I just have to change history, I told myself over and over. Carter won't screw you over. I wanted to believe it so much. I felt connected to Carter from the moment we met, and it wasn't a bad feeling.
I sat up and released a measured breath. "I can do this. I am Clara Oswald from Doctor Who. I can fix things and go home to my school loans, mochas and yoga class."
My heart hurt when I thought of John, a man who only wanted his daughter back and had been duped so far by four women. I wished I were able to interpret my enhanced instincts better to determine what happened to the girls at the bottom of the well. Did someone else pity the old man and was killing off imposter daughters to protect him? Or did someone know the other girls and I were from a different time?
I began to calm. It seemed much more logical that someone like Philip - who wanted John's money - was behind all this than some time-traveling-murderer Carter failed to mention when he sent me back. I had a strong weapon I would be able to use to protect myself in the form of the empathic memories. I was able to read Philip's memories and would know when I was in danger. I would see him coming.
But the sheriff ... I couldn't read him. How awful would it be to be sent back in time to die alone? Had he tortured the others to learn their secrets? And who put their cell phones in the armoire?
My imagination grew darker, and I suppressed it. I couldn't believe everyone around me was bad. Some of this had to be explainable …
Maybe. Without real answers, I was going to drive myself crazy.
Thunder and lightning made the horse toss its head and whinny nervously. A spatter of rain hit me, and I realized we'd need to reach the Native Americans' village soon if I didn't want to end up drenched.
I pushed the horse into a smooth canter, squinting to see anything in the darkness that might indicate I was headed in the right direction. Thus far, no lanterns, fires or other light sources pierced the dark night.
Better to die out here than in a well. I swallowed back tears, beyond confused about what to think or do with what I had learned. The only thing that made sense was the reasoning behind my journey: to change history.
Lightning stabbed the ground too close for comfort. The horse reared, and I hung on for dear life. It dropped to the ground and bucked, unhappy about the storm.