean?"

"I mean," he takes a step toward her, his face now solemn, "I did not put my trust in you before, but now…it comes to this. Something powerful is pulling us toward a certain moment, and for whatever reason is revealing these moments very specifically. Clara could be in more danger than I realized." He makes a move to move past her, but stalls a moment as his eyes glance down at the books stacked neatly on the wooden table.

"Why here…why now…" he murmurs, entranced by the book's bindings.

She waited in silence, waiting for the moment to come, for him to look up at her, to see the recognition in his eyes, but the moment passed and the silence echoed throughout the room.

"Why would this thing show us these moments?" She asked when she could no longer bear the silence, and after a moment in thought, she continued.

"First we find the book with your friend's name, then we find this room and the journal. What is it about Rose that keeps bringing us back to her?"

It was a daring question, one she wished she could take back, but she wondered just how much he would speak of Rose if she kept prying.

He sighed, a tight expression narrowed his eyes; how tired he looked.

"The Bad Wolf," he began to explain, "you saw those words back on the TARDIS. It was her signal of a warning. She once absorbed the vortex energy…she saved my life, but at a cost. She became a god, and she altered time itself. I had to take the energy from her, but she had already changed. When I took back the energy, it wiped her memories of the incident, but something remained. I was never sure of it then, but now…" he stopped, his voice giving slightly as the memories of the past replayed in his mind.

"Now?" she urged.

He looked at her solemnly.

"Whatever was there inside her was asleep, but now it has woken it up."

"Poor girl," was all she could utter, but after a thought asked, "you believe she's alive? After all this time?"

"Where we are, there is no time. We are in the past; the next room could be the future. She should have died more than a few centuries ago, but as of now…" a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth, "yes I think she is alive."

He turned, signaling the end of the conversation, but before he could get away she asked.

"Why won't you say her name?"

He paused a moment but continued as if he did not hear.

"You going to ignore me now?" She persisted, refusing to left unanswered.

But he did not reply, only kept walking toward the farthest wall where he remained, studying the dull gray paint.

"There is nothing there." She snapped, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

After a moment, he turned back to give her a sly grin.

"Never dismiss the hidden things."

He stepped toward a large wooden cabinet that stood lonely beside him, then with a hard shove, a door was revealed.

"My turn," he said simply, then turned the knob. A white light ebbed across her vision and a familiar sound of crashing waves resounded through her senses.

Note: I rewrote this chapter too many times, and finally decided on this. Not completely happy with it, but I really want to finish this story. So I hope you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think. Stay safe!