Chapter 4 - Let’s Pretend.

Brian hadn’t made it even five meters down the street after emerging from the Tube station before he realized that his strange night was turning into an even stranger morning.

Justin had helped him slowly limp up the stationary escalator from the underground platform up to the station entrance. They were flanked by the rest of the denizens who’d spent the night with them down below. Brian was still marveling at how great all their costumes looked - every single one seemed so authentic to him. But he was really looking forward to getting back to reality.

Only, reality was still severely lacking once they made it back to street level. Or, at least the reality Brian was hoping to find. Because it seemed like, either the fancy-dress party from the Tube station had overflowed and taken over all of Covent Garden, or Brian’s hypothesis about what had happened to him the night before was completely wrong.

The very first thing he saw after they emerged from the station, was a parade of men wearing what appeared to be rough-spun wool jackets, aprons, and newsboy caps, pulling handcarts laden with bundles and burlap bags full of goods. They all seemed headed in the same direction - down the street and in through a large wrought-iron archway at the front of a large building he didn’t recognize. Nobody around him seemed to pay this incongruous sight any mind at all. It was almost like this was a daily happening or something. Most of the others leaving the station simply stepped around the carters, a few nodding politely or making small talk. Not even Brian’s Blue Eyes commented on the sight.

That’s when Brian noticed that there didn’t appear to be ANY motorized vehicles around at all. The street in front of him was mostly empty, except for the guys and their handcarts, but a little ways down the street there was another cart, this one much larger, hitched to a pair of horses. And these weren’t the kind of picturesque horses you saw drawing shiny carriages for tourists to ride in while viewing the sights, either. These were tired, old, mud-crusted, dray horses that weren’t at all picturesque. The guy sitting atop the wagon guiding the horses wasn’t picturesque either - he looked almost as dirty as the damn horses. And there was nothing photo-worthy of the piles of dilapidated old furniture and boxes on the cart either. What the hell?

Looking around him at the street itself wasn’t any more reassuring. The buildings on this street looked somehow older than he remembered them - more sooty and less shiny. They were all brick and mortar, three or four story townhouses, mostly residential, and not the busy street of shops and offices he’d remembered in this area. There wasn’t a single modern, steel and glass structure visible anywhere. And even the few shops he could see looked different - gone were the sliding steel security gates that fronted most closed-up shops, the neon signs, and the security lights. In fact, there weren’t any real lights on any of the shops at all. They were all much drabber than normal shops too - even the colors on the signage was muted-looking to Brian’s eyes. Then it hit him - all the signs were simple hand-lettered placards - there wasn’t a single plastic or lighted sign anywhere.

While Brian was still reeling from this disconcerting observance, Justin had been guiding him down the road, back in the direction they’d come from the night before. As they crossed a side street and rounded the corner, Brian got a good look at the broader High Street, and that sight was even more disturbing. The entire street here was strewn with rubble - bricks, wooden boards, bits of metal and other trash, all littered the street. The source of the mess was obviously the large building on the right side of the block, where a gaping hole in the line of brickwork was clearly visible. The windows of the nearby buildings were all broken out as well, and you could see that the interiors had been burned. There was still a strong odor of smoke surrounding the site and through the ruined windows he could see smoldering piles of ashes where the fire wasn’t even completely out.

Several men wearing those same flat-brimmed metal hats that Brian had seen the night before, were climbing around in the remains, kicking aside pieces of wood and dumping what looked like sand on any lingering hot spots. On the pavement in front of the building, a hoard of children were busy gathering smaller pieces of the rubble and, at the direction of an older woman, making neat piles of the remains off to the side. Except for a few gawkers, though, this minor disaster didn’t seem to cause any real uproar. Most of the crowd leaving the Tube station along with Brian and Justin simply shook their heads at the sight and kept on walking. It was almost like the sight of a ruined, burned out building was no big deal to these folks.

“What the hell . . . ?” Brian pulled Justin to a halt, standing in front of the gap between buildings next to a trio of children, one of whom was pointing up at a particularly unstable portion of the remains. “What the fuck happened here?”

“Hey! Watch your language, Mister. Ladies and children present,” a passerby admonished Brian angrily.

“Applesauce! I thought those hits last night were close,” Justin replied, shaking his head at the destruction. “Must have been incendiaries too, judging by the amount of fire damage. I bet the fire brigade had a hell of a time keeping this one under control. It’s still hot, even,” Justin commented before taking a renewed grip around Brian’s waist and starting to turn his charge around so they could continue on their way without further ado. “I hope Mrs. McCready’s didn’t take any damage. Until my squadron’s officially up to numbers, they’ve got us billeted all over the place - wherever they could find us rooms - but we’ll eventually be moving into the barracks out by the Essex airfields. Not that we’ll be any safer out there. Gerry tries to hit the airfields pretty much every night, but our defenses are getting better all the time. In the meantime, though, I’m in a boarding house just around the way here and I’m always worried I’ll come up from the shelters in the morning and find it gone.”

Brian was too much in shock at what he was seeing to comment.

They soon got beyond the area affected by the bombed building, and the bustling crowd of people around them increased. Brian was outright staring now. Everyone he saw was dressed the same as the people he’d spent the night with down in the Tube. This couldn’t just be some elaborate costume party. He saw women in classic 1940s frocks, hats pinned atop hair rolled like Ginger Rogers. He saw police Bobbies with the traditional rounded helmet-type hats. He saw men in dapper suits just like the one he was wearing. And children wearing short pants buckled at the knee or short little dresses with ribbons in their hair. If this WAS a fancy-dress party, it would have to be a city-wide event.  

Brian was starting to get a very, very bad feeling about everything he was seeing.

But when they got to a spot a little further down the street where the entire pavement had been roped off and a sign put up saying, ‘Danger: Unexploded Bomb’, that’s when it all got to be too much for him. Brian felt his legs go out from under him and the entire crazy street scene in front of him began to spin. He felt like he couldn’t breathe - couldn’t fill his lungs with enough oxygen. His hearing went wonky, the voices around him sounding distant, muffled and their words elongated to the point they didn’t make any sense. He had to sit down. Right then. Right there.

“Brian? Brian, what’s wrong? Applesauce! Here, sit here.” Brian could hear the words Justin was shouting at him, but it was like watching a movie where the soundtrack was off - the words were about ten seconds off from the mouth speaking them. “I think you’re having a panic attack, Brian. Try and slow your breathing. That’s better. Put your head down, between your knees, and just keep breathing. You’re going to be okay. Keep breathing.”

If he could actually speak, Brian would have asked how he was supposed to keep breathing when Justin had him bent in half so far he couldn’t fill his lungs. But he was still gasping for air and therefore couldn’t get the words out. Bending over did seem to help make the world stop spinning around him, though. He felt reassured when he only had the pavement below his feet to look at and not all the inexplicable anomalies that had been assailing his vision that morning. Justin’s warm, comforting hand rubbing reassuring circles on Brian’s back also seemed to help.

After several minutes - Brian wasn’t sure exactly how much time went by in real life, but it felt like a long time to him - he finally felt strong enough again to sit up. Unfortunately the scene around him hadn’t resolved itself into the modern, 2016 London street he was hoping to see. As unbelievable as it seemed, it looked like Brian was still in the middle of a 1940s war movie. Only, he didn’t think this was a movie. Or a costume party. Or any of the other flimsy explanations that he had tried out in his head, all of which fell flat as the reality of his situation continued to pound at him relentlessly. This looked real. It smelled real. It felt real.

Unless he’d completely lost his mind, it looked like Brian really was, somehow, back in wartime London.

Brian turned to his blue-eyed companion and demanded, “pinch me!”

“What? Why?”

“Just fucking pinch me already!” Brian snarled angrily.

With a confused shrug, Justin complied, grabbing a fold of skin on the side of Brian’s neck and twisting it with a hard pinch.

“Ouch!” Brian hollered on cue. “Shit that hurt!”

“You said to pinch you,” Justin commented, looking at Brian as if the older man had lost it.

“It’s all real? Totally fucking real. Damn! How the hell . . .” Brian was now looking around himself again, this time with wonder, as he tried to take it all in.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Brian? Maybe we should get you to the hospital after all. You might have hit your head harder than we thought,” Justin suggested, looking really worried now.

“What did you say the date was again,” Brian asked, just to make sure.

“It’s the First of April, 1941,” Justin answered, looking even more concerned.

“Well, fuck me . . .” Brian shook his head, a smile growing as he surveyed the world around him one more time. “How cool is this, huh, Blue Eyes? It’s fucking 1941! Shit!”

“Um . . . Uh . . . Right, so, about that trip to the hospital,” Justin said, backing slowly away. “Let me see if I can get someone to help me carry you there. You just stay put, okay? Don’t . . . Don’t wander off anywhere . . .”

Taking quick stock of the situation, Brian decided the last thing he wanted was to get taken to a hospital back here in 1941, where he could catch impetigo or some shit, or worse, get thrown in some antiquated looney bin. He had a fleeting image of himself in a straight jacket, a la ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest’. He figured that most mental health facilities of the time probably weren’t nice places to be and he wasn’t itching to end his stay in this time period like that. No, if he had any hope of getting back to his real life, his proper time, he needed to figure this out and being labeled a lunatic and locked up wasn’t going to help. So, no hospitals.

“No!” His yell seemed to startle Justin even more, so he tried to modulate his voice a little. “No, Justin, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just . . . I had another little dizzy spell. It’s over, though. I’m fine now. Really.”

Justin was scrutinizing Brian as if he wasn’t convinced. Brian tried to put on an air of nonchalance, as if nothing was wrong, as if his heart wasn’t still racing. He wasn’t sure he completely succeeded, but in the end Justin sighed and merely offered a hand to help him up.

“Well, then, let’s hope your hotel has a doctor on call that can check you out. I don’t want you keeling over as soon as I leave you. I wouldn’t feel right about abandoning you like that,” Justin asserted as he once again assumed his post supporting Brian on the side by his weak ankle.

“Thank you again, Justin. I appreciate the help. My ankle really is bothering me, even more so than my head actually,” Brian said, hoping to move the topic to something other than his mental faculties.

“It’s no problem. I’m off duty today anyway,” Justin reassured as they started back out into the street together. “Which hotel did you say you were staying at?”

“The Strand Palace,” Brian answered, hoping that his hotel was actually in existence in this time period.

“Swanky. You really must be a high roller,” Justin commented with a sideways smile in Brian’s direction.

If Justin had heard of the place, Brian thought, that was a good sign it was still here. It was the first break he’d had since he’d woken in that alley the night before. Brian silently thanked his stars that he’d chosen to stay at the kitschy, but still grand, old hotel instead of at the brand new, ultra-modern, Hilton that Cynthia had originally booked him into.

The rest of the walk went by peacefully. Brian was still so busy looking around him, trying to take everything in, that he was too overwhelmed to talk. He still couldn’t really believe it. But everything he saw and heard around him confirmed that somehow he really, truly, had been transported back in time. It was like some bad science fiction story come to life. That group of men walking together down the street dressed in military garb, really were British soldiers. Those really were vintage WWII London buses and cars out rumbling down the street. It was ALL real.

When they rounded the last corner, and we’re finally headed down the road where the Strand Palace Hotel was located, the last shred of doubt in Brian‘s mind withered and died. The hotel standing in front of them now, bore only a minimal resemblance to the hotel Brian had checked into a few days before. The bones of the structure were the same, and it was located in the same spot, but this hotel was much simpler than the one he was familiar with. Apparently, several floors had been added in the intervening years, the entrance had been remodeled, and the facade had been updated. The sign over the door, though, gave evidence that this was indeed the same Strand Palace Hotel that Brian would be staying in 75 years later.

Of course, there was the one small problem that he wasn’t actually registered at this hotel, in this time. If he let Blue Eyes take him all the way inside, that fact was sure to come out. So, how to get rid of Justin before he realized that the man he’d been helping all this time was an impostor?

As soon as they had reached the front steps, Brian turned to his rescuer with a smile of gratitude. “I’m sure I can get along on my own from here, Justin. Thank you so much for your help. I really wasn’t in much of a condition to do anything last night when you found me.”

“Aw, shucks. Don’t mention it. We Yanks need to stick together right?” Justin replied, giving Brian a full wattage smile that was almost blinding it was so bright. Then the young pilot seemed to hesitate, looking down at the ground and shuffling his left foot nervously as he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “You sure you can make it up to your room okay? I’d be happy to help you the rest of the way. You never know, with the war and all, if the elevator in there is working or not. It might be a long trip up the stairs . . .”

‘Shit. This kid is fucking adorable’, Brian thought to himself, and then immediately erased the lesbianic word ‘adorable’ from his mind.

“No need. I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough.”

“All righty then. It was nice to meet you Brian Kinney,” The blond started shuffling his feet again and two spots of pink arose on his pale cheeks. “And, uh . . . Well . . . Um . . . If you’re staying in town for a while . . . and you have nothing better to do . . . Um . . .  my favorite local pub is The White Lion, I’m there most every night, at least when there isn’t a raid on, and if I don’t have any training that night or other duties. But, you know, if you wanted to stop in and buy me a drink to thank me for the expert medical attention, t-t-that’s where I’ll be . . .” The kid stuttered to a stop, his cheeks growing pinker by the minute.

Brian put on his most indignant glare. “Are you asking me out on a date, Blue Eyes?”

“Uh, no. No! Of course not. I-I would never . . .” Justin replied, looking alarmed, and taking a giant step backward away from Brian. The look of fear on the younger man’s face was enough to make Brian feel a little guilty about teasing him. “I-I-I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry if . . .”

Brian couldn’t help himself; he broke out into a full belly laugh. The kid was sweet and innocent - so fucking easy to tease - Brian didn’t think he’d ever seen anything like it. Maybe there wasn’t anything like it back in 2016. However, he didn’t want to get the kid in trouble either. Brian knew enough about the era that he realized being gay in this time and place could be a serious matter.

“I’m just teasing you, Blue Eyes,” he explained, noting the relief in his blond’s eyes and the sudden exhale of breath. “I really don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. If I’m still around, though, I’d be honored to have a drink with you sometime, First Officer Justin Taylor.”

Brian held out his hand with an honest and warm smile. Justin stood tall and smiled back, accepting the handshake. Brian held on even through the little jolt of static electricity that shocked him when their hands first touched, and then added a little extra squeeze at the end before he finally released Justin’s hand. The adorable little brat was blushing again but at least this time he managed to look Brian directly in the eyes, allowing the experienced older man to see the implicit invitation hidden there.

Yep. It seemed Brian’s gaydar worked even in this century.

Recollecting himself, Justin returned his hand to his pocket and took another step backward. Then, with a jaunty tilt to his head, he smiled and waved before turning sharply on his heel with military precision and marching back along the street the way they’d come. Brian watched him for quite awhile, wondering silently what, if anything, his auspicious meeting with the blue eyed pilot meant.

But, as soon as Justin disappeared around the far corner of the building, Brian recollected himself and his circumstances. He didn’t have the luxury of sitting around admiring adorable blonds with luscious bubble butts and pretty blue eyes. He needed to figure out how to the get the fuck back to his proper time. As quickly as possible, too.

As far as Brian could figure it, everything that had happened to him the past twelve or so hours, stemmed from the events that had occurred back in that alleyway behind the bar. Much of what had happened seemed a little blurry now, but he distinctly remembered that all was right until he wandered down that back alley before the rain storm hit. It must have been that storm and . . . He remembered lightning hitting the building next to where he was sheltering from the rain. And then he didn’t remember anything until waking up in the dark and feeling hurt. Something had definitely happened in that alleyway. He just wasn’t sure what.

So, logically, Brian knew that is where he would have to go back to, to find his answers.

With that decision made, Brian started back down the street. It was a lot slower going without his handy assistant, Justin, to help him along. His ankle was still ridiculously weak. But, by using the buildings themselves to support him on the side with his bad ankle, he managed to limp along, slowly but surely. When he got to the side street, he had to go even slower for a bit until he’d made it across, but then he was able to use the next set of buildings the same way. And, little by little, he made his way back to the corner where the little pub had been in his time.

Of course, there wasn’t any pub there in this time and the building itself was boarded up, as he’d noted the night before. Now that he could see the place in broad daylight, it was clear that this building must have seen bombing damage too. The windows and doors were all boarded up on the ground floor, and the upper stories were clearly vacant as well. There would be no stopping here for a rest or refreshment. No matter. Brian didn’t have the time to waste anyway. Instead, he hobbled on, creeping around the corner into ‘Duckett’s Passage’ as fast as his lame ankle would allow, the cobbled stones making it even more of a challenge for him.

The alley looked much different in the daylight than it had by moonlight. If anything, it seemed gloomier and more barren. The walls of the narrow passage were grimy and the cobbles under his feet were uneven and dirt-encrusted. No wonder his poor suit was in such sad condition this morning. The passage didn’t seem very commonly used either - right then he was the only one in the alley for as far down the lane as Brian could see. Which was good, he supposed, since he didn’t want witnesses asking him what the hell he was doing.

He made his way along the alley as quickly as he could, doing his best to calculate the precise location where he’d been when the lightning struck. It wasn’t easy, because there were enough subtle changes between the alley of 2016 and the alley of 1941 that it confused him. He did find the stretch of wall that he remembered had been bricked-up in his time but was still intact, doors and windows in place, here. If he remembered correctly the little bend in the wall where he’d tried to get out of the rain was just beyond that.

Yes! With a little more searching, Brian found his way to the nook with the small brick ledge above it. So, if this was where he’d been standing when the lightning hit, then that would mean that the wall across from him, over there by the metal guttering pipe that snaked it’s way down the brickwork from the roof of that building to the ground, would have been in the direct path of the electrical strike . . .

Brian carefully felt his way, first along the wall where he’d been sheltering - which turned up nothing out of the ordinary - and then the opposite wall.

Which is when something extraordinary happened.

As Brian stood there, facing the solid brick wall, with both hands flat against the bricks, his right hand slid along the rough surface inch by inch until . . . it seemed to vanish into thin air right in front of his face.

He immediately yanked his limb back, almost expecting to find his hand missing or something. Luckily, his appendage was completely intact and, as far as he could tell, no different. He grabbed his right hand with the left, feeling along all the fingers and joints to try and detect any abnormality, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

So he tried it again, allowing his hand to move barely a centimeter at a time, until there was a slight dimpling in the visible light, and his hand began to gradually disappear again past that line.

“HOLY FUCK!” he yelled, surprising himself at how loud his voice sounded as it echoed off the walls of the tiny passage.

He pulled his hand back one more time, just to reassure himself that no harm had come to it, and was again pleased to see it was still there.

A third time, Brian pushed his hand through the invisible barrier, this time more rapidly, and held it there this time, wiggling his fingers. He could still feel his fingers, even though he couldn’t see them. He moved his arm around a little, taking a step away from the wall and noted that his hand and even a little of his arm stayed invisible even when he moved them more than a foot out from the brick wall.

So, there seemed to be a fairly large hole in the fabric of time right here in this dreary little back passage. Hopefully, it was big enough to get Brian back through to his own time. At least, he hoped it went back to his own time. What if it was another time portal that took him back to prehistoric times. All he needed was to he end up mingling with fucking dinosaurs or some shit.

One last test seemed called for. Brian took a deep breath, hoping that he wasn’t being stupid, and then leaned his head forward until it too passed through the invisible barrier. And, after three heartbeats of the scariest nothingness he’d ever experienced, Brian saw the other side of time.

There was the same alley, albeit looking a lot cleaner and more modern, along with his disembodied hand floating in the air just a foot or so below where his now disembodied head was hovering.

“Holy Fucking Shit!” He repeated himself.

From what Brian could see while hovering there, half in and half out of time, this side of the spatial rift certainly looked like his own time. He could see modern lighting fixtures over doors and windows, brighter colors on the various awnings and signs affixed to the doors, and here and there a bit of plastic or other modern textiles. It seemed like the right time. He pulled his head back to the 1941 side of time for one more brief look around at that side, and then, with a shrug, Brian decided to just go for it and stepped through with his whole body.

When he was all the way through, Brian paused for a minute to take stock and make sure he’d made it back in one piece. He looked at himself, scanning his body to make sure all limbs were in place and then feeling his crotch to make sure that equipment was there as well. Nothing seemed damaged or out of place, though. He thought briefly about sticking one hand back through to see if the hole to the past was still functional, but then decided not to press his luck. Now that he was seemingly back to his own time, he wasn’t going to tempt fate. And, to make doubly sure, he decided not to even try walking back down the passage in that direction. Instead, he’d walk the long way, down the rest of Duckett’s Passage, until he found the other end and could go the long way back to his hotel.

Which is what he did.

Brian made it back to the Strand Palace Hotel just as the grandfather clock in the lobby rang out nine thirty. He was dirty, tired and in a hell of a lot of pain from walking so long on his injured ankle. But by then he was certain that he’d made it back to 2016. And he still had time - if he hurried - to take a shower, change into a clean suit and get to the presentation for Britcom.