The young girl slowly opened the door of the closet. The door creaked on its hinges. Thunder boomed and rolled from outside, as she shakily peered into the dark recesses. Background music reverberated that danger was near, yet she seemed not be aware of what horrors lurked in the darkness. The tension mounted. The haunting music became louder. She peered into the closet and then suddenly retreated. Just as she frantically reached to shut the door, as her fingers closed around the edge of the door, another, larger hand, reached from behind the door and covered her hand. She screamed in terror.
Mike eased his way up behind Bella and Brandon as they sat in the middle of the living-room floor and peeked at the horror movie between their fingers. He winked at Tracey as he snuck up behind them, and for the first time that night, a smile came to her face. As she nodded to him. He took long slow deliberately exaggerated steps as he brought his finger to his lips, for her to keep quiet. He loomed behind them, and as he watched the screen, chose that instant to reach down and grab them from the sides. He let out a blood curdling scream, and both children jumped and began to scream in absolute terror. Their screams joined the chorus of shrieks from the hapless young girl on the TV screen. Bella launched the bowl of popcorn into the air. As popcorn rained down everywhere. Mike howled in laughter, and Tracey laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Brandon rolled on the floor as he tried to get away. Bella ran out of the room. Her screams still echoed from the hallway.
The sudden screams echoed out of the tiny speaker and startled Jack awake. He could make out Brandon and Bella’s voices clearly. They were in hysterics. He shook off the last remnants of the sleep that had pulled him under, and flung the car door open. The headphones pulled off his head as he climbed out of the car. He pulled his weapon as he ran across the street. He kicked the safety off. He ran past Mike’s car, past Tracey’s car, and trampled through the flowers that Tracey had planted. At last he was at the front door, and reached for the knob, and turned it. The door was locked. He began to beat on the door. Quickly, as his heart hammered in his throat, he realized that the door would not be opened from the inside. He stepped back and kicked the door, and almost lost his balance. He stepped back and rammed the door with his body, as he desperately tried to break it open. The dead bolt that he himself had installed held the door shut. He remembered that he had the key. He reached into his pocket and began to fumble with his keys. He brought out the key ring that contained the keys to all that his life had been. His car keys, his apartment keys, the keys to his desk drawer and file cabinet at work, the keys to his suitcase, and at last, the key to the front door of this house. He shoved the key towards the lock, but in the dark, he couldn’t find the hole. The key started to go in, but he had it upside down, and it jammed. He cursed under his breath as he yanked the key free and started again.
He heard the muffled screams from inside the house. His heart slammed in his chest. Sweat ran from his forehead and into his eyes, as he continued to fight with the keys to the lock. Finally the key went into the lock. He turned it. The lock clicked. He turned the knob and flung the door open. Weapon raised, he entered the house. He pinpointed the location of the screams as they echoed from the living-room, and he started in that direction. He didn’t see the closet door open behind him, nor did he see the tall man step out of the closet. Even as Jack approached the entranceway to the living-room, he still did not see the tall man, as he raised his gun above Jack’s head. Smith struck him on the base of the skull. Jack fell to the floor, unconscious. Screams still emanated from the living-room. Smith stood over Jack, hovered a moment, and then turned and looked towards the living-room entrance and hesitated. He had not expected this intruder. He had already identified his targets. They were all accounted for, and were just through the doorway. Regardless of who the interloper was, he was subdued for now. No time for a photo session this time, he thought. Better to get this assignment over with quickly before some other intruder interfered. He raised his gun again, and one silent step after the other, he walked towards the living-room.
Even with all of the noise, screams, and laughter, Mike had thought he heard a noise from the front door. Careful not to alarm the others he nonchalantly walked towards the hallway when he saw a man. Pistol in hand. As if by reflex, he raised his hands into the air and began to walk slowly backwards. The man continued towards him, gun in hand.
“Mr. King?” The tall man asked, as he mentally matched the facial structure with that of the image he had seen from his assignment data earlier. Mike opened his mouth to speak, just as a subtle flash of light erupted from the barrel of the gun. Mike froze in place, as he tried to grasp the events. A heaviness began to overwhelm him as he looked down, away from the man, and saw the dark crimson stain that slowly began to spread down his shirt. Mike began to look up again, but his vision blurred. He fell to the floor. Smith smiled. He should do it this way more often, he thought, as he fired at him again. He really did enjoy the smell of fresh blood.
Sounds entered Jacks mind, muffled but legible. He felt so heavy. His body didn’t want to respond, but he knew that he had to do something. Something very important. As he lay on the floor, and tried desperately to regain consciousness, he heard the hysterical screams that came from the living-room. Suddenly the reality of what those sounds meant came sharply into his mind.
“Don’t hurt my babies!” He heard Tracey say. The fear was evident in her voice. Bella screamed. He could hear Brandon’s shrieks.
“You don’t understand, Mrs. King, it’s nothing personal. It’s not personal at all, I assure you.” A male voice said, seemingly full of compassion.
“Not personal?” She sobbed. “You break in here! You...you ...you’ve killed him!” Tracey cried out. “Now you’re going to kill...” She couldn’t continue. Her words turned into a sorrowful wail of grief. A silenced gunshot sounded, and the screams of the children became frantic and wildly hysterical. Suddenly two more silenced shots were fired in rapid succession, and their eerie sounds echoed throughout the house. Silence fell into every nook and cranny.
Jack came to his feet, but even as he did, his heart sunk. He knew what he’d heard. He staggered, and braced himself against the wall. He moved towards the living-room. As he approached the doorway, the alarm pad began to beep. Suddenly the interior siren began to alarm loudly with its piercing shrill alert. Jack rounded the corner into the living-room. Each step felt more solid. He saw the back door swing closed. His head throbbed, and he touched the back of it with his hand. Dizzy, he cradled it for a moment as he straightened his neck, and felt to see just how much damage had been done. He pulled his hand from his head and looked down at the smear of blood on his hand. His blood. He heard a sound from inside the living-room. Mike lay in a growing puddle of his own blood. He whispered as he tried to talk. Jack knelt by his side, as he tried hard not to look at the carnage that filled the room. He remembered the scene all too well. He did not need to see his wife. Dead. Slumped against the wall. He couldn’t bare the thought of having to see his poor children slaughtered on the couch. Not again. He knew that he had a chance to go after the killer and stop him once and for all, but Mike was still alive.
“Mike...it’s okay.”
“Sor...ry...So...sor..ry." Mike managed to say.
"It’s okay, Mike. It’s not your fault.” Jack said as he touched his brother softly. He fought back his tears.
“I...didn’t...” Mike began to choke. “I...didn’t...think...” He began to choke, and coughed up a large amount of blood. As his eyes assumed that blank half awake daze that only the dead can manage, his laborious breathing stopped. Jack touched him, looked into his now empty eyes, as tears began to well up in his own eyes. His dying brother’s last concern had been his failure to protect Jack’s family. To ‘take care of his own’, Jack remembered Tracey had said.
“Not your fault, Mike.” He said quietly. He brushed his fingers softly over
Mike’s eyelids and closed them. Slowly he rose up. He glanced at his slaughtered family and felt the horror chill him once again, as the anger raged inside of him. They had all been stolen from him, not once, but now twice. He could have cared less what the law said, or the judicial process required to put an animal like this out of his misery. Jack made a decision. A firm decision. Smith would not live to do this again, even if Jack had to die trying. He headed for the backdoor. The alarm continued to blare loudly as he opened the door. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at his hand. At the hand that held the door knob. Slowly he released it, and stared at the smear of blood on his hand. The very blood, he realized, that would implicate him in the murders. He was in a paradox. No. That wasn’t quite right. He had been in a paradox, from the very start. His actions now, had eventually pushed him into the decision to go back in time in the first place. He stood there, suddenly mesmerized by the complexity of his situation, when he saw movement at the rear of backyard. The dark figure scrambled over the top of the six foot wooden fence which surrounded the yard, and dropped down on the other side, out of sight. Jack leapt into action. He ran across the yard to the fence, and climbed over the fence. As he dropped down into the neighboring yard, Jack saw Smith’s tall lanky frame as it disappeared over the top of the next fence. A dog began to bark wildly. A single silenced shot ended the barking. Jack ran to the other side of the yard and began to scale that fence. As of yet, Smith was not aware that he was being pursued. Jack continued quietly after him. As Jack began to climb over the top of the next fence, suddenly the wooden plank next to his hand exploded in splinters. He had been spotted, and now the killer had a bead on him. He dropped down, and surveyed the situation. He couldn’t go over, but he could go around. He ran towards the front of the house, and found the gate unlocked. But even as he ran into the front yard, he watched as Smith climbed into a car parked at the street. Jack raised his gun and fired. The rear window shattered as Smith started the car. The tires squealed as he stomped the accelerator.
The back of the vehicle fishtailed as the tires fought to get traction. Jack fired again and again into the rear of the car. His bullets ricocheted off of the chrome bumper. Sparks flew. The last shot found its way under the bumper, and into the gas tank. Fuel began to pour out in a stream behind the vehicle as it sped away. Jack cursed his luck, as he realized that the very same bullet that had opened up the tank, had been his last shot. The slide on his semi-automatic nine millimeter pistol had locked open on the last round.
He thumbed the clip release button on the gun. The empty clip clanged to the pavement. He ran after the car as it continued to accelerate, and reached into his back pocket and withdrew another full clip. He slammed into the butt of his gun, and thumbed the slide release. The first shell chambered. Suddenly up ahead, the car hit the breaks and slid sideways. Jack stopped, raised his gun, and saw Smith’s head in his sights. He began to squeeze the trigger, but before he could fire the car’s tire caught traction again, and flew through the stop sign at the end of the street. The back of the car slid as it rounded the corner, and clipped a oncoming motorcycle. Jack watched in amazement as he saw the bike slide towards him. Smith had swerved to avoid the rider, but had knocked him down anyway. As Jack ran towards the rider, the bike came to a stop. Jack reached him, and the rider tried to get up, but his leg was pinned under the side of the bike. Jack holstered his gun, grabbed the bike with both hands and heaved it upright. The freed the rider scrambled away from it as though he expected it to explode, even though the motor had died.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“Yeah...I guess...that son-of-a-bitch just ran me down!” He exclaimed as he tried to get to his feet. Jack mounted the bike, and as he came down on it, he thumbed the starter. The engine kicked to life. He gunned the throttle and the bike accelerated before his rear even touched the seat. The owner of the bike just stood there, as he stared after Jack in amazement. Jack blew through the stop sign, much as Smith had done, and leaned hard into the turn as the bike continued to accelerate. The taillights of Smith’s car disappeared around a curve in the road just ahead of Jack. He increased the throttle. The bike caught third gear as he approached the same curve. He rounded the curve, saw the stop light, and quickly began to downshift. He looked to the left, and then right, as he tried to find out which way Smith had gone. As he came to the intersection, there was no sign of Smith’s car. He slowed to a stop. He revved the engine a few times, impatient to waste any time, but unsure of which way to turn when he saw a glimmer on the roadway. The streetlights reflected off of a trail of liquid. Gas, Jack realized. Smith had turned left. Jack wrenched the throttle, and popped clutch. The front tire came off of the ground, and he launched through the intersection. As the tire came down he hit second gear, and leaned into the turn.
Smith was upset. No, he was more than upset. His entire plans had been upset by the intruder. Yes, he enjoyed the slaughter. True it was dirtier than unusual. But hey, a little blood never hurt anybody, he thought, as a smile crept into his face. In truth, he loved blood. He loved to watch the way it trickled out of the holes he made, and released its life force to gravity. Such a magic liquid it was, he thought, as he unconsciously licked his lips. But whoever this intruder was, he had fucked everything up. The fucking whore lover. Blood or no blood. That was Smith’s choice. Not some asshole that had tried to get in on his gig. He should have killed the son-of-a-bitch. That would have shown the mother loving whore bastard.
He always prided himself on being quick and thorough at what he did, but this time he was fed bad information. Something had not been right. Sure he had still completed the job, and yes he would still get paid. But this was the first time in his history as a hired gun that he had ever had to run away from anything. It was too close for comfort, he thought as he began to slow his car down to the posted speed limit. He knew that if he continued to drive like a bat out of hell, it was a sure fire way to get the police involved in what was already a blunder as far as he was concerned. He slowed to a stop at the next intersection, and turned his blinker on to signal a right turn. Cautiously, he looked both ways, and eased around the corner. He slowly accelerated back to the posted speed limit. As he approached the next intersection, he glanced in his rearview mirror, and his blood ran cold. He saw the motorcycle, as it leaned wildly over to one side. It took the corner behind him at near full throttle.
“What the fuck?” This can’t be happening, he thought as he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and blasted through the next intersection even though the light was red. Two cars that approached from the right slammed onto their brakes and slid sideways, as they crashed into a car that sat in the turning lane. Jack veered into the left lane as he flew through the intersection, and narrowly missed a car as it sped through the intersection from the opposite direction. He gained on Smith. He grabbed his gun from its holster, and kicked the bike into fourth gear. He leaned on the throttle and hunkered down, as he hoped to get even more speed. The car grew closer every second, even as it attempted to accelerate away. Jack was close enough now that he could see inside the car through what was left of the shattered rear window. He could see Smith’s wild eyes as he nervously glanced back at him through the rear view mirror. Jack raised his gun to fire, just as Smith raised his own weapon and fired through the rear window.
The bullet deflected off of the front of the bike, and Jack swerved slightly, but did not slow. Again he raised his gun to fire, but before he could, Smith fired again. This time the shot struck the front tire of the bike. Jack fired at nearly the same instant, but missed Smith entirely. The front windshield shattered, and obscured any view from within the car. Jack saw Smith’s brake lights come on, even as his bike began to lay itself down. He had no chance to slow the bike, and his only hope for survival was to lay it down and ride out the slide. Sparks began to fly high into the air as the metal ground itself aga
inst the pavement. Jack held on for dear life, and just hoped that there were no pot holes in the road. The bike continued to slide, and Jack watched Smith’s car, as it slid out of control into the intersection ahead. Out of the corner of his eye he also saw a semi-truck enter the intersection from the right.
The driver’s cab of the truck missed the collision in its entirety, but as the trailer went by, Smith’s car slammed into it. The car plowed underneath it, and ripped off the entire top of the vehicle. Smith had seen the inevitable through the shattered windshield, and had ducked at the very last possible second. Even as the airbag deployed above him, he screamed in unison with the twisting metal of his car. The car cleared the trailer, as the truck driver slammed on the brakes to stop his runaway train. Smith’s car spun around in the intersection, came to a stop. It faced back towards Jack. Smith fought the airbag out of the way and sat upright in his now decapitated car. He stared back down the road at the motorcycle which lay on the pavement. Its rider still pinned beneath it. He slammed down on the accelerator as an evil grin of hatred spread across his face. The tires spun wildly and caught traction.
Jack had come to a complete stop, and realized that Smith was not only still alive, but hell-bent on running him down. He frantically fought to free himself from the ruined motorcycle. The weight was just too much for him to budge, and he stared helplessly up the street at the crude convertible as it bared down on him. The street lights once again glimmered in the wetness that ran in a straight line up the street towards the oncoming car. Jack raised his gun and fired a single shot. Sparks leapt from the pavement and lit the trail of fuel. Smith saw the trail of flame as it raced towards him, but had only one thing on his mind. It disappeared underneath his car. Jack watched as the trail of fire raced towards the oncoming vehicle, and as it disappeared underneath the car, he ducked behind the bike.
A sound, almost like that of a sonic boom, reverberated through the area. Later neighbors would remember the sound, and would wonder what had caused it. The rear of the car launched itself into the air on a plume of fire, like a rocket as it lit up the night sky. The vehicle flipped end over end, until it finally landed up side down in the middle of the road, so close to Jack that the heat from the intense fire was almost too much for him to handle. He finally freed himself from the bike, and shakily got to his feet. He could see Smith’s outstretched hand pinned under the frame of the car. The skin horribly burned and a large gash across the wrist from which no blood poured. He hadn’t saved his family, but he had stopped the bastard that was responsible. Smith was dead.
Chapter 26
BackTrek Page 25
