by Sean McMahon
‘This will have to do,’ said Malcolm, walking quickly to Hal’s fairground attraction and picking up the ever-faithful rubber flamingo, passing the prop to Kara to use as a makeshift knife.
‘Hey,’ moaned Hal. ‘Don’t steal my targets!’
‘They are only targets, if you actually stand a chance at hitting them, Harold,’ said Malcolm dryly.
‘Meww meww target mew mew mewmold,’ Hal mimicked under his breath in a high-pitched tone that was drenched in mockery.
‘What was that?’ said Malcolm, knowing full well Hal was taking the piss.
Hal merely aimed the gun at the man from their future, making a clicking noise with his tongue, topping it off with a wink.
‘Hmm,’ Malcolm grumbled, before splitting the out-of-phase air with two curled fingers, egging Kara on to begin.
Kara smiled, and struck out at Malcolm, her intention apparently to imbed the flamingo into his chest as if brandishing Excalibur itself. He grabbed her wrist effortlessly, red and blue energy manifesting between them, causing their arms to hum with a soft vibration.
‘Now push the blade closer to my chest,’ he said, somehow refusing to allow himself to stammer.
He still couldn’t make sense on how much more difficult it was for him to drain her of her Restarter energy. With everyone else he had encountered, it was an instant transference. But with Kara…
‘I c-can't, you're t-too strong!’ she said weakly.
‘Strength means nothing in this place!’ said Malcolm, all but spitting the words into her face, their close embrace making it all the more personal. ‘When will you children learn that–’
‘Hey, Evil Morpheus,’ said Hal, noticing how Malcolm was losing his cool and getting a bit too close to Kara for his liking. ‘Dial it down a bit, yeah?’
Malcom sighed, then apologised, tempering his anger but not wishing to discard the lesson he so desperately needed her to learn.
‘Even when your adversary is stronger that you, there is always one more card to play. In the heat of the moment you must commit to a singular course of action. It's hard to think under pressure. So, if the blade can't move forward...’
Kara brought up her free hand, applying more pressure on the “hilt”, but it made little difference, as Malcolm added his own free hand to the mix to bolster his right elbow.
‘It doesn't make a difference,’ said Kara, still not getting it.
‘So, what does that tell you? If two hands don't change the outcome? What does that mean?’
‘I...’ she released her second hand from the hilt that was actually the arse-end of a flamingo, making sure to continue pushing her strength into it. ‘Oh...’ she said, finally understanding.
She dropped her left hand to her side, accepting it as a useless appendage that had nowhere to go and nothing to do.
Malcom grinned, and nodded ever-so-slightly. He could see the light bulb pinging to life in her eyes.
She brought her free hand up to waist-level, then released her grip on the flamingo, causing it to fall to the ground, the dirt beneath them refusing to budge under its negligible weight due to its lack of relative substance.
‘Again,’ said Malcolm, breaking form and taking several strides away from her, not even bothering to face her.
Kara grinned, picked up the flamingo, and ran towards him, releasing an Amazonian-like war-cry.
*
Friday passed in a rather uneventful manner.
Malcolm’s past-self had not blessed them with his presence, nor had he triggered another early restart, resulting in the Restarters feeling unexpectedly relaxed. Even Fearne seemed more talkative, despite the fact the second fresh jump into the past had not returned her beloved Peter to her.
Kara had decided to take a break, much to Malcolm’s disapproval, indulging in a spot of entirely inconsequential sunbathing; her retained charge from training with Malcolm allowing her the rare treat of feeling the heat of the afternoon sun across her bare arms. Something that shouldn’t have been possible, given that their sparring should have drained her, not recharged her.
Not that Malcolm had shared that observation with the others, of course.
Sparring with Malcolm had allowed Kara to witness the red energy he was utilising in much greater detail, and it filled her mind with questions as she remembered all of the little details; a curling red energy that flowed forwards, complimented by barely-perceptible black wisps, which flowed backwards towards Malcolm’s outstretched hand, shimmering sporadically, as if holding its own unique element of self-perpetuated fuel. It was a sinister looking electricity, seemingly being siphoned from an unseen, and altogether darker dimension.
It was during this moment of solitary reflection, as the faint voices of Hal and Fearne reached her ears, drifting across the expanse of the clearing they had set up shop in, when their Malcolm approached her. She steered her focus away from yet another argument her friends were engaged in, focusing entirely on the man before her.
‘Kara, I need to speak with you,’ said Malcolm, a hushed tone to his utterance of the words, as he shot a glance over at Hal and Fearne to make sure he was definitely out of earshot.
‘What is it?’ said Kara, her voice a combination of dismissiveness and implied suspicion.
‘You and I…we see things very similarly…’
‘Whatever this elevator pitch is,’ said Kara sarcastically, ‘it already needs work.’
‘Yes, well, what I meant by that is we are very alike.’
‘I’m nothing like you, Malcolm.’
‘That’s certainly a matter of perspective isn’t it?’ his narrow eyes clearly leading to whatever point he was trying to make. ‘After all, we’ve both killed, haven’t we?’
And there it was, just as she predicted.
His angle.
Kara wasn’t willing to play this game. She knew he was a master manipulator. If nothing else, his past with Peter and Fearne was evidence enough of that. She was starting to understand how he had managed to lure past victims into a simulated trust for his own evil agendas, before eradicating them with his mastery of whatever Batman-esque fighting prowess he was now trying to impart on them.
‘How many times, Malcolm?’ said Kara, her words tired and forced, as if having to reiterate the point was sucking the very life out of her. ‘There’s a huge difference between acting in self-defence and murdering for the sake of it.’
‘Yes, there is. Which is why you need to hear what I have to say.’
‘Urgh,’ she grumbled. ‘What then.’
‘When the time comes, if Hal cannot do what must be done, you must take charge. You must finish this.’
‘Hal and I have got this covered. We’ll talk Dark-you round into seeing the bigger picture. And prevent you from causing any more harm to anyone.’
‘That won’t be good enough, and you know it. There’s only one way to stop him.’
‘Stop you, you mean?’ corrected Kara.
‘Semantics aside, there is only one course of action that will yield a long-term result. Like we saw with Peter…’
‘Don’t you dare say his name,’ snapped Kara, sitting upright, her eyes flooding with blue energy.
Malcolm took a step back.
‘You truly are remarkable, Kara,’ said Malcolm, marvelling at the ease with which she could draw upon celestial energy simply via an impromptu emotional response.
Kara took a breath, calming herself, and the flaring of energy retreated.
‘You may serve a purpose to us right now, but make no mistake,’ warned Kara, squaring up to the bulk of a man, ‘the moment you outlive your usefulness? This alliance? This truce? Whatever you want to call it. It’s over. Once we correct the shit-storm you’ve brought down on us, you will be dust. Less than dust. There’ll be no need for you to be here. You’ll be little more than an echo on the wind that we won’t even remember on the other side.’
‘I am different now, you must know this,’ he said, attempting to interject,
but realising her tirade of a rant was impenetrable.
‘I’m not done!’ said Kara, nostrils flaring. ‘You want salvation? Vindication? I don’t buy any of the crap you’re trying to sell. So, do your part and keep your grooming pep-talks to yourself? You get me?’ said Kara breathlessly, standing up, walking past him and barging his shoulder hard, sparks of blue and red emanating from their moment of contact, and fizzling into nothingness in the ever-growing space between them, as she tried to put as much distance between them both as possible.
‘That’s the spirit,’ whispered Malcolm, rubbing his shoulder and noting that there were far more red sparks than there were blue, as his ears were greeted by the sound of rushing air.
‘Of course,’ he said, releasing a sigh of irritability as his past-self chose once more to meddle with his own future.
Malcolm smiled, armed with the knowledge that delaying inevitability was little more than a band-aid. One that would eventually lose its ability to adhere to the skin of the soon-to-be mortal wounds time itself was destined to inflict.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A Glimpse of the Future
178th Restart – Friday, August 24th, 2018, 4:02pm
The fistful of premature restarts that followed seemed to be devoid of a pattern. Malcolm knew this to be by his own twisted design of course, remembering how he had indeed chosen them at random.
Some days, the Dark Restarter allowed the interdimensional interlopers to reach the late afternoon of Saturday the 25th of August, and others giving them less than an hour in Friday the 24th.
Despite his words of reassurance that it would settle down, a further eight restarts had now passed, and everyone but Malcolm was sick of it.
And still, no sign of Peter.
Whether it was through boredom alone, or the fact that Fearne had once again become worryingly quiet, Hal suddenly felt the urge to revisit a concept that Malcolm had, until now, felt certain to be discarded.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘May God have mercy on us,’ said Malcolm in false prayer.
‘It couldn’t hurt to at least try jumping to Sunday.’
‘Harold, how many times. It. Will. Not. Work.’
‘Maybe you just need a boost,’ pressed Hal. ‘If we get close enough to our alive-selves, we could really give it some oomph.’
‘Besides,’ said Kara. ‘If you jump ahead in this restart, won’t it lock your past-self out? From using the boundary line, I mean?’
Malcolm stared at her blankly. She was right, of course.
‘Fine,’ said Malcolm, unexpectedly. ‘If only to bring an end to the matter once and for all.’
And with that, they made their way back to Fir Lodge, reasoning that Hal, Kara and Fearne could generate a far more effective surge of energy by remaining as close to their alive-selves as possible.
*
Once inside the lodge, using the communal living area as their anchor point, Malcolm held out his hands, each of them being taken by Hal and Kara, red and blue sparks filling the air around them, all of which entirely invisible to the living.
Fearne seemed reluctant, her arms crossed, and her pose guarded.
‘It’ll need all of us,’ said Kara softly.
Begrudgingly, Fearne stepped between Hal and Kara, completing the circle so they could initiate what felt an awful lot to Fearne like an ill-conceived séance of stupidity.
They had already discussed what the plan would be on the walk over; drawing upon their respective power, Malcolm would let go of their hands in the hope the energy would be enough to catapult him beyond the realms of their existing restart loop. If it worked, they would effectively be sling-shotting him into Sunday the 26th of August, where his second cycle of restarts had begun, and his comatose-self presumably still resided.
He broke contact with them, disappearing with the familiar ruffle of a heavy-set ground sheet being shaken out, leaving the three of them behind.
*
Malcolm flew through their current restart, his eagerness to reach the end fuelled by the knowledge that the act of doing so locked them all out from using the portal on the boundary line.
He wasn’t fond of leaving them so vulnerable. Or, more honestly, to allow them to make any hasty decisions without his say so.
The world passed him by, as Hal, Kara and Fearne moved around him, talking too fast for him to hear, as if their lives were running on fast-forward which, of course, they were.
The night retreated, and was replaced by the morning light of Saturday morning, as the occupants of Fir Lodge sped through their daily routines.
Hal’s considerably-more-alive-self searched drawers for a spoon for his coffee, whilst alive-Kara inhaled the Bloody Mary she had mentioned during their trip to The White Lodge. Crumpets popped from a nearby toaster, vanishing just as quickly as they were consumed with equal veracity by Daisy and Jasmine alike.
He needed to go further.
Faster.
He closed his eyes, allowing his sense of self to be transported to the moment he knew he could not cross; that of Saturday evening.
The night of his first death.
When he opened his eyes, he was amazed to see that he had travelled beyond 9pm, the hands of the wall clock to his left spinning wildly.
10pm.
11pm.
The furthest he had ever been, the remarkable sight filling his body with adrenaline.
But he could feel himself being tugged, the lasso of time eager to ensnare him. Malcolm fought against it, clenching his fists to summon as many extra seconds as he could, as a darkness slid across the floor, lapping at his legs, yet seemingly unable to sink its tendrils into his body; snake-like coils of dark matter that seemed to grow frustrated by their inability to gain purchase on him.
He looked up to the ceiling, gritting his teeth.
And then, for the first time in his entire life, the darkness he was so accustomed to was gone. Replaced with something else…something altogether new.
Not like the whiteness he had experienced at The White Lodge. No, he found himself dazzled by the intensity of the sun he was staring into, as if the contrast setting of the universe had been turned to its maximum output level.
He lowered his head, discovering it wasn’t a sun he was staring into at all, but a fluorescent light bulb. The type most commonly found in–
‘A hospital,’ he muttered in hushed awe, as if saying it any louder would draw unwanted attention from whatever force it was that governed the now duplicated planet, the speck of dirt his existence represented on a cosmological level at odds with his innate sense of self-importance.
It was remarkable, though. A day unlike any other.
He had made it to Sunday.
It was hard to put into words the sense of elation he felt. After being a prisoner of the same thirty-three hours of time for so many years, it was utterly intoxicating to be somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
He chuckled deliriously, the sound catching in the back of his throat before escaping between his chattering teeth as his shoulders convulsed at the absurdity of every detail.
But his shaking shifted from humour to alarm, as he fell to the floor, his body hitting the ground hard, until he was once again surrounded by darkness. A blackness that would have been smirking, having successfully entrenched its claws back into him, a warden returning the handcuffs of damnation to its wily prisoner.
He was back at the beginning.
Back in the room he always restarted in.
Returned against his will.
Back to the Pentney Lakes.
*
‘Told ya,’ said Hal smugly, finally holstering the gun that had reformed in his hand as it always did, the four of them having regrouped in a brand-new restart.
‘A second spent in the Sunday of our future does not constitute a success,’ said Malcolm icily. ‘Nor does it hold any quantifiable value.’
‘Leave it to you to turn a roaring success
into a Shakespearian bloody tragedy,’ joked Hal.
‘Hal’s right, this is kind of a big deal Malcolm. It shows it’s possible!’ said Kara excitedly, following Hal’s lead. ‘Now we just need to find a way to extend the time you spent there…’
‘I don’t see how any of that–’ attempted Malcolm, but there was no stopping Hal and Kara when they were on a brainstorming roll.
‘Kara’s right,’ said Hal, following the trend. ‘If we can master that…send you into the future to determine if the changes we’re making in the past are having a positive impact…’
He didn’t need to finish. It would mean they could effectively proof-read every big decision as they were making it.
‘I…’ began Malcolm, his heavy frame wobbling erratically, causing him to fall to his knees.
‘You okay there, drunky?’ said Hal, not showing any indication that he was going to help the man up.
‘Memories,’ said Malcolm, bringing his palm to his temple, pressing firmly against it, as an ice-pick headache surged through his brain. Flashes of barely-remembered thoughts fighting for his attention, trying to make room for themselves in an already full to the brim mind.
‘New memories?’ said Hal in excitement.
Malcolm nodded, his face unnaturally pale.
‘Finally!’ said Hal. ‘What’s the Dark You planning?’
‘Risks everything,’ sputtered Malcolm, wanting to vomit, but blessed by Restarter perks. ‘We have a problem. My past-self, he’s leaving in a few hours.’
‘You mean leaving his hiding place?’ asked Kara.
‘No, leaving the lakes entirely,’ replied Malcolm shakily.
‘That’s impossible,’ scoffed Hal. ‘There’s no way he could cross the boundary line without triggering a restart. Not without…’
Malcolm stared at Hal, relieved that he understood.
‘Are you kidding me? He wouldn’t, surely?’
Malcolm glared at the three of them, as if the answer to that was obvious.
‘How do we stop him?’ said Hal, Fearne utterly lost and Kara suddenly getting it.
But for all his intelligence, all of his knowledge pertaining to his own future, he was at a complete loss. His past self was operating to an agenda that had been instigated by their arrival, demonstrating a level of free will that Malcolm himself could never have predicted. For once, he didn’t have the answers.