by Sean McMahon
Hal had never been more thankful for his soundless footsteps, affording him a level of stealth he never would have got away with in the real world. He winked at Kara as he met up with her at the top of the stairs.
Kara, having made her way past the large oak dining table, stopped at top of the communal staircase and allowed him to pass, staring down in horror, as she noticed the Dark Restarter turning over a black object in his hand.
‘Shit,’ said Kara.
The jig was up.
The Malcolm pulling the strings of the murderous puppet the occupants of Fir Lodge were currently facing knew both she and Hal were here, as his alive-self surged onwards under the instruction of systematically eliminating their friends in the past.
‘We have to do something,’ said Kara, ‘This is…this is a massacre!’
The Dark Restarter looked up at Kara from the bottom of the stairs, then to Hal, smiling horrifically and extending his arms as if gesturing at everything that was unfolding, shrugging as if he had just been caught eating the last Rolo. The killer mouthed several words at them being sure to enunciate so they could lip read without hindrance. “You’re too late.”
‘What can we do?! said Hal, swatting away a persistent swirl of irksome fog.
Kara frowned. ‘What’s with you?’
‘Just the fog.’
‘What fog?’ asked Kara, her frown transforming into a look of worry.
Everything seemed crystal clear to her. Truth be told, the sheet of fog had retreated considerably since she’d been pressed against him at the side of the lodge, the remaining wisps eradicated entirely following the charge she had drawn from him giving her a leg up onto the balcony.
‘Jon won’t last long,’ said Hal, totally missing the concern in her voice, far more preoccupied with stealing another glance downstairs, just as Alex entered the fray. ‘Ahh fuck.’
*
August 25th, 2018
Alex sauntered past the pool table, blissfully unaware of what was going down, before freezing on the spot, drinking in the sight before him; Alex stared at Will, then Malcolm, then back to Jon, who was doubled over on the floor trying to catch his breath and losing a worrying amount of what Alex’s brain struggled to reconcile as being blood.
Alex clenched his fists and was about to ask just what the hell was going on and who this man was, but was prevented from doing so thanks to Malcolm’s lightning-quick reflexes.
Malcolm flipped the knife in his right hand, catching it by the blade end, then drew his arm back, launching the weapon towards Alex, the fluid traversal of the knife ending abruptly on account of it being obstructed by Alex’s heart.
Will suddenly felt a pang of shame at the mixed emotions he was experiencing; on the one hand, what he had witnessed showed a level of practise and expertise that generated authentic awe. On the other, his mate Alex now had a blade embedded firmly in his chest.
Alex collapsed into a heap on the floor, as Will, now unarmed, turned back to face their attacker, instinctively taking a step back in horror.
‘Listen man, we can…we can talk about this?’ Will’s words more a plea bargain than a statement, and his tone that of a man who had accidentally swooped in to a parking space someone had clearly been waiting for, as evidenced by the flashing indicators that sung “back the hell off” to all that thought they would try their luck, leaving Will now floundering to prevent an all-too-British passive-aggressive confrontation from occurring.
‘Pool cue, Malcolm. Pay attention,’ whispered the Dark Restarter once again into the ear of his past-self.
The Malcolm of the past nodded, snapped the pool cue in half as if it were a mere Twiglet, and plunged the jagged, splintered wood into Will’s neck, pulling it out and sending arterial spray arcing over his own head, making impromptu wall art on the wood structure around him.
Malcolm dropped the bloodied wood to the floor and it landed with a ringing hollow clatter.
With half a pool-stick in one hand, Malcolm leant down and picked up his second knife from the floor with the other, noting that Jon was crawling away to the entrance doors of Fir Lodge.
The killer smiled savagely.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ the Dark Restarter cooed, clearly amused, his words repeating through his past-self’s mouth so Jon could hear them.
Jon’s eyes widened with urgency as he looked with faltering, blurred vision back towards the man striding towards him. Not through fear for his own life, but for that of Rachel’s, who had been hiding in the en-suite bathroom of her bedroom up until this point, and was now attempting to sneak up behind the killer with the discarded remnant of a splintered, blood-soaked pool cue shaking within her firm grip, as adrenaline took over her body.
Jon tried to keep his eyes locked on Malcolm, as the mother of his unborn child snuck across the room in an attempt to save him.
A decision that was already sending countless ripples across time. Innumerable flutterbys that would change their family dynamic forever, as well as altering the shared future of billions.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Memento Mori?
202nd Restart – Saturday, August 25th, 2018, 8:36pm
Kara span around and bolted to her doppelgänger, who was currently pressed against the kitchen sink, not knowing what to do or how to help her friends below.
“Still time,” she thought, contemplating drawing a charge from her alive-self.
Maybe then they could influence the events that were unfolding.
Thrusting her hand into the duplicated copy of her own body she did just that, in a last-ditch effort to draw something from herself.
Anything.
She noted the familiar shrill sound that indicated she was now drawing a charge. Her mouth filling with the taste of the colour blue.
‘Kara!’ Hal shouted, causing her to look over her shoulder far too late, as Malcolm grabbed her physical-body by the shoulders.
Kara could do nothing but watch, taking in the surreal sight of seeing her own body being thrown down the stairs, her corporeal-self colliding with the wall at the bottom with a grim crunch.
The man pressed on, about to make his way towards Jasmine, before being summoned to return downstairs.
‘Hal, come on, we need a charge!’
‘There’s no time, Kara,’ he replied, wafting his hand across his face as if fighting off a wasp she couldn’t see. ‘You need to get to the Restart Point and end this now!’
‘Why me?’ asked Kara, less than eager to leave Hal behind. ‘Fearne’s on the case already.’
‘Something must have happened…’ He didn’t want to think of what. ‘You’re the fastest out of both of us,’ reasoned Hal, remembering how she could move almost as fast as light itself if she really set her mind to it.
‘That was a long time ago,’ mumbled Kara, realising that he was referring to her minor meltdown on that fateful restart, where she had tried to escape the confines of their time bubble.
Without warning, the air around them began to crackle, as a thousand tiny grains of electrified sand swam into a frenzy, forming a shape.
‘What now?!’ said Kara snappily.
Will appeared next to them with a short-but-punchy rush of temporally-displaced air, followed by yet another alarmingly-loud crack of thunder from above them.
Hal and Kara looked upwards in unison, wondering what the hell was forming above the lodge.
‘Oh, hey guys!’ said Will happily, though looking a bit confused over how he had ended up here with them. ‘Fancy a game of pool, Hal?’
Hal and Kara shared a look, rolling their eyes in unison, both realising that their problems were exacerbating wildly.
‘Are you kidding me?’ said Hal, as yet another curveball landed onto their plate;
Their slaughtered friends were beginning to re-materialise. Reappearing in a terrifyingly familiar form…
‘They’re Restarting!” blurted Kara, gulping audibly.
‘Wow, this can’
t be good,’ said Hal helpfully.
‘Ya think?’
‘What do we do?’ squeaked Hal in a moment of high-pitched delirium.
‘Sooo, is that a no for pool?’ said Will sadly.
‘Really not a good time right now Will,’ said Hal. ‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ he added, turning back to Kara. ‘Why aren’t they reappearing thirty-three hours ago in the past?’
‘You’re forgetting the first time. The first time, we reformed moments after our death.’
Hal slapped his forehead.
‘Kara! Hal!’ said Alex, springing up next. ‘What brings you guys here? Surely not another time travel board meeting and–’
‘Time travel what now?’ said Will, looking utterly dumbfounded.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
‘Umm, is Will meant to be able to see us?’
‘Who even knows anymore,’ said Hal despondently, pressing down on the corners of his eyes with pinched fingertips, before dragging them across his immortal stubble, and turning his frown upside down with relief, thankful for the small mercy of his brother retaining all of his memories from his previous time spent as a Restarter.
‘Boys,’ said Kara. ‘Enough chit-chat, in case you hadn't noticed everyone's dying and restarting and we’ve got a fuckton of Malcolm’s to deal with.’
‘Uh, guys?’ said Rachel joining the fray, oddly holding a pool cue.
‘Holy–’ said Hal, jumping in fright. ‘Everyone back up! We need time to think! It’s hard enough with all this fog!’
‘Hal, what fog?!’ exclaimed Kara.
And just like that, Hal and Kara’s usually quiet slice of time was quickly becoming far too crowded, busier and louder than it had ever been as everyone started to converge and converse, two distinct groups forming of their own volition; those that knew how bad this was, and those that had no idea of what a restart even was.
‘Quiet!’ shouted Kara, cutting through their chatter, ushering in a brief moment of silence.
‘Wow, Restarter Code Red,’ said Alex.
Kara had never considered what a Restarter Code Red would look like, but as she looked around at the group, each of them looking to her and Hal with expectant eyes, she realised it would surely look a lot like this.
She took a deep breath, noting that the Dark Restarter was staring up at them, seemingly deciding on his next course of action whilst whispering sweetly into his own ear to finish off Jon, now that his past-self had nipped back downstairs, granting Jasmine a few extra moments of allowance to inhale air.
‘Right,’ said Kara. ‘Malcolm’s killing us all, Fearne is attempting to trigger a restart, Dolly Parton is playing on repeat for some goddamn reason and if we don't put an end to this quickly, all of us are going to be very dead, very soon! Get it? Got it? Good. Any questions?’
Will licked his lips, torn by the obvious rhetorical nature of the question and his desire to know more.
Kara sighed. ‘What is it Will?’
‘Oh, just...who's Malcolm?’
*
202nd Restart – 1 Minute ago
The Dark restarter smiled, turning the restarted phone in his palm, discarding it with contempt.
For it to be there, the rat-catcher and the orange secretary had to be also.
Always meddling.
The killer turned and looked up the stairs finally catching sight of the Restarting double act, and mouthed the words “You’re too late”, slowly and cleanly.
Deciding to abandon his current plan, he whispered to his alive-self.
‘Up the stairs, the orange one next.’
Malcolm’s alive-self attempted to ignore the instruction, instead yanking the pool cue from his hip and applying pressure to the stab-wound in his side, somewhat overloaded by the incessant nagging of his inner-voice.
Having just dispatched with Rachel – her fingers having slipped from the cue she had thrust into his body as he choked the life out of her – he continued onwards towards the man crawling along the floor
“Malcolm,” he found himself thinking, the voice far sterner and more authoritative this time. “Leave him.”
The killer growled, frustrated by his contradicting thoughts, but knew better than to second-guess his own instincts, and turned away from Jon to make his way up the staircase.
The Dark Restarter waited patiently, as Kara’s body flew down the stairs shortly after and into the wall, landing with a beautiful crunch.
He was about to make Jasmine his next target, but grew concerned by Jon, and how he appeared to be stemming the flow of blood from his arm with a makeshift tourniquet made from the shirt he had just removed.
‘Back here,’ shouted Malcolm, and his alive-self trundled back down the staircase.
He glared up at Harold and Kara once again, raising a curious eyebrow at the gaggle of friends now standing by their side, and grinned. The sound of Jon’s gurgles music to his ears, as his alive-self set about strangling him.
“Time to finish this,” he thought, gesturing for alive-Malcolm to ascend the staircase.
*
202nd Restart – 8:37pm
They watched as the Dark Restarter version of the man Will had just asked about looked up at them from the bottom of the stairs, and Hal did the honours of introducing them.
‘Will, meet Malcolm. He’s a time travelling serial killer that likes big knives, rubber aprons, and long walks in the park on his way to dropping body-bags into the nearest river.’
The Dark Restarter gestured for his physical-self to ascend, following him up, but was caught off guard by a pleasant popping sound as a replicated version of Peter sprung into existence directly behind the two Malcolms.
‘Hey,’ said Peter, patting down his body and resting his hands against his pockets, ‘I’m back!’ he added, chuckling in amazement.
‘Peter, look out!’ said Kara, just as Malcolm’s Restarter-self drove a blade through his back, causing him to fall to the floor, signs of disintegration already showing.
‘Holy shit!’ said Alex.
‘Man,’ said Hal, ‘Peter really can't catch a break, can he? Maybe best we don’t mention this to Fearne,’ he added glumly, with a side glance to Kara, trying to wave away the fog that was getting so dense he could barely see her at all.
A fog that, unbeknownst to him, only he could see.
‘Agreed,’ said Kara. ‘So, recap! Knives are bad. Do not get stabbed by them.’
‘Noted,’ said Alex.
‘Hal and I are going to–FUDGE MONKEYS!’ screamed Kara, her orders cut short thanks to the unexpected arrival of Jon, who popped up next to her, having clearly just died of his own accord thanks to the savage slice Malcolm had cut into him during their tussle. That or the strangulation. Who knew.
‘Oi, Oi! That’s what she said!’ said Jon, replying to Kara’s fragmented sentence. ‘What's everyone doing up here anyw–’
‘Annnnd Jon’s here,’ said Hal. ‘Glad you asked. We're all being unceremoniously murdered by a serial killer, you're a time traveller now, and the “beginners guide to Restarting” induction seminar is being held in the living room.’
‘What?’ said Jon, blinking at Hal’s nonsensical rambling.
‘If you hurry, there still might be some cake left,’ added Hal.
‘Wait,’ said Kara. ‘Who’s down there with Malcolm?’
*
202nd Restart – 8:37pm
‘Hey,’ said a surly voice that caused both Malcolms to turn around on the staircase.
‘Leave him,’ the Dark Restarter barked, having just disposed of the Restarted golfer and eager to claim the real prize; that of Harold and Kara in their Restarter forms.
‘67 Pentney Lakes,’ said the voice, his words delivered with boredom into what Malcolm realised was a phone. ‘Please hurry,’ the man added.
Robert stared at the two killers, totally unfazed, one leg crossed in front of the other as he leant against the doorframe, arm extended, swigging the dregs of his beer fr
om a bottle with his free hand, wearing nothing but shorts and a Santa Claus hat.
The Dark Restarter scowled at Robert, realising he must have called the police.
Which meant he was alive.
It was, admittedly, getting hard to keep track.
Cursing under his breath, Malcolm grimaced over how his plans for a quick getaway would be somewhat hindered with the involvement of outsiders.
He looked all around him, at the carnage he had wrought; so much blood. So many bodies. So much of his own DNA sprinkled about the place, thanks to the lucky stab from the one named Rachel.
And he felt ashamed. It was sloppy work. At worst, with no time to sanitise, it would lead to a manhunt.
‘Fine,’ spat the Dark Restarter, ‘Malcolm. End him.’
His alive-self turned on the stairs and plodded back down towards Robert, who simply stood there and feigned a yawn of indifference.
‘Got it all figured out, don’t you,’ said Robert. ‘I imagine the police showing up is really going to piss on your cornflakes though, amiright?’
Malcolm’s corporeal-self strode towards him, the knife gripped so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
The killer squared up to Robert, who didn’t so much as move a muscle, but instead stared right back into the murderer’s dead eyes, daring the killer to blink first.
‘There’s just one problem. I’ve got a pregnant wife upstairs, and I’m sure as shit not about to let a bell-end like you touch a single hair on her body. Knife or no knife,’ he added, eyeing up the man before him, paying the darker, Restarting version of Malcolm no attention at all.
Robert went in for another swig of his beverage.
Malcolm brought the knife down with tremendous force, and it ripped all the way through Robert’s neck, a sickening gurgling noise filling the room.
The blade travelled onwards through his midsection, and imbedded itself firmly into the door frame of Hal’s room.
Robert ceased his gargling, swallowing his mouthful of beer, then shot a wink over to the Dark Restarter.
Malcolm blinked, his mind piecing together all the answers he had sub-consciously possessed all along.
