Forty Leap

by Turner, Ivan

  As I expected he would, Igor Grundel came to visit me that night. I had hoped he would wait a day, but he must have anticipated my intention to leave. In truth, if I had really wanted to avoid seeing him I should have never returned to the hotel. But apparently I am human and found the comforts of that room irresistible.

  “Hello, Mat,” he said.

  I looked behind him and around him. Just seeing him brought about an embarrassing fear. But he was no danger. He looked much older now. His rounded posture had grown hunched and there were grey spots throughout his thinning hair. Though he would never be a pretty man, he was dressed well, very well fed, and smelled expensive. He was carrying a briefcase. In the intervening time he had made a lot of money and chosen to flaunt it. I stepped aside to allow him entry.

  “Alexis was upset by your meeting. She said that you were not what she expected.”

  There was no response to this so I went to the television and turned it off.

  “Are you going to talk to me?”

  “Why should I talk to you?”

  “I saved your life.”

  “No you didn’t.” I wouldn’t look at him.

  “Nine years have gone by,” he said quietly. “And I still remember the look on your face. I can still see you struggling to break free, certain that you were going to drown. I can feel your neck in my hand.”

  These images chilled me. It was as if I was living my own murder as the murderer.

  “And then you were gone.”

  I still don’t know whether or not he expected me to respond, but I didn’t. I wanted to walk away from him, even shrink away from him. He was nothing, just this small old man and he made me feel scared and weak. It was the confidence in the money he possessed and the power he commanded. It was the fact that he had virtually succeeded in murdering me, thwarted only by a happenstance that no one could ever have foreseen.

  “I wondered about it for a long time. I obsessed over it…”

  “What happened to Samud?”

  There was a look on his face that passed away briefly. But I had seen it even if I cannot even now interpret it.

  “We were both taken into custody. I was treated well but I doubt Samud was given the same courtesy.”

  “You sold him out?”

  He nodded, his white fingers growing even whiter around the handle of the briefcase. “I’m not proud of it. I’m not proud of a lot of my past. But the impact of our escape was devastating on the UAN’s occupation and they knew it would be. They needed a scapegoat.”

  “Did they kill him?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Then he added, “Probably.”

  Samud was my friend. Nine years later he would still have been my friend. When I thought of him, I saw a loyalty that extended to his friends before his government. He had broken the rules to help Dr. Miktoffin and he had used his last shred of influence to help me. I remembered his struggle with Igor as he fought to save my life. I remember Samud. I remember my friend.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I’ve put a lot of time and money into the study of this time jumping thing that you do. Even now, I’m supporting a research facility in the Colorado Rockies.”

  “Have you found a cure?”

  He shook his head, but I could see his rat’s eyes glittering. With the conversation now steered in the proper direction, he had me just where he wanted me. It was true whether I admitted or not, so I admitted it to myself then as I admit to you now.

  “We only have thirteen subjects, but there are a few good leads on some more. You, Mat, are the best possible subject we could have, though.”

  I definitely did not like the use of the term subject. I had been Dr. Miktoffin’s subject and suffered without result. I did not want to go from being Igor Grundel’s victim twice over to being his subject.

  He continued without pause. “Yours is the most documented case in history. A lot of that has to do with you going to the hospital and the psychiatrist. I…”

  His eyes focused on the white bag which held my journal. A bit of the corner of the book was peeking out from where it lay on the dresser table.

  “Is that your journal?” he asked.

  With a look at the subject of his interest, I nodded.

  He actually licked his lips. “May I see it?”

  “It’s private.”

  “Oh.” He withdrew his hand and only then did I realize that he had been reaching for the book. I maneuvered myself between it and him protectively. “Well, I’d like you to join us in the Rockies. I think having your help would go a long way toward finding a cure.”

  I laughed at him then and it was a good, natural laugh. He couldn’t possibly think that I would submit myself as a specimen for his purposes. Perhaps he had conned thirteen other people into giving up their lives, but I had just spent six months as someone’s prisoner. A gilded cage is still a cage.

  “I think instead I’ll tell people who and what you really are.”

  He smiled and in that smile I saw the Igor Grundel from nine years earlier. The confident business tycoon had faded, replaced by the conniving little rat that had steered me into the river so that he could murder me.

  “You ruined me once, Mat and I tried to kill you for it. This time, if you try it, you’ll just end up burying yourself.”

  I didn’t understand and he was all too happy to explain.

  “Even if anyone believes you, the publicity will be the end of you. The problem with being the most well documented case of time skipping is that yours is a household name in certain circles. You don’t think that GEI is the only company working on this, do you? We actually do it in secret. If the government got their hands on you, they’d put you into a facility that would be make a gulag look like a resort.”

  “You’re lying.”

  That very same smile. Hefting the briefcase, he said, “May I?”

  He didn’t wait for a response. He laid it on the bed and opened it up. Inside, I could see a handful of objects, the most prominent of which was a laptop computer. He ignored this and reached into one of the smaller pockets, drawing out what looked like a USB flash drive. I was not particularly computer savvy but the things had been pretty commonly passed around at my old office. The tip looked a bit different, but I guess the concept was the same. He plugged it into the TV set. When he switched the TV on, a menu came up that looked similar to a file list on any home computer. Using the remote, he scanned through the files until he came to one that was entitled morrisY.mpx. Once selected, I was shocked to see my old friend Morty standing at the street curb. The quality was bad and the camera angle was bad. It had been filmed from the other side of a wide Manhattan street, probably on someone’s cell phone.

  “What is this?” I choked, knowing what I was going to see. It happened so fast. One minute, he was standing, checking the road for traffic and the next he was tumbling into the path of an oncoming bus. There was no sound, but the effect was not lost for it. He was taken so quickly, his body catapulted off camera, that there wasn’t even the hint of blood or gore. Still it was the most disturbing thing I had ever witnessed. I couldn’t speak.

  “Did you see it?” he asked.

  I looked at him, my cheeks filled with blood, my eyes blazing. Why would he show me this?

  “Did you see it?”

  “See what?!” I shouted.

  Before I knew it he was playing it again. I took a step toward him only to grab the remote from his hand, but my expression must have telegraphed a much more sinister purpose. He took a step back. His smile had faded.

  “Watch,” he said quietly. “Look behind him.”

  I looked in spite of myself, deliberately focusing not on Morty but on the people around him, behind him. And I saw it. There was a man, a young man, dressed in a regular business suit. He was talking on his cell phone, but casually put it away and, with both hands, shoved Morty into the gutter at just the right time.

  “My God,” I breathed. “Where did
you get this?”

  He snorted. “You don’t want to know. If they knew that I had this, I’d be a dead man myself. This was an accidental video in an era of accidental videos. The man who pushed your friend into traffic is an agent of the government. Without any real idea of what they were dealing with or any plan on how to deal with it, they were hell bent on keeping this time skipping thing a secret. Morris was killed because he believed you.

  “There’s no video of the assassination of your psychiatrist,” he added as an afterthought.

  I was breathless and scared. In some dark corner of my mind I knew what he was doing. Even if it was all true, he was using it to win my friendship. He put fear into me and stepped in front of my enemies like a shining knight. It almost worked, too. Even the bodies and wreckage in the ruined New York had not been more horrible than that video. Even hearing Jennie’s story and seeing her exact retribution had been easier to witness. What had been done to Morty had been done in an entirely different world. That world was supposed to have been safe. Sane.

  But no spinning of words could hide the premature look of triumph on Igor’s face.

  “I won’t go,” I whispered.

  He breathed deeply, not defeated just yet. Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out his last best weapon. It was a cell phone. I suppose that in the intervening time, the phones with Internet capability and touch screen had become the rule rather than the exception. Who knew how much they cost? For what I was used to, this phone was extremely advanced and powerful. It truly was a pocket computer. Before handing it over to me, he tapped on the screen a few times. I looked at the screen and read the Wisconsin address printed there. It was Jeremy’s address.

  I took a moment to register what it was that I was seeing. I knew the address was correct because I had seen it before. Samud had given me a folder with all of my family’s information. I had left that folder on the bookshelf in my room when we had escaped. Frantically, although it didn’t show, I began to try and commit the address to memory.

  “You may keep the phone,” Igor offered.

  I looked up at him, back down at the phone. “I don’t want it,” I said. “You might call me.”

  He laughed at that. “You may be certain of that! Still, I can’t make you answer it.”

  That was true, but who knew what went into devices. Even back in my time there had been satellite tracking of phones. This would give him a way to keep tabs on me wherever I went.

  He must have sensed my further trepidation. “I’ll make you a deal. If you keep the phone, I can have you on your brother’s doorstep in time for dinner tomorrow evening.”

  I hesitated still. Even without any money or any identity, I could still probably find my way to Wisconsin. Once there, I could somehow track down my brothers. It was a tempting offer, but it wasn’t enough. I shoved the phone back at him, taking some small satisfaction at the look of astonishment on his face.

  He didn’t reach for it. “You are that determined to put me out of your life?”

  I nodded.

  He nodded also. “Then I must up the offer with the very last thing that I have.”

  “You have nothing that I want.”

  “I have the resources to find the girl in the picture.”

  I truly didn’t understand him. “What girl? What picture?”

  “The picture you spent your evenings staring at when we were in the work group together. You never told me her name.”

  “Jennie,” I whispered. “Her name is Jennie.”

  “Mmmm. If you happen to know Jennie’s last name, I would certainly be able to find her for you.”

  I have never hated anyone as much as I hated Igor Grundel at that moment. A man of opportunity, he had never missed an observation. At that moment, he had me. And he and I both knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

  True to his word, Igor put me on a plane to Wisconsin the next morning. The flight was just under three hours and landed at a large airport in Green Bay. I was amazed at how little airline travel had changed. I disembarked the plane stiff and feeling as if a cold was coming on. It was early afternoon by then and I had some lunch at the airport while I waited for a car to collect me. I was very surprised to find that the driver was Wil Lowenburg.

  “When did they fly you out here?” I asked.

  He seemed a bit sheepish. “Well, Mr. Cristian, to tell you the truth, I was on the same plane as you. I’d’ve picked you up sooner, but I had a little trouble getting the car.”

  “So you’re my chaperone?”

  He didn’t answer. Surprisingly enough, I found that I didn’t mind so much. I told him so and it seemed to brighten his day.

  We drove out of the airport under a bright early afternoon sun and I spent two more hours in the car staring out at the glory of cheese country.

  Cars weren’t so different now. I didn’t see one gas station or a sign for one so I began to wonder. I asked Wil about it and he confirmed that cars ran on different fuel sources. There were pros and cons to all of them and you made your choice when you bought the car. As far as fueling it up, pumping stations had become a thing of the past. Electric cars were charged and the ones that ran on corn oil ran on the same corn oil that you could get at the store. So you just filled your car up. Most of the changes had come about during the Arab occupation. The president at the time figured that the country was so screwed up anyway that putting thousands of gas stations out of business couldn’t be so bad.

  It was pretty bad.

  We arrived shortly after three o’clock and I had Wil pull the car over at the end of the community. It was a tiny town with a population of only a few hundred people. Each of the houses was built on a stretch of sprawling property. Jeremy and Wyatt’s property cut through some woodland and there was a path that had been cut through years before. Sitting in the car, I stared up the house, the quarter mile path that led from the mailbox to the front door, and wondered how best to approach. In playing with the phone, I had become pretty adept with its tools. Jeremy’s number was in there in case I wanted to call him, but I didn’t think a phone call was the best way to introduce myself after all of those years. I wanted to see them in person. I wanted to see their reactions and know exactly what they felt.

  And that was the source of my hesitation. There had been some conflict between us when last we had parted. They had never really believed in my condition and had blamed me badly for not being there when my mother had died. Though I had gotten my share of the inheritance, I had been completely shunned. I had not seen them at all during my last sequence and not the sequence before. For them it had been at least fifteen years since our last contact.

  Wil Lowenburg looked back at me and smiled his best country boy reassuring smile. I tried something like it back, failed, and got out of the car. Behind me, he slid down the window and told me that I should call him if I needed anything.

  I took the walk up the drive like a man taking his final few steps down death row. I didn’t know how I would react if I were to be shut out again. It briefly occurred to me that if Martie answered the door she would as likely spit in my face as alert one of my brothers to my appearance. It was Friday and it was still the middle of the work day so I was expecting to have to face that eventuality.

  I don’t know how long I stood in front of the door, the car at the foot of the drive, Wil Lowenburg in the driver’s seat, probably looking at me intensely. Finally, though, I rang the bell.

  After a short time, I heard some shuffling behind the door and an unfamiliar and gruff voice called out, “Who is it?”

  I stood frozen for a moment, thinking Igor had double-crossed me somehow. But, no, his information matched the information Samud had given me nine years earlier.

  “It’s Mathew,” I answered back, then added, “Mathew Cristian.”

  The door opened and there, to my surprise, stood Wyatt. I recognized him immediately, but I saw him as an old man. He was in his mid fifties now, not really old but old enough that th
e change in him, for me, was drastic. There were silver shoots running through his hair and he had grown a mustache and beard. I suppose that if we weren’t brothers I might never have known it was him after all that time. But, of course, he knew me. I had aged but a few months in the intervening time. I’m sure that I looked worn and haggard despite my two night stay in the luxury Cento, but I was now twenty years younger than the brother who had been born just four years before me.

  He looked me over in an instant, then reached forward with both arms and grabbed me up in a tight hug. I couldn’t do anything but return his affection, so overwhelmed by it as I was. At that moment, it all came crashing down on me and then spilled away. Every emotion that I had been controlling and bottling up over all of this time was diffused and released. My fingers pressed into his back as his did into mine and I felt tears on my cheeks. When we finally pushed each other away, his were wet too. I glanced back at the road but Wil Lowenburg was gone.

  My reunion with Jeremy was much the same. When we could all finally speak, they were falling all over themselves to apologize for doubting me and taking out their resentment on me. Forgiving them for their perceived transgressions was easy since I had never really been angry with them in the first place. I had been hurt, left alone, but never angry. Those days had reminded me how important my family was to me. Apparently, it had reminded them of the same thing. Together again, now, we were whole.

  Their wives were also about. Attenda greeted me with genuine affection. Whether she was glad to see me because of me or because of the clear burden it lifted off of Wyatt’s shoulders I couldn’t say. But it didn’t matter. Martie was cordial, but her animosity toward me had not dissipated over the years. The proof of my condition and my reappearance seemed to irritate her.

  Over dinner and dessert and a late night, we shared stories. They were so interested in my stories that I could hardly get anything out of them for some time. I told them about New York during the occupation and spent an inordinate amount of time talking about Jennie. Attenda glowed as I spoke about the young girl, sensing my feelings for her and obviously approving. Even Martie softened up until I got to the part where Jennie had taken vengeance for her brutalized friend. She reacted forcefully, shouting That’s Horrible! before she could control herself. At least she had the decency to look sheepish afterwards.