*peeks head from under rock of shame* Hey there. So... it's been a while. A long while. A gigantic, mortifying, freaking long while. And I can't really excuse my absence, other than state that this last semester has been a whirlwind of health problems, school, and planning for the future (TMI, I know). So I guess I'll just apologize, and pray that someone will still read this story, because I'm finishing it this summer. Yes you read that correctly: I am. Finishing. This story. This summer. I am determined! I am fire. I am death. I am—well, you get the point.

Please read, and enjoy! This is pretty short, but important, an interlude into the next set of chapters.

Chapter 4: The Dark Rules Over Day

They met in an out of the way place. It was two weeks before Christmas, December 18th, Portsmouth, England, 1803, 4:35pm. A very different time and place where they were actually from: July 23rd, Arizona, United States, 2013, 8:54pm. It was very infrequent when time and place matched exactly from one alternate universe to another. The two connoisseurs huddled beneath the light of a lamppost, their hunched figures casting long, eerie shadows on the cobbled street. There were no longer people milling about the streets. Most of the town's people had gone in for the night—and a cold one it would prove to be. Chimney smoke filled the darkening horizon. It would surely begin to snow soon, adding to the thin blanket that smothered the cobblestone streets.

"I hate this miserable place," one of the figures, named Connor, grumbled.

He was a man, dressed in clothes that seemed much too large for him, and slightly out of place. It was the best option available for his attire. He could not simply buy clothing here as he could in 2013—all clothes had to be fitted, pinned, and sewed. He was on a crucial assignment with his partners. Much research, hap-hazard and hazy as it had been, had been done before Carmen had allowed them to travel through the portal to 1803. Money had been forged, clothing processed, locations analyzed. Once through the portal, they were pulled right where they needed to be through a make-shift tracking device developed by assistant Trent, stayed for as long as they could before getting swooshed back to their own world, where they would rest briefly before returning. This process continued for days, gathering information of the location and life of their subject, Charlotte O'Hara, who was now aged eighteen, having been sixteen at the time of her departure.

In their various times passing through 1803, the three of them encountered very few setbacks. Everything appeared to be going according to plan. Their presence, although noticed by passing townspeople, was not given much consideration, and the strangeness of their speech, attire, and postures blended easily with the hustle and bustle of Christmas excitement.

After nearly a week of gathering intelligence, a major problem occurred.

Trent, the socially awkward, gangly IT guy who worked in the back—until a few days prior to the mission, Carmen had nearly forgotten him entirely—made a surprising, and alarming discovery. After their sudden departure from Southampton, England, 1803, something unusual occurred—that is, something more unusual than traveling from an alternate reality to another interchangeably. The portal leading to 1803 was getting smaller. Not literally, as the actual diameter of the portal remained constant, but figuratively in the sense that less and less energy was emanating from its presence, making it increasingly difficult to detect and to pass through completely. This decreasing energy omission had never before occurred with any of the other portals they monitored. Then again, their reconnaissance in the world of Horatio Hornblower was much more rapid, and frequent, then that of any other portal they had entered.

This explained, Trent speculated, the fact that the timeline in the Hornblower world thus far had gone significantly faster than that in in 2013. At the initial time of contact, July 4th, 2012, 8:23pm, both worlds had been in sync. Under Trent's calculations, the portal would cease to allow energy to pass freely from one world to the other very soon. In a sense, the portal would close in three days—equaling approximately one week in the alternate reality of Horatio Hornblower. After that, there would be no chance of contact between the two worlds. If they didn't act correctly and promptly, the portals closing could potentially leave them stuck here, in a world they had no desire to live in. Or worse yet, there also lied the possibility of being trapped between worlds—a state of being that all three of them experienced briefly every time they traveled from the alternate universe back to their reality.

This left the three of them with few chances to bring their subject back as proof of the existence of alternate reality, evidencing the great research that could perhaps persuade superiors to allow the continuation of their research and experimentation. It was crunch time.

"I don't get why anyone would want to stay here," the other agreed.

The young scientist, Erin, was, against her will, dressed in appropriate attire for a woman in 1803. She would much rather be in jeans, however, she knew it was important for them to try their best to not bring unnecessary attention to themselves. And besides, it was the boss's orders. Which they weren't doing a decent job of carrying out, she thought. People were beginning to stare. Or maybe it was just her paranoia talking. And she was unsure why. They had done thorough research before approaching this time period. Carmen had arbitrarily picked through their outfits, mannerisms, and accents before they were allowed access to this world. It was vital for their mission to not be noticed by anyone except the subject. But people were always staring at her. Or maybe it was just her paranoia talking.

Even the smell was appalling. The place reeked of waste, a mild rotting smell somewhat subdued by the cold temperatures, mixed with the smells of animals, body odor, food, and burning wood. Smoke filled the already grey and dreary skies. As a firm environmentalist, Erin was less than enthused to be in her current location.

The informant, Trent, arrived a few minutes past the allotted time. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized meekly, breathing heavily. "Guys, I've discovered something astounding!" The young geek blinked, waiting for a response.

"What?" asked Erin finally, picking at her fingernails. She was not thrilled to be partnered with Trent, who seemed to get excited over the dumbest things. His "astounding discoveries" were occurring more and more frequently. In fact, he usual uttered this phrase once a day.

"It appears that several alternate realities inside this portal are interconnected! It's that amazing? Completely different realities are somehow all related to each other through this one portal, to Horatio Hornblower. I've found evidence of characters and plots of Patrick O'Brien, and of Disney—that one movie series with Johnny Depp, Pirates of the Pacific or something—and I-

"That's great, Trent, but I think we need to focus on our current situation. Carmen only cares about our current mission," Connor interrupted ungently.

"Right, sorry," Trent guy apologized, smiling sheepishly, and turned his attention to their subject. "We're running out of time here," he glanced down at his wrist, to which was strapped which a monitor of the portal's energy fluctuations, "And worse, the subject is moving to another location. You heard what that dude she's shacked up with said—it sounds like they're leaving Portsmouth, going to go visit someone for the holidays in Tisbury."

"Great," Connor said grumpily. Trent's news did nothing to lift his spirits, nor make his attitude appealing.

"I think we should find her without any trouble—the portal should open wherever she's at. I've been able to track her consistently, she has enough residual energy from 2013 for me to barely sniff out her signal. Isn't that funny? Sniff? Like a blood hound?"

There was no response to Trent's ill attempt at humor. The boy covered his chuckle, which had begun to turn awkward, into a cough. "Anyway, I'm not sure, but I think we have a good chance." He paused, uncertain whether to continue with the last element of his analysis.

"She seems very happy to be here." Trent considered thoughtfully, looking down at his feet. This conclusion was not necessary for Erin and Connor to know, in fact, it had potential to complicate the directive of their mission. But Trent could not leave this fact out, as it was blatantly obvious from the way their subject behaved. She would not want to leave. Why would she, if she was truly happy?

Unbeknownst to the other researchers, Trent was plagued with recent doubts as to the necessity of the subject—Charlotte O'Hara—to be removed and returned to 2013. Not that he thought there was any other way to save the corporation. The feds would shut it down, that was for certain. He would be out of a job, again, and have to inform his parents that once again, he would be living with them indefinitely. Trent didn't understand why she was making a last, desperate attempt. It was hopeless. Carmen should have seen this coming after other incidents. Dogs going missing without returning. Children disappearing mysteriously without any indication of foul play. These were not events that could have been easily prevented, but it would be deceptive to claim ignorance or innocence. Truth be told, Carmen liked it when these incidents occurred—new portals were discovered, and the victims' experiences could be recorded as research.

He was just unsure how exactly bringing this girl back to her original reality—a place she hadn't been for several years in her timeline—would solve anything. Trent thought that perhaps bringing the subject back could only escalate the feds dislike of their organization. Would the federal government believe her wild tales, and decide to take over the corporation themselves? Or would they simply consider her a raving lunatic conned into preforming a wild stunt, and shut down the industry on that basis? Either that, or she would be condemned insane and given drugs for the rest of her existence—a fate that Trent was hesitant to provide.

Trent didn't like hurting people. He had never harmed anything in his life other than the annoying insects that invaded his space. This girl had people here she cared for, people that made her happy. Otherwise, why would she opt to stay here? It was possible she did not realize she held the power to leave at any time. Or, had she simply accepted her situation, and was actually craving the ease and familiarity of her former life? It was impossible to tell. Trent could only hope that they were making the right choice.

"It doesn't matter if she's happy here or not." Connor stated firmly, "This life isn't real! We can't let her stay here."

Erin, having a slight hidden attraction to the suave researcher, was quick to second Connor's quip. "How can she live with the fact that she's living a lie? Doesn't she realize that this world isn't real?" she added, glancing around at the square, now completely devoid of townspeople. It was turning colder and damper. A thick fog slowly lowered over the city. Precipitation was inevitable.

"This place has become reality to her," said Trent, thinking, "If traveling through portals has taught me anything, it's that one can't really be sure if he's not just a character in a fictional universe that he's convinced is real." It was a trippy thing, really. What made one story, one world, one reality more real than the other? What gave someone's existence more importance in their original reality versus an alternate one? It made Trent's head spin.

"Look," Connor snapped, straightening, "Philosophy aside, we need to get this chick back where she belongs, so we can continue our research. Afterwards, we can debate the definition of reality." Feeling that he had obtained authority over the situation, the uptight man relaxed slightly. "Now, anything else we need to discuss before we jet?"

"I've seen how she interacts with that inn keeper, Bridy or whatever her name is, they keep acting like there's a secret between them, like some surprise that only women know," Erin said cautiously. "I think," she swallowed, and her two companions waited for her to finish, "That the subject is pregnant."

An myriad of questions and comments erupted from Trent and Connor, who were not expecting a fact of this magnitude to occur. "Is that even possible? How? With who?"

"That fellow she's always with, her husband," Erin said distastefully, not liking having to constantly hide from the pasty, freckled fellow. It limited her ability to observe, and approach, the subject. Thus far she had been unsuccessful in her attempts to communicate with the girl—he was always around, holding her hand, stroking her cheek, gobbling up her attention. Both of them were lost in their a world all their own, traipsing about the inn without care for anyone else around them. They both made her sick.

"How do you know he's her husband?" Trent asked, not really having paid attention to the man before.

"I don't think people had live-in boyfriends in 1803, Trent," Erin retorted quietly, and the IT guy was silent.

"Hey, it's not so bad, her being prego. We could use it to our advantage," Connor said smoothly, running a hand through his hair as he assessed their situation. "That could be our way of reaching her."

"Yes," Erin agreed, thinking. "I like your way of thinking. Hell, even if she isn't pregnant, we could tell her she is, that the fate of her unborn child rests on her decision."

A smile passed between the two comrades, one with an underlying layer of more than a work-related friendship. Trent had always been the odd one out of the three, the new guy, the third wheel. This conversation was not an exception.

Knowing he missed some obvious secret agreement that passed between his two comrades, Trent sighed. He was used to being glossed over and uninformed of changes in plans. "How?" he asked.

They didn't answer his question, and as usual, ignored him, moving on to another issue at hand.

"You sure freaked her out the other day, Connor," said Erin, letting out a dry laugh that was devoid of humor.

The man became flustered. "I didn't mean to, Erin. I just thought I'd give her a little introduction, that's all. I'm not sure why she ran off like that. I'm wearing time-period clothing and everything, yet somehow she just... knew." It was completely baffling to him why his appearance frightened her so. He assumed casual posture, tried his best to smile, and did not directly approach her. Did he look like a criminal? A rapist? The look in her eyes told him her fear was not merely based on concerns for her safety. He knew that she knew he did not belong here. And futher, she knew that he knew she did not belong here either.

"We needed to make an appearance eventually anyway, so I guess there's no harm done," Erin was quick to forgive Connor's misdemeanor. In her eyes, there was very little he could do wrong.

Trent's eyebrow furrowed. "I fail to see how Connor terrifying the subject is not harmful. If we're to succeed in convincing her to return to 2013, our first impression is very important in getting her to trust us."

"Don't be such a buzz kill, Trent! Her reaction was entertaining, after all," Erin defended.

Connor avoided discussing the the subject further. "We'll get sent back any moment now, think this is good enough to report to Carmen?"

"She won't be happy we don't have her with us," Trent stated dismally, not looking forward to receiving another lecture from Carmen. The woman was seriously obsessed with bringing back the subject. Not that Trent preferred to stay here, it was quite cold out now, and the atmosphere was quite melancholy.

"We just need more time, I think we've gathered enough information to make an appearance without scaring her to death," Erin stated, glancing teasingly at Connor, who glared.

"We're going to remind her of the fantastic things she left behind. It needs to be clear to her that if she complies, she'll be trading this dump for much better reality," Connor added

"The food here sucks! Seriously, I ate here yesterday. It was horrible. Did they not have any seasoning? Did they eat anything else besides bread and meat? These clothes are so itchy, too," Erin said, who had been subconsciously scratching her arms through her woolen cloak all throughout their meeting.

Trent did not comment, nor join the friendly banter of complaints between his two comrades. He saw no point in trying to make conversation. It was clear they didn't like him, or care for his input. Besides, one didn't have to vocalize their negative feelings for a reality in order to leave it. Most power was held in thinking.

Instead, the man chose to study the monitor he held in his hands, slowly watching as the energy level began to spike, revealing the increasing intensity of their lack of desire to be here. When the energy levels peaked, he would be back in the middle of summer in a time far from this one, where he would spend the next few hours analyzing the data he had gathered through their reconnaissance here. Any second now, he would be far away from here in his own reality. Although, secretly, Trent was feeling less and less enthusiastic about returning home. Every time he came here, it seemed there were parts of him that came alive that were otherwise dulled by the routine monotony day in, day out of 2013. The air seemed cleaner—a somewhat ironic fact considering they were in the heart of one of England's busiest cities, and in the middle of the Industrial Revolution. The people seemed friendlier—again, ironic considering he was supposed to not bring attention to himself.

It had began to snow again, lightly, and the air was blanketed with a heavy, humid silence. Life continued the same as it ever had in Portsmouth, England two weeks before Christmas. Families dined in their homes without ever knowing of the intruders presence. Lottie prepared for bed with her husband, Wellard, stooping to blow out their bedroom candles. At once, the faint light from the window vanished, and the upper rooms were coated in darkness. Moments later, and four streets down, a flash of light appeared for a brief second in a dimly-lit alleyway behind a coffeehouse, a side-effect of traveling through the portal. The three figures which stood under the lamppost were gone. Nothing, save the soft footprints in the thin layer of sleet that glazed the cobblestones evidenced that they were every there at all.

A storm was brewing on the horizon, and soon, the dark would rule over the day. With the development of this new tempest, Lottie would have to make an irrevocable choice with life-altering consequences. Her captors were willing to do whatever it took to make sure she made the right choice. Lying was inevitable. Violence could potentially prove necessary. The girl must make the determined right choice—to leave her life as she knew it, and return to the future. This choice could prove as an invaluable sacrifice for the future inhabitants of 2014 and beyond. Or, it could prove to mean nothing more than a futile attempt to save an already broken industry.

Dare I hope to have readers kind enough to leave me a review?

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;) Until next time! Thank you to the lovely readers who PM'd me about updating, you truly gave me the motivation to continue this story.