Time After Time

My name is H.G. Wells.

My friend John is Jack the Ripper.

He's escaped from 1893 in my time machine,

and I'm the only one who can catch him.

I want the key and the time machine now.

Well, I can't oblige, John.

What if I told you that George is really H.G. Wells?

I would say you've lost your damn mind.

H.G. Wells... he's in New York.

He came in his time machine.

You can stop this all from happening.

I'm Brooke. I'm a neuropathologist.

I'd be honored if you'd join me for a drink.

You and I were always supposed to meet.

I am completely blinded by you, Miss Walker.

No!

Who's the guy?

I don't know, but I've seen this man before.

- He was following me. - Who are you?

I'm someone who's waited a long time to meet you.

I brought you something to help clear your head.

Just apple juice. It's organic, fresh pressed.

Your system must be in shock

after all the preservatives they put in food these days.

Well, that made a mess.

You'll regret this.

Regret drugging you?

After you tried to stab me with a kitchen knife?

Who are you?

I'm someone who knows you're Jack the Ripper.

And you escaped to 2017 in H.G. Wells' time machine.

I also know that Mr. Wells is being aided

by a distant relative... Vanessa Anders.

But you're all alone.

Something tells me you could use a friend.

You have to trust me.

Trust you?

I'll come back when you're feeling more yourself.

_

_

Hey there, big boy.

Click on it now.

Show me how big you are.

Oh.

Check out my live cam.

- Good morning. - Ah, y-yes it is. Uh...

Good morning. Uh...

What are you doing?

Attempting to master the Internet and failing miserably.

I really enjoyed last night.

- We were almost killed. - Right.

No, the part after that.

As did I.

It wasn't too forward, was it?

Because I forget you're from 1893,

and things were more formal back then.

And I didn't want to come across as...

I don't know how you used to call it... a harlot.

Which you are not, I-I assure you.

Not to sound old-fashioned, but I do struggle

with the ease with which men and women

give themselves to each other.

Sexual mores of today are quite baffling as it's all...

it's all so very, uh...

- Casual? - No.

It's routine.

Lacking in romance.

See, in my day, passion and desire... they were...

they were the true result of yearning for a woman.

The longing that fills you head and clouds every thought

as you patiently await for her to walk through the door

and say "Good morning."

- Good morning, Jane. - Good morning.

Good morning.

- Morning. - Morning.

We have information about the man who attacked you.

His name was Chad Holland.

He had a place in the Bronx, lived alone, never married,

worked odd jobs, history of trouble,

but mostly petty crime.

But nothing to explain why he was trying to kill me?

How he knows about me and John?

I take it John still hasn't called?

No. And it's way past his deadline.

I've known John for many years.

If he hasn't reached out, then something's happened.

Maybe he had a run-in with Chad Holland.

Is there any way to access Chad Holland's residence?

We can try. I'll drive you.

Great. I have some business to deal with.

You'll let me know if you find out anything.

Honey. Have you been waiting long?

No, I just got here. Hi.

So where's Wells?

I was hoping to get a chance to talk to him this morning.

He stepped out for a bit. He'll be back.

My head is still spinning.

I can't believe he's the real H.G. Wells.

How long does he plan on staying?

I'm not sure.

It all depends on finding John Stevenson.

It's crazy.

It's right out of some science fiction story.

Written by H.G. Wells maybe.

A real working time machine.

Do you know how many people would kill for something like that?

Are you sure it's secure here?

I trust my team, and I've installed a security system

- that requires key-card access. - Good.

So, uh, what about the war veteran charity tonight?

- Should we cancel? - No.

It's just the board members, and they're all friends of mine.

And they're here to meet you.

Wait, you set this up for me?

You are running for Senate.

And a cocktail party full potential donors

never hurt a campaign.

Babe, you didn't have to do that.

I insist.

I've been so distracted by H.G.

And tonight, you're my priority.

Come here.

Thank you so much for you trouble.

We promise to be quick.

You're just yummy. How did you know Chad?

Uh, we were friends. His family asked us to come.

I didn't know he had any family.

Hell, I didn't know he had any friends.

Guy gave me the creeps.

Ah. You're too kind.

I'm a sucker for a Brit. My father was a Brit.

He came over after World War II.

There was more than one?

Thank you... so much.

We really appreciate this.

Chad was a little obsessed.

He was following both of us.

How did he know that we would be here?

This would be easier if we knew what we were looking for.

Is that the same emblem?

It's the one I put in my letter to Vanessa.

What is that?

It appears to be coordinates.

Hi there.

Don't suppose I could have my clothes?

Feeling better?

And will you behave yourself?

It's not my wish to keep you locked up in here, John.

I did it out of necessity.

I want to us to learn to trust each other.

Trust works both ways, Brooke.

May I? It's chilly in here.

So, where are we?

Uh, my basement lab, where I work.

So you were telling the truth about being a doctor.

Biotechnology research.

Neurology, genetics, biochemistry.

My father was a scientist.

He inspired me to continue his research.

Fascinating.

Really?

I was afraid the Ripper would find me boring.

Boring?

A little romp in the bedroom, syringe to the neck,

awaken naked and tied up in a laboratory...

Boring is the very least of what you are, my darling.

So, what is all of this?

Gene therapy.

I'm working on ways to improve human neurological function.

You're looking at your own DNA,

which is your genetic makeup.

Deoxyribonucleic acid.

They'd just begun to study it in my day.

So you want to analyze my brain?

You might not like what you find.

Oh, I doubt that,

John Leslie Stevenson.

Born 1863 in London to Elizabeth Stevenson,

a street prostitute. No surprise there.

No father, but you fought your way to Oxford

to the top of your class.

Esteemed surgeon by day, killer by night.

How do you know so much about me?

I know things about you

that you don't even know about yourself.

Like the fact that you have a son.

I can assure you I do not have a son.

Henry Ayers... born to Pauline Ayers,

a nurse you met in 1891 in Paris.

Do you remember her?

Impossible.

I want to conduct some tests.

Nothing too invasive.

A controlled environment to study your psychopathy.

What do I get?

The time machine, of course.

Do you know where it is?

It's under lock and key, courtesy of Vanessa Anders.

It's also where your little friend, H.G. Wells,

has been staying since he's been in New York.