Maid to Order-Chapter 7

  On top of the television was one of the ugliest telephones Sarah had ever seen. It was grey plastic with one of the old-fashioned twist-dials and its installation in the suite was odd in the extreme which forced her to speculate;
    "What are you doing here?"
  She regretfully extricated herself from the womb-like comfort of the couch ignoring the parrot's cries of "Never More!" and approached the offensive thing. Sarah squatted and examined the ugly interloper from each side, tracing its lead to the socket opposite the TV's. Experimentally, she placed her hand on the socket which, to her shock came-off in her grip!
  No alarm bells rang (at least not outside of her head) and agape, she looked at the wall behind the affectation. It was blank, plain plaster-no hole, no power cable. Aside from the power-less thing something else irked her. Why would someone with such an obvious sense of style and elan purposefully put something this plain and ugly in his room? Conclusion-he wouldn't, it couldn't be his doing! What was it that nagged at her mind? If it wasn't his idea to put the drab item in his suite then whose? Who had such little sense of 'appearance' that they would think the plain, grey, dated squawk-box would fit right in?
  Who or WHAT? Tentatively, almost hypnotically her hand reached-out, hovering above the reciever till it began to decend. Looking-back at the ice-bucket she gulped on a dry throat and plucked the reciever off its cradle, holding it to her ear.
  Silence-of course! What was she thinking? Then;
    "REPORT!"
  Sarah Jane Smith Froze. Her fist clamped tight on the reciever as she broke out in a cold sweat at the all-too familiar, grating tone. It was something she hoped she would never hear again!
  Sarah was paralysed with fear. Memories of sand under her feet, spaceships, trenches and a half-man/half machine thing called Davros battered her;
    "REPORT!" The cry echoed.
    The reporter slammed the reciever down and stumbled-back into the chair in one move. The chair rolled-back, striking the table a glancing blow which sent the house of cards fluttering to the floor like the first fall of Autumn;
    "Daleks!" She gasped. Whoever this mystery-man was, he was in league with the Daleks and their motives were never in question, "Iv'e got to tell someone!"
  The brunette frowned then as she saw the light in the room attain a strange, fluctuating quality. No, it seemed to be coming from outside. Looking-up, she could see the clouds moving-by at an alarming rate;
    "What the..?"
  The clock on the video flicked forwards as if turbo-charged and, pulling herself out of the chair, Sarah saw Jerry's back fleeing from her, around the pool at an alarming rate! What was happening? It was as if time had been speeded-up! No, she realised with finality, she'd been slowed-down...
    "No burglar-alarm." She groaned. A thought suddenly occured to her, if she'd been slowed-down then Magister's return would be suitably hastened! "I've got to get out of here!"
  To her horror Sarah found she seemed to be surrounded by a soft, impenetrable wall that only allowed her to move roughly ten feet in any direction, a vague heat-haze marking its boundary. She was trapped!