by Sean McMahon
Hal and Kara shifted awkwardly, unable to hide the fact that they most certainly did not know this.
‘How did you get anything done?!’ asked Malcolm, staring in disbelief.
‘We just… waited for the cycle to end, then tried again,’ said Hal, neglecting to mention their discovery of the Restart Point, not seeing the sense in showing their entire hand so early in the game.
Malcolm laughed, producing a noise not entirely unlike stones churning in a cement mixer.
‘Wow, someone’s been practicing their evil laugh,’ noted Hal.
‘What?’
‘It just came across as a bit rehearsed is all I’m saying.’
‘Regardless, I am not the man you remember,’ stated Malcolm. ‘I’ve changed at lot since we had the displeasure of stumbling into each other’s lives.’
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ said Kara.
‘In time, you’ll see just how much,’ Malcolm muttered, his words coming across more like a threat than a promise. ‘Until then, I need you to understand what we’re up against.’
Malcolm returned to his chair and fell into it.
‘There is no we, Malc’,’ said Hal, shutting down that particular pronoun immediately.
The killer smiled weakly, unwilling to allow the young man to ruin his rhythm. ‘The Restarting version of myself you left behind has grown quite proficient in altering time. Unfortunately, he is also teetering on insanity.’
‘I’d say you base-jumped off that ledge a long time ago.’
Malcolm ignored Kara’s dig. They had no idea how hard it was to exist without human interaction. Even for someone of his solitary preference. ‘Today is the day his ambitions ultimately matched his desire.’ Both Hal and Kara clocked his use of the past tense. ‘He is attempting to alter time in such a significant way that, well, you really should see it for yourselves. Today is a very big day for my past-self.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Hal, ‘you finally figured out how to reverse what Kara and I did to get ourselves out of here.’
‘No, that came much later,’ said Malcolm cryptically. ‘There are some things you need to understand about me. About all of us. But I've ascertained this is the most effective way for you to understand what's at stake. There is a version of me at Fir Lodge, right now. And his goal is simple; to prevent Peter from entering Robert’s room. If Peter doesn’t enter, it will be he and he alone that returns the dog to this place,’ said Malcom, gesturing outwards to the room around them. To Kevin’s home.
Malcolm explained to them how his past-self had spent years occupying Hal and Kara’s last restart, and that after countless failed attempts at gaining freedom, all roads had led to what happened in the next thirty minutes.
‘And that,’ said Malcolm finally, ‘is why I’ve brought you together. To stop that from happening. Succeed in your task, and we'll have all the time in the world to talk about what comes next.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Peter. ‘That is bullshit right?’ he whispered to Hal.
Hal honestly didn’t know, but if today really was the day that Malcolm changed history, and they really could prevent Peter’s death, prevent his funeral…Hal noticed Kara wincing in pain.
‘Ice-pick headache?’ asked Hal, as he pressed his chest to fight away the feeling of a trapped nerve being plucked deep within him.
They shared a knowing look, both turning to face Malcolm, who tapped his wrist as if to emphasise their window of opportunity was dwindling.
‘We'll be back. Don't go anywhere,’ said Kara.
‘I'm counting on that,’ said Malcolm smugly. ‘You know where to find me. Oh, and one piece of advice, because I really am rooting for you, truly I am,’ he added, his words sickly sweet. ‘Remember, you won’t be able to see the time-travelling version of myself of the past, you’re still out-of-phase with him.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hal shot back over his shoulder. ‘Thanks for the heads up, Jafar.’
‘Aladdin?’ whispered Peter.
‘Got it in one Iago,’ implying Peter was the pet parrot in this scenario.
‘It’s not what you think, Hal,’ began Peter, eager to absolve himself.
‘Save it,’ said Hal sourly. ‘With any luck we’ll send you hurtling back to the future and we’ll all forget this ever happened anyway.’ Hal knew that was a longshot, but hoped that meant it was also a potential possibility.
On that salty note, the four of them exited the basement.
*
Hal noted the clock on Kevin’s wall as they emerged into Kevin’s living room, deducting the four minutes, remembering the clock ran fast.
‘8:14pm,’ he said, informing his fellow Restarters. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Malcolm should be here right now, in the past, ready for when our past-selves arrive.’
‘Maybe he has changed everything,’ said Kara.
Fearne had a more pertinent question. ‘Why are we even entertaining this?’
‘Because something feels off,’ said Kara. ‘Just trust us, this is kind of our thing.’
Peter and Fearne shared an awkward glance, which Hal pretended not to notice, and the four of them set off to Fir Lodge, to see what kind of chaos Malcolm’s past-self was unleashing.
*
Malcolm returned to his seat, staring up towards the doorway at the top of the basement staircase, giving his guests just enough time to leave, before finally giving in to the gasp that had been dying to escape his mouth ever since the projectile had entered his chest.
He yanked off his apron, revealing a blood-stained shirt, and pressed against his chest where the stainless-steel ball-bearing resided, grimacing at the pain it caused. Ripping his shirt open to inspect the damage, he took a deep breath, and reached into the hole the pellet had created. After a few failed attempts, he finally managed to gain purchase on the bullet with his fingernail, and slowly pulled it out from the wound, bringing the bloody object up to his eye-level for inspection.
Rolling it between his index finger and thumb, he stared in bemusement at the trail of blood each roll left behind. The rules that governed this world between the living and temporally-displaced dictated that, in their current form, they were unable to cause direct physical harm to anyone in the past. The one exception being what Hal and Kara had achieved on the night of his true death. Nor could Restarters feel pain or sustain injury whilst out-of-phase. Or so they had assumed. But Malcolm knew differently. And now possessed evidence to the contrary, both in the form of his perpetually-shifting memories, and by the presence of a spherical token that verified it wasn’t just the past that could be changed.
He flicked the tiny bullet over his shoulder dismissively, into the shadow-filled corner of the room, now the sole keeper of a remarkable secret; whilst they may not have been able to directly harm the living, they were more than capable of harming each other.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Restarters Assemble
166th Restart – Saturday, August 25th, 8:24pm
'Guys, maybe we should talk about this?’ said Peter, increasing his speed to match that of Hal and Kara’s, who were leading the way.
‘What’s to talk about?’ said Hal, not showing any sign of slowing down. ‘If this is what led to your funeral, we can stop it from coming to pass. We jump in, change the events that lead you to going to Kevin’s alone, and end this madness here and now.’
Kara didn’t seem so sure, which grabbed Hal’s attention enough for him to mention it.
‘You okay, Kar’?’
Kara slowed down, stopping to think.
‘Pete may have a point, Hal. What if this is exactly what he wants us to do?’
‘What difference does it make what he wants?’ Hal argued, slowing down and walking backwards. ‘If we change this moment, Peter’s funeral will never happen.’
‘Assuming this is what causes that at all. I’m just saying maybe we should take a moment to think about this. We don’t know what’s waiting for us back at Fir Lodge. It could be a trap.�
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Hal stopped his poorly executed moonwalk, noticing his three companions had come to a halt, unable to ignore how right she was.
In all of the excitement, he hadn’t stopped to consider how he was not only running head-first into a chain of events he knew nothing about, but was also ready to change them at the flip of a coin, based on little more than the information he’d been told by the very person who had set them in motion in the first place.
He took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. ‘You think we shouldn’t?’
‘I think we shouldn’t just run blindly into this based solely on Malcolm’s word.’
Hal turned his attention to Peter, remembering he alone possessed the answers they all needed, locked away in his own memories. ‘What do you remember? After what Future-Boy did, you must have inherited the restarts? What happened?
‘I…don’t remember,’ said Peter feebly.
‘How can you not remember?’ Kara challenged.
‘I just don’t, Kara! It’s not something I have any control over!’
And it was true. Peter held no memory of this altered timeline, or of Malcolm killing him off and sparing Fearne. And least of all a chain of repeats where he was left alone to fend for himself. In fact, the only repeats he had any recollection of were the ones he shared with her.
‘Urgh,’ said Hal, gripping his hair in his hands before looking back up at them wildly, not for the first time reminding himself how much he hated time travel. ‘Okay. Then we put it to a vote. All in favour of changing this moment to free Neville-Longbottom-sans-Remembrall here from his solo restart chain? Raise a hand.’
Hal raised his own, followed almost instantly by Fearne.
Peter seemed unsure, but raised his hand slowly all the same, voting in favour also.
Kara held fast, blinking repeatedly, as if running the numbers in her mind, still unsure if this was the right call.
‘It’s decided then,’ said Fearne. ‘We go save Peter.’
Hal ignored her, speaking directly to Kara as if they were the only people present.
‘No, this is a Restarter vote. If Kara is out, we’re bailing.’
‘What?!’ said Fearne angrily. ‘How is that fair?’
Hal rattled off his response without so much as a glimmer of hesitation. ‘Because every decision we ever make is to save people! Build a bridge and get over it.’
‘That was harsh,’ said Peter.
‘Kara,’ said Hal ignoring all but her. ‘Tell me what you want to do, and we’ll do it.’
Kara looked into each of their eyes, searching for an answer. For a hint of guidance from the universe. Anything she could use to make an informed decision, before accepting one would never come. She straightened up, breaking free from the trance of indecision that shackled her.
‘What the hell,’ she said finally. ‘Let’s go save Peter.’
*
They ran as fast as their legs could carry them which, as it transpired, was pretty damn quick considering their energy was infinite, their lack of physical form preventing their exertion from leading to fatigue.
‘I forgot how easy it was to keep going here,’ said Hal happily.
‘I know,’ said Kara. ‘It’s almost as if I haven’t bailed on going to the gym for the past two months.’
Approaching the driveway of Fir Lodge, they realised they were behind schedule, as Jerry darted across from them in a sharp right turn, the sound of shingle clacking beneath his tiny paws. A delay no doubt by design of the once and Future Malcolm, who had sent them on this half-baked quest.
Each of them sensed that this little test he had engineered was designed solely for them to fail. That was the point, surely? To emphasise the futility of it all. Making them not only need his help, but to want it too.
Turning sharply, they rushed the last corner, finding themselves confronted with an incredibly odd sight.
‘Erm, guys,’ said Kara. ‘Why is there a Malcolm on the roof?’
Sure enough, crawling on all fours like a mid-life crisis version of Spider-Man, knees faintly grazing against the tiles and emanating small, barely noticeable clicks and clacks, was Malcolm.
The four Restarters slowly weaved between the cars on the driveway, utterly mystified by what the bulk of a man was trying to accomplish. It was utterly surreal, seeing him behave this way.
‘You okay up their chief?’ shouted Hal, not sure on what else he could say. Anything would have sounded stupid.
The man ignored him, and placed his head face down onto a slate.
‘I don’t think he can hear you,’ said Fearne.
‘Yeah, I got that vibe,’ said Hal dryly.
‘So which Malcolm is that?’ asked Peter. ‘The one we just spoke to?’
‘My money’s on it being the real deal,’ theorised Kara. ‘I mean, you could hear him moving across those tiles. If he was a Restarter, he’d have been silent.’
“Smart,” thought Hal, glad she was with him.
The thought of having to explain the rules of Restarting from the top felt like an exhaustive proposition. Then he corrected himself, remembering Peter and Fearne weren’t as new to all this as he and Kara had initially suspected.
‘Okay,’ said Hal, getting the show on the road. ‘So, forget about Malcolm The Barbarian back at Kevin’s. He’s sitting this one out. Which leaves Fiddler on the Roof Malcolm up there…taking his nap. That means we’ve got one more Malcolm to worry about. He’s in here somewhere; we need to get to Rob’s room, and make sure that door stays open so Peter doesn’t end up taking Jerry back on his lonesome. Got it?’
Everyone nodded.
‘All righty-roo,’ said Kara, shooting a smile of determination at Hal. ‘For Rohan, then.’
Hal couldn’t bear to sully her call-back to their last successful restart, deciding to let her words hang in the air without further explanation.
*
They bypassed the front entrance and made their way in through the rear garden, nothing preparing them for the sight of seeing their friends interacting. Drinking their drinks, Robert – as always – in the hot-tub…everything appeared both familiar and new all at once.
To Kara, it felt like interactive nostalgia; as if she were drifting through her own memories. A passenger, travelling in the slipstream of her own history. It was intoxicating, and for a moment she thought she might just abandon this mission altogether and hang out with her chosen family, contemplating how she honestly didn’t know if she would ever get to see them again. At least not in any tangible way that counted.
She shook the fuzzy notion from her mind, remembering why she was here; to make sure all of them lived long enough to have a future at all. Daydreams of the past wouldn’t bring any of them closer to that goal.
And then, looking into the hallway from the rear garden, she saw it. They all did.
Peter’s past-self attempting to open Robert’s bedroom door, and the door slamming shut from the inside, the faint flicker of a single grain of red electricity passing through it as it did so.
Hal and Kara didn’t waste any time, immediately locking arms and running to the bedroom door.
‘Peter, Fearne,’ shouted Kara, ‘we need this door open, now!’
Their friends joined them, the blue energy sparking more savagely than Peter and Fearne had ever seen before. Except for that one time, when they–
‘Okay Pete,’ said Hal, unknowingly pulling his friend back into what could loosely be described as the present. ‘All hands on-deck. Let’s send this sucker packing. Time to touch yourself.’
His friends stared at Hal with confusion, though Fearne’s face in particular edged more towards the side of a giggle.
*
The door handle rattled, as it always did, and Malcolm envisioned the energy building from his core, channelling it into his hands.
With a creak, the door began to move inwards, as Peter’s alive-self tried to enter, and Malcolm gritted his teeth, focusing all of his hatred into so
mething he could use; a power source that would act as a key to finally freeing him from this place. The door slammed shut under his force, preventing Peter from entering.
Malcolm heard the young man from the other side of the door mumble a quizzical hum of perplexed confusion.
He was done in this place. He felt saturated by it, as if the moronic banter of those residing in Fir Lodge were somehow infecting him with their banality. The door handle quivered again, and Malcolm growled, as the door began to give way under his ever-depleting charge of residual energy.
But the door creeped ever further open, as he heard the golfer speak.
‘Rob, you in there, mate? I need to borrow your charger!’
Images flashed through Malcolm’s mind, fuelling his anger further, haunting his sense of self; one image in particular, of a young rat-catcher and his orange secretary.
Malcolm screamed, giving it his all, but the door remained firmly in place, refusing to close.
‘Close, damn you!’ shouted Malcolm.
And then he saw it. A shimmer at first, occupying the space between the crack of light between the door and the frame, like a brief refraction of light creating a fishbowl effect, warping the molecules that made up the very fabric of reality. But the shimmer expanded, popping without warning and showering him in an energy that peppered his face with an odd burning sensation in a way that he imagined acid rain would feel like against mortal skin. Or, perhaps, how he imagined the acid must have felt when he poured it on his victims, when he was feeling in a particularly inventive mood.
Suddenly, Malcolm knew there was more to this than he could perceive.
Was it possible? Had they found their way back? Eager to torment him further. To rub salt in the wound that served as his unwilling incarceration?
‘How are you here?!’ he snarled, talking to ghosts he couldn’t see, his eyes igniting with a reinvigorated red electricity that would’ve filled the dark room, had light been able to reflect from between Malcolm’s present and the pocket dimension of the past.
