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When Hathaway went to check out the little alley during their recent case, he never expected what happened to him next.
In the alley, there was a Police Box. One of those blue ones that he had only known from books or stories told by older colleagues back when he'd been a recruit. Trying to see if the door opened, Hathaway was surprised to find a room behind it, bigger than was physically possible. That was, at least to his knowledge.
Closing the door behind him, Hathaway noticed a console that took up a lot of space in the room with stairs leading to and from the platform around it. At the console, he finally noticed a man standing slightly behind its main pillar. The man looked up and stared at Hathaway. He was slender, had short hair, which was styled in a way that seemed to Hathaway to belong in a 1950s movie. His clothes were different though, the black trousers, blue shirt and tweet jacket almost made him looked like a professor from the University. The bowtie that completed the ensemble only increased the impression he gave.
“Hello,” the man said. “I'm the Doctor.”
“This isn't a police box,” Hathaway said then, as he noticed the dimensions of the room, he stated, “This room shouldn't fit inside.”
“Yet it does,” the Doctor said and threw a lever. “Clever one, you are.” Smiling, he added, “You're in the TARDIS, my ship. TARDIS stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.”
There was a sound coming from the console and something seemed to be moving inside it. While Hathaway couldn't see outside, he was sure that the police box was moving.
“Where are we going?” Hathaway asked. “I need to get back to my crime scene. My governor will be looking for me.”
“Crime scene?” the Doctor asked and looked at the console. “Old girl, did you pick up a copper?”
Not quite sure how to react to that, he introduced himself, “Detective Sergeant Hathaway.”
The Doctor walked over to him and eyed him up close. “Detective Sergeant Hathaway,” he repeated, accentuating every word in a rather peculiar manner. “Where is this crime scene and when?”
“Blue Boar Street, by the Museum, April 27, 2012.”
“City?”
“Oxford, England,” Hathaway answered. “Why?”
Running back to the console, the Doctor replied, “Because I was just on the way to pick up two friends of mine who went to buy a book.” He threw the same lever as before and the movement at the console stopped. “Come, let's see where they are. Then I'll get you back home.”
*-*-*
Something had to be different. He was sure though, when he noticed double decker buses passing him and the Doctor. They weren't green like he was used to. They were red.
Before he could ask the Doctor though, they arrived at small bookshop and the Doctor disappeared down one of the aisles. Searching for him, or his unknown friends, Hathaway ran into a white-haired man browsing one of the bookshelves. The stranger was shorter than Lewis, with a bit of a beer belly, and wore a striped blue suit with a white shirt and a fitting tie.
“I'm sorry, Sir,” Hathaway said, apologising. Somehow, he had the feeling he knew this man from somewhere.
“Don't mention it. I'm just glad that someone finally showed up for my request,” the stranger said, his voice husky and a touch on the gravelly side. “Did you find something for me?”
Hathaway wanted to tell the stranger that he was mistaking him for one of the shop assistants and then continue searching for the Doctor in this bookshop, but somehow what came out of Hathaway's mouth was, “What were you searching for, Sir?”
“A beginner's book on philosophy and philosophical thinking. None of the standard text for study reading, more like an overview. It should be on the lighter side, also, not too difficult.”
“Is it for you or someone else? If it's the latter, which age group is it for, please?”
The stranger looked at Hathaway closely, taking in the sergeant's voice and posture. “Your age, maybe a bit older.”
“Have you considered 'Sophie's World'?”
“I don't know that book. What's it about?”
“Basically, it's a book about a girl, Sophie, who has a correspondence course about philosophy with Alberto, a philosopher. He later turns out to be Albert Knag, who is a major in a United Nations peacekeeping unit stationed in Lebanon. The story covers the Pre-Socratics up to Sartre. In the course of the story, it turns out that the girl and the philosopher aren't real, but a literary construction by Albert Knag as a present for his daughter, Hilde, on her 15th birthday. It's actually quite clever.”
“A story within a story then. Not bad. Do you have a copy?”
Hathaway looked around, trying to find a copy, since they were in the philosophy section of the bookstore. Luckily, they had one.
“There, Sir,” he said, handing the strange the book.
“Thank you.” Taking the book, he began to browse the pages.
Leaving the stranger to his own devices, Hathaway walked back to where he came from, leaving the aisle, when a man with a familiar face, but much younger than he normally was, walked past him, stopping at the stranger Hathaway had assisted. When Hathaway heard the other man's voice, he was sure he had passed by, which was confirmed by the stranger's answer.
“There you are, Sir. Have you found what you were looking for?”
“Yes, Lewis,” the stranger said, “I actually have.”
*-*-*
As he browsed the shelves, he noticed a book he hadn't seen before lying on the coffee table. Picking it up, it turned out to be a copy of 'Sophie's World'. Curious, Hathaway had a look inside. The book must have been one of the first hardcover editions, considering its age. A look at the inside cover made his blood run cold. It read: Regards, E. Morse.
“Didn't know you had a copy of 'Sophie's World',” Hathaway said when Lewis returned with the beers.
“Morse gave that to me ages ago. Val used it to read some of it to our Lyn. Somehow, the case reminded me of that time. Odd, eh?”
Hathaway didn't quite know how to respond to that without telling Lewis the whole story, so he just nodded and drank a sip of his beer.
END