A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (4 page)

Elizabeth rubbed a few brain cells together. “So, the original timeline and the new timeline are sort of co-existing. The change has occurred and yet it hasn’t? So, it’s flip-flopping between them?”

Simon took another sip of scotch and nodded. “Precisely, until the new timeline overwrites the old completely.”

“Dollars to donuts,” Jack said, “any changes that head case made are ones we’re not gonna like.”

“No doubt. Of course,” Simon said, “we’re only accepting Travers’ rather dubious word that we will be affected at all.”

“Not really,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Travers, but…”

Both men shifted in their seats to face her with varying degrees of
oh no, you di’int
.

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time,” Elizabeth said with an apologetic shrug. “I thought it was just fatigue playing mind games, but…earlier, I had a sort of dizzy spell—”

“Elizabeth—”

“It was nothing,” she said quickly to fend off Simon’s Lecture Mode. “It was really fast, but I had this strange feeling, just for a second, that our house wasn’t…our house.”

The worry lines between Simon’s eyes deepened.

“It was over in seconds, but I think maybe it was one of these flux thingies. It was weird, like I wasn’t who I am,” she said and then met Simon’s gaze. “It didn’t scare me then, but it does now.”

Simon nodded slowly, his jaw clenched.

“Well, then that’s that, isn’t it?” Jack said. He raised his glass. “To London we go.”

“W
HY
COULDN
’
T
SHE
HAVE
chosen some other time to mess around with?” Elizabeth pouted as she waited to have her measurements taken.

Simon raised his arm at the tailor’s silent urging and the man efficiently stretched out his measuring tape along it and then jotted down the results in a small notebook.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Simon said.

“You wouldn’t say that with a straight face if you had to wear a corset.”

Simon chuckled. “No, I suppose not.”

“I think we should go to seventeenth century Scotland next. You’d kill it in a kilt.”

Simon gave her eyebrow waggles a sour look in return as he stepped off the small platform and helped her to take his place.

She smiled wickedly back at him and he let himself laugh. It felt good. Damn good. The last few weeks had been a study in tension. And considering it seemed it was not about to relent anytime soon, he would take any joy where he could find it. He hadn’t expected it to be in the bowels of the Council Clothiers though.

He had to give credit where credit was due; the Council’s resources were impressive. In this department alone they had a tailor, seamstress, and historical advisor, not to mention a cavernous warehouse of clothing from every era imaginable.

“Do I have to wear a corset?” Elizabeth turned and asked the tailor hopefully. “My figure’s not bad, is it?”

The tailor huffed out a frustrated breath. “Please stand still. Your figure is perfectly acceptable for a modern woman. But,” he continued, “for a woman of substance in the 1880s, it will not do to go
au naturel
, as it were.”

He measured her chest and eyed her thoughtfully. “We could, however, add a bust enhancer.”

Simon snorted and coughed to cover it.
 

Elizabeth gave him a searing look, but there was only humor behind it. She knew perfectly well he was more than content with every part of her just as it was.

“No, thank you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Some ladies prefer them,” the tailor said with a shrug. “They tend to help balance out the bustle.”

“Bustle?” Elizabeth scrunched up her face in distaste, but he knew that when the time came, she would endure it all with a smile. If only that were all they would have to endure.

Once they were finished with their measurements, what came next was every man’s nightmare shopping trip. They spent hours selecting clothes, smalls, jewelry, hats, gloves, shoes, canes, and any number of other things. By the end of it all, Simon would have worn whatever they’d suggested. Even a kilt. Jack had the right idea. Get in and get out. He’d fled as soon as he could for more interesting pursuits, planning to meet them later in the armory.

With the bulk of the preparations left to them, Simon and Elizabeth arranged for traveling money at the Council’s financial department. That not only included a considerable sum of cash, but a letter of introduction that would give them access to an account with Bank of England with nearly unlimited funds. There were, it seemed, some perks after all in working with the Council.

They were sent to a pharmacy where they were given discreetly labeled powders, draughts and ointments that would provide them with the safety of having modern medicine at hand. Next was a trip to the documents office where they were given any traveling papers they might need. That left only the armory, where Jack was waiting for them.

Unlike the other departments they’d visited, which were all stylishly decorated offices where no expense was spared, the armory looked more like a deserted bank. The room itself was large, but virtually empty except for a barred cashier’s cage that ran half the length of the far wall. Inside was a large man in a dark suit and another who stood at the small opening in the bars. Jack stood fondling a large elegant pistol.

“Good. You’re here. Look at this,” he said, brimming with excitement. He held up a handsome gun with an outrageously elongated grip and muzzle. “It’s an Albanian Rat Tail.”

“Lovely,” Simon said.

“You just don’t know guns,” Jack said as he held it up and admired it. “I would marry this gun if I could.”

“Perhaps we can arrange that,” Simon said, “when we get back.”

Jack smirked and put the gun back onto the velvet pad atop the counter.

“It’s a little long, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said.

Jack shook his head. “Oh, it’s not for the trip, I’d just never seen one before. You won’t believe the stuff they have back there.”

“Let’s focus on our mission, shall we?” Simon said.

Jack sighed, but waved for the man behind the counter to take the gun away. He set it aside and brought out a tray of smaller revolvers and pistols.

“Find anything you like?” Travers voice said from the doorway behind them.

“Impressive place you got here,” Jack said as he hefted a gun and then frowned, apparently finding it lacking, and put it back to search for another.

“Yes, we’re rather proud of it,” Travers said. He held out a large brown leather portfolio. “A little light reading for tonight. It’s a great deal to take in, I’m afraid, but we don’t have much time with the eclipse tomorrow night. We can’t afford to miss it.”

Simon nodded in agreement. He and Elizabeth had decided not to tell Travers about the key that Teddy Fiske had given them, which allowed them to travel in time without the need of an eclipse. Its presence was one even the Council didn’t know about. Although, it was likely they suspected something, considering Simon and Elizabeth had traveled without the benefit of an eclipse several times. The Council might have been untrustworthy, but they were not stupid. Either way, Simon and Elizabeth decided it was best to keep it under wraps for as long as they could.
 

Simon strode toward Travers, Elizabeth close behind, leaving Jack to pick out their weapons.

“We’ll read it tonight,” Elizabeth said as she reached out to take the notebook.

“And these are journals.” Travers gestured to three small books stacked on top of the portfolio. “You’ll want to write down anything—”

“Guys,” Jack said behind them. The nervous tenor of his voice immediately captured everyone’s attention and as one they turned to him.

His hand was at his temple and he looked dazed.

He took a staggering step forward, the gun in his hand clattering to the floor. He looked on the verge of collapse.

“I think it’s happening,” he said breathlessly.

Both Elizabeth and Simon started toward him, but he held up a hand to stop them. They paused and he looked at them. His expression was worried, confused and apologetic. He tried to say something, but there was no sound. He blurred for a moment, as though they were seeing him through heavy rain.

“Jack!”
 

Elizabeth reached toward him, but Simon grabbed her arm. They had no idea what touching someone in this state could mean. Elizabeth pulled against him, but he would not let go. They both watched with horror as Jack looked at them helplessly.

And then, with words they could not hear on his lips, he was gone.

“Oh, dear,” Travers said softly.

Elizabeth pulled herself from Simon’s grip and hurried toward Travers. “Is he dead? Where’d he go?”

“I’m not sure,” Travers admitted. “It’s possible he’s safe and sound in 1942 London. As safe as someone can be there then.”

Elizabeth looked to Simon for an explanation. His mind reeled with what he’d just seen, but he was starting to understand. “If time for him was changed in such a way that we never met him,” Simon thought aloud, “or that we never brought him back to the future, he’d still be in London living the life he would have lived without us.”

“Exactly,” Travers said. “We can’t know for sure, but that’s the theory.”

“The theory?” Elizabeth’s eyes were filled with concern. “Will he come back? You said things come and go? Will he just…appear again?”

Travers looked at her sadly. “Possibly.”

Simon could see Elizabeth fighting down her emotions. Jack was far more than just a friend; he was family.

“When we set things right, he’ll be back,” Simon assured her.

After letting out a shuddering breath to control herself, Elizabeth nodded.
 

He might not have shown it outwardly, but Simon felt the same way Elizabeth did. For Jack to vanish so quickly, without any warning, was horrifying. Worse yet, there was no telling who or what might be next. He took firm hold of Elizabeth’s hand.

“We can hope,” Travers said. He looked anxiously between them. “I’m afraid time is not on our side though.”

Simon looked back at the spot where Jack had stood just moments before. “It never is.”

~~~

Elizabeth had insisted that they wait in the armory, just in case. But it was no use. An hour went by and then another, and Jack did not return. Elizabeth’s stomach tightened as they finally left. If the cold, hard reality of what might happen, of what was happening, if they didn’t go back and complete their mission wasn’t clear before, it certainly was now. Reality had punched them both right in the gut.

Tomorrow they would travel back in time, hunt down Jack the Ripper and save him. If today’s events were anything to go by, the alternative was unthinkable.

They retired early to their hotel room and although neither of them had mentioned it, it was clear they weren’t about to leave each other’s sides. Elizabeth knew they wouldn’t be able to keep that up 24/7, but for now, neither went anywhere alone.

Finally, they settled into the bedroom to do their reading for the next day. The files Travers had given them were extensive. They would never be able to finish them, much less remember everything in them. As tempting as it was, they couldn’t risk muddying the timeline by bringing the files. It was far too great a risk.

The first few files had turned Elizabeth’s stomach. She hadn’t been expecting crime scene photos from the 1800s, and yet there they were. Somehow, the grainy, black and white made them just that much more disturbing.
 

There was a file for each of the five canonical victims and another dozen for the various suspects who ranged from an escaped mental patient to Prince Albert Victor, the Queen’s son, himself.

The murders took place over the course of just under two and a half months. The exact date of the murder of Jack the Ripper was difficult for the Council to pin down. Their best guess was that it occurred sometime between the fourth and fifth murders, probably closer to the fourth.
 

The plan was to arrive a few days before the first murder to give them the best chance of discovering the killer. That meant they’d be in London for just over a month. It was a harrowing prospect to chase a madman for weeks on end. Perhaps the only thing worse than searching for him, would be finding him.

Although she knew it sickened him to his core, Simon gave no indication of the depth of his disgust as he leaned back against the headboard of their bed and read through the files. He was doing one of the things he did best—compartmentalize. It was a skill she envied right now. He was able, in most things, to keep a cool head. Sure as shootin’, they would need every ounce of his Vulcan blood this time.

Elizabeth took a break from reading to get back to her journal. Travers suggested they write down important events that would help them remember who they were, if their memories became compromised. He’d advised keeping things brief, highlighting the watershed events that led them to this place and time. Things that would help ground them. It was a little Nicholas Sparks, but it made sense. If they lost their memories of their lives together, which would be terrifying, they could read about them in their own hand and at least be a little reassured. More importantly, they could be reminded why they were there and just what was at stake.

It was hard to narrow down a life so that it fit onto small pieces of paper. She’d already spent an hour or so detailing her early years and how she’d come to meet Simon. Stretching out on top of the covers of their king-sized bed, she flopped onto her stomach and got back to it.

She finished telling herself the story of their wedding. For a stuffy Englishman, he was pretty darn romantic. She turned back to admire her husband and reassure herself that he was still there.

His nose was still buried in the files, the worry crease between his eyes the only sign of his distress. His journal sat next to him on the end table. She hadn’t seen him even crack it open.

“You know,” she said, “you should probably put
something
in there.”