Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "You distract him, and I'll sneak up behind him," continued Billy, stealing a quick glance down the slope at the killer. "I'll grab the kid and run like hell. Then comes the tricky part."

  Dave shook his head. Billy's words rushed over him like the rain, chilling and unwelcome, ominous and unstoppable.

  "You've gotta' shoot him," Billy whispered urgently. "Once I grab the kid, you've gotta' shoot the son of a bitch."

  Dave's pained grimace deepened, and he shook his head more forcefully.

  "While you're talking to him, move up as close as you can," said Billy. "As soon as I'm out of the way, start firing. Just pretend you're shooting milk jugs out in my back yard, and don't stop till he's down."

  "Let's get out of here," groaned Dave.

  "Gun's loaded," said Billy. "I know you can do it. Remember, it'll be just like target practice."

  "Please, let's go," Dave moaned desperately.

  "Just put him down," said Billy. "I'll even finish him off for you. You can do it, man."

  "No," hissed Dave. "Let's go."

  "Good luck," said Billy Bristol, squeezing Dave's arm. "This one's for the Double-Doubleyoo, man."

  Before Dave could even think of trying to stop him, Billy darted away and disappeared behind the concession stand.

  *****

  Chapter 59

  Dave didn't immediately turn toward the shore. For a long moment, he stared sullenly at the far corner of the concession stand, the last place where he'd seen Billy Bristol. With the gun hanging heavily at his side, he slouched in the rain, wondering how he could have let things get so out of control.

  He was trapped, now; he had no choices left, no alternatives. Over the course of the day, he'd steadily whittled down his range of options, limiting the possibilities with each new decision...and now, he had no choices left. There was but a single course which he could follow, one route which he now had to take.

  As terrifying as it was, he couldn't avoid his new assignment. Though his instincts demanded that he bail out and run, he knew that he couldn't shirk the dangerous duty before him.

  Billy Bristol was already committed to the foolhardy raid; he couldn't be called back, couldn't be withdrawn from the maneuver. He was going to risk his life to save the child...and give Dave a chance to kill the killer.

  If Dave didn't follow his partner's instructions, Billy's life would be forfeit. If Dave didn't distract Larry, and Billy still attempted the raid, Billy would surely be detected and killed by the knife-wielding menace. Sneaking up on the killer would be difficult enough with a distraction; the only cover anywhere in the beach area was atop the slope, the three buildings which stood some fifty yards from the shore. Dave didn't doubt that Larry would quickly notice Billy if his attention wasn't drawn elsewhere.

  Earlier, at Wolf's Rock, Larry had pledged not to kill Dave or Billy, had, in fact, claimed to be Billy Bristol, come from the future to change his own past. Larry's claims couldn't be validated, however, and Dave didn't dare rely on his promises; with Billy's life at stake, Dave couldn't stand by and hope that the killer would stay true to his word.

  Dave had no choice. He was petrified, dazed, exhausted, didn't want to see Larry let alone speak to him...but he had no choice. He didn't know what he could say, didn't know how he could force even a single word from his constricted vice of a throat...and, most critically, he didn't know if he could shoot Larry when there was still a chance that he'd told the truth about time-travel...but he had no choice.

  He had no choice.

  He had no choice, and he had to begin immediately. Billy was on the move, and Dave had no idea how far he'd already gone.

  Taking a deep breath, Dave turned and gazed at Larry. The killer was shaking the child and the knife in the air, foisting them at the dark sky as if to proclaim his victory.

  Dave cleared his throat. Slowly, he took a step forward.

  *****

  Chapter 60

  The first time that Dave tried to speak, he didn't make a sound. After a few halting steps over the muddy turf, he stopped and attempted to call out to Larry; he drew in a breath, focused his will, opened his mouth...but panic took hold of him, locking up his voice before he could launch that irretrievable first signal to the killer.

  For a moment, he shuddered in the rain, struggling to overcome his fear. Yet again, the urge to run boiled up within him, flared with fresh potency.

  Then, he spotted Billy. Tearing his gaze from Larry, he glanced around, hoping that his partner had changed his mind, decided at the last minute to abort the raid. The faint hope was quickly doused; Dave caught sight of Billy beyond the farthest of the buildings, gliding along the open crest of the hill.

  Billy was on his way. If Dave didn't speak, he would be sacrificing his friend.

  He had no choice.

  Taking a deep breath, he tried to steel himself. He opened his mouth.

  "Hey!" he shouted, realizing as he did so that he couldn't recall the syllable, couldn't reject his course.

  Down on the beach, Larry Smith turned. Slowly, he lowered the child and the blade, and he turned.

  And he looked at Dave.

  Dave wanted to run.

  For a moment, the only raised voice was that of the infant, sobbing and shrieking shrilly.

  When at last Larry spoke, Dave flinched as if he'd never heard another person's voice before.

  "Go away!" Larry shouted angrily. "Get outta' here!" he hollered over the wailing of the child.

  Standing stock-still near the top of the slope, Dave didn't reply, couldn't immediately find the strength or the words that he needed.

  "Go on!" belted Larry. "Get outta' here! Just go!"

  Swallowing hard, Dave scratched together what little courage he had left. Slowly, he raised the gun from his side.

  "Go!" blasted Larry, sweeping the knife through the air. "This is none of your business!"

  Gripping the .38 with both quivering hands, Dave leveled it at the killer. With both thumbs, he pressed back the hammer, heard a click as the gun's mechanism locked into firing position.

  "Go away!" screamed Larry.

  With great effort, Dave forced his legs to move, carry him down the slope with stiff, sluggish steps. The gun stuttered, an extension of his quaking hands, but he kept it trained in Larry's direction.

  "I'll kill you!" bellowed Larry, jabbing the blade toward Dave. "If you don't leave now, I'll kill you!"

  "You said you wouldn't," shouted Dave, realizing just how badly his voice was shaking, how blatantly it betrayed his fear.

  "I lied!" shot Larry.

  "That's all you ever do," returned Dave.

  "I'll kill you if you don't go!" exploded Larry.

  "The cops are coming," said Dave, continuing his plodding, mechanical advance. The gap between him and the killer was gradually shrinking; Larry was now about thirty yards distant.

  "Bullshit!" boomed Larry. "You're lying!"

  "They're coming," shouted Dave. "Billy went to get them." As the lie left him, Dave hoped that it was a good one, that it might keep Larry from expecting Billy's assault.

  "So let 'em come, then!" barked Larry. "I don't care! I just want you to leave me alone!"

  "I'm not going anywhere," said Dave, his tone not even close to being forceful. "I'm staying till they get here. I'm making sure you don't get away."

  "Listen to me!" hurled Larry, emphatically chopping the knife through the air. "I don't want you here! Can't you see I'm busy?"

  Trembling violently, Dave continued to march slowly down the slope. He wondered where Billy was, and he almost looked for him...but he caught himself, didn't shift his gaze from the killer. As difficult as it would be, he knew that he would have to restrain himself from checking on his partner's progress; if he diverted his gaze, he could easily give away Billy's position, at least clue Larry in to the fact that covert maneuvers were underway.

  "Get outta' here!" Larry blew furiously. "I'll kill you! I mean it!"

  "I'll s
hoot you if you try!" shouted Dave, trying to sound threatening...realizing that his fluttering, ragged voice wouldn't carry such weight.

  "So go ahead then!" flung Larry. "Go ahead and shoot!"

  "Not yet," said Dave. "Not unless I have to."

  "Fine then!" flared Larry. "Don't shoot! I'll just finish my little project here, and then I'll take care of you!" With that, Larry swung the screeching child into the crook of his arm; raising the blade, he pointed its tip toward his captive.

  Dave halted his approach, realized that he'd to take some kind of action. He couldn't allow Larry to slaughter the infant; still, he wasn't sure what he should do. He didn't know if Larry would be influenced by threats or pleading; he could use the gun, but he didn't think that he was a good enough shot to take out the killer without hitting the baby, too.

  Frantically, Dave rifled his mind for a solution. He saw Larry's knife-hand twitch, and he knew that he had no more time to make a decision.

  It was only then that he noticed how Larry's arms had changed.

  Larry was still about twenty yards away, far enough to obscure much of the detail; still, Dave was able to see that something was wrong with his arms. They were definitely altered, somehow shriveled and darkened; from a greater distance, Larry had looked as if he were wearing long sleeves, and Dave had thought nothing of it...but now, Dave could see that Larry's black shirt didn't cover his arms, that the limbs themselves had transformed.

  Without thinking, Dave spoke, impulsively blurted words before he could consider what their effect might be.

  "Oh my God!" he shouted, squinting at the killer's dark flesh. "What's wrong with your arms?"

  Knife poised to pierce the child, Larry didn't move for a moment. His head shifted then, and he stared at the arm in which the baby was cradled.

  Dave took a step forward, trying to get a better look at the killer's condition. He now realized that Larry's hands were mostly dark, as well, that only the tips of his fingers still retained their original color.

  "Did you get burned or something?" asked Dave, posing the only explanation which he could imagine.

  "It's nothing," replied Larry, and his voice was less severe, not as shrill as before. "It's just a little skin problem of mine."

  "What happened to you?" persisted Dave. Taking another step forward, he saw that Larry's change wasn't limited to his extremities; his throat also looked dark and withered, as did the bare skin above the neckline of his shirt.

  Larry shrugged. "Guess I got some bad soap," he tossed flippantly.

  After three more steps, Dave stopped. The closer he got, the worse Larry looked; he could now see abscesses and sores on the killer's neck, bunches of blisters in the hollow at the base of his throat. His once-thick arms seemed substantially reduced, shorn of muscle; fissures ran through the flesh, and a flap of blackened meat dangled from one elbow.

  "What happened to you?" Dave repeated, transfixed by Larry's strange mutilation.

  "You're right. I got burned," said Larry, still staring at his arm. "Now get out of here."

  "I don't understand," said Dave. "How did this happen?"

  "I got a little too close to the broiler at work, okay?" Larry shot snidely, swinging his head up to glare at Dave. "Now go away or I'll kill you."

  "Who are you?" asked Dave, meeting the killer's gaze, inexplicably steadying a little. "Who are you really?"

  "The tooth fairy!" lashed Larry. "Now go!"

  Still trembling, but not as violently as before, Dave stood his ground. "What's your real name?" he asked. "It's not 'Larry Smith,' is it?"

  "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!" barked Larry.

  "Is it 'Mike Hoffman'?" pressed Dave. "Is it 'Frank Moses'?"

  "Franklin Delano Roosevelt!" retorted Larry.

  "Don't those names ring a bell?" said Dave.

  "Get outta' here!" shot Larry. "I don't have time for this!" As the killer's voice rose, the baby's shrieks grew louder, competing for preeminence.

  "Why?" asked Dave. "Why don't you have time?"

  "Because I'm a busy man!" snarled Larry. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

  "Because I have to stop you," said Dave, his voice quavering. "And because...because I want to know the truth."

  "There is no truth!" shouted Larry. "The only thing that's true is that nothing's true!"

  "Nothing you've told me so far is true," replied Dave. "It's just been one lie after another."

  "No shit!" snapped Larry. "I'll say anything to get rid of you!"

  "Maybe...maybe the only way to get rid of me is to tell me the real story. Maybe I wouldn't even be here right now if you'd told me the real story to begin with."

  "You're so smart, figure it out yourself!"

  "Who are you?" asked Dave, his words ringing with new intensity. "Who are you?" he repeated, and the question was a plea, not just a time-killer contrived to distract Larry. It was the question, that which had driven Dave for the past weeks, that which had brought him to this place at this moment.

  "I'm the Good Humor man!" screamed Larry.

  "Who are you?" Dave asked urgently, wholly focused on the question. "Why did you come here?"

  "I don't have time for this!" howled Larry. "I don't have time!"

  Thunder rumbled in the distance; Dave blinked rain out of his eyes. "How did you really know all those things were going to happen? How did you know so much?"

  "You're ruining it!" bellowed Larry. "You're ruining everything!"

  "How did you know so much about me?" continued Dave. "How did you know about Stacy? How did you know about the whorehouse?"

  "Get outta' here!" roared Larry, and the child shrieked piercingly.

  "Why did you kill that kid at Wolf's Rock? Why did you kill those people back at that house? What was the real reason?"

  "I don't need a reason!" screamed Larry.

  "Why did you take that baby?" pressed Dave, his voice rising with frustration and desperation. "I need to know!"

  "You don't!" burst Larry. "You need to go!"

  "I need to understand!" wailed Dave. "So much stuff has happened over the last couple weeks, and it doesn't make sense! Every time I think maybe I've got it figured out, you do something that throws it all out of whack again!"

  "Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe you weren't supposed to figure it out?" shot Larry, chopping the blade through the air to punctuate his words. "Didn't you ever think that maybe you should mind your own business?"

  "How could I?" flung Dave. "You killed the parents of one of my best friends! You killed my boss! You came to my house when I wasn't there!

  "My God, I thought my family was gonna' die! You told me you could see the future, that you knew when something terrible was going to happen to someone...and I came home and found out you'd been there, and right away I thought you'd had a 'flash' that my family was going to die! How could that not be my business?"

  "You're paranoid!" snapped Larry. "That's your problem!"

  "No wonder with you around!" hurled Dave, jabbing the gun at the killer...for the moment forgetting to be afraid, venting the accumulated frustration of weeks. "No wonder I was paranoid! And I didn't even know that you were killing people!"

  "Well, now you know!" spat Larry. "Now get outta' here!"

  "What's the truth?" Dave shouted angrily. "It isn't either of the stories you told me before, is it? It's something else, isn't it?"

  "I'm going to kill you!" Larry screamed at the top of his lungs. "If you don't go now, I'll kill you!"

  "What is the real story, Larry? I can't figure it out! I could say you're just some psychopathic murderer, I guess...but that doesn't explain how you predicted the future all those times. It doesn't explain how you knew my secrets.

  "Your story about coming from the future sounded good at first, but I just can't believe it. Maybe time travel's possible, I don't know...but I can't believe that you're Billy. I can't believe he'd ever become anything like you, no matter what happened to him!

  "So what is the tr
uth? Tell me, Larry! You owe it to me! After everything you've put me through, you owe it to me!"

  For a moment, the killer didn't answer. With the knife hanging at his side, the infant squirming at his chest, he glowered at Dave.

  When next Larry spoke, his voice was changed. His tone was subdued, no longer blazing with fury and menace.

  "You're right," he said. "I do owe you an explanation. I just can't give you one."

  "Why?" hurled Dave.

  Larry sighed. "You don't really want to know," he said. "It's better if you don't know."

  "Don't give me that crap!" hollered Dave, releasing his pent-up anger, lashing out though he'd been nearly paralyzed with terror just moments ago. "I'm sick of this runaround! I just want to know!"

  "It's better if you don't," said Larry. "You have to trust me on that. It's for your own good."

  "Come off it!" snapped Dave. "What do you care about my 'own good'?"

  "I care a lot," said Larry. "I don't want you hurt."

  "Bullshit!" blasted Dave. "You've been telling me you're gonna' kill me ever since I got here!"

  "I just want you to go," said Larry. "I want you to go so you won't get hurt."

  "It's a little late for that!" Dave fired furiously. "You've already killed my friend's parents! You've already put me through hell, wondering if my parents were next!"

  "I never meant for you to worry," said Larry. "I didn't think you'd take it that way."

  "How did you think I'd take it?" roared Dave. "You told me you could see the future! You told me you try to stop disasters from happening, and then there you were at my house! What other reason could you have for being there?"

  "I can't tell you," said Larry. "I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry? Tell that to those people in that house back there! Tell that to the kid at Wolf's Rock!"

  Thunder again rumbled from afar; the child's shrieking choked off for an instant, then burst back in, surging to an hysterical peak. "I didn't want you involved in this," said Larry. "I didn't want you to see them! I had to do what I did...I had to...but I didn't want you to see!"