Warren lay prostrate on the small bed, the soft down compressed from his weight made the mattress ooze up around him like a cocoon. He couldn't sleep, his mind whirling from the rip, landing in the sewer pipe, the Turkish Bath experience, then trudging through the filth of the streets to their present location; it hasn't been 24-hours yet since they left 1888. (There is a week lag time between the primary rip and the rip tail they were part of this jump.)
The only proof they had indeed leaped back in time was the newspapers he read, while sitting downstairs in the pub. The Evening News, dated November 1883, the pale blue paper was crisp from just being delivered an hour prior to their arrival.
It was still hard to fathom, things weren't that different and he, himself, didn't feel younger, but Jack said that wouldn't be so.
The traveler didn't age rapidly just because they moved forward in time and the same in reverse.
In a way, it was as if time stood still or slowed to the point that they moved in between the seconds of time and everything around them changed at hyper-speed.
He didn't understand that word 'hyper', but so many terms were strange, unfamiliar, not to mention perplexing.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling, the dim glow from the street lamp below their window cast a faint light. The low snore in the bed a few feet away was somehow comforting; his companion is odd, but Warren imagined the 'mission or quest' this man has been on has skewed his outlook. In the short time he's been associated with Jack, his own perspectives and views of the world have been turned upside down.
With no idea of what the future holds, Warren anticipates an exciting journey of discoveries. He has grossly underestimated that conclusion.
20160929
20160915
Man vs. Beast
Dr. Jeykell sat quietly, reading his notes on the last experiment. The test subject, a rhesus macaque monkey, had exhibited very little change, if any. Expecting a dramatic outcome, the Doctor was frustrated by his recent efforts to release the base animal urges of the monkey.
Charles Darwin and the British Parliament would've been horrified by the Doctor's blatant disregard of the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1876.
Pulling the creature from it's confinement, Dr. Jeykell injected another dose of his mixture; the milky liquid disappeared from the syringe into the tiny pulsing vein, causing him to struggle and whine.
After rubbing the injection spot and stroking the coarse hair of subject A, back into the cage it went, receiving a piece of cut up fruit as a reward. The monkey's small leather like hand reached out for more of the sweet, juicy treat; the metal grating prevented it from getting more than a few inches though.
The Doctor's voice was low and soothing, "Now little one, let's see how you do with this new mixture."
Man and beast stared at each other. The monkey making little sounds similar to whimpers with each attempt to coerce more food from his captor; large, round, and soulful eyes stared up at the thick spectacles, which made the Doctor's eyes seem giant and menacing.
After two hours, the Doctor, seeing no reaction or any notable changes, slumped on his lab stool. Leaning over, resting his elbows on his worn experiment table, Dr. Jeykell shoved tired hands into his premature graying shock of hair. A man of forty-six, he had a history of bad health, with his heart troubling him of late.
"This has got to work. I must find the answer... the key is here, somewhere."
Turning the lights out as he exits his lab, Dr. Jeykell headed to his private rooms, after carefully locking the heavy wooden door.
Shortly after his departure, a hissing growl came from the cage, the small leather-like hands had grown long nails, rattling and shaking the metal structure with fierce anger...
Charles Darwin and the British Parliament would've been horrified by the Doctor's blatant disregard of the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1876.
Pulling the creature from it's confinement, Dr. Jeykell injected another dose of his mixture; the milky liquid disappeared from the syringe into the tiny pulsing vein, causing him to struggle and whine.
After rubbing the injection spot and stroking the coarse hair of subject A, back into the cage it went, receiving a piece of cut up fruit as a reward. The monkey's small leather like hand reached out for more of the sweet, juicy treat; the metal grating prevented it from getting more than a few inches though.
The Doctor's voice was low and soothing, "Now little one, let's see how you do with this new mixture."
Man and beast stared at each other. The monkey making little sounds similar to whimpers with each attempt to coerce more food from his captor; large, round, and soulful eyes stared up at the thick spectacles, which made the Doctor's eyes seem giant and menacing.
After two hours, the Doctor, seeing no reaction or any notable changes, slumped on his lab stool. Leaning over, resting his elbows on his worn experiment table, Dr. Jeykell shoved tired hands into his premature graying shock of hair. A man of forty-six, he had a history of bad health, with his heart troubling him of late.
"This has got to work. I must find the answer... the key is here, somewhere."
Turning the lights out as he exits his lab, Dr. Jeykell headed to his private rooms, after carefully locking the heavy wooden door.
Shortly after his departure, a hissing growl came from the cage, the small leather-like hands had grown long nails, rattling and shaking the metal structure with fierce anger...
20160908
Golden Waves
Sitting in her small room, staff quarters in the women's ward, Grace brushes her long golden hair; waves are pulled straight and then spring back from being in a tight braid all day.
Letting her mind wander, she recalls sitting in front of an open fire at her parents house, warm and comforting, but always a fear that they would be hunted.
Vampires were not a strange occurrence, but they were feared and many villagers didn't trust them. Once the taste of flesh was made, a vampire could lapse into uncontrollable blood lust if other measures were not taken.
Grace had never given into the impulses, unlike her sister Stella; in that case it was self-defense, from years of enduring the lust of their older brother. Grace didn't fault her sibling for her actions, but it changed their lives forever.
The villagers would have tried to kill Grace, but the greater danger was their own parents, so they fled, and eventually befriended Jack and Norman... a blessing and a curse.
Letting her mind wander, she recalls sitting in front of an open fire at her parents house, warm and comforting, but always a fear that they would be hunted.
Vampires were not a strange occurrence, but they were feared and many villagers didn't trust them. Once the taste of flesh was made, a vampire could lapse into uncontrollable blood lust if other measures were not taken.
Grace had never given into the impulses, unlike her sister Stella; in that case it was self-defense, from years of enduring the lust of their older brother. Grace didn't fault her sibling for her actions, but it changed their lives forever.
The villagers would have tried to kill Grace, but the greater danger was their own parents, so they fled, and eventually befriended Jack and Norman... a blessing and a curse.
20160901
London vs. Melbourne
The Holloway Castle Inn had a small pub on the ground floor with rooms on the next two levels. An older establishment, the wooden bar surround was festooned with framed photos and other memorabilia. The owner stood in the middle of the enclosure, almost like a cage of wood, glasses, bottles, and a few rum kegs; a tattered cricket banner, from 1882, hung not so proudly behind the register. A bitter game against the Australians and London loosing again, on their own turf, soured the locals and the games hence forth between the two countries would be called 'The Ashes.'
Laughing in a hearty, jovial manner, Mr. Croup eyed the two new comers, waving them over. He really hoped they weren't Ozzies.
"Welcome gents, what can I get you? See you have luggage, need a room?" The man's reddish, round face was like a beach ball piled on top of an even bigger ball that formed his body; a shock of dark hair greased back didn't help.
Warren smiled as he leaned on the counter, "A room and a pint sounds great."
"How long do ya' plan to stay?" Mr. Croup relieved to hear a familiar accent, grinned wide.
Turning to look at his seemingly distracted companion, Warren wonders himself.
Jack gives the appearance of an absent-minded and aloof character, but he was scanning the room.
"A fort-night, possibly longer... can you accommodate us?" Jack looked sideways at Mr. Croup; the great rotund figure made him slightly ill.
"Certainly, certainly... you're notta' Londoner." Mr. Croup looks at Jack's back and then smiles at Warren; he's not sure this man isn't running from the law.
"No, he isn't... a recent transplant; I'm from the country myself. We have business here, so... the room?"
Stepping out from behind the bar corral, Mr. Croup puffs as he leads them up the narrow stairs. It's a miracle he fits.
The room is small with two single beds and a wash basin, a view on to the street below adds the only ambiance.
"Perfect. Have you had any other guests take rooms here in the last few days?" Jack doubts Norman is here, but.
"No, last came in about a week ago, he left yesterday; you expecting someone?"
Mr. Croup handed Warren the key and looked dubious at Jack.
"We're meeting some friends, colleagues, but they may not have made it here yet."
"Well, 'appy to have 'em; that'll be 10 and 6. Meals are served at 7 for guests."
Warren hands the money to Mr. Croup, who departs, waddling through the door as a 'thank you' is murmured.
Letting his bags drop, Jack pulls back the curtains and gazes out the window. A thick fog of black pollution, created by soot and ashes, makes the night seem like an abyss. Street lights glow faintly in the haze, but the prison is lit up like a factory.
"What now?" Warren takes off his coat, brushing some of the soot ash that hand collected on the shoulders.
"We have that pint, my friend, and listen to the gossip."
Jack grins as he flings his coat across a small wooden chair; a small cloud of dust poufs up from the floor. The filth of Victorian London is everywhere.
"Use that clever, inquiring detective's mind to root out any details of unusual happenings in the last week or so, in this or the nearby areas."
"Well, that Sir, I can do!" Warren laughs as they head downstairs for that pint.
Laughing in a hearty, jovial manner, Mr. Croup eyed the two new comers, waving them over. He really hoped they weren't Ozzies.
"Welcome gents, what can I get you? See you have luggage, need a room?" The man's reddish, round face was like a beach ball piled on top of an even bigger ball that formed his body; a shock of dark hair greased back didn't help.
Warren smiled as he leaned on the counter, "A room and a pint sounds great."
"How long do ya' plan to stay?" Mr. Croup relieved to hear a familiar accent, grinned wide.
Turning to look at his seemingly distracted companion, Warren wonders himself.
Jack gives the appearance of an absent-minded and aloof character, but he was scanning the room.
"A fort-night, possibly longer... can you accommodate us?" Jack looked sideways at Mr. Croup; the great rotund figure made him slightly ill.
"Certainly, certainly... you're notta' Londoner." Mr. Croup looks at Jack's back and then smiles at Warren; he's not sure this man isn't running from the law.
"No, he isn't... a recent transplant; I'm from the country myself. We have business here, so... the room?"
Stepping out from behind the bar corral, Mr. Croup puffs as he leads them up the narrow stairs. It's a miracle he fits.
The room is small with two single beds and a wash basin, a view on to the street below adds the only ambiance.
"Perfect. Have you had any other guests take rooms here in the last few days?" Jack doubts Norman is here, but.
"No, last came in about a week ago, he left yesterday; you expecting someone?"
Mr. Croup handed Warren the key and looked dubious at Jack.
"We're meeting some friends, colleagues, but they may not have made it here yet."
"Well, 'appy to have 'em; that'll be 10 and 6. Meals are served at 7 for guests."
Warren hands the money to Mr. Croup, who departs, waddling through the door as a 'thank you' is murmured.
Letting his bags drop, Jack pulls back the curtains and gazes out the window. A thick fog of black pollution, created by soot and ashes, makes the night seem like an abyss. Street lights glow faintly in the haze, but the prison is lit up like a factory.
"What now?" Warren takes off his coat, brushing some of the soot ash that hand collected on the shoulders.
"We have that pint, my friend, and listen to the gossip."
Jack grins as he flings his coat across a small wooden chair; a small cloud of dust poufs up from the floor. The filth of Victorian London is everywhere.
"Use that clever, inquiring detective's mind to root out any details of unusual happenings in the last week or so, in this or the nearby areas."
"Well, that Sir, I can do!" Warren laughs as they head downstairs for that pint.
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| Public Domain, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2480305 |
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