Hey I'm back! I didn't expect to get any reviews, especially after only the
first day of posting—so what do you think I did when I checked my e-mail
this morning and saw that two beautiful reviews were sitting quite cozily
in my inbox? Did I squeal, whoop, and cheer? You bet I did! I have never
been happier to get two reviews in my life, hah hah! Anyway, thank you
Miss March Hare and I tip my hat to the QueenofSpain! Off with chapter two...
CHAPTER TWO: RELAX AND FLOAT DOWNSTREAM
* * * * * *
You know those moments when you're dreaming, and somewhere in the back of your consciousness, you're aware of it? Well I was in the middle of such a dream, a beautiful, sweet sleep... I was floating, weightless, and I told myself that I would have to remember this dream; that I would have to record it in my journal. I soon felt myself swimming in and out of reality, until I heard the muffled sound of people talking in the background... I told myself that it must be time to wake up...
And I did.
Well, somewhat.
Everything around me was still black. My eyes remained closed; as if I had weights sitting on my eyelids, the strength within me faded and they refused to open. When I tried, they hurt. So I layed there, wherever I was, and listened, motionless. The darkness was beginning to bother me, but then again, I felt so peaceful at rest, that I didn't particularly feel ready to embrace reality yet... hell, I could call in sick for one day and not show up in class...
I could hear everything around me perfectly. The creak in the floors, people shifting in the room, the distant voices of people talking... I could hear them speaking, but I was too tired to pay close attention. It then dawned on me that I wasn't in my dorm, by the sound of things. I didn't know where I was... everything smelled different. The air had a thick, foul odor in it, and I definitely knew I wasn't in my room.
What happened last night? I couldn't remember...
All of a sudden, it felt as if someone had struck a hammer against my head, and it positively pounded. Then I remembered... oh, how I love hangovers in the morning... I had gotten drunk last night. I faintly remembered partying the night before with Rita... and Lily, and somebody else, I think... but everything still felt fuzzy. Had we gone somewhere? Had I passed out on some distant part of the school campus?
I heard the sound of a door opening and boots clicking on the floor, coupled with an unfamiliar, slightly accented, voice.
"Hello, in there."
I felt someone shifting beside me this time, and a couple seconds later, the sound of someone just waking up filled the room. "Huh? Oh... hello...sir...."
"Sleep well?"
"Not really."
"Sorry we couldn't place you in better quarters," came the amused reply, "but I suppose it's better than sleeping in a city park, now isn't it? I am Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, and your name is..." I heard the ruffling of papers from the man's general direction, "Rita. Rita Clairemont. So I assume that the sleeping figure is your sister, then?"
"Yes, I'm Leyla's sister."
"I haven't been briefed on your case yet; the inspector who found you both last night is presently off-duty, so would you like to tell me what happened?"
"Okay," she cleared her throat, as my sister always did when she was nervous, "Well, I don't really know where to begin... we were at our school campus last night... with some friends, drinking... and we somehow found ourselves in the park, where we were found. Leyla particularly had a lot to drink, and fainted in the park. She was out cold, and I didn't know what to do. I called for help, but not many people were around. I didn't want to leave her there, so I sat beside her and eventually... fell asleep... until I was woken up a few hours later by the officer, that is."
I could detect the frown in his voice. "Whatever happened to your acquaintances?"
"I don't remember..."
There were a few moments of silence after that. "Are you aware that there is a £50 fine for public drinking and another £10 fine for sleeping outside on city property?"
"No, sir," was Rita's meek reply.
"I've dealt with similar situations with many men," the inspector sighed, "but never with two young ladies. A proper woman should never be out late, much less drinking to such an extent, by jove... perhaps you should send word to your parents. I'm sure they're worried sick!"
Rita took a while before answering that. "Well... I can't really call them up, because my dad is out of town with his girlfriend. He never left his number, so..."
I could practically sense the frown on the gentleman's face, trying to sift through whatever she had said, "What about Mrs. Clairemont, then?"
"Um... our mother died a few years back."
"Oh! I'm... I'm terribly sorry... I didn't know," the man quickly amended, "I couldn't find any records on either of you; I suppose you're visiting from the states, then?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, are you visiting grandparents?"
"They live all the way in Cape Cod, sir."
"Miss, do you have *anyone* you can contact?"
"Well... uh..." her voice cut off, swallowing the lump that was obviously forming in her throat, "I suppose I could try... uh... some very distant family relatives that live here..."
"Yes! Then please do so. You can send a telegram; just go to the front desk out in the corridor to the left. You can't miss it; the inspector on the other side of that door will supervise you."
The sound of a... cell door... opened with a clank, just before Annie muttered a barely audible, "Thank you," before the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
By this time, I had figured out from their conversation that we were being held in a holding cell, in some police station. I could barely remember being in a park, but how I had gotten there was still very unclear to me. I had a very bad feeling deep inside of me that I was very, very far from home. I didn't want to wake up and find out for sure, and I waited impatiently for the man to get up and walk away.
I heard the man shifting, and soon I could hear his footsteps... but instead of fading into the distance, they drew very close to me. I suddenly heard a soft voice somewhere next to my still figure. "Miss Clairemont, if you're awake, can open your eyes for me?"
Now that a difficult feat to accomplish. With every ounce of my being, I struggled to get at least one eyelid open, and suddenly, light and images took shape from nowhere. I was lying on the ground of a small cell that apparently only my sister and me had occupied. Most likely a holding cell instead of a regular jail cell, I supposed. Dirty brown walls and gray cell doors, and right next to me, an expressionless face of a man with brown hair and deep-set brown eyes. He looked roughly around thirty or so.
"Good morning, Miss Clairemont! I know you're not in the mood for any sort of communication at the moment, but I need to ask you a few things about yourself."
"Okay..."
He held out his papers, pulled out a pen, and began writing. "I found out through your sister that your full name is Leyla Ann Clairemont. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
He nodded and moved on. "Your date of birth, please."
"November 12, 1981," I mumbled quickly.
He looked up at that. "I wonder what your sister meant exactly when she said you drank too much. Miss, I need a clear answer. How old are you?"
I frowned. "Twenty-one."
"There we go. You meant 1866."
I stared at him blankly for a few seconds. "Um... no. 1981."
He smiled at me warmly and scribbled on the paper, obviously taking my correction as some sort of a joke. "The twelfth of November, eighteen-sixty- six. I've got it now."
For a moment, I was about to correct him again, just as the banging in my head increased all of a sudden. I clutched my forehead, releasing an audible groan and wishing someone could put me out of my misery. "Damn hangover," I muttered under my breath, coffee suddenly sounding like the sweetest thing on Earth.
"Now... your address, please."
"12 West Chestnut Street, Room 43, University of Santa Barbara, California."
The inspector looked up at me with a discerning eye, "University?"
"Yes, sir."
He took a deep breath, and somewhat reluctantly wrote down the address, muttering something under his breath. He paused. "Who are you visiting?"
The conversation between him and my sister suddenly surfaced back into my mind, when he had asked her the same question, and confusion swept over my senses. "What do you mean?"
He looked at me a bit oddly. "If you live in California, who is it you're visiting?"
"I'm sorry... I'm not following you."
"No one could have shipped you across the Atlantic and left you in England without your knowledge. What is the person of the address that you're staying here with?"
His first sentence caught me off-guard. Atlantic? England? Oh lord, what was this man talking about now? A few seconds earlier, he was off about 1866... my mouth hung open, not knowing how to answer him. Thankfully, though, I didn't have to. A man came walking into the corridor at that exact moment.
"Inspector, you're needed."
The inspector nodded at the man, who disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He turned to me, looking directly in the eye, "Look. This doesn't have to be difficult. When I get back, Miss Clairemont, I want straight answers from both you and your sister. The sooner you answer, the sooner I can release you from our custody. Do you understand me?"
I honestly didn't. I had no clue what he was talking about, but I nodded anyway. There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when he left the room; churning and uneasiness. Especially now since there was that crazy notion forming in the back of my mind. That I was in London and it was 1887.
But it was impossible! Totally and utterly impossible! How could it possibly be true? How could it possibly have happened? And why! Least of all to my sister and me—there was no logical explanation at all! No, it just couldn't be true. No, I wasn't going to consider it at all, because it was absolutely impossible! He wasn't right! How could he be? The man was insane, that was all! I mean... 1887? I couldn't even begin to comprehend that. It was just so ridiculous and impossible that... there was no way any of that could be true. And what was that whole England thing about? I understood that he had an English accent, but... this man was definitely not on the level.
A few moments later, the door opened again. Rita dashed through into the door, and closed it behind her. She looked around her for a couple of seconds, realizing first that I was awake, and making sure that I was the only one inside. I got a good look at her... she seemed very upset. She was shaking.
"Rita..." I said, "Are you okay?"
"Shh!" she put her finger to her lips and walked deeper inside the cell. She was beginning to scare me.
"Rita, what's wrong?"
She came beside me and kneeled down. She took my hands in hers—clammy, cold, and shaking.
"Leyla," she said slowly, "there's something I have to tell you." Rita took a deep breath. "I walked towards the front office, thinking desperately of who I could contact... I asked the man if there was a telephone... and he looked at me funny. Leyla, everybody here has a freakin' accent! Anyway, I didn't really know what I was doing... thinking of who I knew in London..."
"London..." I felt my heart plummet into my stomach.
"But I couldn't think of anyone! So I started walking back down the corridor, and I noticed this... weird looking calendar on the wall... a handwritten one... anyway, Leyla... it's September 15th, 1887."
"What the..."
But Rita wouldn't let me speak. "When you passed out last night, I noticed that the streets were different, the clothes were different; hell, *everything* was different, but when I woke up, I thought perhaps I was dreaming... or maybe I drank too much... even when he mentioned everything about finding us in the park this morning... I still didn't let myself believe it. So when I asked the man at the front desk why he had an old calendar on the wall, he looked at me like I was mad."
I shook my head, not willing to take this in. "I... I don't understand..."
"Leyla..." she looked at my in the eyes, "do you remember yesterday at all?"
I thought for a moment. "I kind of remember being pissed off about journalism class..."
Then it suddenly dawned on me. I still didn't have any clear memories just yet, but all of a sudden, the situation brought to mind a person's name in my head. It absolutely had to have something to do with her, I was positive. "Lily..." God, it had to be a dream! No way could this have actually happened to us!
"Leyla... I can't remember exactly what we did...and I can't even begin to explain how it possibly could have worked... but we've been thrown more than a hundred years into the past, and more than that, halfway around the world."
"Rita, you don't know that for sure! It could still be--"
"For God's sakes, would you please face reality? We can't squeeze our way around this one, this is really happening! You go out into that lobby. Everybody is dressed like it's... like its "Mary Poppins" or something! Everyone has a thick English accent! And everything..." she paused, as if on the verge of tears, "everything looks new, but it's so old! The oil lamps on the front desk... how often do you see oil lamps in police stations, Leyla? The furniture looks like something you'd find in an antique store... and all of the men wear these huge top hats, long suits, and have these thick mustaches... it's... it's..." a smile crossed her face. "It's..." she broke out into giggles in the midst of our mental instability.
It was contagious and I started laughing, too! Deep down, though, we both knew that this situation was anything but funny. We were honest to God scared out of our wits. She gave me a hug, tears streaming down her face despite the giggling, "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know, Rita," I said. "I have no idea..."
I'm not really sure if I really believed it at the moment. I mean... a part of my mind was desperately trying to deny it. We knew we sounded like idiots saying it. But then we felt like idiots not saying it. And oddly enough, as I was sitting there thinking about it, a part of me deep down but prevalent nonetheless... actually wanted to believe it!
Just then another officer came in, and informed us that no charges were going to be pressed, but that if they found us getting into trouble again, we wouldn't be let off so easily. I suppose looking back, it was perhaps because we were only young women, in a foreign country, and we had gained sympathy. To this day I am still not sure. But when we walked out of the Metropolitan Police Station... Scotland Yard... gaining strange looks from formally dressed ladies in elegant dresses and swiftly feeling more and more self-conscious in our T-shirts and jeans.
We took a turn off the street and stood behind a group of trees, hoping no one could see us, and did the only thing that we could do at that moment.
We cried.
* * * * * *
Okay, so of all people, I introduced a minor character first. So sue me. Anyway, I meant to have this up by Saturday, I was busy all weekend long, so sorry to keep you waiting. Tell me what you think! I'll have the third chapter up soon!
CHAPTER TWO: RELAX AND FLOAT DOWNSTREAM
* * * * * *
You know those moments when you're dreaming, and somewhere in the back of your consciousness, you're aware of it? Well I was in the middle of such a dream, a beautiful, sweet sleep... I was floating, weightless, and I told myself that I would have to remember this dream; that I would have to record it in my journal. I soon felt myself swimming in and out of reality, until I heard the muffled sound of people talking in the background... I told myself that it must be time to wake up...
And I did.
Well, somewhat.
Everything around me was still black. My eyes remained closed; as if I had weights sitting on my eyelids, the strength within me faded and they refused to open. When I tried, they hurt. So I layed there, wherever I was, and listened, motionless. The darkness was beginning to bother me, but then again, I felt so peaceful at rest, that I didn't particularly feel ready to embrace reality yet... hell, I could call in sick for one day and not show up in class...
I could hear everything around me perfectly. The creak in the floors, people shifting in the room, the distant voices of people talking... I could hear them speaking, but I was too tired to pay close attention. It then dawned on me that I wasn't in my dorm, by the sound of things. I didn't know where I was... everything smelled different. The air had a thick, foul odor in it, and I definitely knew I wasn't in my room.
What happened last night? I couldn't remember...
All of a sudden, it felt as if someone had struck a hammer against my head, and it positively pounded. Then I remembered... oh, how I love hangovers in the morning... I had gotten drunk last night. I faintly remembered partying the night before with Rita... and Lily, and somebody else, I think... but everything still felt fuzzy. Had we gone somewhere? Had I passed out on some distant part of the school campus?
I heard the sound of a door opening and boots clicking on the floor, coupled with an unfamiliar, slightly accented, voice.
"Hello, in there."
I felt someone shifting beside me this time, and a couple seconds later, the sound of someone just waking up filled the room. "Huh? Oh... hello...sir...."
"Sleep well?"
"Not really."
"Sorry we couldn't place you in better quarters," came the amused reply, "but I suppose it's better than sleeping in a city park, now isn't it? I am Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, and your name is..." I heard the ruffling of papers from the man's general direction, "Rita. Rita Clairemont. So I assume that the sleeping figure is your sister, then?"
"Yes, I'm Leyla's sister."
"I haven't been briefed on your case yet; the inspector who found you both last night is presently off-duty, so would you like to tell me what happened?"
"Okay," she cleared her throat, as my sister always did when she was nervous, "Well, I don't really know where to begin... we were at our school campus last night... with some friends, drinking... and we somehow found ourselves in the park, where we were found. Leyla particularly had a lot to drink, and fainted in the park. She was out cold, and I didn't know what to do. I called for help, but not many people were around. I didn't want to leave her there, so I sat beside her and eventually... fell asleep... until I was woken up a few hours later by the officer, that is."
I could detect the frown in his voice. "Whatever happened to your acquaintances?"
"I don't remember..."
There were a few moments of silence after that. "Are you aware that there is a £50 fine for public drinking and another £10 fine for sleeping outside on city property?"
"No, sir," was Rita's meek reply.
"I've dealt with similar situations with many men," the inspector sighed, "but never with two young ladies. A proper woman should never be out late, much less drinking to such an extent, by jove... perhaps you should send word to your parents. I'm sure they're worried sick!"
Rita took a while before answering that. "Well... I can't really call them up, because my dad is out of town with his girlfriend. He never left his number, so..."
I could practically sense the frown on the gentleman's face, trying to sift through whatever she had said, "What about Mrs. Clairemont, then?"
"Um... our mother died a few years back."
"Oh! I'm... I'm terribly sorry... I didn't know," the man quickly amended, "I couldn't find any records on either of you; I suppose you're visiting from the states, then?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, are you visiting grandparents?"
"They live all the way in Cape Cod, sir."
"Miss, do you have *anyone* you can contact?"
"Well... uh..." her voice cut off, swallowing the lump that was obviously forming in her throat, "I suppose I could try... uh... some very distant family relatives that live here..."
"Yes! Then please do so. You can send a telegram; just go to the front desk out in the corridor to the left. You can't miss it; the inspector on the other side of that door will supervise you."
The sound of a... cell door... opened with a clank, just before Annie muttered a barely audible, "Thank you," before the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
By this time, I had figured out from their conversation that we were being held in a holding cell, in some police station. I could barely remember being in a park, but how I had gotten there was still very unclear to me. I had a very bad feeling deep inside of me that I was very, very far from home. I didn't want to wake up and find out for sure, and I waited impatiently for the man to get up and walk away.
I heard the man shifting, and soon I could hear his footsteps... but instead of fading into the distance, they drew very close to me. I suddenly heard a soft voice somewhere next to my still figure. "Miss Clairemont, if you're awake, can open your eyes for me?"
Now that a difficult feat to accomplish. With every ounce of my being, I struggled to get at least one eyelid open, and suddenly, light and images took shape from nowhere. I was lying on the ground of a small cell that apparently only my sister and me had occupied. Most likely a holding cell instead of a regular jail cell, I supposed. Dirty brown walls and gray cell doors, and right next to me, an expressionless face of a man with brown hair and deep-set brown eyes. He looked roughly around thirty or so.
"Good morning, Miss Clairemont! I know you're not in the mood for any sort of communication at the moment, but I need to ask you a few things about yourself."
"Okay..."
He held out his papers, pulled out a pen, and began writing. "I found out through your sister that your full name is Leyla Ann Clairemont. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
He nodded and moved on. "Your date of birth, please."
"November 12, 1981," I mumbled quickly.
He looked up at that. "I wonder what your sister meant exactly when she said you drank too much. Miss, I need a clear answer. How old are you?"
I frowned. "Twenty-one."
"There we go. You meant 1866."
I stared at him blankly for a few seconds. "Um... no. 1981."
He smiled at me warmly and scribbled on the paper, obviously taking my correction as some sort of a joke. "The twelfth of November, eighteen-sixty- six. I've got it now."
For a moment, I was about to correct him again, just as the banging in my head increased all of a sudden. I clutched my forehead, releasing an audible groan and wishing someone could put me out of my misery. "Damn hangover," I muttered under my breath, coffee suddenly sounding like the sweetest thing on Earth.
"Now... your address, please."
"12 West Chestnut Street, Room 43, University of Santa Barbara, California."
The inspector looked up at me with a discerning eye, "University?"
"Yes, sir."
He took a deep breath, and somewhat reluctantly wrote down the address, muttering something under his breath. He paused. "Who are you visiting?"
The conversation between him and my sister suddenly surfaced back into my mind, when he had asked her the same question, and confusion swept over my senses. "What do you mean?"
He looked at me a bit oddly. "If you live in California, who is it you're visiting?"
"I'm sorry... I'm not following you."
"No one could have shipped you across the Atlantic and left you in England without your knowledge. What is the person of the address that you're staying here with?"
His first sentence caught me off-guard. Atlantic? England? Oh lord, what was this man talking about now? A few seconds earlier, he was off about 1866... my mouth hung open, not knowing how to answer him. Thankfully, though, I didn't have to. A man came walking into the corridor at that exact moment.
"Inspector, you're needed."
The inspector nodded at the man, who disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He turned to me, looking directly in the eye, "Look. This doesn't have to be difficult. When I get back, Miss Clairemont, I want straight answers from both you and your sister. The sooner you answer, the sooner I can release you from our custody. Do you understand me?"
I honestly didn't. I had no clue what he was talking about, but I nodded anyway. There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when he left the room; churning and uneasiness. Especially now since there was that crazy notion forming in the back of my mind. That I was in London and it was 1887.
But it was impossible! Totally and utterly impossible! How could it possibly be true? How could it possibly have happened? And why! Least of all to my sister and me—there was no logical explanation at all! No, it just couldn't be true. No, I wasn't going to consider it at all, because it was absolutely impossible! He wasn't right! How could he be? The man was insane, that was all! I mean... 1887? I couldn't even begin to comprehend that. It was just so ridiculous and impossible that... there was no way any of that could be true. And what was that whole England thing about? I understood that he had an English accent, but... this man was definitely not on the level.
A few moments later, the door opened again. Rita dashed through into the door, and closed it behind her. She looked around her for a couple of seconds, realizing first that I was awake, and making sure that I was the only one inside. I got a good look at her... she seemed very upset. She was shaking.
"Rita..." I said, "Are you okay?"
"Shh!" she put her finger to her lips and walked deeper inside the cell. She was beginning to scare me.
"Rita, what's wrong?"
She came beside me and kneeled down. She took my hands in hers—clammy, cold, and shaking.
"Leyla," she said slowly, "there's something I have to tell you." Rita took a deep breath. "I walked towards the front office, thinking desperately of who I could contact... I asked the man if there was a telephone... and he looked at me funny. Leyla, everybody here has a freakin' accent! Anyway, I didn't really know what I was doing... thinking of who I knew in London..."
"London..." I felt my heart plummet into my stomach.
"But I couldn't think of anyone! So I started walking back down the corridor, and I noticed this... weird looking calendar on the wall... a handwritten one... anyway, Leyla... it's September 15th, 1887."
"What the..."
But Rita wouldn't let me speak. "When you passed out last night, I noticed that the streets were different, the clothes were different; hell, *everything* was different, but when I woke up, I thought perhaps I was dreaming... or maybe I drank too much... even when he mentioned everything about finding us in the park this morning... I still didn't let myself believe it. So when I asked the man at the front desk why he had an old calendar on the wall, he looked at me like I was mad."
I shook my head, not willing to take this in. "I... I don't understand..."
"Leyla..." she looked at my in the eyes, "do you remember yesterday at all?"
I thought for a moment. "I kind of remember being pissed off about journalism class..."
Then it suddenly dawned on me. I still didn't have any clear memories just yet, but all of a sudden, the situation brought to mind a person's name in my head. It absolutely had to have something to do with her, I was positive. "Lily..." God, it had to be a dream! No way could this have actually happened to us!
"Leyla... I can't remember exactly what we did...and I can't even begin to explain how it possibly could have worked... but we've been thrown more than a hundred years into the past, and more than that, halfway around the world."
"Rita, you don't know that for sure! It could still be--"
"For God's sakes, would you please face reality? We can't squeeze our way around this one, this is really happening! You go out into that lobby. Everybody is dressed like it's... like its "Mary Poppins" or something! Everyone has a thick English accent! And everything..." she paused, as if on the verge of tears, "everything looks new, but it's so old! The oil lamps on the front desk... how often do you see oil lamps in police stations, Leyla? The furniture looks like something you'd find in an antique store... and all of the men wear these huge top hats, long suits, and have these thick mustaches... it's... it's..." a smile crossed her face. "It's..." she broke out into giggles in the midst of our mental instability.
It was contagious and I started laughing, too! Deep down, though, we both knew that this situation was anything but funny. We were honest to God scared out of our wits. She gave me a hug, tears streaming down her face despite the giggling, "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know, Rita," I said. "I have no idea..."
I'm not really sure if I really believed it at the moment. I mean... a part of my mind was desperately trying to deny it. We knew we sounded like idiots saying it. But then we felt like idiots not saying it. And oddly enough, as I was sitting there thinking about it, a part of me deep down but prevalent nonetheless... actually wanted to believe it!
Just then another officer came in, and informed us that no charges were going to be pressed, but that if they found us getting into trouble again, we wouldn't be let off so easily. I suppose looking back, it was perhaps because we were only young women, in a foreign country, and we had gained sympathy. To this day I am still not sure. But when we walked out of the Metropolitan Police Station... Scotland Yard... gaining strange looks from formally dressed ladies in elegant dresses and swiftly feeling more and more self-conscious in our T-shirts and jeans.
We took a turn off the street and stood behind a group of trees, hoping no one could see us, and did the only thing that we could do at that moment.
We cried.
* * * * * *
Okay, so of all people, I introduced a minor character first. So sue me. Anyway, I meant to have this up by Saturday, I was busy all weekend long, so sorry to keep you waiting. Tell me what you think! I'll have the third chapter up soon!
