SuperWhoLock: Demons Run [COMPLETED]

Chapter Eleven

One second he was there.

The next, he was not.

Sam stumbled backwards out of a busy street of oncoming traffic, tripping over the curb and almost falling full-length to the ground. A car horn brayed in his face as the car sped by. The message was clear. Get out of the road, you idiot!

He was disoriented, confused, and stunned by the bright sunlight that suddenly pierced his eyes. And very, very nauseous. He staggered across the sidewalk to a tiny, stick-thin tree and grabbed it with one hand to steady himself. Then he promptly vomited all of the contents of his stomach into the mulch at the base of the tree.

Talk about fertilizer, Sam thought unsteadily, stomach heaving as he leaned against the tiny tree.

He stood up woozily, wiping one hand across his face, then spitting into the mulch to try to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Unsurprisingly, it remained.

The sound of traffic filled the air. Car horns blaring, engines running, people chattering. Sam turned around in a slow circle, his stomach still churning slightly despite being empty. Bright sunlight pierced his eyes and he squinted, shading them with one hand.

He seemed to be in a downtown area of a town, he concluded after a minute. There was one road running straight in either direction as far as he could see. Buildings were lined on either side of the road - shops, bakeries, cafes, restaurants, stores. It seemed familiar, in an odd and distorted way.

A small bell jangled as the cafe directly to his left's door was pushed open. A woman, maybe in her mid-forties, wearing a black uniform and an apron was watching him with a concerned expression on her face. "Sir, are you okay?" she asked.

Sam shook his head, squinting and pinching the bridge of his nose. His stomach still felt uneasy and a headache was beginning to develop. "I... I'm fine, thanks."

"Come inside, please," the woman said, opening the door wider. "At least go into the bathroom and rinse out your mouth."

Sam gave in and walked inside. The woman let the door swing closed behind them and pointed to the back corner of the café. "Bathroom is over there. I'm Jean, by the way. Let me know if you need anything." She gave him a concerned smile and hurried back to her post behind the counter.

Sam went slowly, focusing on not veering drunkenly from side to side with each step he took. He failed for the most part. He stumbled into the bathroom, shut and locked the door, and leaned heavily against the porcelain sink. He noticed that his hands were shaking as he fumbled with the faucet.

He rinsed the disgusting taste out of his mouth and splashed his face with cold water. He turned the faucet off and dried his hands with paper towels. Then he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

The bookstore, Sam recounted in his head. The vashta nerada. The bomb. Moriarty grabbing him and bringing him here, wherever here was.

"Okay," Sam muttered to himself. The faint pounding in his head and the constant feeling of nausea in his stomach was really not helping him focus. "I need to find out where and when I am."

With the first step to a plan in mind, Sam pulled the bathroom door open again and entered the main part of the café. Jean was no longer behind the counter; instead, it was a teenaged girl with bleached-blonde hair and wearing too much makeup.

"Hi," Sam said croakily. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hi."

The girl raised an eyebrow at him. "You wanna order something?" she asked in a disinterested tone.