The Girl from Yesterday Pt. 01

In the room at the top of the house was a door that had never been opened. It was an ordinary door that would lead to somewhere extraordinary for the one that did.

***

Outside the children sang as they played their games,

"Gay go up, and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town.

Bull's eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's. Brickbats and tiles, Say the bells of St. Giles'. Halfpence and farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin's. Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement's. Pancakes and fritters, Say the bells of St. Peter's. Two sticks and an apple, Say the bells at Whitechapel. Old Father Baldpate, Say the slow bells at Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings, Say the bells at St. Helen's. Pokers and tongs, Say the bells at St. John's. Kettles and pans, Say the bells at St. Ann's. When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey. When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch. Pray when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I am sure I don't know, Says the great bell of Bow. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

Watching through the window, their teacher smiled and hummed the tune to herself as Mrs. Philpot stood on the steps and rang the school bell for the afternoon session. Soon enough she would be the center of attention again as her class resumed with history the final lesson for the day.

For Miss. Rebecca Farthing, at the age of twenty-three, she had finally found her calling with the simple satisfaction of the passing on of knowledge to those who would benefit from it the most - the children in her class. That class was Year 3 - House Bede with an age range of seven to eleven who, on this warm sunny Thursday afternoon on the fifteenth of June in the year of our Lord 1886, trooped wearily back into the classroom to return to their desks.

"Now then," she began as she stood hands on hips at the front of the class, "For the remainder of the afternoon let us discover more about the City of London and its past history and how it became our capital from its beginnings as a small settlement through the various periods that defined it such as the Roman occupation, the Anglo-Saxon era, the Norman conquest to the more modern Georgian, Stuart and Tudor years," She raised her eyebrows at the audible groan in front of her, "Now, now," she said firmly, "Understanding where we have come from can sometimes give us insight as to where we are going in the future," She paused for a moment and looked around the classroom, "Unless you'd rather spend the time doing mathematics again like this morning."

The teacher smiled to herself as she waited for her charges to settle down so that she could begin the lesson.

***

An hour or so later, Archibald Kilgannon sat picking his nose as he stared out of the window daydreaming as he was usually wont to do. At the age of twelve, school was a necessary evil to be endured or else he'd feel the wrath of his Father and his fearsome Scottish leather belt across his bony backside if he was found slacking or had skipped class to go fishing or on some childish escapade.

"Pick a year, Archibald," said a voice inside his head.

The boy blinked and sat up in his chair like a startled hen. "Uh," he gulped as he realized everyone was staring at him including Winifred Bluebottle who he had a secret thing for. Pick a year? In the future? He screwed up his face trying hard not to think about the girl with the ginger pigtails sat three rows in front of him, "Erm," he said as he plucked numbers out of the air, "Twenty-seventeen!" he blurted out as he shrank back in his chair blushing like a ripe strawberry.

He watched as his teacher turned and scribbled his suggestion on the blackboard in large chalked letters and numbers.

Twenty-seventeen AD. 2017.

"Oh, my goodness," said Rebecca, "That is a long way away. Twenty-seventeen!" she exclaimed, smiling as she turned back to the children watching her, "Now that we know a little of our past, think about what life will be like for the children of your age who are alive then. What do you imagine life will be like in 2017?"

Agnes Pike, an overly enthusiastic twelve-year-old with scary frizzy blonde hair, stuck up her hand. "People will live in glass houses, eat spaghetti all the time and go everywhere in big balloons!" she said as the boy sat next to her rolled his eyes at her suggestion.

Rebecca smiled indulgently at the girl. "That, dear Agnes, is as good a thought as any. A ride in such a big balloon quite takes my fancy. Hopefully, everything will have changed for the better by then and those things which bedevil us in our time no longer do so tomorrow."

The world they all lived in now was far from those things she wished for. Life was harsh, relentless and bitter. A never-ending drudge of penury and misery for the many including some who sat listening to her in class. Surely, whatever else the future would bring, there would be no more poverty, hunger, disease, or homelessness for the masses.

The teacher turned her head and looked out of the window wondering what such a world would be like and wishing somehow she could experience it.

***

"Miss. Farthing!" said a voice as she entered the staff room where a number of the teachers had already gathered at the end of the school day.

As ever, it was Mister. Stephenson, the Head of the St. Clements school, and who seemed intent on the pursuit of her character for reasons other than professional. Indeed, ever since she had taken the position of secondary teacher a mere six weeks ago, the man had made his interest in her person quite obvious and no amount of good-natured rebuttals had deterred him. He was a persistent pest and fast becoming an annoyance as he stopped before her with all the charm of a snake oil seller.

"Mister. Stephenson," she replied with a nod as she held her school books firmly against her bosom as if they were a shield to ward off an evil spirit. She shuddered involuntarily as he smoothly reached up and twiddled both ends of his thin oily mustache which only made his swarthy complexion even more unappealing to her sensibilities. No doubt this was another attempt to wheedle his way into her affections but was doomed to fail as it had done several times before. The silly bufoon just could not take the slightest hint of her disapproval!

He took another step forward and she lifted her school books higher so that she was nigh peeking at him over the top of them as she glanced around the room with her companions much amused at her predicament. Rebecca frowned and made a face towards Miss. Winterbottom who taught the year above her and who was a positive whizz at Mathematics and all things complicated. In the leather chair by the fire sat Mister. Oakley, a thin, wiry, happy go lucky sort of character who specialized in not only Wood and Metalworking but was also the sporty type as befitting his youth and lean physique. At the table beneath the main window sat Miss. Grainger of Physics and Chemistry along with Mrs. Taylor, the school secretary both sipping afternoon tea as they watched their new friend trying to avoid the unwanted attentions of her smitten superior.

"Went the day well I hope, Miss. Farthing?" asked the Headmaster as he smiled at her.

"As always, Sir," she smiled thinly back making sure she referred to him by his title and not by his name thus keeping their relationship on a formal footing, "Class had the most interesting chat this afternoon."

Mr. Stephenson raised a brow. "Oh, and may I ask the topic in question?"

"The future," she replied, "I asked the children to pick a year and to imagine what life would be like in the year they chose."

"And what year would that be, Miss. Farthing?" asked Miss. Winterbottom who was eavesdropping their conversation behind that day's edition of the London Gazette much to the Headmasters irritation at her interruption.

Glad of a little moral support, Rebecca smiled at the older woman as the Headmaster took a resigned step back towards the fireplace where the copper kettle sat gently steaming on the iron hob so he could pour himself a cup of tea.

"Oh, the seventeenth year of the Twenty-first century as it happens," Rebecca replied as she felt herself breathe more easily having escaped the attention of Mr. Stephenson and his lascivious eye.

"Heavens," exclaimed Miss Winterbottom, a fullsome peach of a lady who filled out her immaculately tailored tweed attire with vigorous gusto, "Twenty-seventeen. Imagine that!" She glanced at the Headmaster who stood looking out of the window with a frown on his face as he sipped his tea, "Let us hope that the men of that time are blessed with more wit, tact, and substance than those near and not so dear," she whispered to her younger companion.

Imagine indeed. Rebecca looked at the man standing with his back to them and felt the natural curiosity of her imagination wash over her.

Now there was a question. What would a man from that time be like?

***

"You so much as fart," said the man breathing hard as he stood over his fallen victim, "And I will blow your fucking head clean off. Got that, dipshit?"

To prove his point, he pressed the muzzle of his weapon between the eyes of the robber who lay on his back with his pursuer kneeling on his chest. It had been a multi-block chase once the sting went down and both men were exhausted and breathing hard.

"Be cool dude," gasped the man as he was roughly rolled over onto his front as he felt himself being cuffed behind his back. He knew the game was up as the air echoed with the sound of sirens fast approaching. Fuck. Fuck everything. One last job. One last itty bitty bank robbery and he promised himself that would be it. One last job before getting out of the game. He spat out his frustration at being caught, "This shit sucks big time!" he groaned as he was grabbed by several cops and hauled to his feet.

He looked at the man who had chased and caught him with a sullen, resigned frown. "Fuck you, dude," he shouted as he was led away, "Fuck you to hell and back!"

The Detective grunted a smile as he showed patrol his badge. "My pleasure, shithead," he muttered as he watched the waste of spunk being bundled into the back of the wagon.

Today had been a good day. Everything had pretty much gone to plan with the stakeout and take down of the Coolazdudez gang who had been a pain in the ass for the past six months doing hits along the whole Westside. Armed robberies were their specialty and this would have been their tenth major job in that time. Only this time their luck had run out as these things tended to do from experience. He looked down at his right hand and winced as he made a fist.

He had laid into Twisty McCoolio real good. Dropped him with a smart right and followed in with an even harder left leaving the head bad guy flat out wondering what day it was and where the pigs had come from when they had run from the rear of the bank into the ambush.

"You okay, Boss?" said a voice behind him.

He turned to see one of his team with a concerned look on her face as she stood there with her shoulder length blonde curly hair blowing in the breeze. Shaking his head, he smiled at the younger woman in her FBI overcoat. "I'm fine, Amy," he reassured her, "How's the big cheese doing?"

Amy laughed as the rest of the squad pulled up with lights flashing in the fading light. "Busted nose," she said, "Won't be smiling much that's for sure."

He nodded. Good. That was good. Always leave them wanting more as the old saying goes. Around him, the city was already returning back to normal. Everything had gone down and ended in the blink of an eye. Life really does go on. Day in and day out. Nothing ever changes. Come tomorrow and there'd be another sucker to take care of to keep the citizens of the big apple safe in their beds.

Watching the wagon head downtown under armed escort, he suddenly felt the weight of that responsibility on his sore shoulders.

His second in command looked at him as he turned and walked away. "Where you going, Boss?" he shouted at his friend. Like the main man, Diego Gonzales had come through the ranks before becoming a Detective on the force and all that entailed. Both good and bad. The good being the pay and sense of accomplishment with the bad being the long hours, boredom, and red-taped frustration. Gonzales was a good few years older than his superior but the respect between both men was equal and earned.

"To get a god damned drink," the man shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared into the neon-lit gloom of an always busy New York City.

Out of sight, in the deep dark shadows of the alley, someone stood silently watching.

***

The electric hum of a twilight New York vibrated on the September evening breeze as the concrete shadows lengthened with another day slowly ebbing away as its population continued on with the daily dance of life and living in the city that never sleeps.

Benny's Bar and Grill throbbed in a world of revolving neon with multi-colored spotlights rotating on their axis above the bright yellow comic sans sign that brightly advertised its business. Inside was a hive of bustling activity as its patrons sat at tables eating or at the bar drinking their free time away.

At the far end of that bar, a thick-set man with greying black hair wearing a dark charcoal jacket, black shirt, and denim jeans sat idly swirling the shrinking ice cubes in his glass of Scotch. Above him, hanging from a rusty hook was a framed faded billposter of a Victorian lady from the late 1800's with the words "Sometimes the thing we want most in life is the thing we least expect." underneath her smiling face.

"So then, Mr. Policeman, how many bad guys did you make wish da Mother had never met da Father today?" said a familiar voice with its heavy accent.

Thirty-year-old Joshua Allen Grant looked up at his old friend and rolled his eyes as he grunted and took another sip of his disappearing drink. "More than one is one too many, Larry," he sighed as he pushed his glass forward and watched the man top him back up, "Dear old Mom was right. Should have stuck in at school and become a Doctor or something."

Larry Novak, a tall, bald, bearded angular Lithuanian with a cute Korean wife and four well-adjusted kids, nodded as he screwed the top back on the bottle and put it on the bar beside his longtime friend and neighbor. "Not a good day to be da bad guy then," he mused as he polished another glass and examined it in the overhead lights.

"Definitely the wrong time to be the bad guy," said the Detective as he stretched, yawned and rubbed the ache in the back of his neck, "Once I drink this, I'm gonna go home, order a pizza, put my feet up and ask the big guy upstairs why he put so many dipshits in my life today."

The Bartender smiled. "Dealing with deepshits is what we do," he replied with a toothy grin, spreading his arm's wide, "You shoot dem and I get dem drunk so to take da money!"

Josh sat back and fished in his pocket for spare change. "It's the Twenty-first century, Larry," he sighed as he shook his head, "You'd think the human race would have got its shit in order by now. It's as bad as it was when I started out green as grass over ten years ago,"

He slipped wearily off the stool and slid his tab and tip across the bar, "Christ, Martha would be telling me to quit like yesterday and go find something less stressful," he said with a sigh.

"Your wife had da right of it, my friend," agreed Larry, "That Lady, bless her, knew her asparagus and cucumbers," the taller man told him, "Listen you, my dear friend Joshua. Today is almost finished. Gone. Kaput. Adios. Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings. Go home. Order dat big pizza with everything on top. Watch some tv and maybe instead of asking about those deepshits, ask da big guy upstairs to set you up with a hot date!"

Josh waved his hand as he walked to the exit. A hot date? Was he kidding? His last hot date had nearly put him in ER for a week. Fuck anything that moves Lt. Hank Geller was lucky he still had his balls after setting him up with that blind date. Jesus. H. Christ. The lady was wall to wall tattoos with an attitude to match. What do you say when the first thing out of your date's mouth after you've just finished your meal was "Do you wanna go for a fuck or a drink?" He pulled his coat tighter as he stepped out of the diner and looked up at the fading blue sunset as the world went on its merry and no so merry way around him.

Ah, hell. Why did he have to make life so damned complicated for himself? Maybe he was just the old-fashioned type set in his ways as his late wife always used to tell him.

Thinking of her always brought on that sad familiar ache deep inside his chest. It had been four years since his wife had passed. Four long years. How many dates had he been on since then? Way too many than was good for him that he knew. It had become a running joke over those years in his department whenever he'd been set up for another go around.

The problem was the more dates he went on the less he wanted to date. No matter who he went out with it all came down to one unquestionable fact. Nobody would ever come close to his Martha.

And if they did, whoever it was would have to be one helluva woman.

***

In the shimmering distance, the City of London sat sweating under a haze of mid-day smog that lent its rapidly expanding grandiosity a murky greyish tone.

The two women sat on the field of green grass a mile or two away from the outskirts of the Grand Old Lady thankful that the warm breeze was blowing in a South Easterly direction that carried away the foul stench of raw sewage and offal that always arose from the Thames and surrounding areas during the high heat of Summer.

Rebecca lay back on her blanket staring up at the deep blue sky as the clouds skudded by overhead. Closing her eyes, she nibbled happily on her ham and cucumber sandwich listening to the constant chirping of birdsong around her.

"I hear whisper the Headmaster has let his eye go a wandering again," said her companion who was examining a red juicy apple she had taken from the picnic basket the school cook had prepared for them, "The man is as keen as mustard on you I must say, Rebecca."

Her friend, Miss. Isobel Perkins was a volunteer who regularly attended various classes to assist the teacher in residence when required. Though she had no formal status within St. Clements, at the age of thirty-two, she had enough life experience to be of value no matter the subject at hand. In the short time they had known each other, they had become firm friends and spent time together both professionally and socially enjoying one another's company.

The younger woman rolled onto her front to see Isobel much amused staring at her. "That you find my situation so entertaining fills me with such sweet joy," she responded wryly, "From the moment I set foot into his domain he has been dancing around me like a love-struck puppy looking for a treat."

Isobel took an enthusiastic bite out of her apple. "Do you not fancy him at all?" she asked innocently, "In reasoned consideration, he is not wholly unappealing to the eye and he is a man of some means and station. No doubt he could offer you a comfortable life if you let him win you over. There are worse ways to spend the rest of your days."

Rebecca sat up and drew her feet under her. "Name one!" she said with laughing afront.

Her companion screwed up her face deep in thought as she took another bite before pointing a finger at her younger friend. "You have a point," she conceded, "But consider the security afforded if you were, all things being equal, to enter into a formal bond with such a man. Though I suppose the negative would be having to let him lay his ardor and hands upon you as a dutiful wife."