Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously…

Prompt word:

STEAM

I felt the vibration of my cell phone interrupting something all too rare in my life since I gave up drugs and celibacy: a full-on lucid dream.

I was being chased down Thrawl St in Victorian London by two men dressed in light-brown cassocks and, (in the way of dreams, lucid and otherwise) cut through an alley adjacent to the Black Church in Brașov, Romania. The bells were tolling midnight as, from the shadows, I watched a woman in a plus-sized habit of the Order of Lilith bracing a tall man dressed entirely in black; he exuded menace and she clearly had the upper hand as he handed over a small, brass and gold clockwork object.

Taking my phone from the inner breast pocket of my suit coat, I read the text: ‘Answer your phone…’

“Listen to me closely, Ian, that steampunk sonovabitch Egmont is somehow using his Time Mechanism to send the Goddaughter and Sister Mary Manic into the past; they’re back, but you’re surely next.”

I must have sounded shocked or touched or something, “Anya, you called to warn me, I don’t know what to say.”

“Easy there gumshoe, this is me doing triagé; the truth of the matter is your fellow adventurers Rosetta and Aclima are in their twenties, they’ll bounce back from any psychic bruising in less than a week, you, on the other hand, are not; so pay attention and with any luck when you land at O’Hare in an hour, they won’t have to William Shatner you off the plane”