The Dark Restarter

by Sean McMahon

  ‘No backup, creepy basement, imminent death? Check, check, and check,’ Hal grumbled, making a mental list of the itinerary of his current situation, before smiling darkly.

  His mind filled with imaginary Time Demons with skin as slick as oil and serial killers alike, all wanting a piece of him, their gnashing maws and dancing blades all flickering in the shadows, daring him to enter.

  ‘Classic Saturday,’ he said with a shrug, as he stepped willingly into the lion’s den.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Outatime

  203rd Restart – Saturday, August 25th, 2018, 4:21pm

  Kara sprinted in the direction Hal had headed towards before they had split up, covering ground at such an almighty pace that Future Malcolm struggled to keep up with her.

  It was as if she was flitting in and out of phase, gliding more than running. In the end, he had to resort to teleporting ahead of her. It was all he could do so as not to lose her.

  Kara cursed. She was usually so good with directions, but she’d only been to the black lodge once and, at the time, had no reason to commit the route to memory.

  In fact, Hal had chosen the building for the exact reason that they had never been there before.

  ‘Which way?’ she asked, more to herself than to Malcolm.

  ‘You’ll figure it out,’ he said unhelpfully.

  Kara glared down at her shoulder, not dignifying his words with eye contact as she continued onwards.

  As she blitzed her way across the Pentney Lakes she found herself reaching a dip in the road, and stared down at what was apparently a recently developed collection of lodges, most of them black.

  ‘Are you kidding me with this?’ she squawked indignantly, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun that was beating ineffectually down on her.

  ‘There is more I must tell you,’ said Malcolm, catching up with her.

  ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’

  He’d made his position quite clear. He wanted this to happen. All of this was by his own design.

  ‘Put your childish hurt feelings to one side and listen to me, woman! Hal’s life literally depends on it!’

  There was something about his tone that elicited an involuntary reason to listen. That and the way he had referred to her friend as “Hal”, instead of “Harold”.

  Kara turned to face him, unsure as to why she was even entertaining the prospect of being a receptacle for what was surely going to be yet another lie, but quickly deciding Hal’s life meant more to her than sticking to her guns on going it alone.

  ‘I know how this looks,’ said Malcolm, relieved she was prepared to hear him out and running a singed hand through his thick black hair. ‘You think I’ve betrayed you, but I’m stalling you for a reason. Only you can save him, but everything has to happen in a very specific order for you to achieve that goal.’

  ‘You killed Peter, Malcolm.’

  ‘Not in the way you think.’

  ‘Our friend is dead,’ said Kara, letting the word hang in the air between them for a second. ‘Because of you. And your twisted games. We believed in you. I can’t decide if you actually believe the shit you’re spouting, or if you think I’m stupid enough to believe anything you say from here on out. And then there’s…wait…what do you mean “Not in the way you think”?’

  ‘Both Peter and Fearne are special, Kara. They are the key to everything. To our salvation.’

  ‘I feel like this is something you need to elaborate on.’

  She sensed a greater subtext to his already overcooked delivery of that sentence.

  ‘I will. You have my word. But now is not the time,’ he said dismissively, once again skirting the subject.

  It wasn’t time yet. It was never time.

  Malcolm sighed. They were so close now…

  ‘You can’t reason with him, you must remember that,’ said Malcolm sternly. Almost desperately. ‘He is besotted, utterly infatuated with enacting vengeance on the two of you. All this,’ he said gesturing around him and up to the sky. ‘It’s all to get you as far away from your physical forms so you have no charge to draw upon. To make you powerless.’

  ‘We’re never powerless,’ whispered Kara with a look of defiance that could have set light to water.

  Malcolm let out a chuckle as thick as syrup, and raised his burnt hand in-between them.

  ‘You are preaching to a choir that I myself assembled,’ he said, clearly in agreement.

  ‘I’ll talk him round,’ said Kara simply. ‘No one else has to die.’

  ‘Kara,’ said Malcolm disapprovingly. ‘That isn’t even remotely true. I think, at this point, we both know that you know that.’

  ‘Not everyone sees the world like you do, Malcolm!’

  ‘Clearly. But I assure you, one person does. The only person that matters; I see the world like I do.’

  ‘Oh, very clever,’ she said sarcastically. ‘You stay up all night writing that one?’

  ‘Cemeteries are full of heroes, Kara. I’d rather quite like for you to realise that before you decide to join them.’

  ‘I’ll turn this thing around,’ she said, their eye-contact cutting the space between them like a blade forged by the legendary Hattori Hanzō himself. ‘Now, if you’re done squawking, I could really use your help finding this damn lodge!’

  *

  Timestamp Error. Recalculating…

  Hal took each step slowly, not wishing to generate a creak despite his weight unloading ineffectually on the wooden staircase.

  Old habits.

  As he reached the bottom he was greeted by the sight of a dimly lit room; an open space which housed a large metal cage to his left. Each of its two sides stretching from floor to ceiling and connecting to the back and side wall, creating a complete cube of containment.

  He evaluated the enclosure quickly, his eyes glancing over mountain bikes, fishing equipment, deflated lilos and what appeared to be an inflatable dingy of some kind. Amidst it all was a sickly sight that changed the tone of the container from a practical storage solution to that of a jail cell, as his eyes fell upon the only thing in the room that could turn the tide enough to keep him alive. At least, alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

  ‘Fearne,’ he whispered.

  He moved closer to the open section of the cage and took stock.

  There was a puddle of blood pooling beneath her, refusing to coagulate as she pressed her hands to her lower torso, her white dress now predominately crimson. She appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness, her head bobbing forwards, then snapping backwards as she rested her back to the rear brick wall, shifting awkwardly in her sitting position.

  A dull clap erupted behind him, and he looked to his left, looking back beyond the staircase.

  Hal realised the room was larger than he had first deduced, as he scowled in an attempt to mask his fear, but came up more than a little short, failing miserably.

  ‘He said you would come,’ The Dark Restarter hissed, like a snake attempting to lure its dinner into a false sense of security. ‘Alone, no less. I must confess, I was sceptical.’

  Hal saw the outline of what was surely Malcolm’s alive-self, skulking in the shadows behind his time travelling master.

  Keeping watch, presumably, over the father and mother of the two children who were trying their best not to let the side down by whimpering, lest it garner the attention of the man who had brought them here.

  The family appeared utterly oblivious to Hal and Malcolm’s more…Restartery existence, let alone the exchange of words they were about to share.

  The next of which, Hal chose very carefully.

  ‘Well, I’m here now. What say we let these kale-loving hipsters go, yeah? It’s a lovely day, and you’re really pissing on their holiday.’

  ‘How does it feel,’ The Dark Restarter purred, seemingly desperate to revel in ambiguous rhetoric.

  ‘Being this pretty? I do okay.’

  ‘To know…’
The Dark Restarter continued, ignoring the rat-catcher’s attempt at humour. After all, he’d rehearsed this speech. He hadn’t factored in improvised interruptions. ‘…that you were betrayed by my future-self. To know that you’re going to die here. That your friend, Kara, will die here?’

  There was something about the way he lingered on her name that made Hal’s blood run cold, as he remembered she was with the Malcolm of their future right now, presumably in imminent danger.

  Hal rolled his eyes as the truth hit him like a brick to the face.

  ‘Kevin’s not in danger is he. I mean, he can’t be, if Lurch over there is here with us.’

  The Malcolm of the past smiled, baring those pearly great whites.

  ‘Let them go, Malcolm,’ said Hal, his voice strong but quiet, not daring to use anything but the killer’s full name. He figured it would show respect, whilst also throwing the man off, thanks to the overfamiliarity it insinuated. ‘Us I can understand. This is a done thing. But bringing this family into all this just risks messing up time even further. You’re an intelligent man. You know I’m right.’

  “Flattery,” thought Hal. It was worth a punt.

  Hal considered the children, who had surely just accrued enough emotional baggage to keep them in and out of therapy for a lifetime.

  Malcolm clicked his fingers, his alive-self moving out fully from the shadows.

  ‘Take them away, secure the house. Especially the basement door,’ The Dark Restarter ordered of his own body.

  His living-self obliged the instruction, ordering the parents to take their children and run.

  An instruction, Hal was relieved to see, that they didn’t hesitate to follow.

  The killer stalked them slowly up the stairs like a weary groundskeeper, until he too was out of sight.

  Hal heard the sliding of patio doors, the locking of a door, and the creaking of wood as the shadow of what was formerly Malcolm returned.

  The Dark Restarter moved his head from left to right, stretching out his neck until it clicked, content that they were finally alone.

  Just him, his alive duplicate, the dying Fearne, and the soon to be dead young man that had humiliated him on countless occasions.

  So many instances…

  ‘You gonna stand there for the whole restart, Bronson?’ asked Hal, ruining yet another moment for the killer. ‘Or you wanna dive right in?’

  Always talking.

  Always goading.

  Always insolent.

  Malcolm glowered with the sullen intensity of a man who had just dropped his car keys down a drain, before diving from the springboard of manifested destiny into the ocean of long overdue vengeance.

  “Shame,” thought Hal, having secretly hoped that the standing still option had the legs required to buy him the one thing he was used to having in abundance. But now, like a spinning licence plate of a recently departed DeLorean, he was completely and utterly out of.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Battle of The Restarters

  Recalculation complete. R.I Timestamp Verified:

  203rd Restart – Saturday, August 25th, 2018, 4:47pm

  Kara stared down at Jerry – who had drawn the Restarter to him with a bout of frustrated barking – then up at the pink flamingo placed on the fence post which acted as a beacon, left by Hal solely for her to find, and smiled.

  ‘This is the place,’ she said with certainty.

  Any doubt she may have had eradicated instantly as a man and his family exited the rear garden and hobbled towards them, his face bruised and his partner and children in tears.

  At least they didn’t have to worry about the family now.

  ‘Good work Jerry. Now, go find your daddy, we’ve got this.’

  Jerry snorted, reluctant to leave her side, as if there was surely more work for him to do.

  Kara leaned down and simulated the action of scratching behind his ear, causing his tongue to lop out between his canines.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, thinking it more than saying it.

  Jerry understood, trotting off to his next adventure.

  Kara made her way to the rear of the lodge.

  ‘Can you open this?’

  Future Malcolm nodded, moving closer to the patio doors and sliding them open, his proximity to his alive-self proving invaluable, as Kara slipped inside, hearing a large bang beneath her.

  She began to panic, looking for some kind of access point to the room beneath her, her eyes snapping towards the only door that mattered.

  She reached for the handle, turning it frantically, her newfound and inexplicably-self-perpetuating charge being no match for a door which was clearly–

  ‘Locked,’ she muttered. ‘Do something!’ she pleaded to her Malcolm.

  ‘I may be close to my -alive self, but I’m not a Swiss army knife,’ he said sourly.

  ‘Actually…maybe you are. Can’t you…I dunno, take control of real you and get him to throw us a bone here?’

  Malcolm closed his eyes in concentration for a moment, before allowing them to flutter open. ‘He’s too close,’ he said, referring to his younger, Dark Restarter self.

  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could tell his tether to his physical body and mind was no match for the depth in which his younger self had embedded his hooks.

  Kara sighed. She didn’t have time to bother with asking if that were true or not.

  ‘If we can’t open it, we’ll go through it.’

  ‘Even if you were close enough to your past-self, that would take a tremendous amount of energy,’ said Malcolm, all frowns that seemed reluctant to be turned upside down.

  They heard a sickening crunch, followed by a yelp of despair from who they knew to be Hal, clearly getting the beat down of his presumably-limited life.

  Kara’s eyes flared with blue, as she focused with grim determination, and realised if ever there was a time to punch the rules of Restarting in their smarmy little face, it was very much now.

  She couldn’t lose him too…

  She wouldn’t.

  Kara slammed her fist into the door, which remained as uninterested as the acoustics of the building, the dull thud generated by her efforts not so much mocking her, as it was denying for even a second that her existence meant anything at all.

  He’s going to die.

  Again she punched, and again the wooden barrier refused to yield.

  Alone.

  Again, she lashed out.

  And you’ll fade without him.

  She wasn’t sure if these were her own thoughts, or if Future Malcolm was talking to her. All that mattered was the door.

  ‘Just open already!’ she growled, punching again, refusing to surrender.

  She saw it then. Faint, but there. Just like her.

  A splinter sized indentation; not just etched into the wood, but etched into the present.

  It was then she knew the rules were buckling.

  She pulled a black mirror from her pocket, and continued her assault on the gateway that may as well have been a solid wall of concrete. Damned as she was, and tortured by a thirst for results, the dam of time reluctantly burst, the rivers of quantum-fuelled energy filling every fibre of her being. Spilling outwards not only into the device she was clutching, but over the Malcolm of her future as well. Washing over them both like a tidal wave, giving Malcolm more of a charge than he had ever experienced before.

  He knew the significance of her actions, and offered some unwarranted advice.

  ‘He’s going to need–’

  ‘A soundtrack,’ said Kara, her body surging with cosmological foresight.

  ‘If I could offer a suggestion?’ said Future Malcolm, taking the device from her, now functional and ready for action.

  ‘Go nuts,’ said Kara, returning her focus to the door.

  *

  ‘Any last words?’ The Dark Restarter said cruelly, having grown tired of toying with the Restarter for what felt like an eternity to Hal, but in reality wa
s merely just shy of thirty-or-so minutes.

  ‘I still can’t think of anything,’ mumbled Hal, attempting to chuckle but choking on his own blood, notably ruining the effect he was striving for.

  ‘Always joking, always laughing. I suppose that’s meant to be time-travel humour?’

  ‘Flashback humour ac–’ Hal coughed, his voice as hoarse as Kara’s after a night on the tequilas, words fractured as he cleared his throat, ‘–tually.’ His ability to speak diminishing rapidly.

  Malcolm grabbed Hal by his shirt, lifting his crumpled frame from the ground, as the electricity arced between his enclosed fist and the Restarter’s chest.

  Hal’s mind refused to cooperate, a fog only he could see clouding his thoughts, preventing him from focusing.

  Raising his arm, Malcolm brought up the hilt of the trusty serrated blade he was clutching.

  ‘The time of The Restarters is over, I am all that’s left,’ The Dark Restarter said with an obscenely large dollop of grandeur. ‘I have travelled across countless timelines, erasing your future. And now? I will finally kill you in the present. All that remains is–’

  Malcolm’s perfectly rehearsed monologue was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a small rectangular object, that travelled down the staircase innocently. Its lack of clatter made up for with the angry music spewing from it like a cavalry of cacophony, filling Hal’s heart with joy, and his attacker’s chest with shock and anger.

  The phone bounced off of the cage and landed nonchalantly between Hal and Malcolm, causing them to temporarily cease their deadly embrace.

  An illuminated rectangle of glass filled Hal’s vision, and he became vaguely aware that it was more like a screen. In a clock-tick between moments, they both stared at the device. Then at each other. Then back at the phone, utterly bewildered by its inexplicable intrusion as it filled the room with the sound of music, a tune continuing to splurge from the speakers, bouncing off of the eardrums of the duo, unable to do the same to the surrounding walls.