36: A Novel

by Dirk Patton

  I hesitated when it dawned on me I was leaving a trail for the police to follow. I had to do something to stop the bleeding, or at least cover my tracks. There was no doubt they’d be coming into the garage, looking for me, and I needed more time to find this asshole. If I could stop leaving a trail, maybe I could buy myself a few more minutes before I was run to ground by the cops.

  Quickly, I pulled the jacket off and dropped it on the floor. Unbuckling my belt, I ripped it out of the loops on my pants, holster flying away to skid beneath a parked car. Looking down in the dim lighting, I could see a small hole in the front of my upper arm, a larger one where the round exited in back. At least the bullet wasn’t in me.

  Threading the end of the belt through the buckle, I slipped my arm into the loop and positioned the thick leather directly over the wounds. Grasping the end of the makeshift tourniquet, I took a deep breath and pulled hard. It tightened onto the holes, compressing into the surrounding tissue. The pain nearly caused me to pass out, a wave of heat and nausea immediately washing over me.

  Cursing a blue streak, I pushed through and secured the buckle. Grabbing the jacket, I shook it a couple of times to clean as much blood from it as I could, then put it back on. I wasn’t exactly presentable, and my arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, but blood no longer ran down across my hand to leave a trail even Helen Keller could have followed.

  Pistol up, I started running. I was confident he hadn’t stopped on the first level. It was small, only a couple of dozen spots for arriving guests to park and ride the elevator up to register. Then, with a room key in hand, they could come back down and drive through the security gate into the main area of the garage.

  Slipping past the gate, I jogged down the curving ramp that led to the second sub-level. Lighting was weak, the dark grey concrete walls, ceiling and floor doing nothing to reflect it and help me see. Rounding the bottom of the turn, I stopped and held the pistol at arm’s length as I reached level floor.

  The garage was large, nearly a hundred cars in the narrow spaces lined out on the floor. Shadows ruled, filling every corner and the gaps between the parked vehicles. It seemed pitch black beneath them, the light unable to reach. He could be anywhere.

  Hidden in a corner. Concealed behind one of the massive, concrete support columns that marched away from my position in a long, perfectly aligned row. Or in the darkness beneath any one of the cars. And that’s if he hadn’t kept running, going deeper underground to the third or fourth sub-level.

  I checked my watch. Less than an hour remaining before I was returned to real time. When and wherever that would be. If I understood things correctly, I now had two real times.

  But that didn’t matter. I was already hearing voices echoing down the ramp from the first level. Cops. They were coming and I was out of time. A dog barked a moment later, lending wings to my feet. Sending me sprinting across the open space towards a door that was marked FIRE STAIRS.

  If they sent a dog down the ramp, I’d be taken down in seconds. Maybe I could get a shot off and stop it before it slammed into me, but I didn’t like the odds. Compared to a human, dogs are small targets when they’re charging at you. Small and low to the ground. And damn fast. Besides, I have a big soft spot for dogs. No, I needed to get out of here. Now.

  56

  Slamming through the metal door without pausing, I shoved the pistol into my waistband at the small of my back and pounded up the steps. The stairwell was a dangerous choke point, nothing more than a narrow set of poured concrete steps inside towering slabs of the same material. The air was musty, smelling of mold and mildew and the treads were covered with a thick layer of dust.

  Dust that captured and held a clear footprint with every step I took. Just like the marks that had been left by someone else who had climbed this same flight of stairs. They’d left clean spots behind, and they’d been running. Taking two steps at a time. Had I just gotten lucky and inadvertently taken the same route the man I was chasing had used?

  Running hard, I quickly reached the first sub-level landing. I bypassed the metal door that exited into the garage, knowing there would be a whole army of cops on the other side. Pushing on, I came to a stop at the lobby level door. This was as high as the stairs went.

  There was a dim, overhead light and I took a moment to check myself. My slacks and jacket were dark, and though the wetness of the blood was visible, it wasn’t obvious what it was. But my polo shirt was tan, and it was stained a bright shade of red over most of the front.

  Working one handed, I struggled with the jacket’s zipper. Finally getting it started, I yanked it up, concealing the bloody shirt. I was out of options and had to step into the lobby where there would almost certainly be cops. Maybe, if I didn’t immediately attract their attention, I could slip into the elevator and head up to the room.

  Holding a deep breath, I gently pushed on the crash bar that controlled the lock. There was a soft click as it disengaged, then I cracked the door open and looked into the lobby. The stairs had come up into a small alcove, and after a moment I realized I was around a corner, behind the elevators. Hidden from the main lobby.

  Exhaling, I moved through and let the door quietly close behind me. To my left were the restrooms, and the end of the short hall. To my right, ten yards away, the corridor bent to the left. That’s where the elevators were.

  Moving as if I belonged, and wasn’t aware of the disturbance on the street in front, I stepped around the corner and pressed the up arrow to call the elevator. While I waited, I looked around the lobby. Nearly fifty people, staff and guests, were gathered just inside the glass entrance doors, trying to see what was happening outside. There weren’t any cops in the lobby, and no one was even looking in my direction.

  The car arrived, it’s presence announced by a soft bell. I hustled inside the instant the doors opened, pressing the button for 12. Trying to appear as normal as possible, in case someone I hadn’t noted was watching, I resisted the nearly overwhelming impulse to pound on the close button.

  Finally, the damn doors slid shut and I tilted my head back and let out a sigh as the car started ascending. I panicked, placing my hand on the butt of the pistol at my back when it stopped on 5. It was only a maid with an armload of towels. She smiled at me, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for 6.

  The wait for the doors to close, the car to ascend one floor and let her exit, then continue on to my floor seemed interminable. Excruciatingly slow. I was sweating heavily by the time it came to a stop on 12.

  I waited, looking into the elevator alcove before stepping out. It was offset from the main hallway that led to the rooms, and when I saw it was clear I stepped out of the car. Behind me, the doors slid shut and there was a soft hum as it headed for another floor.

  Edging to the mouth of the alcove, I peered up into a large, convex mirror on the far wall of the hallway that let people see around the corner. Probably there so a maid pushing a heavy housekeeping cart didn’t accidentally run into a guest coming out into the corridor.

  To my left, the direction opposite the location of the room, one of those carts was sitting outside an open door. To my right it was clear. Stepping out, I began heading for 1223, but came to a stop halfway there.

  What if he was already in the room? I’d left the room key with Ray, and had no way to get in quietly. I had intended to knock, hoping Julie and I were back. But what if I knocked? He looks through the peephole and sees me. Puts a few rounds through the door. I’m toast, and Julie will die.

  Thinking, I turned and looked at the housekeeping cart. Changing directions, I strode down the hallway as I pulled the FBI ID case out of my pocket.

  A maid was vacuuming the carpet in the room where the cart was parked. The door was propped open while she worked and I stepped through the entrance, ID held in front of me. She was startled by my sudden appearance, hand flying to her chest in surprise as she stepped away from the vacuum cleaner. I nodded at it and she reached out and turned it off.


  “FBI,” I said, wiggling the badge case to make sure she looked at it. “I need your master key. This is an emergency.”

  She stood rooted in place, staring at me in shock. I didn’t have time for this shit.

  “Now,” I said, emphasizing the word with a shake of the ID.

  “I cannot,” she stammered in a heavy, eastern European accent. “I lose my job.”

  “No you won’t,” I said, taking a step closer to her. “But if you don’t cooperate, you’ll be on the next plane back to the Ukraine, or wherever the hell it is you’re from!”

  Fear replaced the shock. She might not have been from the Ukraine. I had no idea. But I’d taken a chance and had hit a home run. She quickly grabbed a key card on a long lanyard from around her neck and held it out to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, putting the ID away and taking it. “Close the door and stay here.”

  “You not send me back?” She asked, hands clasped in front of her in a pleading gesture.

  “Not if you stay in the room and don’t tell anyone. One hour. Understand?”

  “Yes. One hour. Thank you! I happy to help FBI!”

  I stepped back into the hall, grabbed the cart and shoved it through the door into the room with her. Kicking the stop out of the way, I held the door with my shoulder and paused.

  “One hour,” I reminded her.

  She nodded emphatically and I let the door swing shut. Turning, I headed for the room, transferring the key card to my nearly useless hand. Drawing the pistol, I held it pressed against my body with my good arm as I screwed a suppressor onto the end.

  Reaching the door marked 1223, I paused and listened. Didn’t hear anything other than the muted sounds of TV from across the hall. Careful to stay out of viewing range of the peephole, I moved forward and pressed my ear to the door.

  The hotel was higher end, and the guest room doors were heavy and solid. I could make out a voice from within, but not well enough to tell male from female. I couldn’t even tell if I was hearing a live voice, or the TV.

  Grimacing in pain, I forced my left arm up and used my right hand to quietly insert the maid’s master key into the lock. Visualizing what I would do, I pulled it out and swiveled. The lock beeped and I used the elbow of my right arm to slam the handle down an instant before my shoulder rammed the door open.

  The pistol was in my hand, coming up as I rushed through and fell to the side, placing a short wall that created a bar area between me and the main living area. Behind, the door sighed and clicked as it closed and the lock engaged.

  I’d gotten half a second of a look as I’d come in, seeing Julie’s body lying on the floor. Unconscious or dead. There had been a shout of surprise when I’d burst into the room, but no gunfire came my way. Now it was quiet and I popped my head up for a look. And saw myself, pointing a pistol at another myself, who was pointing his own back at the first me. Fuck, this was getting even more confusing.

  57

  “What the hell?” The left me said, glancing back and forth between the right me and me.

  “What happened to her?” I asked, aiming at a point halfway between the two of them.

  “He knocked her out,” the right me said. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m me. I mean you,” I said. “I’m here to stop one of you from killing her.”

  Both of them glanced at me before turning back to face each other and resuming the standoff.

  “He’s lying,” left me said. “We got back from a walk and I went to the bathroom. When I came out, she was on the floor and he jumped me.”

  Each of them were disheveled with various marks on their faces. Clear indication that at least that story was true.

  “Tell me about Monica,” I said, expecting the same ploy from the other night to tell me who was real and who wasn’t.

  “My old girlfriend?” Right me asked, confusion on his face.

  I shifted my aim to left me, ready to take up the slack in the trigger and put a round in his head. When I saw his expression I stopped.

  “My old girlfriend,” left me said, correcting the other me. “What about her?”

  What the hell? How was this possible? If one of these was really me, he should clearly remember seeing Monica in the lobby with her family. That had to have already happened. Unless that was the difference in this timeline! Dr. Anholts had said the only explanation for us not being in the hotel room was something must have altered the timeline. Shit! What now?

  “One of you is here to stop the assassination of the President,” I said, shifting the muzzle of my weapon back to the halfway point. “The other is here to clean up anyone who might know anything. You kill Julie and try to kill me.”

  I left the thought of, “maybe I just kill both of you”, unspoken.

  They both looked at me before turning back to each other. What the hell did I do? I needed something that only I could possibly know. Something that would have never been put into a file during my trial. Nothing that could have been noted since I’d been scooped up by the Athena Project. And that was the problem.

  I’d been forced to spend a lot of time with a Psychiatrist before they were willing to turn me loose in the past with a weapon. At first, I’d resisted talking to the shrink about anything. But over time, he’d gotten through and I’d gradually opened up. After six months of multiple sessions per week, I wasn’t sure I had any secrets left.

  But would the impostor have bothered to study my file? He couldn’t have possibly anticipated this scenario. Studied and prepared for it.

  “So, what are we going to do, Chief?” Right me asked.

  I shifted aim and shot him in the head. I’ve never called anyone “Chief” in my life, and it’s one of those little things that grates on me when someone uses it like he just had. There’s no way that was me.

  “Fuck me,” left me, alive me, breathed as he lowered his pistol. “What took you so fucking long to figure it out?”

  “Piss off,” I said to myself. “And be glad I didn’t trust my gut. I thought you were him.”

  I stepped around the corner, intending to head for Julie. He shouted and held his hand up to stop me.

  “No closer,” he said. “Remember the warnings.”

  I nodded and had to stand there and watch as he knelt over Julie to check on her.

  “Is she OK,” I asked, impatient.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “What about you?”

  He was looking at the wetness on my slacks and jacket.

  “Fucker shot me,” I said. “No worries. I’m back to real time in twenty minutes.”

  “Is she safe?” He asked.

  “Goddamn it! No!” I said when I realized I still remembered Julie being killed. “It wasn’t him. Who the hell was it?”

  He shook his head, looking back down and brushing a stray strand of hair off Julie’s face.

  “What was that about Monica?” He asked.

  “Oh. Guess you should know. Don’t know which one of us is going to remember this.”

  I talked quickly, relaying the events of the timeline as I remembered them. I could see the sadness, my sadness, in his eyes as I finished the story.

  “I’m guessing that her not being here was the change to the timeline Dr. Anholts talked about. That’s how I tripped him up when he was pretending to be me. So. What do we do? I’ve got just over ten minutes left.”

  He looked around the room, thinking. I saw the idea occur to him and a moment later he lifted Julie onto the sofa.

  “You take her with you,” he said. “She’ll be safe that way.”

  “Will that work? Can she go through with me?”

  “Remember the question I, we, asked Dr. Anholts when we were first learning about the project?” He asked.

  “Right.” I smiled. “I remember. The one they hadn’t thought of and it kind of tweaked her that I did. She found out someone could come forward without being harmed because there’s no Black Hole involved in returning to real time.
”

  He nodded and smiled back at me.

  “You’d better be holding her,” he said. “If she’s touching anything other than you, she might not go.”

  I nodded, accepting the logic. He leaned down and kissed Julie gently on the forehead. Despite myself, a surge of jealousy passed through me. How stupid is that? Jealous of myself!

  When he stepped away, I slowly came forward. We were careful to never come within more than ten feet of each other. Reaching Julie, I knelt by her form and checked my watch. Seven minutes.

  “How is it you’re here, by the way?” He asked as we waited.

  “Dr. Anholts. Who else?” I grinned. “Parallel, but different, timelines. She sent me back and sideways. And by the way, going sideways makes us sick. Lasted a few minutes and it was bad.”

  He nodded, staring at me.

  “I’m thinking maybe things are pretty good here,” he said after a minute, nodding at Julie. “Maybe don’t want to be trying to go back and change things.”

  “Agreed,” I said, thinking about the irony of agreeing with my own thoughts.

  We didn’t have anything else to say to each other. To ourselves. Whatever. The remaining time passed in silence. When there was 90 seconds remaining on my watch, I bent and worked my good shoulder under Julie. Wrapping my arm around her body, I rolled it up against my neck and carefully stood.

  She wasn’t big, or particularly heavy, but in my weakened condition I swayed and nearly fell. The other me automatically began to step forward to steady me. I stopped him with a shout, his hands only a couple of feet from me.

  When he realized what had almost happened, he leapt backwards to open space between us. I nodded and stood there swaying. Waiting for time to expire.

  Then there was the blink, and I was standing on the dais in the facility. With Julie draped over my shoulder.

  “Mr. Whitman, you’d better have a very good explanation,” Patterson’s voice said over the intercom.

  58

  Julie laughed at the hat when I tried it on. I’d try on a thousand more to keep hearing that sound. We had just arrived at the airport in Nassau, the Bahamas, on a well earned vacation. Our flight had been early, and we had some time to kill before the shuttle from the resort where we were booked was scheduled to pick us up. Removing the hat, I winced at the sharp pain in my left arm as I returned it to the rack in the small gift shop.