BackTrek (19 page)

The sudden screams echoed out of the tiny
speaker and startled Jack awake. He could make out Brandon and
Bella’s voices clearly. They were in hysterics. He shook off the
last remnants of the sleep that had pulled him under, and flung the
car door open. The headphones pulled off his head as he climbed out
of the car. He pulled his weapon as he ran across the street. He
kicked the safety off. He ran past Mike’s car, past Tracey’s car,
and trampled through the flowers that Tracey had planted. At last
he was at the front door, and reached for the knob, and turned it.
The door was locked. He began to beat on the door. Quickly, as his
heart hammered in his throat, he realized that the door would not
be opened from the inside. He stepped back and kicked the door, and
almost lost his balance. He stepped back and rammed the door with
his body, as he desperately tried to break it open. The dead bolt
that he himself had installed held the door shut. He remembered
that he had the key. He reached into his pocket and began to fumble
with his keys. He brought out the key ring that contained the keys
to all that his life had been. His car keys, his apartment keys,
the keys to his desk drawer and file cabinet at work, the keys to
his suitcase, and at last, the key to the front door of this house.
He shoved the key towards the lock, but in the dark, he couldn’t
find the hole. The key started to go in, but he had it upside down,
and it jammed. He cursed under his breath as he yanked the key free
and started again.

He heard the muffled screams from inside the
house. His heart slammed in his chest. Sweat ran from his forehead
and into his eyes, as he continued to fight with the keys to the
lock. Finally the key went into the lock. He turned it. The lock
clicked. He turned the knob and flung the door open. Weapon raised,
he entered the house. He pinpointed the location of the screams as
they echoed from the living-room, and he started in that direction.
He didn’t see the closet door open behind him, nor did he see the
tall man step out of the closet. Even as Jack approached the
entranceway to the living-room, he still did not see the tall man,
as he raised his gun above Jack’s head. Smith struck him on the
base of the skull. Jack fell to the floor, unconscious. Screams
still emanated from the living-room. Smith stood over Jack, hovered
a moment, and then turned and looked towards the living-room
entrance and hesitated. He had not expected this intruder. He had
already identified his targets. They were all accounted for, and
were just through the doorway. Regardless of who the interloper
was, he was subdued for now. No time for a photo session this time,
he thought. Better to get this assignment over with quickly before
some other intruder interfered. He raised his gun again, and one
silent step after the other, he walked towards the living-room.

Even with all of the noise, screams, and
laughter, Mike had thought he heard a noise from the front door.
Careful not to alarm the others he nonchalantly walked towards the
hallway when he saw a man. Pistol in hand. As if by reflex, he
raised his hands into the air and began to walk slowly backwards.
The man continued towards him, gun in hand.

“Mr. King?” The tall man asked, as he
mentally matched the facial structure with that of the image he had
seen from his assignment data earlier. Mike opened his mouth to
speak, just as a subtle flash of light erupted from the barrel of
the gun. Mike froze in place, as he tried to grasp the events. A
heaviness began to overwhelm him as he looked down, away from the
man, and saw the dark crimson stain that slowly began to spread
down his shirt. Mike began to look up again, but his vision
blurred. He fell to the floor. Smith smiled. He should do it this
way more often, he thought, as he fired at him again. He really did
enjoy the smell of fresh blood.

Sounds entered Jacks mind, muffled but
legible. He felt so heavy. His body didn’t want to respond, but he
knew that he had to do something. Something very important. As he
lay on the floor, and tried desperately to regain consciousness, he
heard the hysterical screams that came from the living-room.
Suddenly the reality of what those sounds meant came sharply into
his mind.

“Don’t hurt my babies!” He heard Tracey say.
The fear was evident in her voice. Bella screamed. He could hear
Brandon’s shrieks.

“You don’t understand, Mrs. King, it’s
nothing personal. It’s not personal at all, I assure you.” A male
voice said, seemingly full of compassion.

“Not personal?” She sobbed. “You break in
here! You...you ...you’ve killed him!” Tracey cried out. “Now
you’re going to kill...” She couldn’t continue. Her words turned
into a sorrowful wail of grief. A silenced gunshot sounded, and the
screams of the children became frantic and wildly hysterical.
Suddenly two more silenced shots were fired in rapid succession,
and their eerie sounds echoed throughout the house. Silence fell
into every nook and cranny.

Jack came to his feet, but even as he did,
his heart sunk. He knew what he’d heard. He staggered, and braced
himself against the wall. He moved towards the living-room. As he
approached the doorway, the alarm pad began to beep. Suddenly the
interior siren began to alarm loudly with its piercing shrill
alert. Jack rounded the corner into the living-room. Each step felt
more solid. He saw the back door swing closed. His head throbbed,
and he touched the back of it with his hand. Dizzy, he cradled it
for a moment as he straightened his neck, and felt to see just how
much damage had been done. He pulled his hand from his head and
looked down at the smear of blood on his hand. His blood. He heard
a sound from inside the living-room. Mike lay in a growing puddle
of his own blood. He whispered as he tried to talk. Jack knelt by
his side, as he tried hard not to look at the carnage that filled
the room. He remembered the scene all too well. He did not need to
see his wife. Dead. Slumped against the wall. He couldn’t bare the
thought of having to see his poor children slaughtered on the
couch. Not again. He knew that he had a chance to go after the
killer and stop him once and for all, but Mike was still alive.

“Mike...it’s okay.”

“Sor...ry...So...sor..ry." Mike managed to
say.

"It’s okay, Mike. It’s not your fault.” Jack
said as he touched his brother softly. He fought back his
tears.

“I...didn’t...” Mike began to choke.
“I...didn’t...think...” He began to choke, and coughed up a large
amount of blood. As his eyes assumed that blank half awake daze
that only the dead can manage, his laborious breathing stopped.
Jack touched him, looked into his now empty eyes, as tears began to
well up in his own eyes. His dying brother’s last concern had been
his failure to protect Jack’s family. To ‘take care of his own’,
Jack remembered Tracey had said.

“Not your fault, Mike.” He said quietly. He
brushed his fingers softly over Mike’s eyelids and closed them.
Slowly he rose up. He glanced at his slaughtered family and felt
the horror chill him once again, as the anger raged inside of him.
They had all been stolen from him, not once, but now twice. He
could have cared less what the law said, or the judicial process
required to put an animal like this out of his misery. Jack made a
decision. A firm decision. Smith would not live to do this again,
even if Jack had to die trying. He headed for the backdoor. The
alarm continued to blare loudly as he opened the door. Suddenly he
stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at his hand. At the hand
that held the door knob. Slowly he released it, and stared at the
smear of blood on his hand. The very blood, he realized, that would
implicate him in the murders. He was in a paradox. No. That wasn’t
quite right. He had been in a paradox, from the very start. His
actions now, had eventually pushed him into the decision to go back
in time in the first place. He stood there, suddenly mesmerized by
the complexity of his situation, when he saw movement at the rear
of backyard. The dark figure scrambled over the top of the six foot
wooden fence which surrounded the yard, and dropped down on the
other side, out of sight. Jack leapt into action. He ran across the
yard to the fence, and climbed over the fence. As he dropped down
into the neighboring yard, Jack saw Smith’s tall lanky frame as it
disappeared over the top of the next fence. A dog began to bark
wildly. A single silenced shot ended the barking. Jack ran to the
other side of the yard and began to scale that fence. As of yet,
Smith was not aware that he was being pursued. Jack continued
quietly after him. As Jack began to climb over the top of the next
fence, suddenly the wooden plank next to his hand exploded in
splinters. He had been spotted, and now the killer had a bead on
him. He dropped down, and surveyed the situation. He couldn’t go
over, but he could go around. He ran towards the front of the
house, and found the gate unlocked. But even as he ran into the
front yard, he watched as Smith climbed into a car parked at the
street. Jack raised his gun and fired. The rear window shattered as
Smith started the car. The tires squealed as he stomped the
accelerator.

The back of the vehicle fishtailed as the
tires fought to get traction. Jack fired again and again into the
rear of the car. His bullets ricocheted off of the chrome bumper.
Sparks flew. The last shot found its way under the bumper, and into
the gas tank. Fuel began to pour out in a stream behind the vehicle
as it sped away. Jack cursed his luck, as he realized that the very
same bullet that had opened up the tank, had been his last shot.
The slide on his semi-automatic nine millimeter pistol had locked
open on the last round.

He thumbed the clip release button on the
gun. The empty clip clanged to the pavement. He ran after the car
as it continued to accelerate, and reached into his back pocket and
withdrew another full clip. He slammed into the butt of his gun,
and thumbed the slide release. The first shell chambered. Suddenly
up ahead, the car hit the breaks and slid sideways. Jack stopped,
raised his gun, and saw Smith’s head in his sights. He began to
squeeze the trigger, but before he could fire the car’s tire caught
traction again, and flew through the stop sign at the end of the
street. The back of the car slid as it rounded the corner, and
clipped a oncoming motorcycle. Jack watched in amazement as he saw
the bike slide towards him. Smith had swerved to avoid the rider,
but had knocked him down anyway. As Jack ran towards the rider, the
bike came to a stop. Jack reached him, and the rider tried to get
up, but his leg was pinned under the side of the bike. Jack
holstered his gun, grabbed the bike with both hands and heaved it
upright. The freed the rider scrambled away from it as though he
expected it to explode, even though the motor had died.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

“Yeah...I guess...that son-of-a-bitch just
ran me down!” He exclaimed as he tried to get to his feet. Jack
mounted the bike, and as he came down on it, he thumbed the
starter. The engine kicked to life. He gunned the throttle and the
bike accelerated before his rear even touched the seat. The owner
of the bike just stood there, as he stared after Jack in amazement.
Jack blew through the stop sign, much as Smith had done, and leaned
hard into the turn as the bike continued to accelerate. The
taillights of Smith’s car disappeared around a curve in the road
just ahead of Jack. He increased the throttle. The bike caught
third gear as he approached the same curve. He rounded the curve,
saw the stop light, and quickly began to downshift. He looked to
the left, and then right, as he tried to find out which way Smith
had gone. As he came to the intersection, there was no sign of
Smith’s car. He slowed to a stop. He revved the engine a few times,
impatient to waste any time, but unsure of which way to turn when
he saw a glimmer on the roadway. The streetlights reflected off of
a trail of liquid. Gas, Jack realized. Smith had turned left. Jack
wrenched the throttle, and popped clutch. The front tire came off
of the ground, and he launched through the intersection. As the
tire came down he hit second gear, and leaned into the turn.

Smith was upset. No, he was more than upset.
His entire plans had been upset by the intruder. Yes, he enjoyed
the slaughter. True it was dirtier than unusual. But hey, a little
blood never hurt anybody, he thought, as a smile crept into his
face. In truth, he loved blood. He loved to watch the way it
trickled out of the holes he made, and released its life force to
gravity. Such a magic liquid it was, he thought, as he
unconsciously licked his lips. But whoever this intruder was, he
had fucked everything up. The fucking whore lover. Blood or no
blood. That was Smith’s choice. Not some asshole that had tried to
get in on his gig. He should have killed the son-of-a-bitch. That
would have shown the mother loving whore bastard.

He always prided himself on being quick and
thorough at what he did, but this time he was fed bad information.
Something had not been right. Sure he had still completed the job,
and yes he would still get paid. But this was the first time in his
history as a hired gun that he had ever had to run away from
anything. It was too close for comfort, he thought as he began to
slow his car down to the posted speed limit. He knew that if he
continued to drive like a bat out of hell, it was a sure fire way
to get the police involved in what was already a blunder as far as
he was concerned. He slowed to a stop at the next intersection, and
turned his blinker on to signal a right turn. Cautiously, he looked
both ways, and eased around the corner. He slowly accelerated back
to the posted speed limit. As he approached the next intersection,
he glanced in his rearview mirror, and his blood ran cold. He saw
the motorcycle, as it leaned wildly over to one side. It took the
corner behind him at near full throttle.