“That’s pretty impressive. You nearly got me too. I guess I’ll have to find a different way to deal with him next time.”
“I don’t think there will be a next time.” Hardy said resignedly.
“Don’t give up on me you bastard. I don’t want to find out what happens if one of us dies.” Lovelle shouted.
Hardy didn’t say anything for a long moment and Lovelle was about to speak, then Hardy asked, “Why aren’t you dead? I shot you in the back of the head.” He sounded as if he felt cheated.
“What…” Lovelle reached up and felt for the first time all the blood on the back of his head. “Oh. No, you dumb ass. You shot me in the shoulder. I just hit my head on a rock or something when I fell.” He laughed. “Come to think of it, they both hurt like hell.”
“What are you planning to do, just push me out the door when we get to hospital? You can’t go in there like that and think you’re going to just walk out.” He was fading again.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure your crazy ass lives. You ought to know that about me by now.”
“Of course, you’re right. I sometimes forget who I’m dealing with. I …” Hardy trailed off.
“Hey!” Lovelle shouted. “Hey! Wake up!” he started to reach for the man, then something came over him like a wave. He lost control of the car and fortunately only plowed over a road sign before slamming onto the brakes and skidding to a halt.
The sensation was both physical and mental. If Lovelle were a religious man at all he might have described it as spiritual. Physically he had the simultaneous feeling of asphyxia, vertigo, and claustrophobia. The latter was so intense that he burst out of his car in a panic. He tried to stand, but, disorientation caused him to tumble to the ground. Involuntarily his hand grasped at his throat, although somewhere inside he knew that he was not actually suffocating. He struggled again to stand, but could not rise from his knees.
And while this physical battle with his own mind and body raged, he was overwhelmed by an emotional feeling of loss. Something beyond anything a person could stand. A heartbreaking sensation even more acute than that gut wrenching moment when had realized that his little son Kyle had been erased from existence. It was as if all of the loss he had ever faced was being visited upon him at the same time. And this emotional wrenching was somehow even more debilitating than the physical trauma he was experiencing. He had the idea that if he survived the physical assault; he would lose his mind entirely in the face of such despair.
Amid this turmoil, Lovelle could perceive a series of thoughts racing through his mind. They were not his own thoughts. He somehow sensed that these were being projected to him. And that the transmission of these thoughts was the cause of his trauma. Or that maybe the trauma was the very purpose of the transmittal. Maybe this was execution by brain wave. With his brain on psycho somatic overload he could not focus on the thoughts. It was like trying to read by the light of a distant flickering candle. For a brief moment he felt he might grasp an idea as it passed through his consciousness, but only dimly. Yet, despite the vagueness of his perception, Lovelle felt a growing understanding of their meaning. And by the time the terror of the attack left him, just as suddenly as it had gripped him, he knew that Hardy had been right. The Skippers had been the obstacle keeping time from moving on. It was equally clear to him that he was now the last. Whether that was a curse or a blessing was far less clear.
The attack had lasted a grueling nine minutes and a few seconds. It had seemed more like an hour to Lovelle and he was entirely unclear how long he had been writhing on the ground while Bin Laden’s guards were undoubtedly searching for him. He tried to rise but found firm hands resisting his efforts. A gentle voice spoke to him in Arabic, a language Lovelle had learned long ago in his effort to thwart 9/11. “You mustn’t. You are hurt. I will get help for you.”
Lovelle shrugged the man off. And answered gruffly, “I’m fine.”
“But, your companion?” the man pleaded, gesturing towards Hardy’s lifeless body in the open car.
“It’s too late for him.” Lovelle answered trying to push past the insistent man.
“Please?” The man pleaded. ‘You need assistance.”
Unsure if Bin Laden’s men might come barreling down the street at any moment, Lovelle withdrew the Colt 1911 and waved the gun, not menacingly, but in a dismissive motion, indicating that the man should move away. “Go away, I don’t need any help.” The man finally backed away and Lovelle drove off. He had the map of Khartoum committed to memory, and now that his head was clear he escaped town quickly and without further incident.
***
Lovelle had also been shot during his first assassination in Sudan, so this was familiar territory. Once out of Khartoum, he stopped to dump Hardy’s body unceremoniously in the desert and then bandaged his wounds. He then headed straight for the doctor in Asmara who had stitched him up so discreetly the last time. He was surprised to find that he remembered exactly where to go, considering it had been seven lives since his previous visit. He knocked on the door and the man answered quickly. “Yes, what do you want?”
Lovelle thought it was pretty obvious what he needed, but he answered. “I need you to take care of my injuries.”
“You’ve got the wrong place. I’m sorry.” The doctor tried to shut the door, but, Lovelle’s foot was there. He had slipped it into the crack the moment the door was opened, just in case.
“Mr. Kassam sent me.” Lovelle invoked the name of the black market trader who had originally brought him here. The doctor hesitated just long enough for recognition to be evident on his face.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He looked down at Lovelle’s foot. “Please?” He indicated that the foot should be withdrawn. Lovelle realized that he had broken protocol in coming without an escort. He wasn’t sure what he could do now. If he went back to Kassam he would be caught in his lie. Kassam would want to know where he’d gotta the doctor’s address, since Kassam certainly hadn’t given it to him in this life. Lovelle decided cash was his best bet. He knew what the man had charged him the last time. For men like this, money was a great motivator. He would offer him five times that original sum.
“I’ve got cash. U.S. dollars.” He pulled a money clip stuffed with hundred dollar bills. He pealed off the money and shoved it into the man’s hand. The doctor looked at the cash in his hand and then at the money clip. Lovelle could see this was just going to be question of how much. He peeled off a couple more bills and wordlessly handed them over.
“Come in.” the man said, pulling the door wide.
Seeing how the doctor eyed his wad of cash, and having no escort to watch over him, Lovelle decided to forgoe any sort of anesthetic. He also kept his hand at the butt of his gun through the entire agonizing procedure. He was not some prototypical tough guy who was oblivious to pain. He would go out of his way to avoid it if at all possible. But, he would also endure it if it was necessary.
In no time he was patched up and ready to return home. A home that he would view differently than before. This was a world full of potential now. For the first time in many, many years he believed with some confidence that the things he did in this life might just become permanent. It added weight to his decisions like he hadn’t previously known. As much as he had tried to act as though time might move on in each life, he had been gradually, imperceptibly, losing that conviction. Now that it was back he could see the stark difference.
Chapter 21
Suddenly faced with hope for the future, a thing he had lost much of almost as soon as he had learned that he wasn’t the only Skipper, Lovelle did not know what to do with himself. He would go see his parents of course. He was so sorry to have put them through so much. It disturbed him to think that this life, where their son had disappeared one night and did not return for seven years, would be their permanent one. He wasn’t sure he could ever adequately explain why he had gone. But he would try.
He had work to complete as a vigilante as well. More than ever he knew that he wanted those killers and predators permanently erased. He even felt some level of regret that he hadn’t worked harder to identify more targets now that their permanent removal seemed to be at hand. He had been working at such a furious pace that there was not much left to do. If he kept at it that way he could be free of that burden in a year or two. Or, he could spread the job out so much that it might go totally unnoticed by the people around him. Either way, he needed to decide what kind of life he wanted to have when and if he lived past October of 2003.
Before he tended to anything else, there was going to be a homecoming. After landing in New York, Lovelle didn’t even bother going to his Atlantic City apartment. He’d slept well on the plane and would be driving straight through to Detroit. His van was a roving home base and was always provisioned with essentials. He had food, clothing and toiletries to supplement his luggage, not to mention plenty of cash. Nothing was more essential to improvisation during a mission than a ready supply of money. The last thing he ever wanted to happen was to fail a mission or get into trouble because he didn’t have enough cash to carry out his plans. This was especially true since he was so adept at making it.
Once home, he knew that the biggest need he would be facing was a story. He’d skated around that problem for years, but, he had never given it his real attention. He had treated it like he had come to treat most problems revolving around non-Skippers, as temporary. As much as tried not to, he had become accustomed to the idea that whatever befell them was subject to a do-over. The skip was a cosmic reset button that erased the consequences of his actions, for better or worse. He never treated them with impunity, because he had no idea when time would move on. But, he spent less and less time worrying about them as the skips continued.
Lovelle had maintained contact with his parents during his absence, but, little more than to let them know he was still alive. The closest he had come to an explanation was in the letter he’d sent with his father’s gun, where he had told them not to blame themselves. That wouldn’t suffice now. He wanted to be a part of their lives again, and they would want a plausible explanation. They would need some tale that would not only explain why he had left, but, would give them reason to believe that he would now stay. The story he settled on was fantastic. Maybe too fantastic to be believed. But then, he thought that maybe a story that was a bit outrageous was what they needed to hear. Even if it engendered them with a little doubt, it might make it easier for them to accept what had happened. Accepting his story would allow them to forgive him, and remove any lingering guilt they might be harboring. And he was sure they continued to wonder if there was something they had done to cause his departure. Despite the utter lack of evidence of their culpability, and his proclamation of their innocence, it would be entirely natural for doubt to linger. That was simply part of being a parent.
***
Not looking to stage some dramatic scene, Lovelle called ahead and told his mother that he was on his way. In fact, thinking it might forestall any overly emotional outpouring, he suggested that they meet for dinner. They were waiting for him when he arrived. “Hi.” was all he said as his mother embraced him.
“Oh Curtis, thank God” she said in his ear. Looking over her shoulder he saw tears welling up in his father’s eyes and he began to sob himself. His mother let him go and he reached out to shake his dad’s hand. His dad grasped it and pulled him in for a hug of his own.
They were interrupted by the hostess who showed them to a booth in their favorite Chinese restaurant. Lovelle made a show of sniffing at the air. “Mmmm! Detroit Chinese food. I haven’t had a decent eggroll in sooo long!”
“Where have you been living?” His father asked. “You’re letters seem to come from all over the place.”
Lovelle had purposely posted his letters from the road while traveling to and from his missions. “Mostly Atlantic City.” He answered the question they had asked him each time he had ventured to call home, and which he had always ignored. He hadn’t wanted to lie, so he’d remained mute on the subject.
“Atlanta city. Huh?” His dad smiled a little. “I’ve always preferred Las Vegas.”
Me too Lovelle thought, but didn’t say. “I’m not there enough for it to matter, I guess.”
“So, are you coming home now?” His mother asked with a bit of the attitude he’d seen when he had come to see his dad in the hospital in the last life.
“Yeah.” He paused, “I’ve got to go back and clear out my apartment and stuff, but I’m moving back to Michigan. I’m done hiding.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing? Hiding? Hiding from who? From us?” His mother’s tearful reaction to their reunion had been supplanted by her pent up anger over his unexplained absence.
“Not from you. But yeah, hiding and running. But, that’s over now.”
“Why?”
“Because the person I’ve been running from is dead. He caught up to me. Nearly got me. But he’s a John Doe in a Mexican morgue now.” Lovelle took off his ball cap and revealed the bald patch and stitches. “He did give me a couple of souvenirs.” He stretched his t shirt and showed them the nasty exit wound in his shoulder. The move caused him to wince in pain.
“Oh my God, Curtis!” His mom’s face contorted in a mix of concern and horror.
“Damn son. What the hell?” his dad asked.
“It’s okay Mom. I’ll be fine. It hurts, but, it’s nothing compared to what I’ve been living through and expecting. I’ll take a bullet wound in the shoulder to have it all be over.”
“A bullet?” His mom’s look of shock deepened.
“Oh… Yeah. This is the exit wound. That’s why it’s such a mess. The bastard shot me in the back. Excuse my language. The head’s just where I fell on a rock. Luckily, he thought I was already dead, so I was able to shoot back.”
“What about the police?” His father questioned.
“They don’t know anything about me. I was probably back in the States before the body was even found. I finally got tired of running, so I went down there for a confrontation. I thought maybe I could get the upper hand, but, it didn’t work out that way. I got lucky anyhow, so it all worked out. He’s dead and everyone is going to think he got in a gun fight with some Mexican drug pusher or something.”
“How did you get patched up without the police finding out?” His father asked.
“When you live underground like I’ve been doing, you learn about people who work off the books, for the right price.”
“Who was he? Why was he chasing a kid across the country?” His mom took up the questioning.
“I don’t really know who he was. Just some psychopath out for revenge. I interrupted him while he was doing something wrong, and he decided that it was just cause for a vendetta. I was on my way home from work one night and I saw this guy drag a woman into the shadows between a pair of buildings. I turned around and parked so my headlights were shining on them. I don’t know what he was going to do to her, but, I’m sure it wasn’t anything pleasant. The guy just stood there staring at me and holding her by the hair, like I was supposed to be intimidated and leave him alone to do whatever he had in mind. When I realized he wasn’t going to just let her go, I got out of the car. I’m not sure if I could have done anything to stop him if I had to, but, when he realized I wasn’t going to back off he let her go. I guess since my headlights were shining in his face, he couldn’t see me well enough to know whether I was a threat. When he just walked around to the back of the building and disappeared, I figured it was over. I thought about going to the police, but, since I never got much of a look at him, and the woman had disappeared too, I didn’t know what good it would do. I never thought I’d see him again, but, he had other ideas. I guess that old Alpha Romeo wasn’t too hard to find. When I got to work a few days later, he was waiting across the street. He didn’t do anything other than wave to me to let me know he was there, but, it was obvio
us he intended to intimidate me. He was there again each time I came and went for a few days. Then one day he decided that just staring at me wasn’t enough. He was sitting on my car when I came out. Nobody was with me that day, so I was pretty scared, but, there were a lot of witnesses around. I went to the car and asked him what he wanted. He told me he wanted the same thing I did, to be left alone. But, that it was too late for that, so he was going to let me see just how it feels to have someone sticking there nose into your personal business. He hadn’t followed me home yet, and I didn’t want him to get the chance. I left the next day.
“He’s been following me around the country ever since. For a long time it seemed like he was satisfied just disrupting my life. After a while I stopped running when I saw him. Then finally I decided not to leave town when he found me. So one day he took a shot at me. I wasn’t sure if he meant to kill me or just to get me running again. Maybe he was angry that I was more or less ignoring him. Or maybe he was just bored with me. I didn’t hang around to find out.
He took another pop at me the next time I saw him. That was a few weeks back, in Atlantic City. So I hatched my plan to lure him to Mexico. I don’t know how he always managed to track me down. But this time I left some big clues. And he showed up, just like I wanted. Only he saw me first, and I’ve got these to show for it.” Lovelle touched each of his wounds.
The story was ridiculous, he knew. But, he said it like it was the gospel. His whole life was a lie, and he sold this whopper like an expert. And they bought it. Not only because he so clearly meant it, but, because to disbelieve him meant to think something about their newly returned offspring that no parent wants to think.
Time Skip (Book 2): The Time Skippers Page 20
