The Dark Restarter

by Sean McMahon

  He stared down at it, bemused, as blood began to engulf the foreign object lodged deeply in the side of his own body, reaching out to it with his free hand, still clutching what was now a blade of his very own.

  Peter flicked the protruding arrow-head-sized triangle of metal, and his curiosity quickly evolved into horror, as it retreated back inside him, making him feel dizzy, and eager to reach in after it to drag it back out.

  None of this was rational of course, but he was yet to piece together the whole picture. With relief, the metal object popped back into view, this time bringing with it a distinct burning sensation, as if it were white hot.

  As the enormous arm wrapped around his neck, he momentarily drifted out of consciousness, noting how the black spots filling his vision were laced with both blue and red sparks, each looking incredibly beautiful, in their own unique way.

  That was the funny thing about a dying mind; it always managed to recalibrate the senses to see beauty, instead of what was really there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Death of a Restarter

  168th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 2018, 12:18pm

  The Restarters flew through the front door of Kevin’s lodge and made their way straight for the ominously-open basement door, making Kara the first to witness the horror within.

  There stood Peter, held firmly in place by Malcolm’s past-self, red sparks drowning out the splutter of blue, as the energy ebbed away from their friend.

  Malcolm turned his attention to his new guests, pulling the knife from his captive’s torso in a sudden, sickening motion.

  ‘Peter,’ whispered Kara, ‘no...’

  ‘I hadn’t expected an audience,’ said the Restarting-Malcolm of the past, clearly delighted. ‘Not usually my standard modus operandi, but I’m willing to make an exception,’ he added, allowing the blade to dance within an energised beam of dust-mote-laden sunlight, and grimacing as the light of the Earth’s Sun refused to refract against what would surely have been glistening blood. Instead, Peter’s lifeblood looked rather dull and boring to him. ‘Given our history.’

  ‘It's okay,’ gargled Peter, claret spewing from his mouth, his kind-hearted smile at odds with his blood-soaked teeth ‘Re…Restarter, remember?’ he said, shooting them all a wink that he immediately regretted, as a burning fire coursed through his veins, causing more redness to pump from the gash in his side, his red golfing shirt turning black like blotting paper…a Rorschach test gone horribly wrong. In that moment, Kara thought she could see the outline of a butterfly amidst the ever-expanding ichor.

  ‘He keeps saying that,’ said the Dark Restarter, his face one of perplexed curiosity.

  ‘Let him go,’ said Hal softly. ‘Please.’

  Fearne was last to make her way through the door. Eyes widening, her hands flung to her face, as she let out a piercing scream that caused both Hal and Kara to wince, their taught nerves snapping under the shrillness.

  ‘Ah, the lover turned widow,’ said Malcolm. ‘I’ve been watching you all for quite some time,’ he added, his face scrunching up as if he were running a complicated maths equation through his mind. ‘For four years now,’ he said, his expression returning to one of overt maliciousness, finally at ease that his memories had yielded an accurate result. ‘There’s nothing I don’t know about you. How does it go?’ Malcolm pondered, running off at an apparent tangent, the energy he was draining from Peter revitalising his fractured mind. ‘For never was a story of more woe, than this of Fearne and her Romeo…’

  He plunged the blade back into Peter, causing him to judder uncontrollably, the hideous tip of the blade reflecting the red energy past-Malcolm was utilising.

  ‘Fearne, get to the Restart Point,’ said Kara, all business and no filler. ‘Now, Fearne!’ she ordered.

  But Fearne remained firmly in place, frozen with terror.

  ‘There you go again with this Restart nonsense,’ said Malcolm. ‘Please elaborate. I should add, it’s not in my nature to ask twice,’ his smile dropping to an expression that was as serious as a bullet to the brain.

  “Or a blade to the gut,” thought Hal.

  ‘Oh! No, don’t tell me…is that what you call yourselves?’ said Malcolm disdainfully, letting out his most impressive fake laugh yet. ‘How precious.’

  ‘What have you done,’ whispered Kara.

  ‘In my defence,’ said Malcolm, admittedly perplexed, ‘I had no way of knowing this would happen. I mean, honestly, the memory of a knife being able to affect us so…tangibly. It begs the question though, doesn’t it?’

  Kara knew immediately what question he was referring to. She prayed she was wrong, worrying what it said about her as a person that she reached such a conclusion so quickly.

  ‘Well, now we know we can bleed. But can we die? In this place, I mean,’ said Malcolm, apparently having a conversation with himself. Something he was more than proficient at these days.

  He released his grip on Peter’s neck, using his partially-free hand to gesture at their surroundings, steering Peter with the knife that was still in his side. ‘What do you say, Restarters?’ he added, in pure mockery. ‘Shall we find out?’

  ‘I will end you,’ said Kara, reaching to Hal’s side and pulling what was slowly becoming the communal gun from its holster.

  She cranked back the hammer and took aim, scorching the man with her look of conviction.

  ‘Little echoes,’ whispered Malcolm, ‘messing with things that you can’t understand, and hoping toys can save them.’

  Kara flinched at the word. There wasn’t much that got to her, but she hated the thought of being nothing more than a Time-Echo. More than anything, it was her greatest fear; to not be real. Just a shadow. To not be the true version of herself.

  Did he know the gun was fake? It seemed unlikely. But it was possible.

  She quickly shook off the self-doubt and regained control, noting that his seemingly brave words had been betrayed by a tell; he had taken a step backwards, bringing Peter with him along for the ride.

  The Dark Restarter stole a glance towards the room to his right, the one that would soon house Kevin. If that was even a thing in this nightmarish timeline anymore. Clearly, he’d moved on to loftier goals.

  ‘Something wrong, Kara?’ said Malcolm, probing further, as Kara realised she had been incorrect, and that this version of Malcolm using her name was far worse than him referring to her as an echo.

  ‘Echoes of the past got your tongue?’ the killer purred. ‘Perhaps I could help you with that?’ he added, pulling the blade out of her friend and pressing the edge of it against Peter’s neck, the jagged edges of the knife catching his skin and leaving behind a trail of rivulets which ran down his throat.

  That word again.

  “Dammit,” she thought, hating that he’d seen her flinch at its usage the first time. “Just a bit more,” thought Kara, knowing that a gas propelled pellet to the forehead would surely give them a second to turn this all around.

  But Malcolm was no fool, and ducked his head behind Peter’s like a blood-curdling game of peek-a-boo, using their friend as a human shield.

  Kara cursed under her breath, knowing that she couldn’t risk firing a round without a clean shot. If she missed, Malcolm would know the gun was for show, and would clearly waste no time in demonstrating his skills with his considerably more dangerous weapon.

  Hal sensed what she was trying to achieve, and brought on the big talk in the hope it would afford them a distraction.

  ‘Hey, Jigsaw, hate to be the one to tell you this, but you brought a knife to a gun fight,’ he said loudly, hopping down the steps theatrically, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, attempting to draw the killer’s attention away from Peter for just a second.

  It’s all they needed. A single second. Was it so much to ask for? After all the hours they had been gifted?

  ‘How bout we take a rain check on all this and you can try again tomorrow. Sound good?’

  ‘You mea
n, we all just walk away?’ said Malcolm, lowering the knife.

  ‘Exactly that. Besides,’ said Hal, leaning on the banister as if he were having a casual catch-up with an old friend. ‘We’re from the future, man. We know how this ends. So let’s call it now, save ourselves a bunch of aggro.’

  ‘Your friend talks too much,’ said the killer. ‘This one is on you Harold. Remember that, Fearne. That it was Harold who did this.’

  ‘Malcolm, no!’ shouted Kara, her words doing nothing but generating a savage smile from their adversary, as he locked his eyes onto hers, clearly wishing to make the moment more intimate.

  It all happened so fast; Malcolm spinning Peter to face him, sliding the knife into his chest, twisting the blade clockwise, then counter clockwise, pulling the blade back out, the serrated edges surely catching on Peter's internal organs, shredding them beyond repair.

  Kara, in too much shock to fire, dropped the gun and ran at him, eyes blue and teeth bared, growling ferociously, as Malcolm ducked into the room to his right. Hal, meanwhile, was on Peter in an instant, catching him in his arms before he could hit the ground.

  The Dark Restarter barked a laugh through the door, attempting to pull it closed behind him, the energy he had absorbed from Peter refilling his out-of-phase tank.

  Kara placed her hand between the door and its frame, preventing it from shutting fully, forgetting for a moment that being out-of-phase with the wood spared her from experiencing pain.

  Not having time to be thankful for that, she used her arm as leverage to open the door. But her ears were greeted by the sound of a sharp popping sound, and her heart sank, as her eyes were met by nothing more than an old sheet covering a shoddy coffee table, dog treats on a metal shelf, and old paint tins.

  Malcolm had clearly fast-forwarded into their current restart, and in doing so, had escaped to safety.

  ‘Dammit Pete,’ said Hal, as his friend’s blood spread rapidly across his hands and clothes. ‘What were you thinking, mate?’

  ‘Wanted… make it right,’ said Peter, the colour draining from his dark skin. ‘Prove…you could trust me,’ he added, his eyes rolling back into his head, the sparks between them both growing weaker and less vibrant by the second.

  ‘We need to stop this blood,’ said Hal, pulling of his jacket and t-shirt, ripping the latter to make what he hoped was a tourniquet. ‘Fearne, Kara, I need you both. We need to put pressure on it or…or something. On the wounds.’

  Was that how you did it? Hal had no idea. He was so far out of his depth he may as well have been in a different timeline from Peter altogether.

  ‘Frrrnnn,’ said Peter, his eyes spinning back around with Fear. ‘I’m s-sorry. My f-fault.’

  ‘You stupid bastard,’ said Hal. ‘Don’t you dare die on me, you’re making me look like a right dick here!’ he added, trying to keep the mood light in the hope it would keep his friend coherent.

  Kara was there in a flash, using Hal’s shirt to stem the flow of blood, as Fearne fell down beside her boyfriend and began stroking his hair. She whispered something to him, needing him to know something important. Something he could take with him to the grave.

  Peter smiled, Fearne’s words clearly a comfort, and he looked upwards into her eyes, his voice barely that of a whimper as he spoke. ‘Fog’s here,’ he said, as the last drop of life left his eyes.

  They looked around, but saw no evidence of any fog, nor the sound of rushing air. They assumed the blood-loss was making Peter hallucinate, until Fearne jerked her hand away from Peter’s forehead.

  It didn’t take long for Hal and Kara to see why she had recoiled.

  Tiny amounts at first. Small granules of blue energy rising into the air, like grains of sand being coerced upwards into nothingness.

  Peter’s body was disintegrating.

  Within seconds, there was nothing left but silence, as the seriousness of what had just happened truly dawned on them.

  Peter wasn’t just dead.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  All Flights are Cancelled

  168th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 2018, 12:42pm

  They mobilised quickly, knowing that Peter’s only hope rested in them triggering a restart.

  It took a fair few attempts to convince Fearne to come with them, her reluctance to leave Kevin’s basement fortified by her belief that he could materialise at any moment, and she didn’t want him left lying there on the cold floor wondering why she had left him.

  Eventually, Kara had managed to convince her that the fastest way to bring Peter home was to bring an end to the fastest example of a restart turning south since...no, this was definitely the quickest balls up they’d ever been faced with.

  The only thing Hal and Kara were certain about was that they needed to restart the past in order to provide Peter with a fresh future.

  ‘Where the hell is Malcolm?’ barked Hal, as they ran towards the portal that resided at the boundary line.

  Kara knew he meant their Malcolm. The Malcolm of the future.

  What she didn’t know was the answer to that million-dollar question, though she suspected his reluctance to show himself was due in no small part to the monumental loss the team had just sustained. Kara lowered her voice so that Fearne couldn’t hear, before addressing the more immediate concern that was surely on all of their minds.

  ‘Do you think this will work?’

  Hal knew she was referring to their working theory that a restart could bring Peter back to them, which was actually less of a theory and actually more akin to a Hail Mary.

  ‘It has to,’ he muttered simply, his hushed tone equal in volume to that of his friend.

  *

  As they reached the boundary line, Hal stopped several metres short of the invisible line that would trigger Peter’s resurrection, gesturing for everyone to do the same.

  ‘Why are we stopping?!’ shouted Fearne, angrily wiping the remnants of tears from her face. She refused to mourn that which was due to return to her in just a few short steps.

  ‘I hate to say it,’ said Hal, trying to choose his words carefully, ‘but we can’t leave without Future Malcolm.’

  Fearne shot him a look of disbelief, her eyes screaming “why the hell not.” A thought she was about to vocalise, before Kara intervened.

  ‘Hal’s right,’ said Kara. ‘If we jump without him…’

  ‘We’re all in-phase!’ shouted Fearne. ‘He can find us on the other side. Assuming he dares to show his face after what he’s done to us.’

  ‘He has a lot to answer for,’ agreed Hal, ‘but we have no way of knowing if he knew that would happen to Peter.’ The words seemed false in his mouth. This was their Malcolm’s past after all, which meant there was a very good chance he had full memory of his past-self committing this heinous act. Unless…

  His thoughts were prevented from reaching completion as Fearne pushed past Hal and Kara and ran towards the Restart Point.

  Shards of blue erupted as she connected with it, like a mirror that had been struck by a hammer, only the fractures were represented by hundreds of thunderbolts which spread across the point of impact, and outwards across the boundary line, like temporary cracks in a wall none of them could see. Cracks that eventually retraced their steps and flowed back to the epicentre, dissolving into nothing, as if they had never been there to begin with.

  ‘No,’ said Fearne, smashing her fists against the flawlessly transparent wall obstructing her path, generating yet more cracks of electricity which spread upwards and outwards, revealing the hints of just how far the barrier extended. ‘No, no, NO!’

  The three of them stood there in awe, having just been subjected to a sight none of them had seen before; an invisible force-field. One apparently shielding the Restart Point and what lay beyond the boundary line, preventing them from triggering the restart they so desperately needed.

  A literal manifestation of the time bubble that seemed adamant on containing them.
r />   ‘That’s…not possible,’ said Hal, extending his left hand and pressing it gently against the glass-like barrier.

  As his fingers connected with it, small fractures of blue energy spread outwards from where his hand was resting. He felt the blockade resonating under his touch, as if were vibrating at the exact same frequency as his out-of-phase body.

  Hal balled his hand into a fist, and hit the barrier with more force, causing the lightning-blue cracks to spread wider and more intensely, eventually working their way backwards to the source of contact, before repairing themselves and returning to an entirely transparent view of the road ahead.

  ‘Why can’t we pass!’ said Fearne, tears threatening to coat her cheeks once more. ‘Peter needs us!’

  Hal looked over his shoulder to Kara, whose eyes were wide with equal bewilderment.

  ‘I…don’t know,’ said Kara. ‘We’ve never been locked out from a Restart Point before.

  ‘Wait,’ said Hal, ‘it’s got to be Malcolm. Dark Restarter Malcolm, I mean. What if he didn’t just disappear, what if he fast-forwarded.’

  ‘You mean, jumped forwards into this restart?’ said Kara. ‘Can he do that yet?’ Their Malcolm hadn’t actually mentioned when he had learnt that parlour trick. ‘That would explain how he managed to pull that Houdini in the basement,’ she noted, kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Hal. ‘Makes sense. But it’s bigger than that. If he’s in the future of this restart, it’s possible we’ve been locked behind this force-field until we…catch up with him.’

  ‘Why would it matter when he is right now?’ said Kara.

  ‘Because,’ said a deep voice from behind them, cutting into Fearne’s soul like a laser etching its way across glass, ‘for all the ways in which this place bends how we perceive this reality, there is but one constant,’ said Malcolm.

  For a brief moment they all assumed it was their dark enemy, returning for another onslaught, but the man’s expression somehow eradicated that notion.