BackTrek

by Kelvin Kelley

Jack wheeled the stolen jeep into the parking lot of Ted’s hotel complex, and at Ted’s direction, found a parking space fairly close to his room. Jack brought the jeep to an abrupt stop and jumped out. He ran around to help Ted out of the jeep. He said he felt a bit better, though he knew that he would feel worse in the morning. The pain from his cracked ribs and sore chest had dissipated somewhat. As he stood up, he stretched, as he tried to loosen his tightened muscles and ease any stiffness that had already begun to set in.

  “Are you up to this?” Jack asked. Ted turned to him slowly.

  “You’d have to shoot me to keep me away.” He said, as a small grin ran across his face.

  “You were always the joker, weren’t you?” Jack said, as he commented on his friend’s lack of comedic protocol. At any other time the statement might have been humorous at best, but in light of the fact that Ted had indeed been shot, repeatedly, Jack found little to smile about. “Come on, let’s get you inside and look at the damage.” Jack reached to help Ted towards his room, but he shrugged him off.

  “It’s not all that bad. Just my side, mainly. That bastard hit me point blank.” He walked to the door of his room, and tried not to grimace as he reached into his pocket and retrieved the key card. He inserted the card into the lock and quickly removed it. The small light changed from red to green. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door. His small room had been made up since he had left that morning. His belongings gathered together and placed on the dresser next to the TV. Jack walked in and shut the door, while Ted made his way towards the bathroom. He stopped in front of the mirror which covered the wall next to the bathroom and began to remove his shirt. Ted methodically unbuttoned his shirt, and stared intently at the holes in the front as he did. The front completely unbuttoned, he unbuttoned the sleeves and then carefully removed his shirt. He held it up the light and inspected the numerous holes ripped through the front, before he tossed it into the trash can next to the wall. He looked intently at the holes that had punctured into his bullet proof vest. As Jack watched in amazement, Ted began to dig one of the bullets out of the vest. To get it free, he finally had to tear it loose. He held it up to the light. The once missile shaped projectile had flattened into a lead mushroom. Its copper jacket was ripped to shreds and hung off of it like a frightening propeller designed to shred human flesh.

  “Jacketed hollow point.” Ted said.

  “Thank God it wasn’t a full jacket.” Jack offered. He knew that many officers were killed every year by such ammunition, regardless of whether they wore body armor or not. Hollow points and other light ammo would spread out on impact, which allowed the specially treated Kevlar mesh to catch the bullet before it could ever enter into the body. Heavy loads most often would penetrate deeper, but they too would mushroom out and allow the body armor to do its job. Heavy loads covered with a full outer shell of copper or some harder metal often penetrated completely, leaving a protected officer dead. Kevlar was a wonderful material, but even it couldn’t stop everything. Ted began to undo the Velcro straps which held his vest in place, and tossed it into the trash as well. Jack watched in amazement as he saw the reddened welts that covered Ted’s side, and felt for him. Though he had never been shot, with or without a bullet proof vest on, Jack knew that the pain had to be immense. He had heard that often when one was shot, the numbness from the impact actually covered up the intense pain from the bullet itself. They said that when you were wore body armor and were shot, it was like you had been hit with a ball peen hammer. Even though the bullet may not penetrate the armor, it still came to a painfully abrupt stop, that often resulted in broken or fractured ribs. Ted had been lucky.

  He changed shirts, and they reloaded their weapons, and soon were on the way to Tracey’s house. Ted cautioned Jack to drive slowly. A traffic stop for speeding would be a major problem in a stolen military vehicle. He parked down the street. They made their way stealthily past the parked vehicles in the driveway, and headed towards the backyard. As they passed the living-room window, Jack peeked in. He was barely able to make out the figures inside. Bella and Brandon sat on the couch, as Bella hugged a large bowl of popcorn. He could hear the booming chorus of music that was inherent to all ‘B’ class horror movies, and smiled slightly as he realized that Mike slowly snuck up on the kids from behind. Suddenly a look of horror spread over his face, as he realized what Mike was about to do. He would scare them and they would start to scream. These would be the same screams that would wake up his other self that sat asleep across the street from the house. He had mistimed when the attacks had actually occurred. It would happen at any moment.

  Jack grabbed Ted by the shoulder, and as Ted saw the look on Jack’s face, it answered all of the questions that had popped into his mind. They hurried to the gate that led to the backyard. Ted tried the gate, but it was locked. Jack budged past him, and tried it again, but to no avail. Jack realized that Tracey must have added a lock after he had left. He raised his foot and kicked the gate, but the gate didn’t give at all. Suddenly, inside, Jack could hear the muffled screams of his daughter and son. Mike had gotten to them, scared them, and now they screamed hysterically. Jack knew that his other self would be startled awake at any second. Jack kicked the gate again, as he tried his best to open it. Again the gate held fast. He looked at Ted with a questioning look, and hoped that his friend might have some answer. They glanced around. There was no place to get a foothold to climb over, and nothing to stand on. Suddenly, as the sound of someone banging on the front door echoed around the corner, Ted clasped his hands together, and created a stirrup to boost Jack over the gate. Jack didn’t hesitate. He placed his foot in Ted’s interlaced hands and leapt upwards as Ted heaved him up and over the gate.

  Jack somersaulted over the gate, without a trace of grace, and landed flat on his back in the backyard. He grimaced in pain, as he tried to get his breath. In the distance he could still hear the pounding on the front door, and was glad at least that he wasn’t too late. He leapt to his feet and ran to the rear of the house, and took the three stairs that led up onto the rear deck in a single bound. He crossed the deck in less than a second, and paused to briefly look through the French doors that led into the living-room. Everyone was still there, and still alive.

  Jack came to the window which was at the end of the hallway, and looked through. He could see the front door. The hallway was empty. Down the hallway and through the single glass pane at the top of the front door, he could see his other self as he frantically tried to open the door and failed. Jack drew his gun and leaned against the frame of the window. His thumb slid the safety lock off as he prepared to fire. He knew that he might have only one brief shot at Smith. Probably when he hit the other Jack over the head. But that’s that all Jack needed. Just one shot. He would have to make it count.

  Suddenly the door flung open and the other Jack entered the house. Jack watched in amazement as simultaneously the hall closet door began to open behind him. Smith stepped out of the closet. He slowly raised his arm above his head. He slammed his gun down into the back of the other Jack’s head, and sent him to the ground. Jack squeezed the trigger of his semi-automatic. The sound deafened him, as the glass of the window exploded inwards and flame shot three feet into the house. Jack’s hands and arms were covered with falling shards of glass as the smoke from the gunshot began to clear. The house echoed with screams, and Jack realized in horror that Smith was no where to be seen. In a panic, he backed up from the window, tiny bits of glass fell from his clothes as he did. In fear of the worst he went back to the glass French doors and saw as Mike struggled with Smith in the living-room. Smith’s gun was up in the air as both men fought to control it. Jack reached out with his left hand, his empty hand, and tried to open the door. Locked. Again, his own security measures had slowed him down. He backed up and lunged at the door. He crashed through in a cloud of glass, wood, and curtain sheers, and tumbled to t
he floor. He fought his way loose from the tangled mess, and ignored the newly obtained scrapes and cuts that had already began to ooze blood. As he rose up to his feet, gun in hand, Smith’s weapon fired into the ceiling.

  Across the room, Tracey huddled closely with the kids as they tried to climb further into the couch. They were pinned down, with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Mike still fought with Smith, and they were so intertwined that Jack couldn’t get a clear shot. The gun fired again, and Jack finally saw a clear shot at Smith and fired. Smith’s gun again fired into the ceiling, as it ejected an empty shell at Tracey and the kids who cowered with fright. Smith fell backwards towards the entrance from the hallway, just as Ted ran up the hall from the front door. Smith landed heavily on the carpeted floor. His gun fell beside him. The acrid smell of burnt gun powder filled the air, along with the hysterical sobs of Bella and Brandon. Tracey was too shocked to scream, but instead hovered over her children, as a protective shield, though her insides shook like jelly. Jack ran to Tracey, and hugged her and both of the kids. Finally, he had saved them. It was over.

  “Look out, Jack!” He heard Ted scream as another shot came from Smith’s gun, and slammed into the couch just inches from Jack’s head. Jack snapped his head around. Smith stood in the living-room entrance, his arm around Ted’s neck, and his gun aimed at Jack.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. King. Cat got your tongue?” Smith said matter-of-factly. Jack’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour as he tried to reason out how Smith could still be alive. “Missed me? Did you?” He said cryptically as he pushed Ted towards the couch.

  “You shit!” Ted said.

  “Ah...ah...ah. Leave the gun here. Drop it before I drop you." Ted looked down and saw that he still held his gun. He dropped it at his feet.

  “What do you want?” Jack asked.

  “You, evidently. I thought that the mother loving bastard in the corner was my target.” He said, pointing towards Mike who was slumped against the wall beside the couch. He wasn’t hurt, not physically anyway. “But, now I see it was you. Quite a family resemblance that you two share. Brothers?” Smith asked.

  “Fuck you!” Jack said, as he spat the words at Smith.

  “Now, now, Mr. King. Is that any way for a father to act?” Ted sat next to Tracey on the couch. He moved slowly as he tried to not alarm Smith. As he sat down he saw that Jack still held his own gun, hidden from Smith’s view, as he held his wife. Ted looked up into Jack’s eyes. Jack stared at Smith coldly.

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “Why?” Smith answered, as he repeated the question. He appeared honestly confused by it. “Oh. Why all this?” Smith asked as he gestured towards the group huddled on the couch. “That’s beyond your ability to comprehend, Mr. King. Money, maybe?” He offered. “Maybe at one time, it was all about the money." He said as he smiled. The overhead light glistened off of his bald head. “The root of all evil, and all that rot. Oh it’s much more complicated than that I assure you. You might even say…it’s divine.” He laughed.

  “Who’s paying you? Who ordered this? Who wants my family dead?” Jack demanded.

  “Yes. There will be money. There will be payment.” Smith said. “And, what? It’s time for your life to come to an end and you just think I will spill my guts to you. You watch too many movies, Mr. King. My employer is my business. And yours, now, is to die.” With that said, Smith began to raise his gun again.

  Suddenly, Ted launched himself off of the couch, and lunged for the entrance to the hallway. Smith fired. Jack leapt to his feet and brought his own gun up and fired. Smith’s tall frame lurched backwards. He fought to regain his balance as Jack began to approach him. Jack fired again, and the bullet ripped another hole in the man’s shirt right above the last. Again he stepped closer. No blood poured from the holes. Jack realized that Smith wore body armor, as he fired again, and again, a hole ripped into the cloth next to the other holes. Jack fired again at almost point blank range. The impact slammed Smith against the wall. Smith slumped, apparently unconscious against the wall and Jack fired yet again into the man’s battered chest. Jack kicked away the gun that had been in Smith’s hand.

  “Ted? You okay?" Jack called out, as Ted walked back into the room. He rubbed his shoulder where he had landed.

  “I’m getting too old for this, Jack.” He said as Jack walked towards him.

  “Jack!” Tracey screamed and Jack whirled around to face Smith again, who was not unconscious but fumbled with a small revolver that he pulled from his ankle. Without hesitation Jack fired. Smith’s head snapped back and slammed against the wall, as a small neat hole appeared just above Smith’s left eyebrow. His body slumped over, and slid down the wall. A red smear was left behind his head. The brass shell ejected from Jack’s gun, and flew across the room. The slide locked back, he was out of ammunition. Jack released the slide and holstered his weapon. He turned back towards Ted.

  “You’re not too old. Just out of practice." Jack turned back to his family, but Ted grabbed him by the arm. Jack turned to him with a perplexed look on his face.

  “I think you need to see this.” Ted said as he led him towards the hallway. Jack followed, and as he rounded the corner, he realized why Ted hadn’t said what it was that he needed to see. Prone on the floor by the front door, was his other self. As Jack approached him he began to stir. Jack knelt down beside him, and wondered what he would say. How he would explain that everything was now fine. He reached his hand out to his fallen persona and touched him softly on the shoulder. Blue sparks flew from his fingertips, and Jack yanked his hand back as a jolt of electricity seized his arm. Before his very eyes, the one small spark spread like wildfire over his other self, and then in an instant, the other man was gone. No trace that he had even been there existed. Jack ran to the open front door and looked out across the street to where his other self’s car had been parked earlier, but now the street was empty. He turned back to Ted.

  “How?” He asked.

  “You think I know? More to the point...does it matter? If you ever see Einstein, ask him.” Jack grabbed him carefully on the shoulder and hugged him briefly. He had been there, throughout it all, and he was right. It didn’t matter what had happened to the other Jack King. He was from the future, but was also from Jack’s past. This paradox had enfolded itself, and ceased to exist. Jack had already decided that some things were not meant to be known. Before his experience with time travel, he had mulled incessantly over one episode in his life. Then he had become obsessed with the death of his family. Now, finally, he had begun to realize that nothing is forever. That to focus on one thing, one event, one time, was illogical and unreal. Time could be changed. Events could be corrected. He remembered a plaque that Tracey had hung in their bedroom, that had a relevant saying engraved upon its marble face.

  ‘God, give me the strength to change the things that I must change,

  The serenity to accept the things that I cannot change,

  And the wisdom, to know the difference.’

  He had been given the strength to face his family’s death, not once, not even twice, but three times. Until finally he had prevailed and beaten the odds, stopped the murderer, and removed Smith. If asked before his journey began if he could have done so much, he wasn’t sure if he could honestly answered yes, that he could have. But as far as the serenity to accept what he could not change, that he did not have, and doubted if he could ever just accept something that happened. But his biggest downfall, at least from this day forward, would be to have the wisdom to know the difference. No matter how much influence that he thought he might actually have over the events of his life before, now he would never be able to forget that anything could be changed. Time travel, even in its present one dimensional, one way, one time fashion, had changed everything.

  Chapter 31