by Sean McMahon
‘Hal? Kara?!’ He jumped from his seat and began walking towards them with confusion.
The Restarters looked over their shoulders, naturally expecting to see their past-selves standing behind them, but were shocked to discover that wasn’t the case.
And then it sunk in. The real reason Kara felt that something was off had been hiding in plain sight all along; Peter and Fearne were dressed in their fancy-dress costumes from the barbecue. A barbecue that was not scheduled to happen until tomorrow.
Hal noted that Fearne had discarded her blonde wig, her long brunette hair remaining suspiciously motionless amidst the breeze that was calmly causing the surrounding fir trees to sway.
Apprehensively, the golfer and Marilyn made their way towards the Restarters.
‘You can see us?!’ said Kara.
‘You can see us?!’ said Fearne.
‘Guys, seriously,’ said Hal. ‘Let’s skip this part. Obviously, we can see each other. The question we should be asking is how?’
Kara ran towards Peter and threw her arms around him. ‘You’re alive!’
‘Kinda, I guess,’ said Peter, trying to embrace the repelling nature of the blue energy that was radiating through them and making his neck go numb. ‘Wait…when was I not alive?’
Thanks to the presence of their friends, Hal and Kara were forced to accept that this was not the past they had left behind. This was something else. Something much more complex.
Someone was changing their 165th restart and undoing everything they had achieved to free themselves. And that entity was more than likely responsible for changing Peter’s future as well. Though why Fearne was here too was anyone’s guess.
‘Peter, Fearne,’ said Hal addressing them directly with a serious tone in his voice. ‘I need you to think real hard. What’s the last thing you remember?’
Peter and Fearne exchanged a troublesome look, ending with Fearne nodding, as if giving Peter the go-ahead.
‘We…went to look for you both last night,’ said Peter. ‘Jon mentioned that you had both set off to take Jerry home, but after a couple of hours you didn’t come back. So Fearne and I–’
‘–Went to look for you both,’ interrupted Fearne. ‘We knew you must’ve been close by, so we made our way up the road, calling out for you both…’
‘We had no idea where to begin looking,’ said Peter, taking over storytelling duties. ‘Jerry must have heard us calling for you,’ he added, explaining how the springer spaniel had run towards them, appearing from nowhere and barking for their attention. ‘Jerry led the way back to another lodge and–’
‘–Then we left,’ said Fearne, an air of caginess in her voice that Hal and Kara wrote off as understandable stress.
The Restarters knew how frustrating it was on a first restart. Memories swirled in your mind, the full truth always just within your grasp, but ultimately being plucked away at the last moment.
‘Hal, they came to look for us. You know what this means, don’t you?’
‘We didn’t make it back,’ said Hal.
‘Make it back from where?’ asked Peter.
Kara and Hal exhaled heavily, perfectly in sync with each other. They really hated this part. Explaining everything to a newbie was time-consuming, complicated, and not to mention potentially dangerous when you didn’t know how someone was going to react.
‘You guys are probably going to want to take a seat,’ said Hal, noting that his past-self was speaking to Jon behind them, and would soon be commandeering the bench in front of them.
Peter’s eyes lit up with curiosity as the second Hal appeared but, oddly, he didn’t say anything.
Hal raised an eyebrow at Peter’s apparent indifference, but was distracted by the sound of the hot-tub cutting out.
“That’s…not right…” thought Hal, and shook his head to clear it. Refocusing on the task at hand, he gestured back towards the driveway. He wasn’t keen on Peter and Fearne having to experience an echo of the past phasing through their unsuspecting bodies.
‘Actually, let’s take a walk,’ said Hal.
The four Restarters made their way to the driveway, weaving through the cars. Kara stepped over the radio, finally becoming brave enough to answer the question she knew was on both their minds.
‘It’s him, isn’t it? It has to be him?’ Kara whispered to Hal, taking advantage of the moderate distance between themselves, Peter, and Fearne, who were bringing up the rear of their time-travelling entourage.
‘Gotta be,’ replied Hal, matching the volume of her voice.
The rules had clearly changed, and they had a pretty good idea of where to start in order to find out precisely what had gone wrong.
A small cabin in the woods, which a little dog named Jerry called home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Conversations with Dead People
166th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 2018, 12:17pm
'So, where exactly are we going?’ asked Peter, in the manner of someone who had just decided to tag along for an impromptu trip to the pub, as opposed to having just been disassembled at the molecular level and jettisoned off into the past via an intangible time machine.
‘You’re taking this pretty well, Pete,’ remarked Hal, finding himself surprised by his friend’s nonchalant attitude. ‘Usually, the first question a Restarter asks is “what the hell is happening?”’
‘Restarter?’ said Peter, noting the odd terminology.
‘That’s what we call ourselves. I came up with it,’ said Kara convincingly.
Hal sighed, but took the “Elsa” approach. There were bigger problems to contend with. Namely, how someone had pulled a Time Heist on them and decimated the space-time continuum, stealing their future out from the metaphoric bank vault that was “solidified time.”
As Kara and Hal led the way to Kevin’s home at a brisk pace, he recalled the jets of the hot-tub that had cut out. If this had truly been a fresh restart, the tub jets shouldn’t have done that. It implied that more was going on than they could see. If the tub had been tripped, it meant it had been himself that had carried out the act in the past. And the only way that was possible was if–
‘We’re here,’ said Kara, her words interrupting his flow of thoughts, and causing Hal’s brow to furrow in slight frustration. He felt like he had been on to something, but the thought drifted away from him. ‘What’s the play?’ she added, directing her question to Hal.
Her fellow Restarter shrugged. ‘Go inside, see what the score is I guess?’
Peter and Fearne showed notable signs of reluctance. Having been brought up to speed on their new status quo, they had seemed to be taking Hal and Kara’s explanation of what was happening to them at face value and entirely in their stride.
A little too well in fact.
It was reassuring to Kara to see them showing at least some signs of unease as they approached Kevin’s home.
‘I think we’ll stay outside,’ said Peter, a look of barely concealed fear on his face.
‘I don’t want to go in there either,’ added Fearne.
‘Why?’ asked Kara, who was working on the assumption that Peter and Fearne had suffered the same fate as them, due to the two of them coming to look for herself and Hal on that fateful Saturday evening. If she was correct, the box-fresh Restarters wouldn’t have held any direct memories of what happened during their final moments. That glum revelation would come to them much later, as Hal and Kara could attest to.
‘Guys, you’re coming,’ said Hal, with an air of finality to his tone that was impossible to argue with. ‘And stay sharp, okay?’ He didn’t want to admit that there was every possibility that it would take all four of them to make it out of Kevin’s cabin if the person responsible for their being here was actually inside.
As they made their way up the driveway, Fearne and Peter bickered amongst themselves, allowing Kara to steal a moment with Hal.
‘They seem off to you?’ she said, as Hal reached the front door, which w
as incidentally open. ‘Wait, should this be open?’
They both took a moment, remembering how Kevin had been out on the Friday afternoon, and their many attempts at trying to get inside. It seemed like forever ago, and a few minutes ago all at the same time. It didn’t help that their minds were still playing catch-up, as conflicting memories of multiple timelines wrestled for dominance, each stray thought eager to claim the championship belt that represented their true past.
Hal sensed it too. Everything was different. For a brief second, it felt like this was possibly the worst idea ever; if the man who had killed them was inside, there was no telling what he and Kara were dragging their friends into.
But then he remembered that they couldn’t be hurt in their current state. Out-of-phase with time, they didn’t feel hunger, or thirst, but most importantly of all they couldn’t feel pain. At least not in the physical sense.
Hal found himself thinking back to the time he was flung against the wall of the sauna room next to Fir Lodge. And then there was the time he and Kara had been forced to jump from a moving vehicle, not even sustaining a single scratch. All the same, it was never a bad idea to exercise caution.
Reaching down to his holstered weapon, he unclipped the button that kept the gun in place, pulling it from the black mesh that was keeping the business end of the weapon away from causing harm.
The slab of metal weighing heavily in his hand, he rested his gun-toting wrist on his right forearm, mimicking the way he recalled Jack Bauer brandishing a weapon, and aimed the barrel inside the doorway.
‘Good call,’ said Kara.
And with that, they stepped over the threshold.
*
‘Where did you even get that thing?!’ whispered Kara. Guns were not something easily acquired in England.
‘Does it really matter at this point?’ said Hal, moving his way through Kevin’s living room, and jerking the gun towards the corners of the open space, trying to look professional, but ultimately looking utterly ridiculous.
‘Do you even know how to use it?’
Hal could feel her smile burning into the back of his neck.
‘Sshh,’ said Hal, skillfully dodging the question. In fairness, he had actually thought he’d heard something, and balled his right hand into a fist in the same way Navy Seals would often do in the movies; the universal instruction issued when a leader of an infiltration team needed everyone to remain perfectly still.
Kara, of course, ignored him entirely, and continued walking past him, causing a knock-on effect of Peter and Fearne doing the same.
Hal began to sigh, not allowing the non-air to completely leave his lungs due to hearing another sign they were not alone; the faintest sound of a muted cough.
The dark-blue basement door was open, too. Another indication that events were not playing out like they had done in every other of their 165 restarts that had preceded this one.
Kara stared down the dark staircase, the dim light of the afternoon sun affording her the bare minimum of illumination on what was waiting for them below.
‘Gimme the gun,’ said Kara, reaching her right hand over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off of what lie beneath them.
‘What? No, it’s my gun.’
‘Oh for…stop being so precious about it. Give me the thing!’
Hal grumbled, but reluctantly obliged.
‘Be careful with it, it was expensive,’ he mumbled sulkily. Despite her facing away from him, he could tell she was rolling her eyes at his request. ‘I should probably mention, it’s not quite–’
‘Shh,’ said Kara.
And they descended into the chasm below, Kara taking the lead, followed by Hal, with Peter and Fearne bringing up the rear.
*
Kara treaded lightly, proceeding down the wooden staircase one tiny step at a time, aiming the gun into the poorly lit void of the basement beneath her, as additional memories flooded back to the forefront of her mind; the sight of the surrounding worktops filled with either half-started or half-finished projects, the walls lined with various tools and trinkets…as she peered over the banister she saw their trusty friend; the box of screws that were instrumental in aiding Kevin’s escape from the small room to her left, not yet moved into the position they needed to be, the door of said room currently closed for business.
She froze in place, as her eyes landed on an inconsistency to her surroundings that greatly overshadowed open doors and rogue radios, whilst also explaining the breadcrumbs they represented.
There, in the centre of the room, existed something that shouldn’t have been there at all, as their ears filled with the sound of boisterous clapping. Rhythmic in speed, and deliberate in delivery, each audible emanation bounced off the walls around them as if they were occupying an echo chamber, the acoustic paradox made possible due to the Restarters being seemingly in-phase with the entity that was emitting them.
‘Oh God,’ said Hal, as horror took hold of him.
‘That’s impossible…’ said Kara.
A familiar arc of electricity flowed through them both, fuelled by the crippling shared fear they felt in their hearts.
‘We need to get out of here,’ said Hal, the fear in his voice spilling out into the room as the clapping slowed in speed.
The man remained seated, finally ceasing his incessant clapping, and spoke.
‘You both took your time,’ he said, the seemingly causal colloquialism of his statement laced with dramatic irony, flashing his shark-like white teeth at them as he offered up a knowing smile.
The electricity surged between Hal and Kara once more, as if it were an involuntary reflex. Or, more aptly, a defence mechanism.
Malcolm raised his hand, as if to signify they could calm down.
Peter and Fearne took an instinctive step backwards, expecting Hal and Kara to turn tail and run. But, despite their shaking shoulders threatening to betray the fidelity of their resolve – which Peter assumed must have been brought on by adrenaline – Hal and Kara stood firmly in place.
All four of them remained as motionless as marble statues, as the man in the seat stood up, the chair of the past refusing to creak under his displaced weight, the out-of-phase wooden furniture continuing onwards through time, entirely unburdened to begin with.
He was just as they remembered him; his immaculately pressed white long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled to a perfectly-considered equal length, complemented by his ghastly, jet-black rubber apron, which covered the top half of his black work trousers. Brown, weathered work boots finished off the look, proving that when it came to killers, less was apparently more. If Malcolm’s goal was to blend in to his surroundings, only the apron would have generated a red flag if they were to have encountered him out in the wild.
Malcolm continued to direct his grin at the four of them, feeling relieved that after all his patience, preparation and implementation, the desired result had finally led to fruition.
And then, for the first time in recorded history, five murder victims were presented with a once in a lifetime chance; the unique opportunity to speak directly to their respective killers after their deaths.
At least, that would have been the case.
Instead, Kara pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I Know What You Did Last Summer
166th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 12:21pm
For all the false-charm he possessed, Malcolm hadn’t engaged in an honest discussion in a long, long time. Decades even. Whenever he spoke, it was always a means to an end. Lure a person here, get them to trust you enough to go there, getting them to reveal a personal truth before draining the life from their body with his bare hands. That sort of thing.
The result of this was that he found himself a little lost for words now that his quarry had finally arrived. Thankfully, this awkwardness was quickly done away with, as the bullet traversed the distance between the shooter and her target in an instant, penetrating not only Malcolm’s black apron
and the starched shirt beneath, but also his flesh, the slug embedding itself into his body mere inches from the killer’s presumably cold, black heart.
The unexpected act of being shot at broke not only the ice, but also erased the need for small-talk, as Malcolm’s head flew back wildly in shock as the bullet struck him.
Kara pressed gently down on the trigger a second time, but Malcolm was ready, dodging out of the way as everyone else covered their ears at the sound bellowing from the firearm.
The second bullet whirred past Malcolm’s right ear, ricocheted off the wall behind him, then headed off at an unpredictable angle, ultimately refusing to entrench itself into anything. Instead, the bullet eventually ran out of steam and fell to the floor, leaving the room entirely unharmed.
Hal reached towards Kara and pushed the gun upwards towards the ceiling.
‘Woah, woah, woah, nice shooting, Tex! What are you doing?!’ Hal shouted, a little louder than was socially acceptable due to the slight ringing sensation in his ears.
‘He killed us, Hal!’ shouted Kara incredulously, wondering why she was even being asked the question.
‘I know, I mean I was there too. I get it, I do,’ said Hal earnestly, ‘but as much as I hate to admit it, we might just need this nutcase. At least for a little longer so he can tell us exactly what he’s changed.’
‘Very good, Harold,’ said Malcolm, a slight growl of irritation escaping from him. ‘Smart boy.’
‘Feel the room, douchebag. Or I’ll shoot you myself,’ replied Hal, realising that he didn’t actually know the man’s name, and that it was clearly an empty threat. He turned back to face his friend. ‘Besides…it’s not real!’
‘What?’ said Kara.
‘The gun. It’s just gas powered, shoots metal pellets.’
‘It sounded real enough?’
‘Yeah, the hammer connects with gunpowder caps when you fire. You thought I’d managed to score an actual gun?!’
