by Alexia James
There was a sudden flash, a feeling of falling and they were standing in a room with rough looking walls and bare floorboards. A bed lay against one side and a wooden desk against another.
“What the—how did—?” Freya stammered, gasped and tried to step back.
Jeremy slipped the phone into his pocket once more and pulled her towards the door. “It’s this way.”
She glimpsed a leaded window with fields beyond, glowing in afternoon sunshine, and knew that somehow they had gone back in time to the farmhouse.
He pulled her into a small bathroom and began undoing the buttons on her coat. Feeling too bemused to stop him, she blinked as he pulled out her keys and mobile. He slipped them into his pockets.
“Hey! Give those back.”
“In a minute, we need to clean that cut first.”
He deftly striped the wet coat from her, tossing it casually into the bath, the lint followed, and then he caught her elbow again, fingers biting in as he turned her to face the sink. The blood had slowed somewhat, but the cut was deep and jagged. He forced it straight under the tap.
“Ow! What, are you nuts? Let go! That stings like hell.”
“Shh, soon be done.”
“You patronising—” she bit the words off and elbowed him half-heartedly in the gut. “Don’t shush me, I’m not a child.”
“Then behave like an adult and clean that.” He backed off to lean against the doorframe, watching her face while the water ran red down the sink and the blood slowed to a trickle.
Glancing back at him, Freya got the feeling he was trying not to laugh. She pulled her wrist free of the water and studied the sluggish blood flow. “I think I’m done.”
He took a first aid kit from a cupboard and led her back to the bedroom. At the desk, he pulled out a chair. “Sit down.” His hand on her shoulder forced her compliance.
Freya felt her temper rise and then glanced at her torn open wrist. It hurt appallingly and she felt abruptly sick.
He dried around the cut, pulled the edges together deftly with Steri-strips and sprayed something from a can that took the majority of the pain. She felt relief flood through her as the pain receded and decided to let him get on with it as he clearly had some first aid knowledge.
“That’s better.” He straightened up allowing her to stand, while still not giving her a lot of room.
Freya got to her feet, surveying him warily as she struggled to contain a chaotic mixture of emotions. Relief at having the cut bound up contradicted with nerves over his sudden appearance and anger at his highhanded actions.
The loss of his body heat from her back made her feel suddenly cold and she looked up into dark eyes, serious on her face, and shivered. She blinked at him as her emotions took an unwelcome twist.
Anger followed swiftly, more than anger, sheer outrage at his actions in treating her as if she were some helpless fainting bit of fluff. She latched onto it immediately.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing grabbing me like that and where did you come from and how did we get here?” Her words ran together in a jumble and she scowled at him.
Jeremy exhaled and rubbed the heel of his hand briefly over his forehead. “Yes, I suppose it is now time we got to that. Where is your time device, Freya?”
“What?” she stared up at him, her mind blank with incomprehension. His words threw her off balance; not so much what he had said, but how he had said it. She had expected anger in response to her own and it was confusing that he wasn’t playing ball. She stared at him blankly.
“Do not try to tell me that you don’t understand what I am talking about. Just tell me where it is.” He took a step toward her, looking grim, and she involuntarily backed up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, caution beginning to make an appearance.
He gave her a sharp look and took her mobile from his pocket. He looked it over for a moment, popped off the back, and had it dismantled and reassembled in seconds, before jamming it back in his pocket and hissing out a breath between his teeth.
“I’ll give you a clue, it looks like a mobile phone and you used it to come here to visit me.”
Her anger was arrested before it had even got going. She blinked at him, confusion taking its place. That Alice in Wonderland feeling was back with a vengeance.
Jeremy felt tired all of a sudden. He did not have Greg’s gift of the gab for getting people to open up and trust him. He could see Freya was having difficulty keeping up with her changing emotions, but he was not doing much better.
He had never gone in for intense relationships. All his liaisons had been easy; light. None of the girls he had dated had scrambled his emotions in the way Freya did. He was uncomfortable with the strength of his feelings. Uncomfortable with the whole scene. On top of all that, anger that she thought she could lie to him mixed with anxiety over her injuries, making him want to behave like someone from another century. This century.
Adrenaline had made dark pools of her eyes, the summer blue a glimmer around the edge. He inhaled sharply, trying to keep his emotions in check and then, seeing his way clear, pulled her into his arms. He knew she would not want to give up her time device, but he couldn’t let her keep it.
“Freya,” he murmured, and then took her breath with a kiss. He broke off to whisper softly, “Why don’t you tell me where it is?” Without waiting for a reply he kissed her again, silently thrilled with her response.
She tried to hold onto him to catch her balance, but it didn’t seem to help much. His hands slid down her back firmly then skimmed round her waist as he walked her backwards across the room.
“You are soaked through,” he said. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and he pushed her down. Stripped her jumper and tee shirt from her in one fluid motion. “Tell me where it is.”
Freya’s hands shook as he followed her down to sit on the bed. He found the zip on her calf length boots and stripped them off, tossing them carelessly to the floor.
“Wait, Jeremy, stop.”
He paused, his eyes meeting hers, filled with laughter. “Where is it?” His hand felt hot on her foot.
“Where’s what?”
“The time device you used to bring your accounts here. Where is it?” His hand ran up her leg under her skirt, stopping at the top edge of her stocking.
Freya was beyond thinking rationally. She tried to make herself want to push him away, but could not seem to manage it. His hand moved to her other leg, pushing her skirt up as he shaped her hip and waist.
“Jeremy.” Her forehead dropped into the hollow of his shoulder, and her hands slid down his arms.
He hissed out a breath and she caught his exasperation mixed with laughter. “You really don’t have it here, do you,” he said, and stood up abruptly.
Freya watched in bemusement as he picked up her boots one at a time, running his hands over them and dropping them to the floor. He snatched up her jumper and tee shirt next. Turned them through and shook them out before dropping both to the floor and striding from the room.
Freya caught her breath. Realised she was sprawled inelegantly on the bed in her underwear and hold ups, with her skirt rucked up around her waist. She straightened her skirt, pulling it down, and scooted off the bed to grab her jumper off the floor.
The rat had actually had the audacity to strip search her for something and, to make matters worse, she had let him; had melted into a puddle, unable to even make herself want to stop him.
He came back into the room with her coat in one hand, and she felt her face burn. She had not reached the jumper and now hovered, torn between wanting to run forward to snatch it up and standing her ground to prove it did not matter. She bunched her fists at her sides, her temper rising, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she was uncomfortable.
“Freya,” he said her name like a warning and walked slowly across the room towards her, watchful, as if waiting for her to make a run for it. She told hersel
f to stand her ground, but he was intimidating and she felt herself move backwards involuntarily. “You are from 2008. This farmhouse is currently in 1908. You are one hundred years in the past. If you want me to take you back, then you will tell me where your time device is.”
An image of herself, sprawled on his bed, flashed across her mind and anger burned brightly. With it, she managed to get her shocked brain to function once more. It occurred to her that the mobile phone he had taken from his coat pocket had been responsible for transporting them here.
His words should have been incredible, but Freya had already let go of her reason when she had taken her accounts to him. He obviously did not know about the time doorway and thought she was using a device like his one. Ha! A lot you know, she thought, and if the rat intended to leave her stranded in 1908 he was in for a surprise.
He was far too good looking, stalking her across the room like some avenging angel, but although a separate part of her mind appreciated his beauty, Freya’s temper was easily winning against desire at this point.
He had kissed all sense from her and she had let him. Shame over her behaviour streaked through her, and mixed with anger and something worse. Of course he wouldn’t really be interested in someone like her. He was beautiful and she was— well, average.
The worst thing was that he must have known how she felt about him. He had coldly been searching her for this time device thing, while her mind had been on other matters. She scowled at him. His apparent calm only seemed to make him look more dangerous, but Freya was fed up with his arrogance and more than ready for an argument.
It was obvious that while her feelings were in chaos she would never best him. If she could wind him up, he would be thinking less clearly and she would stand a better chance of out manoeuvring him. She tried to think how to anger him but had a feeling it would not be easy. At least she had the time doorway. As long as he was unaware of its existence, she would be miles ahead of him.
He had backed her right up to the wall and she had to look up to meet his eyes. Without her heels she felt defenceless, insecure, next to his tall solid frame. Her hands clenched to tight fists at her sides. Watching as his mouth curved into a smile, she burned with a horrible conglomeration of anger, desire and resentment.
“I don’t have it on me,” she tried.
His eyes glinted as he scanned her, coming back to rest on her flushed face. “Yes, it is rather obvious that you do not have it on you. Now, where is it?”
Freya inhaled sharply as rage consumed her, arresting all other thoughts. The rat was going to get the shock of his lifetime. Everything was suddenly bright, clear, and an idea formed in her mind. She put her head on one side as she considered him.
“If I tell you where it is, will you answer a question I have about it?”
“Tell me where it is and I might answer your question.”
She watched his mouth curve in a smile that spoke of victory and her eyes narrowed. “No. Answer the question first.”
“What is it you wish to know?”
Freya stiffened her spine and met him look for look. “When you travel, can you come back to the same moment you left, or does time continue while you are away?” She caught the glint in his eyes as he considered her question, and hoped to God she had not given too much away.
“Why do you want to know that? Do you think to send me on some wild goose chase while you make your escape? Where did you get your device from anyway? I wish you will tell me if you are in some kind of trouble. I can help you.”
How did he get so close? “Just answer the question.” She made her voice as cold as she could manage.
He stared at her intently until she felt light-headed enough to press her palms into the wall behind her. She was almost sure he would not answer; then, “Time does, of course, continue when you leave a place, but it is possible to come back shortly afterward. It is difficult to get pinpoint accuracy, and the closest most have managed to return is about fifteen to twenty minutes after the time of leaving. However, some places are consistently monitored to allow for greater accuracy.”
It would not take her five minutes to run out to the time doorway. She suppressed the feeling of triumph his words caused in case he guessed something of her train of thought.
“Now, I believe you are going to tell me where your time device is.”
“If I tell you, will you take me back to 2008?”
He smiled and rubbed her shoulder gently as if to offer comfort; reassurance. “Of course.”
He seemed sincere and, as far as she could tell, had no reason to keep her here, but she still could not shake the impression he was lying. Freya took a breath and let it out. She looked him dead in the eye, “It’s in the glove box of my Transit van on Portobello Road.”
“Thank you.” His hand slid down her arm to her elbow, and then he was pulling her across the room towards the bed. She stumbled after him on shaking legs. Before she could ask what he was doing, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket and cuffed her injured wrist to the top of the metal bed frame.
Freya gasped in shock. “What now? What the hell are you doing?”
“Just making sure you stay put. If you have lied to me, Freya, I will take you directly to the courts in 2112 and leave them to deal with you as they see fit. Now tell me the exact location of your van and I’ll be back with some dry clothes for you shortly.” He gathered up the rest of her clothes, and turned to face her once more.
Freya burned with the impossible injustice of it all and clenched her fists in anger, refusing to answer. Let him find the van himself. She was not going to give him any help. Jeremy took in her expression as they stared at each other in silence for a few moments. He shook his head as he left the room. It would not make any difference how long it took him to locate her van. He would still be back here within twenty minutes.
As it happened, it did not take Jeremy long to find Freya’s van. There were not that many flower stalls in the market and only one van with her name emblazoned on the side in pink lettering surrounded by flowers.
An Italian man was serving a woman who was buying roses. He spoke volubly, throwing his hands up at the story the woman was telling him. Jeremy watched as the man served someone else on the neighbouring stall. He had to be a friend watching out for Freya. Jeremy considered his strategy before going up to greet the man.
“Hello, my friend, and what can I get for you today,” Gus said.
“Hello. I’m looking for Freya’s stall, have I the right place?”
“Yes, of course, but I’m afraid she is on break at this moment. Can I be of assistance?”
Jeremy held out his hand, “Jeremy Sanders,” he said.
“Giuseppe Celino. You are friend of hers?
“Yes, I am afraid she has been taken unwell. She asked me to pack up her stall for her.” He pulled her keys from his pocket as he spoke.
“Ah, I am sorry to hear of it. What happened to her?”
“Nothing to worry about. She fell and has a suspected fracture in her wrist. She phoned me from the A&E to ask if I would help her out.”
“Ah, I am so sorry. I call her tomorrow to see how she is. It is only some few buckets of flowers here. You leave them with me and I sell what I can for her.”
“I am sure she will greatly appreciate it. She asked if I would collect her and drive her home in her van. I think she was concerned that she may not be able to manage without power steering.”
“Ah, she should have better van, no? Please pass my sympathies to her.”
Jeremy spent the next few minutes chatting and generally gleaning what information he could from the man. Eventually, he let himself into her van and leaned across to open the glove box, pulling out all the junk onto the passenger seat.
There was no device. He sighed softly. Making a thorough search of the van would have to wait. He would drive the van back to her flat and do his searching there, away from her friend’s watchful eyes.
As old a
nd rusted as the van clearly was, it was still a pleasure to drive. Jeremy took it slowly at first, getting the feel of the archaic machine. London was something of a nightmare to negotiate. The traffic appeared to be a free for all for the most part, and he was grateful for his time device, which he used to help him navigate.
By 2090, large areas of London were clear of cars and only electric trams and bicycles remained. It was surreal to be able to drive past the ancient buildings, and he found himself continually distracted. The smell of the fumes was overpowering and he had to close the windows, but revelled in the funny handles that worked the mechanism. It was just as well the traffic was crawling though, because it took him some time to accustom himself to the old technology.
He had taken driving lessons as part of his skill sets for becoming a Field Operative, but the majority of the public did not drive. There were cars, but they were all automatic and pre-programmed to set routes. You paid your money at the meter, climbed in and the car took you at a steady 30KH to the pre-set destination.
With no steering wheel or pedals, most people had abandoned the idea in favour of bicycles. You might be restricted to slower speeds, but at least you still had the fun of being in full control of where you wanted to go.
Of course, people could still drive off-road on racing tracks, and with so few people driving, the ones that took up the sport were either viewed as crazy or revered as Gods. So to be able to drive yourself at twice the usual permitted speed on London roads was an incredible experience.
When he reached the motorway, it took all his nerve to merge with the traffic and drive at the required speed. Nevertheless, the rush had him wondering if he had picked the wrong century to work in. He was not altogether sorry to reach the street where Freya lived and, parking outside, he began his search.
The device was not in the van; he slammed the door and made for the flat. He could question Freya further, but he dismissed the idea for now. She was not going anywhere. He would search the flat again first.