Distortion of Time

Time is a dimension unseen; by watching a clock and the second hand ticking around, we observe the passing of time, but is it really? The sun moves across the sky and it becomes dark, showing the day has passed, but how long is that, really? Calculations and equations, theories and facts, everything that is believed can be shattered in less than a moment...of time.
Jack hated dragging Warren with him, but there are still a few things left to finish before meeting Norman; letting Warren on the loose would put too many people at risk.
The horses came to a halt, following the 'whoa' of the driver. Jack exited the carriage and told the driver to wait. Once again he pressed the 'gadget', after setting the timer (controls length of event),...this time he waited to observe the strange stillness. How odd to move in between the seconds, to exist on a plain as though he were a ghost. Time didn't actually stop, in a way, it went into hyper-speed for him and what took minutes were only nanoseconds for everyone else.
Going to his room, he washed his face and changed clothes. What a relief to put on his travel coat, he was ready to go, leave this time period. Bags were already packed in preparation for a quick departure; two carpet bags held all he owned or needed for these 'flights' through time.
One more task to complete besides getting Warren home. The parasite had to be destroyed; the host may not survive either...it would be unfortunate, but how many others died needlessly because of Norman?
Jack left money on the dresser and blew out the lamp. Down the stairs and out the front door, slipping the latch key through the letter box. No unfinished business here.
Back in the carriage, Jack pats Warren's leg. Hey! he says quietly, how are you doing? Warren's mind feels like someone used a whisk on it. I...I'm...not sure. There are...flashing prisms...and orbs swirling....rocking my vision. Warren bends forward and hangs his head. I feel like...I'm going to...vomit. Jack scoots across to sit next to Warren. Putting an arm around his friend, he wonders why such a response since it should not affect anyone, other than mild disorientation for those closest to phenomenon (like forgetting what you were just doing.) It will get better, soon...sit back and try closing your eyes. Warren relaxes and drifts into a fog...darkness upon darkness...no, no, this isn't where I should be. Warren struggles and claws at the black...NO! his own voice wakes him. Mrs. Bennett grabs Warren by the shoulders. Oh, Mistar Warren, I twer plum worried 'bout you. Thrashing and talk'n in yer sleep. Your friend said you'd taken ill, sudden like; over worked, poor dear. Said you needed rest. Mrs. Bennett stifles a yawn. Now you just lay yerself down and go back to sleep. You'll feel right as rain in the morn'n. No, I can't do that...I've got to get to Jack. Jack? Oh, you mean Mr. Jackson. He is fine and said not to worry, all would be taken care of. You don't understand...Oh, I understand all right, you need to rest and so do I. Land sakes, it's just about 4 a.m...