The Time Rip

by Alexia James

  He chuckled but wouldn’t say anything further. It was just as well that Brett knew the location of the time doorway, because Freya would have struggled to find it in the blue light of the evening without the sun shining on the ripples in the air.

  Brett arranged Martin carefully in the long grass by the meadow boundary some distance from the woods. He replaced the tie wraps and sweater while making sure Martin was lying as close to the recovery position as the restraints allowed.

  The farmhouse radiated emptiness. Freya stood watching it while she considered the next part of her plan.

  “D’you think he’s in there?” she whispered.

  “Hard to say. It looks empty to me, but it’s never a good idea to make assumptions where Jeremy’s concerned. What will you do now?”

  “I guess I hide out until he gets back, and then I draw him out to find Martin. You think Martin is gonna be up and about any time soon?”

  “Unlikely, the tie wraps are probably unnecessary.”

  Freya sighed suddenly in frustration, “What will I do if he takes more than an hour to come back, I won’t be able to meet you.”

  Brett grinned again, “Don’t worry, Freya, if you’re not back in the lane in three hours, I’ll come looking for you. Then if Jeremy’s still not home, I’ll get Alex to help us stash Martin somewhere until tomorrow night and we’ll try again.”

  Freya was suddenly speechless. She felt tears well in her eyes, and covered her confusion by giving Brett a hug. She took a deep breath; waiting until she knew her voice would be steady again.

  “Thanks Brett, that’s fantastic. Okay, good. Martin is well hidden there by the grass. Here,” she pulled her keys from her pocket, “Hopefully I’ll be waiting in the lane when you get back.”

  “Don’t untie him until you know Jeremy is here,” said Brett, his hand closing over the keys she held out.

  “I thought you said he wouldn’t wake up!”

  “I don’t think he will, but I don’t want you to take any chances. Take care of yourself Freya. I’m not going to be happy if you let yourself get hurt.”

  “You take care of yourself too. I’m not gonna be happy if you’re not back with my van,” she returned.

  Brett gave her a grin, and then was striding back along the boundary to the time doorway. Freya sat down cross-legged in the long grass close to Martin. They were now both hidden from view, but she could see the farmhouse well enough if she leaned forward and peered through the grass.

  It had been easier to reconcile herself to the situation while Brett was with her. Now that she was alone, the stress of the last few hours began to re-assert itself. The isolation of being in a darkened field with only her unconscious attacker for company began to cut up her peace.

  Images of Martin’s face as he came at her with the knife played repeatedly through her mind, and she determinedly thought of other things. She checked his restraints repeatedly, but still could not completely squash the panic that wanted to rise.

  Despite all her efforts to the contrary, her memory continually flashed back to the grimy alleyway; to the litter and smell of grease and diesel. Tall buildings towering overhead, the distant roar of people and traffic, herself kicking Martin, shoving him backwards, and starting towards him to finish what she had begun.

  Freya felt cold all over as the full implications of her reaction to the attack struck her. For the first time in her life, she questioned her belief in her own free will. She had been about to attack Martin further, and knew absolutely with a sick feeling of dread that she had been at the mercy of her subconscious.

  The decision to fight had been automatic, a reflex. It made her shudder to think that at a critical moment of choice, in a potentially life threatening situation, she had had no control of her actions.

  She would never have chosen to fight Martin, and would have sworn it was alien to her nature. She may have kicked him to save her own life; again, that had not been a conscious choice, but she would never have chosen to attack him further. If he hadn’t been knocked out, would she have stopped and run away as she should have?

  Her mind played the scene over again, unable to leave it alone. She saw herself starting towards him, but this time he was only mildly stunned. This time he easily overpowered her and slit her throat with the knife. It was a horrible image, and all the more powerful because it could so easily have happened.

  Again, she tried to squash the picture and think of something else, but her mind wasn’t having any of it. In desperation, she ended up doing mental arithmetic in the form of multiplication tables, and when those failed to occupy her, mainly because she found them too difficult, reciting as much Latin as she could remember from her school days. Going through declensions and tenses, ablative absolutes and perfect passives ad nauseam to keep her mind from going over the grisly imagined scene.

  She did not know how long she had sat in the field, but she was getting steadily colder and her muscles felt stiff from sitting still. It was a bit late now to remember that she did not have a watch. Still, Brett had promised to come and find her after three hours, so it was not as if she would end up sitting here all night.

  She wondered where Jeremy was. If he was in her flat looking for her while she was here. Dare she brave his kitchen for some water? She was incredibly thirsty, and the thought of what she had done to Martin, as much as the smell of vomit clinging to him, made her feel sick. He seemed a little restless and had mumbled a few times, making her heart pound. She had kept quiet, not wanting to help him regain full consciousness.

  The images of what might have happened to her if things had turned out a little differently were not helping. Guilt and anxiety crawled through her and she shook with cold and leftover adrenaline.

  The farmhouse was a dark blot on the landscape. No lights were on, in spite of the fading daylight. Thunder rumbled menacingly and, in the distance, small flashes heralded an approaching storm. Jeremy was obviously not in. Making up her mind, Freya crept quietly towards the house and tentatively tried the back door. It swung easily open and she stepped into the kitchen.

  In spite of her fears of Jeremy returning, the dark silence of the house felt comforting, as if she had come home instead of being the intruder. She had meant to go straight to the sink, turn on the tap and gulp directly from the stream. Instead, she found herself pulling out a chair and sinking down at the table.

  She rested her head on her arms, wishing that Martin was some place far away. Tears that she had beaten back in the field streamed silently down her face until her nose blocked and she gave up trying to stop her mind’s decent into chaos.

  A waft of cold air intruded on her misery, and she suddenly found herself yanked backwards out of the chair, which landed with a crash on the floor. She collided with a body, and a puzzled voice said, “Freya?”

  Jeremy.

  At that moment, she forgot all her plans. Forgot that he had cuffed her and threatened her with jail and that she was supposed to be avoiding him. He was warm and she breathed in the smell of him, burying her face in his shirt, embarrassed that he was witness to her misery.

  “What’s wrong?” His hands smoothed over her head, fingers combing through her hair and tangling in half-dried mud; they slid free to draw her closer. “Shh. Don’t cry, Freya, I’m here now. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “I’m not crying, I have hay fever,” she said in a muffled voice.

  “All right.” He took her across the kitchen and opened a drawer, one hand warm on her back, holding her to him, while the other rummaged for something. He pulled her in closer, freeing up both hands, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

  The unmistakeable sound of a match struck. The smoky smell reaching her as a warm glow lit her peripheral vision. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into his shirt.

  There was a scrape of metal on glass and then he was turning her towards the light, tipping her face up carefully, his thumb brushing away tears; a slight frown touch
ing his face as he tried to read her. “Freya, are you injured?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Is anyone looking for you, is there someone else here that I should know about?”

  Freya sputtered out a laugh and swiped at her tears. “No one is after me, I had a bad day and I’m not crying. I have hay fever. It’s your fault for having that stupid long grass outside your door.”

  “You’re soaked through,” he said with a sigh, and then a wicked smile curved his mouth, “Am I going to take your wet clothes off again?” He scanned her face, taking in more than she wanted him to see.

  “No!” Freya gulped back tears in alarm, as she remembered why she had not wanted to see him.

  He laughed, pulling her close again, and fiddled one handed with the lamp. The light got brighter and she squinted away from it, taking a shaky breath and trying to make herself let go of him.

  “In fact,” his voice was warm now with suppressed laughter, “I think it’s mud that you are covered in. Really, Freya, have you taken up a new sport and not told me about it?”

  She choked back a laugh. “I’m okay. I promise. It was just a crazy kind of day.” Freya took a breath and wiped her nose on her sleeve, still trying to control herself, immensely grateful he did not seem about to haul her off somewhere.

  “All right. Come with me now.” He pulled her across the room as he spoke, leading her towards the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Up to the bathroom. You can have a shower and change into some dry clothes, and then we will discuss this crazy day that you had.”

  The offer of a hot shower was too tempting to pass up, even as she recognised she would have to do some fast thinking to decide how much to tell him.

  “I haven’t got anything to change into.”

  “I brought clothes for you the last time you were here, but you left before I returned with them.”

  “You bought me clothes?”

  “Not in the sense you are thinking. The agency I work for provides clothing suitable to the era. I simply put in a request. I had to guess your size, so I hope they are all right.” He stopped to face her, “I am truly sorry that I frightened you, Freya. It was wrong of me.”

  “You said you were going to take me to the courts, are you still going to?” Her voice hitched slightly on the last word.

  Jeremy sighed and continued up the stairs, “That will teach me to make empty threats. I will never take you to the courts in 2112 because you have lived all your life in 2008.”

  “That’s what Greg said, but it’s nice to hear it from you.”

  “How did you get here? Will you tell me?”

  Now was undoubtedly the time to cast Martin to the wolves. Unfortunately, he was in a somewhat compromising position, unable to play his role. Yet. Then there was the small matter of not having worked out the finer detail of her plan.

  Still, there must be some way to sort this out to her advantage. After all, she had Martin where she wanted him, and Jeremy was right here being sympathetic to her plight.

  All she needed to do was distract Jeremy long enough to enable her to untie Martin, whilst making sure Martin was still out cold, of course, and then drag him to Jeremy’s back door. Then Jeremy could pester Martin for the stupid time device and that would freak him out as well as letting her off the hook.

  Yeah, right.

  Freya sighed softly. She just needed some time to work out the kinks. It was a good plan and it had nearly come off. Still could if she played her cards right. Furthermore, if she could figure a way to make it work, she could just see Jeremy being the sort to rush to her rescue over Martin; witness his reaction to a few tears.

  It was better than the truth at any rate, just thinking about her deplorable part in the situation made her wince. When she thought rationally about bringing Martin here, she could hardly believe she had done it. She had not exactly made the sanest choices available to her this afternoon, and embarrassment was fast catching up with disbelief.

  Anyone else would have reported Martin to the police immediately. Only she would have thought kidnapping him and dragging him through a field would be a smart idea. Well, it was far too late now, and there was no way she was telling Jeremy the truth about this particular bout of madness.

  It was not just about this afternoon’s mess either. If Jeremy knew about the time doorway, it might be possible for him to close it. If Freya told him the truth about what had happened today, and he believed it, then it was surely only a matter of time before he figured out that the time rip theory was actually true.

  She heard Greg’s voice in her mind saying Jeremy could keep her in the past with him if he wished and no one would stop him. No matter how attractive she found him, staying in 1908 on a permanent basis was simply unacceptable.

  She realised Jeremy was still waiting for an answer.

  “I’m really cold,” she tried instead.

  “All right, we’ll leave it for now.” He led her to the main bedroom, scooped up a heap of neatly folded clothes and pulled a key out of his pocket. The door he unlocked led into a small bathroom. It was still old-fashioned looking, but had a modern shower over the bath and a glass screen that surely could not have come from 1908. He pulled open a cupboard and indicated a heap of folded towels then passed her the clothing and the key. “Come downstairs when you are finished. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Chapter 7

  A short while later Freya headed downstairs. The hot water and clean clothing had done much to restore her. Jeremy had provided an ankle length skirt in a beautiful deep blue and a long sleeve shirt in thick cotton, and if her hair was a little tangled, at least it was clean.

  He had also thoughtfully provided a black, fine-knit cardigan that was beautifully soft and cosy. She wondered if he had chosen the clothes or if the agency simply gave out whatever was available.

  Hesitating at the kitchen door, Freya watched Jeremy stirring something at the stove. He turned and smiled as she entered, pouring hot milk into a mug and holding it out to her. “Here.”

  She felt self-conscious as she walked up to him. She had left her wet shoes by the back door and was uncomfortable in her bare feet and borrowed clothes. She took the mug with a word of thanks, wrapping her hands around its warmth and trying not to react to Jeremy’s proximity.

  He pulled out a chair for her and she sank gratefully into it, not wanting to be standing next to him without her shoes on. For some reason, having bare feet around him made her feel awkward and, considering everything else she had to feel embarrassed about, that was just weird.

  She sipped her hot drink, settling her nerves so that she was able to meet his gaze more comfortably, and sat back with a sigh, feet tucked under the chair. “Thanks for looking after me again. I feel much better.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, you can tell me about this crazy day you had.” His voice was low and soft; deceptively mild.

  “Um, yeah.” She looked down at the table, biting her lip and sorting out her lies. “Well, it started when I was coming back from lunch.” She paused again and glanced up, meeting his eyes fleetingly.

  “He— um, Martin came up, and I guess he was still mad about the other day because he wasn’t that thrilled to see me. He pulled a knife on me and said he was going to teach me some manners.” She stopped as adrenalin flashed a shiver along with the memory, and then gave a half laugh. “It freaked me out a bit.” She bit the edge of one finger, her eyes nervously flicking up to meet his once more.

  Jeremy caught her hand and held it on the table between them. “You are not injured.” His eyes flickered over her, his face impassive.

  “No. No, I’m okay.”

  “What happened the other day to cause his displeasure, if I may ask?”

  Jeremy was completely calm, his voice bland, as though they were discussing the weather. His attitude threw Freya off slightly. She had been expecting anger or disbelief and wondered briefly if he believed her, but it was clear she ha
d all his attention.

  “When I last saw him, it was at the market and we were having a bit of an argument. He wanted to see me for a date, and I said no because he creeps me out, and he didn’t like that. And then Greg found us, and he was a bit rough with Martin and told him to get lost. And I think maybe that’s why Martin was so mad today,” she finished in a rush.

  “Why was Greg rough with Martin, what did he do to Martin, exactly?”

  “Oh, uh, he just kind of grabbed him by his shirt collar and kind of threw him away somehow.”

  “It seems a bit extreme, even for Greg. What was Martin doing that Greg felt he had to treat him in this way?”

  Freya thought back to Martin’s face as he leered over her, going in for a kiss that she didn’t want and would have tried to dodge. The mere thought of it caused her to cringe, but she was too embarrassed by the whole sorry story to speak of it.

  Besides that, she did not want Jeremy to think she had almost been the victim of what, to her mind, was a more serious assault than the knife.

  On top of all that, Jeremy had also kissed her the first night she had met him, and how could she explain that one was a bone melting experience she craved and the other an assault, without getting hopelessly muddled and giving away far more of her feelings for him than she wanted him to know about.

  She looked at the tabletop and mumbled, “I don’t know. Martin was loud and we were arguing. Maybe Greg thought he was going to hit me or something.”

  Jeremy was silent, so Freya risked a peek at his face and found him unreadable. She didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so nervous. Jeremy was managing to freak her out without giving any outward sign of temper.

  Something must be giving him away; she could almost feel the threat humming around him and understood why Greg had not wanted to cross him. She felt her face prickle, a strange sensation, and suddenly did not know how to tell the lies she had prepared.