by Sean McMahon
Jerry ceased sniffing a nearby patch of grass and, under his faithful owner’s encouragement, jumped into the passenger seat via the now open passenger door that had been opened by his best friend.
Thanks to five whole days of trial and error, Hal and Kara were now inside Kevin’s lodge. Five restarts, just to get into the house. Countless more for what came next. But this was important, if they didn’t set these events in motion, stopping their killer would be irrelevant, and they’d have to restart again anyway.
Kara positioned herself by the currently closed, but unlocked, back door, one arm outstretched towards the handle, the fingers of her right hand still interlocked with Hal’s.
Hal, meanwhile, waited like a statue by the door to the basement, which despite being ajar, couldn’t be moved with his past-self being so far away. And so, they waited, for three hours and forty-five minutes, resuming physical contact by holding the other’s hand.
*
At 11.00am, going by the clock on Kevin’s mantelpiece, which was infuriatingly four minutes slow and not to be trusted, having already cost them a restart, the blue energy they had been so afraid of for so long was now their ultimate weapon.
‘Punch it,’ said Kara.
Hal dutifully hit the power button on the now fully-charged, residual-energy-construct that was his phone, causing it to spring to life. Waiting the customary 10 seconds for it to fire up, he then cycled through the menus searching for something in particular, and pressed play. The room filled with the sound of The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army”, their minds clearer already, thanks to the extra focus afforded to them by the audible anchor.
‘See?’ said Hal with a grin, ‘so much cooler with a soundtrack.’
Kara rolled her eyes playfully, her tapping foot betraying her allegedly unimpressed demeanour. Hal ensured he remained in contact with her, as she turned the handle and pulled the back door open. This would facilitate their escape later.
“Two restarts,” thought Kara with a grimace, kicking herself as she remembered how they had become stuck in Kevin’s lodge with no way out.
Remaining in contact, the energy continued to build, becoming more vibrant as their past-selves drew closer to their current location. They moved towards the basement door, Kara now maintaining contact with Hal via the medium of a ridiculous-looking two-person conga-line.
Hal pulled open the basement door, and they made their way down the stairs, continuing the conga-line so the energy would continue to build, pocketing his phone, which was belting out a rousing chorus, the noise failing to be dampened by the out-of-phase material of his boiler suit.
Kara moved swiftly, and stood by the door to the small room at the bottom of the stairs which Kevin would soon be occupying. The door to Kevin’s future prison wasn’t currently open in this timeline, as their act of freeing themselves many restarts ago had been wiped. Due to them not being locked inside this time around, it had remained closed ever since Kevin had retrieved the dog food.
Their charge had been significantly reduced by the bold exertion of opening the doors, and interacting with their environment was largely ineffectual now, at least until their past-selves were closer. Only then could they get their edge back. Clicking his fingers a few times, and rubbing his hands together, feeling the beat of the music, Hal leaned down to the box of screws that was sitting on the floor of the basement, the same box he had stumbled over during their first visit to the underbelly of Kevin’s home. Hal took comfort in the fact that the killer’s weird-ass shrine of death was not yet lining the walls, what with his arrival not taking place for a few more hours.
There was no need for Kara to keep watch this time. She knew their past-selves would be passing their current location shortly, and it was almost as if they were now able to tell when they were getting close. Hal believed they had a developed a sixth sense for it, but Kara knew it was just sub-conscious time-keeping.
Hal tapped the box of screws impatiently, in time with the music, until the cardboard flap finally moved under his touch.
It was time.
Hal nodded, and Kara opened the storage-cupboard door in front of her, moving quickly back to his location. She placed her hands inside the lip of the cardboard box, preparing to pull the box across the room. Seven restarts to get this part right. Another four for what came next.
They moved as one, as Hal pushed, and Kara pulled, moving the box across the full length of the basement floor, both letting go of the container as it aligned perfectly with the doorway of Kevin’s storage room, on the opposite side of the basement.
Then, at the precise moment that their past-selves were directly outside their current location, they let go of the box altogether, focusing instead on the screwdrivers lining the worktop. It had to be the flat-head. Hal had discovered many restarts ago during one of their intel-gathering missions that the screws on the brackets were of a certain size and type.
Selecting their tool of choice, they once again continued to move as one, dragging the screwdriver to the edge of the counter, angling it perfectly so that it fell straight into the box of screws.
The Restarters turned their focus back to the box on the floor, the screwdriver now sticking out like a mast on a very-poorly designed pirate ship. And, as the final chorus kicked in, they began pushing the box, which was now increasing in heaviness, as their past-selves moved further and further away as they set off towards the woods. They dragged it all the way to the door of the storage room, over the threshold and under the table in the corner of the small room, pushing it through the sheet that was covering the table. With a quick flourish, Hal pulled the dust sheet back over the box, so it was completely concealed from view.
They began to feel the energy dissipating, no longer acting as conduits for the mystical force. As if to highlight the point, Hal’s phone cut off, as it used up the last of the energy that had been fuelling its paradoxical anti-matter battery. Their past-selves had moved too far out of range for them to generate anything more than a fizzle now, but for the first time in countless restarts, the first part of their plan was a success.
‘You’re welcome Kevin,’ said Kara, with a look of almost palpable defiance on her face.
‘Nice one Rach’,’ said Hal, catapulting his heartfelt gratitude both forwards and backwards through time to his friend for coming up with the idea, hoping she would somehow sense it.
They were finally winning.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Double-Tap
Saturday Evening, 11:46pm
As Kevin methodically loosened the screws of the bracket, he berated himself for picking a bracket with five screw-holes in the first place, all those months ago.
He then chastised himself for having affixed the door with three brackets.
And for painting over said brackets, resulting in him having to scrape away the excess paint from the grooves.
In the dark.
Because he hadn’t bothered to install a light.
With the top bracket finally disconnecting from the interior wall, he set to work on the middle bracket, and then the last one at the bottom of the door.
It was incredibly slow-going, but with the brackets removed, after what felt like an entire evening’s work, Kevin pushed the screwdriver into the gap between the door and the frame, bending it back on itself to pull the frame away, using the tool as a makeshift chisel where needed.
With the frame now heavily damaged, he then set the screwdriver into the widening gap, and used his weight as leverage to pull the door open, utterly terrified that he would snap the only thing that could get him out of this mess if he applied too much pressure. The lock on the left-hand side of the door drew out the process, but eventually he had freed enough of the right-hand side to fit his hand through. He began to wedge his right leg through the gap, and then, gradually, his upper-torso. His large stomach was putting up a fight, holding him back from truly escaping, but Jerry’s cries spurred him on.
Eventually, the do
or gave up the fight and caved inwards, the metal lock erupting from the left door frame, and Kevin stepped across the threshold, in the manner of a man who had been served two life-sentences, but had finally been awarded parole for good behaviour.
From the faint slits in the adhesive tape that his captor has placed across the windows, he could see streaks of moonlight, which beamed across the room and illuminated the cause to the entirety of his relentless woe; In the centre of his basement lay the muscular monster that had abducted him, looking considerably deader than he had done the last time they had crossed paths. Kevin clenched his fist around the screwdriver, turning it in his hand as if it were a knife, ready to use it if he had to.
He kicked the serrated knife, which was resting on the man’s motionless hand, away from the threat lying before him, so that it was truly out of reach of the psychopath. He leaned in closer to the body before him, all the while ensuring that the screwdriver could be brought down into his adversary’s flesh at any moment.
Unbeknownst to Kevin, there was surely a version of Jasmine, on some plain of existence, rolling her eyes at what was clearly a rookie mistake. Had she been there, she would have reminded him to “always double-tap before getting too close.” But, in fairness, he didn’t know Jasmine, and wasn’t an avid movie buff.
With his free hand, he pressed his fingers against his captor’s neck, and counted to twenty, then to thirty, and finally to forty. Finally accepting that there was no pulse, Kevin took a step backwards, and rested his gaze upon what he now truly believed was a dead body.
Slowly, silently, he backed away, and made his way up the staircase. Having not taken his eyes off of his captor, he made himself jump with shock when his hip finally connected with the door handle of the basement door. He fumbled behind his back for the circular handle, and backed out into his own living room, closing the door gently in front of him, pressing his hand against the door, and applying his full weight against it. Jerry jumped up at him, licking his hands, and growling playfully for attention. Kevin grabbed him by the waist, and fled to the front door of his home.
As he stepped into the cool night air, breathing in the calming scent of the surrounding fir trees, he thought frantically over what to do next. And then he ran into the darkness, as far, and as fast as he could, wishing to put as much distance as possible between himself and death, as quickly as his legs, and ageing heart, would allow him, holding Jerry in his arms like a feisty toddler, as tears of relief filled his eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The Road Less Travelled
Sunday Morning, 10:07am
Jon was leading the convoy this time, discussing where they had gone wrong at beer-pong that weekend. Both Peter and Fearne had decided to drive back with Jon and Rachel for their return journey, and Fearne was fast asleep in the back with Peter, still not feeling too clever after her recent migraine had incapacitated her the night before. Jon continued to outline what they could have done better, whilst Rachel programmed in their route home from the front passenger seat.
‘All I’m saying is, we need to run more interference to throw them off in future,’ said Jon, turning around briefly to face Peter, ‘know what I mean?’
‘Yeah,’ said Peter with a nod of confirmation. ‘Absolutely shocking that Stacey and Fearne beat us, I’m gutted,’ he added.
Rachel yelled at Jon, screaming at him to watch the road, as a man walked straight out in front of them with his arms in the air. Jon slammed on the brakes and swerved, nearly colliding with the wooden logs that lined the road and acted as woodland-themed curbs.
The man stared at them, his eyes wide, and his appearance implying he hadn’t seen a shower in a while, his unkempt clothes indicating that he probably hadn’t slept in a long time either.
The sound of the windscreen wiper brushing against a dry windscreen filled the cabin of the car, along with a soft clicking noise that surrounded them, indicating that someone, amidst the excitement, had pressed the hazard button on the dashboard. The ironically-calming, mundane repetitions of the combined noises were completely at odds with the currently-frayed nerves of those inside the vehicle, as Jon tried to distract everyone from the fact that they had nearly all been involved in a fatal accident, due to the stranger’s clear disregard for his own safety.
‘Is that…the dog guy?’ said Jon, clicking off the windscreen wipers that he must have accidentally activated, during his expertly executed emergency stop. ‘Kevin right?’
Rachel nodded, still trying to calm herself down, as the adrenaline coursed through her body. Jon clicked a switch, and lowered the electric-powered window, the noise making a muted buzzing noise as it retracted into the door frame, and stuck his head out of the window. ‘You okay mate? You need some help or anything?’
The man stared at Jon with wild eyes, as if he was harbouring a dark secret he was finding it impossible to articulate. Kevin shook his head erratically, turned to face the road ahead, and continued waving his arms, as the blue flashing lights of what appeared to be police cars and an ambulance came into view, previously obscured from Jon due to the bend in the road. The cars surged past them, around the corner, and out of sight, just as Rachel regained her ability to speak.
‘Do you think we should…I don’t know…go and help or something?’ said Rachel.
Fearne’s eyes sprang open, suddenly fully-awake and alert.
‘NO!’ she shouted at Rachel, her bellowing voice filling the car and making them all jump out of their skins. Each of the passengers shouted an expletive at the unexpected attack to their eardrums.
‘Jesus Fearne, night terrors much?!’ said Rachel, her heart pumping so fast in her chest she could literally hear it reverberating in her ears.
‘Ignore Fearne, bad dreams and all that. She does that,’ said Peter, and then added ‘I think we should probably leave all that to the professionals. We’d probably just get in the way.’
In mutual agreement, Jon turned off the hazards, and hit his indicator to signal his convoy of friends behind him, who had pulled over in response to witnessing Jon’s near-collision with Kevin, and followed him as he pulled out to continue onwards on their journey.
As Jasmine drove past the turning where the police were congregated, Kara experienced a brief sensation of pain in her temple, an ice-pick-like headache that was gone as quick as it had arrived.
Hal stared through the car window, wondering what could have warranted such a high turn-out of police and medics. He thought he caught sight of a glimmer of light, reflecting on what appeared to be a weapon of some kind, being held by one of the officers. It was incredibly unusual for a police officer in the United Kingdom to be wielding a gun, and he automatically assumed he must have imagined it. Just as he lost line-of-sight to the incident unfolding at Kevin’s house, he saw a stretcher being wheeled out to the ambulance.
Whoever it was that had sustained an injury, he hoped they would be okay.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Changing the Future
Sunday Afternoon, 12:14pm
As Jasmine pulled up outside Kara’s home, she allowed herself to take a sigh of relief that the worst of the journey was behind her. She would soon be home with David, and her entirely self-sufficient cats, whom she loved more than anything.
Kara jumped out of the car, freeing Hal from his three-doored prison, and he stumbled out as gracefully as a man who had been cooped up for two hours could ever hope to be. He stretched, milking the martyrdom he clearly believed he was owed, for a little longer than was socially acceptable.
‘Thanks for sitting in the back!’ said Kara, in a breezy tone that clearly indicated there was never really going to be another option in the first place, merely the illusion of democracy.
‘My pleasure!’ lied Hal.
He held up his arms, and went in for a goodbye hug, the connection generating a large static-shock that erupted between them, causing both parties to recoil.
‘Ouch,’ said Hal, ‘did you see that!
Actually saw a blue spark there! Jas’, you need to add some mud-flaps to this thing, to ground your car or something.’
Jasmine stepped out of the driver’s seat to give Kara a hug.
‘You do realise how you sound,’ said Jasmine, ‘when you try to talk about cars as if you know the first thing about them, right?’
Hal laughed.
‘Sheesh, alright scrappy, settle down!’ said Hal.
‘Thank you so much for driving by the way!’ said Kara.
‘You’re most welcome,’ said Jasmine, giving Kara a heartfelt hug, as Hal pulled Kara’s case from the boot of the car for her and placed it beside her.
‘Cheers Hal,’ said Kara.
‘No worries,’ he said, as he shot her a wink and clambered into the passenger seat, buckling himself up.
‘Are you going to pick up the dogs today?’ asked Jasmine.
‘Nah, no need,’ said Kara. ‘My sister’s bringing them over later for me.’
The only plans she had for the afternoon were taking a long, ice-cold shower, and meeting up with Greg.
As she made her way up her modest driveway, she spun around to offer a wave to Jasmine and Hal, as Jasmine beeped her horn and they waved back. Kara stood there at her door for a moment, an icy-chill running down her spine, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up. She looked over her shoulder, out across the road behind her. A perfectly ordinary, lazy Sunday afternoon. But something felt wrong. Her stomach grumbled, and she dismissed the thought, reasoning it was merely a direct result of hunger.
As she placed the key in the lock to her front door, the handle lowered of its own accord, the door rapidly pulling inwards and away from her. Besieged by two assailants, she instinctively took a step back, but it was too late, they were on her in an instant.
