Corrector

by Blink, Bob

  Back at the hotel, he stayed in, calling for room service rather than go out into town. Not only did that help him maintain a low profile, but it gave him time to think. How could he learn more about an FBI agent named Carlson, and how much he had learned about Jake and his past activities? Normally such information would be restricted, but Jake tried to think of a way he could be arrested, interviewed, which he could use as a means of discovering what they knew, and then back-tracking away having gained the insight he sought. He needed to know more about how the FBI worked. It wouldn’t do if after they arrested him they relocated him someplace too far distant from where he’d been prior to being taken into custody to be able to back-track successfully. If he could learn where they detained prisoners in Washington, D.C. maybe he could go there, spend time outside the facility, then reveal himself to Carlson, and learn what he wanted to know. It would be risky. He required a lot more thought on the matter than he was prepared to give it at the moment.

  The next morning he was up before dawn. He made himself a cup of coffee from the fixings in the room and grabbed a pastry from the machine down the hall. That would have to do. He was outside the house by six AM, and inside the garage by six-fifteen. He had found the inner door unlocked, so he propped it open a couple of inches so he could hear. Nothing.

  Satisfied after several minutes of listening, he moved slowly through the house and settled in behind the stairs that lead to the upper level. He had moved one of the chairs from the kitchen into place behind the stairs so he had a place to sit for the couple of hours he would have to wait. He couldn’t see much from where he was located, but he knew that Cheryl’s stepfather would come down in a while and wait in the office opposite the stairway. From there the man would be able to watch for Cheryl’s mother, and could simply step out after she came down and turned toward the kitchen. The two shots he fired suggested he had stepped out of the office as she approached and shot her face on. Jake would be able to step out from behind the stairs as Cheryl’s mother made the turn and disrupt the planned proceedings. After disarming the stepfather and explaining what had been planned, Jake would send the mother to the neighbor’s house, then flee. It would be too late for the stepfather to act then, and Cheryl’s mom would know what his intentions had been and would take the needed precautions.

  The minutes passed slowly, but finally Jake heard the heavy footsteps as the stepfather made his way down the stairs. He headed straight for the study, where he rummaged around in his desk. Then Jake heard the squeak of the chair as he sat down. No breakfast for him. Cheryl’s brother said that he had reservations in one of the hotels downtown. His story was to have been he worked late and hadn’t come home. Apparently he did that frequently, although usually he was with his mistress rather than at the hotel.

  Ten minutes later Jake heard much shorter footsteps coming down the stairs. It was time. His heart beating a little faster than normal in anticipation, Jake stood quietly and pulled the Browning out of his belt. It was cocked and locked, ready for quick action although he didn’t expect to need to fire the pistol. He had his finger inside the trigger guard, poor technique he knew but he’d never been able to break the habit, and his thumb resting lightly on the safety.

  Jake watched as she moved past him, then stepped out of his hiding spot just as her husband stepped through the door of the office with his gun in hand. Jake stepped into view with his gun pointed.

  “Hold it!” he commanded, feeling a bit stupid

  Almost immediately Jake realized it was going bad. Cheryl’s stepfather showed a moment of shock, then without conscious thought started to shift his point of aim from Cheryl’s mom to Jake. Maybe it was an automatic defensive reaction, and maybe he thought Jake was the perfect scapegoat for his plan, but there was little doubt he intended to shoot as the barrel of the short revolver swung toward Jake. There was no choice.

  Jake’s thumb disengaged the safety and he fired, the 9mm sounding very loud in the confines of the hallway. The bullet struck Cheryl’s stepfather in the chest, knocking him back against the wall. The gun dropped from his hand, and he slid down. Jake was certain he was dead. Depending on how you viewed it, the bullet had been perfectly placed. Jake figured he could back-track in a moment and try this all again once he thought out how better to handle it. He wasn’t concerned about any interference. The police detective had made it clear only Cheryl’s parents had been in the house at the time she was killed.

  Unfortunately Jake had miscalculated. There was someone there. Cheryl’s mom. And she had misunderstood what was happening. Jake was a total stranger to her. He was a stranger in her house with a gun and had just shot her husband. She screamed loudly. He had just started to turn his head when the vase she had taken from the table near the base of the stairs smacked solidly into the side of his head. He felt a moment of intense pain, then everything went black.

  Chapter 29

  “I think he’s waking up,” a rumbling voice Jake didn’t recognize suggested from behind his shoulder.

  Jake groaned and tried to reach up and touch his head. It hurt horribly and he thought he could sense blood running down his neck. He discovered that his hands were trapped by his side, unable to move more than a couple of inches. At first Jake didn’t understand, then he realized some kind of restraint held them from moving very far. At almost the same time he realized his legs were similarly restricted in their ability to move. He tried to concentrate, but nothing made sense. He didn’t know where he was or why he was restrained. His head was pounding unmercifully, which said something because he had become accustomed to some real dillies of headaches over the years. He wanted to lie back and simply rest, but he also wanted to know what was going on. He was a little afraid he might be sick if he opened his eyes.

  Jake felt a mild shaking and heard the sound of a second person moving from a more remote position up closer to him. He sensed the space was crowded, but couldn’t put it into context.

  “There’s no point of faking it,” said a voice he vaguely remembered hearing before. “You might as well open your eyes and talk with me. You’re going to have to sooner or later.”

  Sensing they weren’t going to leave him alone, Jake slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the white roof a few feet above his face. He was lying on a narrow cot that was mechanically attached to a support structure inside the back of some kind of vehicle. Then Jake noticed the various items of medical gear, including the green oxygen bottle strapped to the wall. A long haired young man dressed mostly in white sat off to his side, watching him curiously. Jake realized he was in an ambulance of some kind.

  “What is your name?” the semi-familiar voice said, coming from the direction of his feet.

  Despite the screaming protest it caused, Jake turned his head toward the voice. Detective Tim Keller was sitting on a small stool at the foot of his cot. Jake recognized him right away, but wondered why he would be here. Then, suddenly, it all snapped back into place. He was at the home of Cheryl’s parents. He had killed her stepfather and her mother had knocked him on the head with something. He wondered idly where his gun was. Detective Keller wouldn’t remember him, because their earlier conversation had never taken place for him. It made sense in a way that he was here. He had drawn the case when Cheryl’s mom had been killed, so he would have been next up on the wheel when the shooting of her dad was called in. Probably called in by her mom. Jake realized he was in trouble, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to try and make any decisions. He knew something else was bothering him, but for the moment he couldn’t place his finger on it.

  “I asked you your name,” Detective Keller repeated.

  Jake shook his head. He wasn’t ready to answer any questions. The detective should know who he was. He’d had his wallet with his identification in it with him and he could tell that was no longer in his pocket. He had to assume they had taken it. They must have already checked the identification it contained. So why was he being asked his name? Until he c
ould think more clearly, he thought it best to simply not tell them anything.

  “Take him to the hospital and have him checked out,” Keller said as he stood to leave.

  “Where?” Jake managed to croak. He didn’t like the idea they might be moving him.

  “Oh, so you can talk after all. They’ll take you to the local hospital and have the doctor take a look at you. It’s only a few minutes away, so it won’t take long. If the doctor there will sign off that you are well enough, you’ll be transported to the local police station. That’s close as well. If not, there are facilities at the hospital where you can be detained until they will release you.”

  Keller finished standing and climbed down out of the ambulance. He shut one of the doors with a sharp push causing the latches to set into place, and then stepped back while the second orderly closed the remaining door. Jake was isolated inside with the long-haired man and someone he couldn’t see behind him. He assumed it must be a cop.

  Now would be a good time to get out of here Jake realized, but with a growing sense of concern and panic he realized he couldn’t. That was what had been gnawing at the back of his mind through the pain and disorientation. He couldn’t sense himself. Even before he realized what the sense meant, for as long as he could remember he’d had a vague, ethereal, sense of himself floating in the back of his mind. Without knowing exactly how, he could mentally focus on the nearly intangible awareness, knowing that it somehow connected his present self to the past. The more recent past provided a stronger sense, while the days further gone were less discernible, finally fading away entirely as he reached the limits of his ability to back-track. He knew instinctively how far back each location on the elusive ribbon of awareness represented. He didn’t know how he did, but he did. That was how he could select when to back-track to. But now the awareness wasn’t there. He could sense nothing. For the first time in a great many years he knew he couldn’t back-track. Hopefully it was temporary, but for now he was trapped in the present, in this reality where he had killed Cheryl’s stepfather and had been arrested for the murder. This did not look good.

  Jake felt the vehicle lurch as it pulled away from the curb and then started down the street. There was no siren. Apparently they didn’t see this as an emergency. The emergency was over. Back at the house Jake knew the police would be interviewing Cheryl’s mother while the coroner and others photographed the crime scene and painstakingly gathered the evidence they would use to convict him. Not that they needed very much. They had an eye witness, and even after Cheryl explained to her mother what might have happened after Karin brought her up to speed in a few days when they returned from Australia, it wouldn’t matter. She couldn’t retract her testimony later. Even if she did, they had caught him at the scene with the murder weapon.

  Jake’s mind recoiled at the thought of Karin learning about this. He decided he wouldn’t contact her, or anyone just yet. Hopefully his ability would return and he could still find a way out of this mess. He was somewhat reassured when the vehicle came to a stop a few minutes later. They hadn’t gone very far, so he was still within physical range of his earlier self once his ability returned. He had to assume it would. The other option was too dreadful to consider.

  The rear doors were pulled open, and a cop he hadn’t seen before stepped up into the back of the vehicle. A third cop, an older man with salt and pepper hair and an expanding gut, waited outside watching as Jake was unshackled and helped to stand. He still felt a bit woozy, and had to be supported as they walked to the back and then down the steps to the roadway. He was dragged in the desired direction. It was only a matter of a few steps before they were inside the back of the building, passing through a pair of battered and scratched double doors leading into the back of the hospital.

  They escorted him to the Emergency Room waiting area and one of the cops stayed with him while the other went over and talked with the woman at the check-in counter. Then they waited for Jake’s turn to be examined. Jake leaned back against the chair and reached up to feel his head. The right side, about halfway between his temple and his forehead, was tender under his fingers. His hair still felt sticky and clotted. His fingers came away reddish with partially dried blood. From the little he knew about such things Jake suspected he was very fortunate the blow hadn’t been more to the side. Had it caught him over the temple he might be in considerable distress at the moment. He reached up and felt his neck and found more dried blood there. His shirt collar was likewise stained with red.

  One of the cops called his name. Jake looked up and realized they were calling for him. The three of them walked slowly back into the bowels of the hospital where Jake was led to one of the many small rooms. He could hear someone coughing raggedly in the adjacent cubicle. They only had to wait a few moments before a nurse came in and proceeded to give Jake a preliminary checkout, and then clean the wound. When she was finished, she left telling them the doctor would be with them shortly.

  Shortly had a different meaning here than other places. It was twenty minutes before the doctor came in. He spoke briefly with the two cops and then went to work examining Jake. The doctor was professional and skillful. He came to the conclusion in short order that Jake would suffer no lasting ill effects of the blow, and signed off the paperwork that released him to the police. Jake hoped he was correct and the no ill effects included his ability to back-track out of here.

  The two policemen escorted him back out of the ER, and back to the police car waiting in back. They put him back in the rear, then climbed into the front and drove the few blocks to the station. They couldn’t have been more than five miles from the house where Jake had shot Cheryl’s stepfather, but he still couldn’t sense himself. He was still trapped.

  At the station they took him first to a desk where he was logged in. The policeman who had ridden with him handed over an envelope that carried his personal items, and gave the man at the desk his real name. He also indicated they had found a second ID, and gave the man that name as well. That was going to take some explaining Jake knew. Next they took him back to the lockup and secured him in a holding cell with two others. The cop walked away without a word leaving Jake to sort things out for himself.

  Jake looked at the two men that shared the cell. One was unkempt and older. The man’s hair was long and dirty and he had a graying ragged beard. Even from across the cell Jake could smell the man. It was pretty obvious he was a drunk. The man staggered from one end of the cell to another, complaining that he was hot, as he rubbed at his hands and arms. The DT’s Jake assumed. The other was younger. He was obviously Latino, and from the tattoos Jake assumed him to be a gang banger. The man was shorter, but powerfully built. He sat without moving while his dark brown and very alert eyes watched Jake.

  Jake moved to the opposite side of the cell where there was an unoccupied bench. Before he sat he looked back at the gang banger and indicated the bench. He received no response, so assumed there would be no issue with his sitting there. This was his first time in jail and Jake wasn’t sure if there was a protocol. At the moment he didn’t want any confrontation.

  He put his face in his hands and tried to focus. He’d really like to get out of here and back to before this happened. But still there was nothing. For a brief moment he felt a sense of panic as he wondered if his ability was lost. Perhaps the blow?

  Jake sat that way for several hours. The drunk had no interest in him and was now sleeping on one of the other benches, snoring loudly. The gang banger had lost most interest in him, and only periodically looked his way. No words had been exchanged between them. Jake was starting to get hungry and assumed it must be getting on toward dinner when a cop came down the hall calling his name.

  “Let’s go,” the man said impatiently as Jake slowly stood.

  Jake stepped out of the cell and started walking in the direction the man indicated. They went out through the door at the end of the row of cells, turned left and walked perhaps fifty feet before the man directed
him into an empty room with a table and a couple of chairs. This looked like a poor version of the interrogation room Jake had spent time in back in Reno as Mathews.

  After being secured, the cop waited until Detective Keller arrived a few minutes later. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

  “My name is Detective Keller,” the man said formally. Then he read Jake his rights. “My first question is do you want a lawyer? That is your right. You can call someone you know or one can be provided. If you elect to go that route you will be taken back to your cell until someone can get here to represent you. I have no idea how long that would be. If you elect not to call a lawyer, I’ll be asking you some questions. Depending on your answers we’ll see how to proceed. We might elect to keep you here, or we might send you to the detention center in Chino.”

  Detective Keller told Jake that he had already spoken at length with the wife of the man Jake was accused of shooting. There was little doubt that Jake was guilty, but there were formalities to be observed. Keller needed to hear Jake’s side of the story, then he would take the results of the two interviews to his superior. They would decide whether to charge Jake. The proper paperwork would be prepared in that case, and signed by Keller’s supervisor, and filed. Only then would Jake be read his rights again and booked, which would include fingerprints and photos. Depending on the court schedule, he would see a judge in the morning, or if they had to wait, he would be sent to Chino until the day a hearing could be arranged.