The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 36 -- Time Travel Lag

At the kitchen table, Sam nibbled on his peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and sipped on a glass of milk. Tomorrow, he would be in front of his history class giving his report. His mind was still filled with both vivid images of London, the ghostly figure of his Dad, flying orbs whizzing past his head then exploding in showers of sparks, and of course Jack the Ripper.

Sam lazily skimmed his notes, not just from the library books but also the ones he scribbled in London.

Jack the Ripper was credited with at least six murders -- those in Whitechapel and its vicinity.  However, there were several other murders similar to his style, some of which occurred years later.  Although the police had numerous suspects, the true identity of Jack the Ripper remains a mystery up to today.  Many theories exist…

"Ha!" said Sam out loud.

Cuckoo! The fake bird sang out nine times before returning to its secret compartment in the top center of the clock's face.

"What?  Did you say something?"  Emily looked up from the stack of papers she was studying at her computer.  She was busy working on a new book.

"Nothing," replied Sam.  "I was just reviewing my notes about Jack the Ripper.   I have to give my report tomorrow in class."

"You’ll do fine.   You love giving presentations."  Emily returned to reading her papers then shuffling through them.

"Yea, I suppose.  I just want to make sure the facts are in my head."

Facts nothing!  I know who you are Jack the Ripper!  No one would ever believe it was you.  Sam grinned still seeing the face of the notorious serial killer in his mind.

Sam went back to his notes but was finding he could barely keep his eyes open.  He started nodding off.  It was no wonder since he spent the day before running in the back streets of Whitechapel. In fact, he didn’t get home until after two in the morning… at least in 1880s London time. In reality, they had only been gone for a few minutes in present-day time.

So far, he had enjoyed the blustery Sunday morning by relaxing and reading.  Now at nine o’clock, Sam felt exhausted and overcome by a queasy stomach.    At first, he thought the sandwich had upset it, but it didn't feel like a normal upset stomach.  And then it hit him.  He thought he would be sick at any moment.

Sam sat perfectly still trying to concentrate on the library book.  

If I don’t move, I won’t throw up…  I wonder if you can get time-travel lag like when you fly on an airplane?

Losing focus on his readings trying not to think about his stomach, he relived various previous-day scenes, pondering what he had encountered, and most importantly, questioning Mrs. Steers and the others involvement in the Time-Savers. His newly acquired unofficial membership into the group opened up a whole new world of possibilities and exploration.

His stomach grumbled and rolled.  Just sit still and don't move.

Sam realized that secrets could enrich his life. He knew the true identity of Jack the Ripper.  Not everyone could say "Hey, I solved one of history’s greatest mysteries."   He was living a dream, still bubbling over this fact and ready to unearth more answers to history's secrets.

Oh, my stomach...  Concentrate... Don’t move...

Sam was also prepared for Bon tomorrow at school.  He could hardly wait to tell her about keeping the dare.  However, it wouldn’t happen because of two reasons.  First, he remembered Mrs. Steers words about no one believing him.  Second, without notice, Sam’s stomach loudly rumbled and tumultuously churned.  He sat straight up in his chair, then beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Sam sat astonished as the kitchen cabinets began to sway back and forth.  The hard wood floor began to roll up and down like ocean waves.  The refrigerator began to swell and contrast like it was breathing.  The kitchen table bounced up and down.  Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the dancing kitchen.

Jumping up from the table, Sam raced to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl. He heaved, but nothing came up.  Holding his stomach, Sam bent over again and dry heaved.  He sat down on the side of the tub.   Emily came immediately, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cool water and placed it on his forehead.

"Here, hold this while I get a chair."

Sam slid his way down the side of the tub until her was on the cool tile floor.  A few seconds later, Emily raced back with a kitchen chair and helped Sam up onto it.   He was very pale and rocked back and forth.   His stomach ached, his throat was sore, and his mouth was dry.

"You look like a zombie," said his Mom.  Sam glanced at himself in the mirror.

"I need some water," said Sam in a frail voice. 

The toilet bowl lid started flapping up and down like it was talking. Sam closed his eyes and then opened.  The lid wasn't moving.   Emily got a glass of ice water from the kitchen and hurried back to the bathroom.

"Sip this slowly," said Emily, handing him the glass.  Sam didn’t listen at first.  He swashed the cold water around his mouth and spit it out into the toilet before starting to sip.

Emily as she felt his cheek then forehead.  "You're burning up. You’ve got a fever."

She fumbled around for the thermometer in the wicker basket filled with the incidentals found in most bathrooms.  She pulled an old glass thermometer out of its plastic case and shook it making sure that the red line was at the bottom.

"Here." Emily stuck it under his tongue and Sam closed his mouth around it. "Keep it there.  We have to wait about a minute."

In the meantime, Emily rinsed out the washcloth, rewet it, and placed it on the back of Sam’s neck.  After about a minute, Emily took the thermometer and scanned the red line which ended at around 100.3.

"Yep, you’ve got a fever." Emily felt his forehead again.  "Alright take your shirt off, I want to make sure you aren’t breaking out in spots."

Sam usually hated undressing in front of other people, even his Mom.  He never removed his shirt in front of others for fear that they would make fun of his pale skin or chubbiness.  This time, he didn’t care.   He slipped his shirt off and Emily scanned his back and under his arms.

"Well, no signs of anything," said Emily. "Why don’t you take a hot shower?  I’ll get you some clean pajamas."   

Sam didn’t argue.  At least, the toilet bowl lid wasn’t flapping up and down.

Sam stood under the hot water letting it run over his face.    After a few minutes passed, Emily knocked on the door.

"Are you alright?  I changed your sheets as well. Get into bed."

"Yes, I'm fine," said Sam, even though his throat was raw from throwing-up nothing.  "Everything's standing still now."

Getting out of the shower, he put his clean pajamas on. In his bedroom, he crawled into his comfy bed.  The sheets smelled clean. His Mom gave him some cold medicine and before long, he was out.