Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "Did he ask a lot about me, or you guys?" wondered Dave, working to sound as casual as he could. "You know...did he seem really curious?"

  "Why do you ask?" said Mom.

  "Well," Dave said sheepishly, "sometimes people try to dig up dirt on you, y'know? They try to find things out so they can tease you about them later."

  "Oh, I see," Ann Heinrich smiled knowingly. "No, he didn't ask to see your baby pictures, if that's what you mean. We didn't say anything that would embarrass you."

  "Uh, what did you tell him, then?" pressed Dave.

  "Not much," shrugged Dad. "He really didn't ask a lot of questions. We just talked about the steakhouse, and how much he likes the area, and the different places he's been to."

  "You talked about the mill a little," offered Mom. "That always seems to come up, though," she added, glancing meaningfully at her husband, a touch of exasperation in her tone.

  "Oh, I just told him how I got laid-off," Dad qualified. "He said he used to work in a mill in Ohio, and he was laid-off, too. And I don't talk about it that much, Ann."

  "Whatever you say," sighed Ann.

  "Did he want to know a lot about where you're working now?" asked Dave.

  "No, not really," shrugged Dad, fiddling with one of the buttons of his pajama top. "I mentioned that I work at the church, and that was about it. He didn't ask much about it."

  Dave was becoming frustrated; he wasn't learning anything of importance from his parents' report, anything that might suggest the nature of Larry's hypothetical "flash." "Did you tell him about your job?" he asked his mother.

  "I told him I work at the bottling plant," said Mom. "That was it."

  "So, what else did you talk about?" asked Dave.

  "Pretty much just what we've told you," replied Dad.

  "Boy," frowned Mom. "You really seem interested in every word we said. Is there some kind of problem with this guy? Is he really nosy or something?"

  "No no," Dave answered hastily. "I was just curious about what he had to say, that's all."

  "I didn't think he seemed nosy," observed Dad. "He just struck me as a nice guy."

  "Yeah," nodded Dave. "He is a nice guy."

  For a moment, Ann Heinrich studied her son, perhaps trying to determine if he was hiding something from her; then, she shrugged. "Well, anyway, we've told you everything that we talked about," she said, swinging her feet from the sofa to the floor. "That's really all there was." Rising, she straightened the folds of her robe, tightened the sash.

  "All right," nodded Dave, realizing that his fruitless inquiry had reached its finish. He knew that if he continued to pester Mom and Dad, they would grow more suspicious; he didn't want to make his parents worry, especially since it was possible that there were no clues to be unearthed.

  "Well, then," said Ann Heinrich. "I think we should all get some sleep. I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

  "Yeah," grunted Bob, boosting himself out of the recliner. "I'm pooped, too. I've gotta' get up early for work tomorrow."

  "I guess one of us doesn't have to wake up early, anyway," said Mom. "It must be nice to be able to sleep in."

  "Oh yeah," said Dave. "I'm looking forward to it."

  "Well, good night," smiled Dad, ambling past Dave, clapping him on the shoulder before proceeding down the hallway.

  "G'night," said Dave, managing a smile though he was consumed with worry and confusion.

  What could he do? He'd learned nothing from speaking with his mother and father, nothing about Larry's reason for coming to the house. Now, for all that he knew, one or both of his parents might be doomed, or his brother, or he himself. His entire family might be headed for disaster, and it might happen at any time...and he could very well be helpless to prevent it.

  What could he do? He needed to know more, find some kind of clue, but he had no idea of where to turn next.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Maybe, someone else had witnessed Larry's visit.

  "Uh, Mom?" he said as Ann Heinrich walked toward him. "Is Jeff around?"

  "Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "He's out with his friends somewhere. He was supposed to be back by now, but you know your brother."

  "I see," nodded Dave, and then he got to the point: "Did he get to meet Larry? Was he here when Larry stopped by?"

  "No," said Mom. "I haven't seen him since he ran out the door after supper."

  "Oh," said Dave, disappointed that his last hope of getting information had proven groundless. "Okay. Thanks."

  "G'night then," said Mom, moving past him. Dave listened as her slippers scuffed over the carpet, whispering away from him, and then he heard his parents' bedroom door click shut.

  With that, he was left alone in the living room.

  There were four explanations that he could think of to justify Larry's visit.

  Maybe, Larry had come to the house to bid farewell, to say goodbye on his way out of town.

  Maybe, he'd come for the nonexistent video, the fictional record of his appearance at Mr. Martin's house the night of Tom's suicide.

  Perhaps, he'd been seeking Dave's help in averting some tragedy predicted in a "flash."

  Or, maybe, Larry had experienced a vision involving all or part of Dave's family, and his visit had been a prelude to terrible things to come.

  From what little his parents had told him, Dave couldn't guess which explanation carried the most weight. Of the quartet of possibilities, he liked the fourth the least...and yet, because it was the most ominous, the most dangerous, he pinpointed it, singled it out for the most attention.

  If Larry had indeed glimpsed a tragic event in the Heinrich family's future, Dave would probably be helpless to prevent it. Even if he found out what the crisis would be, he doubted that he could nullify it; according to the restrictions that Larry had described, the strange laws governing his prophecies, Dave was hamstrung, unable to effect change. He knew of Larry's psychic powers, and that in itself rendered him useless. In addition, he was a close relation of the people who might be victims...if he wasn't a victim himself; Larry had said that family of those whom he saw in his "flashes" usually couldn't change things.

  Though he was disturbed by the thought that he might be helpless in the event of a predestined calamity, Dave was most upset by his total lack of information about what might be coming. If Larry had forecast a disaster, Dave had no way of knowing its nature; he was completely in the dark, unable to guess at what sort of doom might be hurtling his way. Without a clue to what shape the tragedy might take, he wouldn't even be able to try to stop it, couldn't make a desperate attempt to avert it.

  Anything could happen, at any time, anywhere, to anyone. Disaster could strike like a sudden, fierce storm, and Dave wouldn't recognize the storm until it hit; until something finally happened...if it happened...he would know only that there was a chance that destructive forces were on the way.

  Dave dropped his knapsack to the floor and slumped into the recliner. Propping an elbow on an arm of the chair, he placed a hand against his sweaty brow and tried to figure out what he could do next.

  He wanted to watch over his family, try to protect them from what might be coming, but he realized that would be next to impossible. Though he could stay awake all night and guard his mother and father while they slept, his brother was still out roaming. Dave had no idea where Jeff might be, and he couldn't afford to search for the teenager; if he left the house, his mother and father would be vulnerable-though he didn't doubt that they were vulnerable even with him there-and anyway, there was no guarantee that he could locate Jeff even if he tried.

  If Jeff returned safely, and the family made it through the night without incident, how could Dave hope to shepherd them safely through the day to come? Once they awoke the next morning-if they awoke-the Heinrichs would scatter like birds from a gunshot, swooping off in different directions. Ann would race off to work at the bottling plant; her husband would hurry to the church to begin his day's custodial labors; Je
ff would zip off to Highland High School. With the family divided, Dave wouldn't be able to guard each potential victim, wouldn't be able to watch their every movement for every minute of the day, as he knew that he must. He could shuttle from one place to the next, dart from the bottling plant to the church, from the church to the school, from the school back to the bottling plant; he could spend the entire day in transit, checking on each member of his family in succession, running around town in a frenzy...and yet, he couldn't be with everyone all the time. For extended periods, his mother and father and brother would be out of his sight.

  What could he do? How could he hope to protect his family, and himself, from what might be coming, when he had no idea from what direction it might come? Would he have to spend his next days speeding madly around town, chasing each member of his family, praying that he would be in the right place at the right time? What if the very act of trying to ward off danger was the thing which would lead him to disaster?

  Teeth clenched, features crumpled in a strained grimace, Dave tried to come up with a plan. Desperately, he struggled to think of a way to protect his family, ward off whatever catastrophe might be approaching.

  As hard as he tried, he couldn't produce an idea of any merit. Every thought that he followed eventually led to a dead-end. Without knowing whom the disaster might strike, when, where, or how it might materialize, he couldn't formulate a strategy to neutralize it. He simply didn't know enough, didn't even know if there would be a calamity.

  That was the whole problem: he didn't know enough. If he knew for sure that there was an impending peril, and he was aware of its nature, perhaps he could do something about it. Larry had had some success in manipulating people to change the future that he saw in his visions; maybe, Dave could do the same thing, turn an unsuspecting friend to the task...if only he knew more about what was coming.

  Dave needed more information, and he realized that the only way that he could get it would be to confront Larry. In order to learn the truth, Dave would have to seek out the psychic and stage a new interrogation.

  Briefly, Dave considered leaving immediately, driving to Larry's place and demanding a full report. He quickly rejected the idea; he didn't want to leave the house and his parents unguarded, exposed to whatever danger might be waiting to spring.

  He considered telephoning Larry; he'd memorized the number that he'd seen in Larry's file, the number that Larry had said belonged to the bar beneath his room. If he did call, however, Dave might not be able to reach Larry, for it was possible that he'd already skipped town. Even if he got in touch with the guy, Dave might not be able to wrest any information from him; Larry was such a tough nut to crack, Dave doubted that he would easily dispense sensitive data over the phone. Most likely, Dave believed, the only way to get Larry to say anything would be to badger him face to face.

  Still, the way that things now stood, Dave didn't know how he could initiate a face-to-face meeting. Certainly, he couldn't risk abandoning his parents tonight, and he might have to spend his next days chasing the family around town. Unless the psychic came to him, Dave might not be able to question him in person.

  Try as he might, Dave couldn't think of a way to seek answers from Larry without jeopardizing his family. It would be impossible enough to be in three places at once, trying to watch over his brother, father, and mother; he didn't see how he could also manage to be in a fourth place, tracking down Larry Smith. Operating alone, he couldn't do everything.

  He realized that he needed to get help. He couldn't do everything alone; he needed someone to aid him in combating the nightmare.

  With someone else on his side, he might stand a chance of fending off a catastrophe. A partner would double his ability to keep track of the family; a partner might also provide crucial input, see the situation from a different perspective, come up with a plan that Dave wouldn't have conceived on his own. At the very least, a helper could guard the family while Dave hunted down the psychic and squeezed vital information out of him.

  Dave didn't have a difficult time deciding on a candidate. Billy Bristol was scrappy and quick-witted, gutsy and sharp; there was no one else whom Dave would rather have backing him up in a time of trouble.

  A while ago, Dave had partially confided in his friend, told him some of his suspicions regarding Larry; he hadn't divulged the most persuasive evidence, however-Boris' suicide attempt-and Billy had scoffed at the notion that Larry was psychic. Dave felt sure that once he told Billy about what had happened with Boris, once he detailed Larry's confession and his involvement with Ernie's parents and Mr. Martin, Billy wouldn't be able to scoff. If he rolled out the whole story, held nothing back, Dave believed that he could convince Billy of Larry's true nature and talk him into wholeheartedly helping in the fight.

  Of course, by telling Billy everything, by making him aware of Larry's talents, Dave would probably reduce his pal's effectiveness. Possessing full knowledge of the psychic's abilities, Billy might not be able to interfere directly in the chain of events which might be coming. Still, Dave decided that it would be worth the risk to bring Billy into the fray; he desperately needed assistance, no matter how limited it might be, and he knew that he would feel a lot better if he had someone else on his side.

  Abandoning the recliner, he hurried to the kitchen and snatched the receiver from the phone on the wall. As he punched the buttons on the phone, he prayed that Billy was home, that he would swiftly answer the call.

  Dave heard a click, then a ring on the line.

  There was a second ring, and a third...then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth. With each new ring, Dave lost a bit more hope that Billy Bristol would answer the call.

  After the twelfth ring, Dave hung up. Dejectedly, he plodded from the kitchen and slumped back into the recliner.

  Face buried in his hands, he hunched in the darkened living room. Sweating and shivering, he tried to clear his mind, subdue the fearful images of doom and death that filled him; he failed miserably. He couldn't help but conjure scenarios, imagine the terrible events which might unfold at any moment.

  Heart pounding, head spinning, Dave struggled to think of something that he could do next, some step that he could take to deal with the crisis. He had no luck.

  In the end, the only thing that he could think of to do was wait. He could see no other option: he couldn't take action to avert the disaster which he feared, for he didn't know enough about it, didn't even know if it existed; he couldn't seek information from Larry Smith, for he dared not leave his parents unprotected; since he didn't want to leave the house, he couldn't track down his brother and ensure his safety; and he couldn't immediately confer with Billy, since he wasn't answering his phone. All that Dave could do for now was wait...wait and pray.

  He would stay up all night, watching over his parents, waiting for a danger which might or might not threaten them. He would wait for his brother to get home, pray that he would get home, then stand guard over him as well. He would continue to phone Billy, call him at intervals, wait for him to finally answer...if he answered.

  He would wait. Maybe, in the course of his vigil, a new idea would strike him and he could pursue a different strategy. Maybe, something would happen which would change the whole situation, something unexpected and fortunate.

  Regardless, for now, he would wait.

  He wouldn't sleep. He wouldn't leave the house.

  He would wait.

  *****

  Part Three: The Fixit Man

  Chapter 22

  "All right," said Billy Bristol. "Just take it easy. You're way too worked up, man." Perched on a stool, the wiry guy leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter.

  "I can't help it!" blurted Dave, tossing his arms in the air. "I don't know what the hell's gonna' happen! I don't know what to do!" Red-eyed and frazzled after his sleepless night, he paced across the kitchen, as much in an effort to stay awake and alert as to release his nervous tension.

  "Just try and cool it," advised Billy.
"We're gonna' figure out what to do."

  "Yeah, yeah," Dave muttered grumpily, but he was secretly pleased at Billy's words, his confidence. Dave was relieved just to have Billy in the house, just to be able to talk to him. It had taken him a long time to produce his friend, but Dave was glad that Billy Bristol was finally there.

  As Dave had expected, it had been a very long and difficult night. For endless hours, he'd held his sentry post in the living room, waiting for something to happen, guarding his parents. Fighting off sleep with gallons of coffee, he'd maintained his watch, imagining shapes in the shadows, jumping at every sound.

  Faithfully, every fifteen minutes, he'd telephoned Billy's trailer. Though there had been no response to his calls for what had seemed like an eternity, Dave had been sustained by the routine; the calls had helped to pass a little of the time, had helped to break up the interminably long vigil.

  Dave had waited, and prayed, and called Billy...and finally, at four o'clock in the morning, one of his prayers had been answered: his brother had returned home safely. Clearly drunk, but thankfully intact, Jeff had tumbled through the front door with a beer can in his hand. Loopy and talkative, he'd given Dave a synopsis of his antics that night, his far-flung wanderings with besotted buddies. Relieved just to have his brother home in one piece, Dave had listened to Jeff's ramblings with keen interest; when Jeff had finally stumbled off to bed, Dave had been sorry to see him go, for his company had briefly enlivened the monotonous watch.

  Not until six o'clock in the morning had Dave's calls to Billy Bristol finally been answered. Dazed and sluggish, Dave had dialed Billy's number for what would have had to have been the last time for a while; he'd known that his parents would be waking soon and he would have had to abandon the phone, retreat to his room to avoid awkward questions from Mom and Dad. Dave had made a last try at six A.M., not expecting to have any more success than he'd had all night...and, miraculously, Billy had responded after only two rings. Sounding unusually energetic for that time of the morning, just a little surprised at receiving such an early phone call, Billy had explained his lengthy absence: he'd spent the night in the dormitory room of an Orchard College co-ed and had only returned to his trailer a few minutes before Dave's breakthrough call.