BackTrek (11 page)

“Christ!” He said under his breath as he
finally was able to bring the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He
asked.

“Mr. King?” The lady on the other end
asked.

“This is Jack King. Who is this?” Jack fired
back angrily, still groggy from sleep.

“Mr. King, my name is Sheila with Perennial
Security. We’ve had a perimeter breach at your other location, and
are calling to notify you as per your previous instructions. Would
you like us to dispatch the police?”

“Have you called that number?”

“Many times sir, but it goes straight to
voicemail.” Jack’s mind began to whirl. The security system that he
had paid to have installed last year was designed to cover the
house when it was empty as well as the perimeter when they were
home. When Tracey had forced him to leave he had left explicit
instructions with Perennial that if an alarm was reported that he
was to be notified immediately. He hoped that it was a false alarm,
but he instructed the operator to dispatch the police anyway.

“They’re being contacted as we speak, Mr.
King. Will you be responding also?”

“You’re damn right I’ll be there.” Jack said
as he crawled out of his bed and was reaching for the light switch
for the overhead light.

“What will you be driving, Mr. King, so that
I may alert the authorities to be on the look out for you.”

“Just tell them that Detective King will be
coming.” Jack finally found the light switch and flicked it on.

“Detective. Oh, I see. Yes sir, Detective
King, I will. Will there be anything else?”

“No, mam. Thank you for calling.” Jack hung
up the phone in his now harshly lit bedroom, and fumbled for the
clothes that he had worn the night before. He hopped into the
living room as he pulled his pants on, and he grabbed his shirt off
of the door knob of the bedroom door. He buttoned his pants, and
climbed into his shirt, and stepped into the shoes that he had left
beside his chair in the living room. Half at a walk, and half at a
run, he went back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone from where
he had tossed it on the bed. He quickly made his way to the door,
grabbed his keys off of the table beside the front door, and
fumbled with the series of locks on the door. With the door open he
began to leave, when he remembered his gun, still on the dresser,
back in the bedroom. He ran to the bedroom, as he cursed himself.
His gun was the single most important tool of his trade. Finally,
with his holstered gun in hand, he left the apartment, and ran at
full speed to his car. As he climbed in, he started the car, and
peeled out before he had turned on the headlights or even shut the
door. As he accelerated towards the exit from the parking lot, his
door slammed shut. He approached the stop sign at the entrance to
the main road, and his headlights came to life. He did not stop,
but accelerated through the stop sign and out onto the main road,
causing the back end of his car to swerve, and smoke to pour up
from underneath his car as he laid dual trails of rubber on the
asphalt. He had to get there, and he had to get there fast.

Jack slowed as he came to a red light, but
then accelerated through. From the right, Jack saw another car as
it approached the intersection, and accelerated even more to get
out of it’s way. The other car braked, began to slide sideways, and
barely missed the rear of Jack’s car, before it came to a halt in
the middle of the intersection. Jack saw the driver of the other
vehicle in his rearview mirror. The driver shook his fist in anger,
and suddenly it dawned on Jack the he should turn his emergency
lights on. He activated the lights. A silent blue flicker began to
flash from his car, as it emitted beams of light through the mist
of the early morning. Jack reached for the police radio which was
mounted in his vehicle, and turned it on. He grabbed the mike, and
called dispatch.

“Charlie two-twelve.” He said.

“Charlie two-twelve.” The lady’s voice
responded.

“Which unit is responding to the signal
thirty-two on Challen Ave?” Jack asked.

“Three-fifty-one has the lead.”

“Roger. Three-fifty-one...Charlie
two-twelve.” Jack said into the mike as he ran yet another stop
light. He glanced at his speedometer and saw that it hovered near
one hundred miles per hour. He was glad that it was still early
morning or he would never be able to make this kind of time.
“Three-fifty-one...Charlie two-twelve.” He said again.

“Charlie two-twelve.” A male voice
responded.

“What’s your ten-fifty-two at the signal
thirty-two?” Jack said, as he asked about the officer’s estimated
time of arrival.

“About a minute. Over.”

“You call me when you get there. I want to
know what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir, Detective. Over.” At least with
his radio, Jack would be in touch, even though it would be another
three or four minutes before he could get there. Hopefully he could
keep up his current rate of speed, and cut that down to maybe two
minutes. Suddenly the radio barked again.

“Three-fifty-one.” The male officer said.

“Three-fifty-one.” Dispatch replied.

“I’m ten-ninety-seven at the signal
thirty-two.” The officer said, as he signaled that he had arrived
at the scene.

“Ten four, three-fifty-one. Do you need
back-up? Charlie two-twelve is in route.”

“Negative. Everything looks quiet from the
outside. I’m going in.” Jack fought his way through the few cars
that were on the road, and almost crashed into an obviously drunk
driver as the other car weaved back and forth. He knew he should
have stopped, or at the very least called for a unit to stop the
driver, but at the moment, he had but one single priority.
“Three-fifty-one.” The officer said.

“Three-fifty-one.” Dispatch replied.

“Ten-thirty-four to twelve.”

“Roger, three-fifty-one.” Dispatch replied,
as Jack reached for his radio and switched to channel twelve. He
wanted to follow the conversation. His heart sunk slightly as he
finally turned off the main street and into the subdivision where
he had once lived with Tracey. He was only a few blocks away now,
but when the officer signaled that he wanted to change channels, he
knew it was bad news, no matter how you looked at it.

“Three-fifty-one.” The officer said now
broadcasting on channel twelve.

“Three-fifty-one.” Dispatch replied.

“I need a ten-seventy-one.” He said, as he
requested an ambulance. “We have several signal sevens.”

“NO!” Jack screamed inside his car.

Signal seven meant that the officer had found
a deceased person. These weren’t just people, they were his family,
Jack thought, as he power slid around the corner. His car almost
clipped the street sign.

“Put a call into homicide. We’ve got a signal
five situation.” The officer reported, as he indicated that a
murder had occurred.

“Should we dispatch an E.T. now?” The
dispatcher asked. Jack was on his street, and could see the
officer’s car parked in front of the house. The blue and red lights
eerily blanketed the neighboring houses with the flicker of their
silent glow.

“The sooner the better.” The officer
responded, as Jack locked his tires and slid to a halt in front of
the house. He jumped out of the car and ran to the front of the
house only to be stopped at the front door by the officer who had
responded.

“Detective, you don’t want to go in there!”
The officer said, as he desperately tried to restrain Jack. The
harder he tried, the harder Jack fought.

“Get the hell out of my way!” Jack screamed
in rage as he continued to struggle, until he finally broke free
and entered the house.

As he went through the doorway, time shifted
into a nightmarish slow motion. Each step he took seemed to take
forever. Every sound seemed amplified a thousand times. His own
heartbeat pounded in his ears, with only the sound of his breathing
to drown it out.

“Trace!” He yelled as he headed towards the
living room. “Trace!” He yelled out again as he stepped into the
entranceway of the living room. His eye caught the paisley pattern
of the sofa that Trace had talked him into buying, even though he
liked the solid blue one instead. To the left of it, at eye level
on the wall, hung their wedding picture, and beneath it, was a
blood smeared streak that disappeared behind his wife’s head. She
sat slumped against the wall.

“No! Dear God, Trace!” What little composure
that still remained in him began to flow out in a burst of emotion.
Tears streamed down his face as he started towards her slumped
body. “Trace!” He sobbed.

He reached down to her, and dropped to one
knee. His mouth opened with a cry that would not come. His arms
reached towards her, but he knew that if he touched her at all, he
would disturb the crime scene. He sat there and sobbed loudly, and
wished that it was him that was dead instead of his wife. Through
the torrent of his tears, he noticed something on the couch, and
slowly turned. His sobs grew louder, as though his heart itself
would rupture in his chest as he saw that Bella and Brandon were
slumped together on the couch. It was as if they hugged one
another, as they tried to find comfort in their own unexplainable
deaths. He whispered their names through his tears, and reached his
hands towards them. But he was unable to bring himself any closer
to them.

He dropped his head in devastation and then
saw the last body, and even as he tried to bring his blurry eyes
into focus he knew in his heart, who it was. Mike, his only
brother, lay beside him, dead. As Jack slumped to the floor, his
hand fell into the pool of blood that had trickled from his
brother’s deceased body. He sobbed loudly, barely able to catch his
breath, and dreaded the reality that he faced. He cried with the
anguish that only few will ever know, and that only a handful could
ever understand. He hugged himself as he sobbed, and rocked back
and forth in a desperate attempt to gain some comfort. He felt
none. In one short frame of time, all that he had ever cared about,
longed for, or dreamed of, was forever taken away. It had been
shattered beyond all recognition. And there was no explanation in
sight. The room began to spin around him, and he felt as if he was
being sucked into the depths of hell itself.

The officer that had met him at the door,
rounded the corner with another officer on his heels, and the two
of them helped Jack, now compliant, to his feet and escorted him
out of the house. As the officers tried to make him comfortable,
Jack watched numbly as a pair of paramedics ran into the house only
to slowly exit a few minutes later, empty handed. His family was
beyond the help of paramedics. Jack knew that, but as he watched
the uniformed men leave the house, the realization sucked at his
soul. Through a mental haze, he watched an unmarked car pull up
into the driveway. His captain stepped out and surveyed the scene.
Captain Howe had grown to be a father figure for Jack over the last
few years. His oversized frame and gruff demeanor added to that
familiarity. He was always one that would see that his own were
well taken care of, even if it meant a lost night’s sleep. As he
approached Jack, the Evidence Technician’s van pulled up behind
Howe’s car and parked.

“Jack. You okay, son?” He asked. His face
expressed genuine concern. He reached his hand to Jack’s
shoulder.

“They’re dead, Cap.” Jack said coldly. His
initial hysteria was had began to subside, and the numbness of
shock had begun to blanket him.

“I know, Jack. But they’re in a better place,
now. Better than you or I.” Howe said solemnly. Jack looked up,
past Howe and watched as the uniformed E.T. stepped to the rear of
his van and opened the doors. Jack knew that if anyone on the
entire department could shed any light on what had happened here
tonight, it would be the lone E.T. Sergeant McAlister was the
responding E.T. and was as good as they came. With his skills and
access to the DNA National Database, they should know who caused
this tragedy, and they would probably know tonight. Once the
identity was established, often an arrest was all but
guaranteed.

“Jack? You still with me, son?” Howe
asked.

“Yeah.” Jack said absently as he rose up. His
eyes locked on McAlister’s van.

“He’ll come up with the answers we need,
Jack. You know he will.” Howe said , as he nodded towards
McAlister. Jack nodded too, but his mind had already begun to
settle in on the idea of revenge. Whoever could do this, would do
anything, and definitely did not deserve to live. As Jack watched
the older man leave the rear of his van and head toward the house,
his equipment case in his hand, the night air suddenly began to
seem dryer. His vision began to become crisp, and his hearing
became more acute. He had often heard that as shock overcame a
person, things would shift into a nightmarish, almost dreamlike
state. Maybe what he felt now was that same effect, but for him it
helped him to focus. He had to know who had done this to his
family.

“Hey, Jim!” Jack called out. McAlister
stopped in the doorway and looked back at Jack, as his eyes peered
over the half-glasses that hung down on his face. “Let me know as
soon as you can!” Jack said. McAlister looked to Howe, who nodded
affirmatively, and then back to Jack. McAlister nodded once, and
then entered the house without ever having said a word. Jack’s
heart raced as he realized that McAlister had agreed to tell him
what he found. Often, a family member of a victim was not allowed
to know about an on going investigation until a suspect was
apprehended and a trial date set.

“Come on, Jack. Let me buy you a cup of
coffee.” Howe said as he started to lead Jack towards one of the
many police cruisers that were now parked on the street.

“No! I need to be here!” Jack said suddenly
as he retracted from Howe.