Chapter Seventeen

On Sudden Shifts in Equilibrium

H -

Jensen is gone. I think he may have returned home. Come immediately.

-R

My hand shook as I wrote the note. I'd returned from a restless stroll around the block, three days after the stakeout at the park, only to find Jensen missing and his notes spread across the room in a state of disarray which indicated either a struggle or a fit of frustration.

Though official surveillance of the hotel had been lifted, there were usually three or four Irregulars loitering outside the door. It appeared that this hotel was a regular haunt for the gang, since there was ready employment to be had running errands and messages for hotel guests, and plenty of pedestrians to beg pennies from.

I dashed downstairs and hailed one of the boys. They knew me by sight by now, and I suspected their interest was as much pure curiosity as professional courtesy.

I could not bring myself to go to Baker Street in person. Baker Street belonged to Holmes and Watson and Mrs. Hudson; I didn't belong there any more than I belonged in the 19th century.

Holmes had actually invited me there on one occasion and my vehement refusal startled him. I explained that I should feel very foolish and out of place, without elaborating on why. Holmes accepted my excuse without comment and no doubt deduced his own explanation. I wondered how close he came to the truth.

The note safely dispatched to Baker Street, I returned to my hotel room. I felt like one of the caged lionesses at the London Zoo. I could not stop pacing the confines of my room nor could I settle to a task. I left Jensen's room as I had found it for Holmes to examine. I doubted there was any telling evidence there, but I was reluctant to trust myself, given the state of my nerves.

But, Jensen was gone. The door was locked. I had picked it after I got no answer from Jensen. Jensen's room key lay in plain sight on the table. He had no access to chemicals, so he could not have attempted to reverse his experiment.

I could only think of one conclusion. Whatever Jensen had done had reversed itself. Which meant whatever I had done would also reverse itself. Perhaps.

Holmes arrived twenty minutes after I had sent the message. I half expected him to have vanished into London or the surrounding countryside on some case. I had left the door unlocked, and he entered without knocking. He had visited Jensen's room down the hall first and gathered up the scattered notes, which he tossed down on the table.

"You believe Jensen has returned to the future." He said without preamble.

"That seems to be the logical conclusion." I said. "The door was locked from the inside. What else could have happened? I know," I held up a hand to forestall his objection, "I know a lot of things could have happened, but my point is Jensen is hardly likely to have left of his own accord and there's no possible reason for anyone here to wish him harm."

"True. But someone has forced the lock on the door."

"That was me. I thought Jensen might have been ignoring me."

"Ah." I groaned inwardly. Despite evidence to the contrary, Holmes continued to treat me as a helpless creature with more spirit than ability. It was hard to fault him for that; his line of work tended to bring him in contact with only two types of women, the damsel in distress and the femme fatale. A capable, independent female was beyond his experience. This Holmes either could not or would not treat me as an equal.

But it was still aggravating.

"You are right." Holmes said, only slightly grudgingly. "It is most likely that Jensen left the same way he came."

"I only hope he went back. To his proper time, I mean. Not further back." I paused, momentarily confused by the tenses.

"You read chemistry? I trust that includes equilibrium reactions."

"Of course."

"What happens when you unbalance one side of an equation?"

"Concentrations shift to restore equilibrium."

"What if we were to consider the future and the past as being on opposite sides of an equilibrium reaction?

"Then… pushing the concentration toward the past would be a temporary state" I said hesitantly, beginning to see the point of this impromptu viva voce.

"Which would eventually return to its equilibrium state."

"That doesn't quite make sense."

"It is not a direct analogy, I admit."

"If the reaction is reversing itself, the time between arrival and departure is probably related to the components of the reaction itself." I said, speaking carefully. "Jensen disappeared sometime between eight p.m. and eight a.m. the next morning. My experiment started at seven in the evening."

"Anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours difference." Holmes nodded. "When was the last time you saw Jensen?"

"About nine last night. And I knocked on the door at ten this morning. Although," I said, remembering with a start, "I heard a thud at about midnight. I thought it was a chair falling over."

Which meant that in another six hours or so, I would disappear in the same way. I shivered involuntarily.

"I think we should go back to Oxford." I said.

"Why?"

"I only move in time, not space. If I want to return to Oxford in my own time, I have to be there when the reaction reverses itself."

"The next train to Oxford isn't for an hour and a half." Holmes said, with a faraway look that meant he was consulting that capacious memory of his. "Time enough for lunch."

I scowled. Between the anxiety and uncertainty my stomach was tied in so many knots the very idea of food made me a bit nauseous. We ate lunch at the station café, although I mostly picked at my soup and bread. The stewed coffee that came with it had the uncharacteristic effect of soothing my nerves and I managed to relax somewhat as the train rattled toward Oxford.

Holmes was one of those all-too rare individuals who can sit in silence with another person without feeling the need to fill it with idle chatter. I stared out the window while Holmes studied Jensen's progress. There wasn't much. Without knowing precisely what he had done, it was next to impossible to reverse it. Normally, a scientist would simply repeat the experiment, but circumstances made that unfeasible as well as dangerous.

I have never advocated the destruction of knowledge, useless, dangerous or otherwise, since all knowledge may serve some greater purpose in the end. But by now I wanted nothing more than to burn those damnable notes and forget all of this. I had half a mind to do just that if I ever got back to my own time.

British Rail Service functioned with its customary efficiency, so that between delays in London and a half hour spent on a siding outside Reading, the train did not pull in to Oxford town until half seven, just as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

The university grounds were not far from the train station, but we took a circuitous route, up the banks of the Isis, so as to avoid the Proctor and his bulldogs, patrolling for wayward undergraduates. I was looking for an out of the way place. Hopefully the return journey would be just like the event which had brought me here, and I would find myself in the same place, but in the proper time.

"And if your theory is incorrect?" Holmes asked suddenly. My stomach lurched but I didn't answer. Hope is a wonderful and terrible thing.

"What if you are stuck here, or sent even further back in time?" Holmes prompted. I spun on my heels sharply and Holmes reeled backwards to avoid running into me.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, Mister Holmes." I snapped, stopping entirely by coincidence at one of the many bridges spanning the river Isis. I turned my back on him and stormed across the bridge, well aware my emotions were getting the better of me and not liking the sensation one bit. I was beginning to feel that I couldn't take the suspense any longer.

Someone must have heard my frustration. The shockwave hit me like a sudden rush of blood to the head. I felt my knees buckle and the ground rushed up to meet me.

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.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•.