by Sean McMahon
‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’ she said angrily.
‘I tried! But you were all like “give me the gun, Hal”,’ he said, doing an impression of Kara that wasn’t at all flattering.
‘That’s not how I sound!’
‘Little bit naggy…’ he added bravely.
Kara sighed, then reluctantly lowered the weapon.
‘Okay everyone,’ said Hal, addressing the room and eager to put an end to the pointless debate over the gun that wasn’t, strictly speaking, of any real use. ‘Let’s all just agree to not kill each other for a few minutes. Assuming we even can in this state. You on board with that plan, Dexter?’ he posited, speaking directly to Malcolm, who merely nodded, pressing gently in the general area where the pellet had connected with his chest as if trying to dispel a case of heartburn, before holding up his hands in a symbolic gesture of peace. ‘Let’s start small, what even is your name?’
Malcolm stood up slowly, perfectly resisting the desire to wince in pain, and not needing to dust himself down. He had put an end to that habit, what with abhorring procrastination and knowing it was a waste of time in his out-of-phase state, but still took the opportunity to adjust his thick rubber apron.
Lowering his hands, he sat back down on the chair, realising it would make him appear less imposing, given his size.
‘Of course,’ said Malcolm. ‘How rude of me. In all this time we’ve never been formally introduced, have we…’
Peter was whispering something frantically to Fearne, who was nodding in agreement. Kara noticed, but didn’t shoot them more than a cursory glance through fear of taking her eyes off the killer seated before them. She knew as well as anyone that one second was all it took.
‘Guys, calm down,’ said Hal, sensing the sudden rise in agitation between the newly recruited Restarters and attempting to reassure them. ‘Everything’s under con–’
‘We need to get out of here,’ said Peter. ‘Now.’
‘Come now, Peter,’ said Malcolm, his enunciation of the last word laced with barely-concealed meaning. ‘We all have a lot to talk about. Wouldn’t you agree, Fearne?’
Hal and Kara noticed the same inflection when he mentioned Fearne by name.
‘We get it,’ said Hal, reasoning that their murderer was trying to prove a point. ‘You’ve been stalking us for God knows how long, unseen and unheard. You have our names, big whoop.’
‘Oh. That makes sense. They don't know do they?’ said Malcolm, addressing the two newbie Restarters standing behind Hal and Kara.
‘Shut up!’ said Peter.
‘You haven't told them yet…’ Malcolm barked a laugh, which was utterly fake and clearly purely for dramatic effect.
‘Malcolm,’ said Fearne. ‘Don’t do this...’
Malcolm extended his arms, palms upwards, as if showcasing how Fearne herself had just proven his point for him. She covered her mouth, as if doing so would cause the words to retract, redact, and disappear from the memories of all those around her. Which, of course, worked about as well as could be expected. Namely; it didn’t.
‘Wait,’ said Kara, addressing Fearne with suspicion. ‘How do you know his name?’
‘Yes, Fearne,’ said Malcolm, standing up and indulging in a stretch, more for the look than any real necessity. ‘How do you know my name?’
The silence, taking a turn towards the oxymoronic, was deafening.
‘It seems your dearest friends,’ continued Malcolm, revelling in the drama, ‘haven't been entirely honest with you Harold. Nor you, Kara.’
The Restarters winced, a sickly feeling filling their stomachs. It felt incredibly unnerving hearing their killer saying their names out loud, though this did little to stop the man from delving deeper.
‘Why don't you tell them about the “Repeats”, Peter? No? Fearne? Perhaps you’d like to take a…stab at it?’ Malcolm chuckled at his own joke. ‘Very well,’ he added, speaking for them and addressing Hal and Kara. ‘You see, you weren’t the only ones to be trapped inside a time loop.’
‘What's he talking about Peter?!’ asked Kara, her world beginning to shatter.
‘Hal, Kara,’ mumbled Peter, ‘you have to understand, there wasn't anything we could do!’
‘No…’ said Hal, feeling a gap in the pit of his stomach. One that always preceded just before a terrible truth was released into the world, like a tidal wave of destruction pulling everything he thought he knew about anything into question.
‘Yes, Peter. What am I talk–’
‘Shut UP, Malcolm!’ the four Restarters shouted in unison.
‘Whatever it is,’ said Hal, ‘it can wait. We’re–’
‘It all began when–’ began Peter.
‘Pete mate,’ said Hal. ‘I'm super stoked to hear all about it, but now’s not the time, we’ve–’
‘–we first arrived at Fir Lodge and–’ continued Peter, causing Hal to realise he wasn’t succeeding at stopping his flow.
‘Okay, so this is happening, we're doing this now then?’ said Hal talking over Peter, who was evidently determined to wear his inner-monologue on the outside, where it didn’t belong. ‘On the stairs. The only thing keeping a serial killer at bay being my fake as shit gun. One that Billy the Kid over here has already blown two out of the only six rounds we have.’
Hal cut in before she had time to scowl.
‘Kara, if you know of a way to pull the plug on Peter’s “Wonder Years meets Scrubs” interlude, now’s the time to work your magic.’
He took a seat on the step he was formerly standing on.
‘In fairness,’ said Kara, ‘we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you'd gone to a real gun shop instead of eBay.’
‘That’s a replica Colt Python you’re holding!’ said Hal, deeply hurt.
‘Wait,’ said Fearne, interrupting them all. ‘Did you say serial killer?!’ Fearne glared at Malcolm, who shrugged like the sort of selfish bastard who had just finished the last of the Coco-Pops and put the box back in the cupboard with no regard for the next person who may have desired breakfast.
‘What Peter is trying to tell you,’ said Malcolm, his smile wide and almost crackling with the power his next words would contain, ‘is that you were not the first Restarters.’
Malcolm’s words hung in the air.
It was the most dangerous type of lie; one that was tinged with just enough potential truth to cause utter ruin to all that heard it.
‘That’s not possible,’ said Hal, refusing to accept that this was anything other than an incredibly clever mind-game. ‘You’re lying. Tell him he’s lying, Pete.’
But as Hal turned to face his friend, he could tell instantly that there was far more to Malcolm’s revelation than just hollow words.
‘Yes Peter, tell them who was really responsible for their deaths.’
‘Fearne?’ said Kara, her face begging for her friend to end this nonsense, but Fearne merely stood there, fidgeting with the seam of her flowing white dress.
Peter sighed, his heart heavy. He looked at Hal and Kara, tears trickling down his dark cheeks, then placed a hand on Fearne’s shoulder, gripping it tightly, letting go rather quickly as blue sparks repelled them apart.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Peter falling back into a sitting position on the top step of the staircase, seemingly overwhelmed by the undying truth that refused to remain buried; that it wasn’t Malcolm who had killed Hal and Kara.
It was Peter himself that was responsible for the death of two of his closest friends.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Snap, a Crackle, and a Pop
166th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 12:28pm
The dust danced across the diagonal shard of concentrated sunlight that poured in through the small window situated behind Malcolm, clipping against the killer’s shoulder, motes swirling in a hypnotically rhythmic pattern, like gravity-defying grains of artificial snow occupying a lopsided snow globe, living out their existence in a way only the universe could p
redict.
Or a Restarter. Who had unconsciously watched the same particles over a multitude of timelines, gifted with the innate knowledge of knowing when each one would dip, careen off course, or simply roll perpetually into infinity, never actually making any progress towards any kind of goal other than simply existing for the sake of it.
Hal could relate, such was the current futility he too was feeling. Always moving forwards, but somehow eternally stuck in place, the end of his journey through time seeming more like a cruel joke than an existence that served any real purpose.
They were less than an echo. They were those same motes of dust personified…mere thoughts on the wind…
Kara, meanwhile, was feeling considerably more attached to the present moment. Their initial sense of security and illusion of having the upper-hand having quickly dissolved, the Restarters now found themselves well and truly in over their heads.
Despite their numbers, and Malcolm’s apparently calm and amenable demeanour, the fact remained that they were in real danger. Every second they spent here accentuated that fact.
The gun in Kara's hand shook a little, as she struggled to steady her nerve at the prospect that she was currently inside a shark cage with a great white, armed with little more than an admittedly impressive-looking party-popper.
‘Hal,’ she whispered. ‘We need to get out of here. Now.’ There was too much information to unpack, they needed to put distance between them and the unpredictable man before them in order to regroup and form a plan.
‘Well,’ said Malcolm, directing a sickly smile solely towards Kara, sensing the penny had very much dropped and that, finally, she fully understood the gravity of the situation.
He found it hard to dismiss the sense of elation he felt knowing that, even after all this time, he could instil that level of trepidation in another living, breathing individual. But he temporarily left his ego at the door to continue.
‘This has been positively enlightening hasn't it?’ the killer cooed. ‘We've learned some things, grown better acquainted and, in such a short time, you have already managed to find yourselves betrayed by the very friends you hold most dear. Quite an achievement.’
‘You're very chatty for a man who was defeated by two of the people in this room,’ said Kara quietly, cocking the gun once more, despite them both knowing it wasn’t as dangerous a firearm as its convincing appearance insinuated.
Malcolm’s smile dropped, and his features hardened. He stood up, and somehow managed to almost fill the room, allowing his tall frame and flexing muscles to truly dominate their surroundings.
‘You would do better,’ said Malcolm, his words thick with disdain and malice, ‘to show me some respect, little girl.’
Kara scowled, not wavering in her resolve, her upper lip arcing to return a volley of equal hatred.
‘May I remind you,’ said Malcolm, eager in his pursuit of reiteration, ‘that skulking around in the shadows, relying on a hitherto unparalleled level of invisibility does not make you brave. Nor does it make you heroic. What it makes you…is cowardly. Invulnerable. There was no risk involved, and certainly no power in what you achieved.’
‘What is with you? Nobody talks like that,’ said Hal, returning to the present and shooting a patronising look towards Malcolm. ‘I think the auditions for the sequel to The Princess Bride are taking place in the venue next door, but your Vizzini impression?’ Hal brought the pincered fingers of his hand to his mouth, then allowed them to burst open dramatically with a kiss that signified the essence of the term “Magnifique”, sending it on its journey towards Malcolm’s general vicinity.
Unbeknownst to Malcolm, Hal kept his right hand behind his back as he did so, gesturing for Peter and Fearne to get their heads back in the game and back the hell up the stairs which, in their mutual misery, they were unintentionally blocking. It was their only escape route, and Hal and Kara could both feel the conversation was about to curdle like last week’s milk.
‘Wait,’ said Peter, a look of awe replacing the sadness on his face for a split second. ‘You beat it? You beat him?’
‘Yes Pete,’ said Hal. ‘We found our way to beat this thing without having to kill any of our friends in the process.’
The colour drained from Peter’s face, his momentary look of awe switching to one of intense shame.
‘I mean…’ began Kara, ‘we didn’t kill that many of you anyway…’
‘Not helping,’ said Hal, noting her shoulders shrugging from his viewpoint behind her.
Malcolm closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. This was not how he had intended this interaction to go. He needed to calm himself. But the flagrant disrespect of the two time-travellers before him had reignited emotions within him that he had truly thought were extinguished.
‘You did not defeat me,’ Malcolm eventually whispered, and his voice notably more measured. His eyes shot open and he noticed that three of the four Restarters before him were retreating up the staircase of the basement. He smiled, knowing it didn’t matter. ‘You actually presented me with a gift…’ he added, with more than a hint of ambiguity in his words.
‘Uh huh,’ said Hal, continuing his attempt to distract the man, and placing his hand on Kara’s shoulder, the spark of the connection flooding her system like an alarm bell as he whispered solely to her. ‘Time to fly, flutterby.’
Kara nodded, keeping the gun trained on Malcolm, and began her own backwards ascent.
‘Leaving so soon?’ said Malcolm, like a grandparent realising their relatives were getting ready to bail a mere thirty minutes into the hour they had promised, outstretching his arms as if inviting them to partake in a deadly bearhug to finalise their goodbye. ‘Well. How rude. Alas, we have more urgent matters to discuss. I mean you no harm, quite the opposite actually.’
‘Yeah…’ said Hal, ‘you’ll have to forgive our reluctance to accept that at face value, given that you killed us…what’s the tally again Kar’?’
‘One-hundred-and-sixty-five times’ added Kara.
‘Wasn’t it one six four?’ whispered Hal.
‘No, we beat him on the one-sixty-fifth, but you’re forgetting the first time, before the restarts.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘If you’re quite finished, perhaps we can begin?’ said Malcolm. ‘As I’ve already said, I mean you no harm. That is to say, this current incarnation of me means you no harm.’
He raised his hands above his head and gestured downwards to draw attention to his imposing frame.
‘This incarnation?’ repeated Kara, sensing Malcolm’s words were once again dripping with subtext.
‘Well, yes,’ said Malcolm, clearing his throat with a cough and showing signs of mild embarrassment and awkwardness. ‘I’ve been thinking how best to convey the new status quo of which you are now occupying. I could talk you all to deat–’ Malcolm winced, and corrected his unfortunate metaphor by charging ahead as if it hadn’t happened. ‘But, in the interest of saving time, I’ve decided it best to just show you.’ Malcolm raised his right hand and brought his fingers together, as if he were utilising invisible chopsticks. ‘You may want to…hold onto something.’
And with that, Malcolm’s eyes lit up with an electricity that Hal and Kara both recognised instantly as being Restarter energy. With one subtle difference; the electricity was a heinous looking blood-red.
‘Ohh,’ said Kara, taking a step backwards towards the door above them. ‘That can’t be good,’ submitting her entry for the understatement of the year awards, feeling fairly certain it would outdo Hal’s former entry which he had informally submitted during their last restart cycle.
‘Jeez, Peter! Will you piss off out of the bloody doorway already!’ shouted Hal, but it was far too late.
Malcolm took a deep breath and lunged towards them. Closing the distance in a heartbeat, he reached out and grabbed Kara by the wrist with one hand, and clicked his fingers with the other, performing a perfectly executed snap. A crackle of the same red e
lectricity erupted from his fingertips, generating a blinding flash to the four Restarters who were haplessly pushing and shoving each other on the stairs of the basement, inadvertently connected like a human daisy chain.
The action seemed to summon the sound of rushing air, the kind that usually signified a restart was on its way, though the sound was moderately less intense than usual, and the room began to warp around them, bulging and contracting as invisible strands of a reality-bending aftershock pulsated and shifted, rippling with such intensity that it took all Hal and Kara had not to fall to their knees to support themselves.
It was a sensation of vertigo reminiscent of their first ever Restart.
Peter and Fearne were not quite so fortunate, the stair rail beside them the only thing preventing them from tumbling down the stairs. Both Hal and Kara noticed the shards of the afternoon sun that had previously cut across the room, but were now rapidly accelerating, juddering erratically as if they were watching a time-lapse of a setting sun. One which was eventually replaced with moonlight.
And then, with a pop that made everyone in the room stretch out their jaws as if they were all on an airplane that had just ascended too quickly, the ripples dispersed into nothingness, the four of them entirely unaware that everything they thought they knew about Restarting was just the tip of the blood-soaked iceberg.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bullet Time
166th Restart – Saturday, August 25th, 8:09pm
'Did you just…Thanos us?’ said Hal, thankful that vomiting wasn’t possible in his out-of-phase state and feeling like a mass of water that had been poured from one container to another. ‘What the hell just happened?!’
‘I fast forwarded the current restart,’ said Malcolm, in a display of un-Malcolm-like modesty. ‘Bringing us all closer to the end of the thirty-three-hour loop.’
‘Wait, you can do that?’ said Kara, twisting her wrist out of his grip.
‘We all can,’ replied Malcolm, his expression more than a little puzzled. ‘Surely you know this?’
