Project Backwards; Chapter Five

A Chapter by Michael Stevens

Chapter Five

Where was he? Steve came out of the fog of a time travel leap, and felt the usual disorientation. He appeared to be in a drawing room of some sort. He could hear the click-clunk of a typewriter from the next room. He gathered himself, walked to and opened the brown-stained door. He saw a tall, strong-looking man with a big mustache pounding away on a typewriter. The man was so involved with writing, he didn’t notice Steve standing in the doorway.

“Uh, hum!” coughed Steve, to get the man’s attention. The man looked up, and he looked vaguely familiar, but Steve couldn’t quite place him.

“Ah, good morning Steve; I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you,” and he walked up to where the man was typing, and saw ‘A Study Painted Reddish-Brown’ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle written on the page. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle! The big question now was why was he here? That question was answered by Doyle’s next question.

“About done with the landscape?”

So apparently, he was here doing Sir Arthur’s lawn. “Eh, not quite yet; it’s hard to say how much longer.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter; I’m stuck on writing this beast anyway. I can’t invite people over for croquet until I finish this b*****d!”

“Oh, what are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, it’s just an idea I have for writing about a brilliant detective who solves crime which are seemingly impossible.”

“Ah, Sherlock Homes?” Steve blurted without thinking.

“Sherlock Holmes? Percy Limpid.”

Percy Limpid? That name blew! “Might I suggest a tougher-sounding name than Percy Limpid?”

“You know, I was never quite happy with Percy Limpid, but I can’t think of another name. What was the one you came up with?”

“Sherlock Homes.”

“Sherlock Holmes? I’m not really crazy about that name either, but for now, I’ll change the character’s name to that, at least until I think up something better.”

“And the name you’re going to call the novel, A Study Painted in Reddish-Brown? Might I suggest something a little more memorable (that title was memorable all right, memorably awful!)?; maybe something like A Study in Scarlet?”

“Mmm, A Study in Scarlet huh? I spent hours coming up with the title, but if you think you’d be more inclined to read it, I’ll change it. Sometimes I’m too close to it.”

My work here is done, thought Steve; Percy Limpid?

Sir Arthur asked him, “Are you going to get started on the yard?”

“Yeah, right now.”

“Before you go, maybe you can help me with another problem I’m having with Percy--err--Sherlock Holmes. I want to show him with warts and all. I was thinking maybe he has a drug problem? I was thinking huffing paint fumes, but then he'd have to stay in the room a long time; I don’t know; what do you think?”

Paint fumes? I like the idea, but maybe another drug; say, opium?”

“Opium, brilliant! Now why didn’t I think of that?”

On second thought, Steve thought to himself. But no, it was time to go. “Well, I’ll be out in the yard.”

“I’ll call you for lunch.”

“Right, see you at lunch.”

He walked out into the yard, shook his head at the way Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s mind worked, and said out loud, “Get me out of here!” And his world turned dark.