HG Wells was numb. When they pushed her into the dark van she felt nothing, she didn't even flinch when her shoulder briefly hit the side of the car. Nothing.
She had not dared to look at Myka. Her sweet, wonderful Myka. If she had, she would have broken down completely. Instead she pushed all thoughts of Myka out of her mind.
They had moved her shackles so her hands were now resting in her lap. She smirked as she looked at the white cotton mittens covering her hands. They were clever, she gave them that much. She would easily have picked to lock behind her back. She felt the large guard move on her left. She tried to move her body so they weren't touching. No such luck. The feel of him so close made her feel cramped, like a cornered animal. She needed space, she needed to be alone. She glanced out the window at the desolate landscape. It mirrored her soul. She was finally totally alone. That's why she had not picked the lock. That's why she had not fought them. She had nothing left to fight for.
They had taken her to a small airstrip somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A sleek silver jet had swept her away from South Dakota and everyone that mattered to her in this life. At some point she had dozed off as sheer exhaustion finally took its toll on her. She instantly woke when she felt a sharp pain in her left arm. A syringe. She sneered at the man across from her. "Are you planning on killing me? Right here?" He didn't answer her. She looked at the hand holding her arm. Female, she noticed. For some strange reason it was vague familiar. She tried to turn her head when the sedative finally kicked in and she slumped in her seat. Gentle hands smoothed her hair away from her face and touched her neck to check her pulse.
"She's fine," the man said sternly. "No reason to worry."
"I beg to differ," she said, standing up to him. "She's my patient, and if I want to take certain precautions, that is my call, and my call alone."
He nodded. "As you wish doctor. Just watch out. She is very deceptive."
She looked at him and smiled. He didn't like that smile. It was a patronizing smile, one you would grant a child. "You don't think I know that?" she asked. She caressed HG's hair again, thinking that she needed to tie it up. "I know her better than any of you."
He nodded. "She has changed."
HG stirred and smiled. She could smell leather and something else vaguely familiar. It reminded her of home. She slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and she panicked for a moment. Then she remembered. They had drugged her. She slowly sat up and cradled her head in her hands. Her hair was tied back and she reached out to feel the tight braid. She wondered who had done it. It seemed like such a caring gesture. It didn't fit.
When her vision finally cleared she realized that she was in a large bed. She looked around in surprise. It looked just like her bedroom back in her house in London. She started to shake. Was she dead after all? A soft buzzing startled her. She looked over in its direction and noticed the camera. She smirked at it. Of course. She slowly got out of bed and walked barefoot to the door, curious to what she would find on the other side. Would it even open? She rested her hand on the door handle for a second before she turned it and the door opened with a soft creaking sound. She peaked inside and to her surprise she was in her own parlor. A fire crackled and danced in the fireplace, and a book rested on the small table by her favorite chair. She walked over and picked it up. She ran her hand over its soft leather cover and then hugged it to her. She closed her eyes and just inhaled the smells of the past.
"Hello Helena," a soft voice said behind her. She twirled around. For the first time she noticed that the far left wall was entirely made of glass. A woman was standing on the other side. She was smiling at her. Helena gaped and dropped the book.
"It's not possible," she whispered shocked.
She nodded. "But yet here we are, over a century later."
Helena rushed over to the glass and put her hands against it. She watched this woman from her past raise her hand and touch her palm to hers. "Helen," she whispered. "Helen Magnus."