by Bob Avey
“Of course, you know Luke better than I do,” Tanner said, “better than anyone, I’ll bet, but sometimes it takes an outsider to point out what’s not so clear to the insiders.”
Martin wasn’t sure if he liked where this was going, and again he felt the unfamiliar pangs of anger course through him. “What are you getting at?”
“Just that Luke has more going for him than you give him credit for.”
“And just how would you know that?”
“We’ve talked,” Tanner said, “though I must admit, I can’t remember when or where.”
Martin nodded. The answer had occurred to him while Tanner was speaking. “I think I know,” he said. “It was during the birthday parties you hosted for Candy. Luke loved the playground equipment just as much as she did.”
An uneasy look crossed Tanner’s face just as a dog, somewhere outside the double-wide, began barking.
Tanner rose from the barstool and strolled toward the front door.
“What is it?” Martin asked.
“Becker’s barking. Becker never barks.”
Tanner flung open the door and stepped out.
Martin came out of the double-wide, but he’d only taken a few steps onto the grass when the first shot was fired. Not that Martin knew what it was at first. He did not. When a bullet hole formed, however, in the sheet metal not more than two feet from his head, he put it all together.
Tanner was screaming something, probably for Martin to get down. But Tanner was not obeying his own command. Martin sensed what was going to happen, which ran a current of fear through him. It wouldn’t do to tell the biker to get himself out of the line of fire. Martin would have to get to his location and physically take him down. Martin started toward Tanner, though it was like a dream in which his legs would not work properly. His muscles strained as if he were walking through thick mud. Martin struggled to make it through, but he began to lose concentration. He became dizzy, and everything lost focus.
. . .
Martin opened his eyes into total darkness, though he immediately knew where he was. He felt the electricity along the narrow walls and heard the distant voices like before. He was back in the tunnel, or whatever it was. Perhaps he had never left, and everything else was some kind of dream. He didn’t believe that though. He detected something different this time: the smell of medicine.
He knew only one thing. He had to get back and save Tanner. He thought of an old-fashioned calendar. He wasn’t sure why, but since he had the image in his mind, he concentrated on the fourth day of May. Taking it further, he brought the face of his grandfather’s watch to mind and mentally adjusted the hands to 1:57 p.m.
. . .
A flash of blue light nearly blinded Martin. He tightened his grip on the handlebars of the Harley Davidson, but he did not pull immediately into the asphalt drive, which led to Tanner’s place. He rode instead a few hundred yards south where he pulled off the road as best as he could without going into the ditch. Almost as if acting on instinct, though on some level he understood what he was doing, he shut off the bike and started walking east along the fence line bordering Tanner’s property. He’d made it about fifty feet when the leaves shuffled, and someone ran from the cover of trees. He couldn’t see anyone, but he had a strong sensation that he’d accomplished, at least for the time being, what he’d set out to do.
Martin remounted the bike and drove toward the entrance. He’d gone back in time, or something, and it had happened within the day that he suspected he was already doing over.
A bead of sweat formed somewhere along his spine and trickled down his back.
Why was this happening? And why, of all people, was it happening to him?
Again, the gate swung open, and again Martin guided the bike along the black, asphalt driveway. Near the first bay door, he shut down the Harley. Then, he climbed off and started along the grassy pathway toward the entrance to the double-wide.
Like it had before, the door opened just as he neared the entrance. As if following a script, Martin walked over to the bar and placed the keys to the Harley on the counter.
Tanner stood near the doorway, leaning against the bar, a can of beer in his hand. “Hello, Martin. I wish I could say it was good to see you again.”
For a moment, Martin considered the old biker’s words. “What’s the matter, Tanner? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Tanner plopped down in one of the barstools. “Maybe I have, but the last time I checked, you were the one with the deja vu problem.”
“Funny you should put it that way,” Martin said. He walked over to the window beside the front door, parted the mini blinds, and peeked out.
Becker, the pit bull, was lounging peacefully in the unattended flower bed beside the front steps.
Martin was relieved the dog was still there. Things had a way of changing in his world. He checked his grandfather’s watch.
It showed 2:15 p.m., Monday, May 04. If bullets were going to fly, it should happen any minute now. Another frightening thought occurred to Martin. Earlier, at the cemetery, he’d thought someone was watching him, and less than an hour later, the sniper attack unfolded. He thought of Luke and Susan. Where were they right now?
“I should go,” he said. “I need to check on my family.”
“Wait. That’s not a good idea, not just yet.”
Tanner knew. Martin had suspected it earlier, and he was now pretty sure. “What makes you say that? Could it be a premonition that someone might be hiding in the trees and start shooting at me as soon as I step outside?”
Tanner raised the beer to his lips, drained the contents, and then crushed the can with his hand. “Something like that,” he said. He got up from the barstool and walked over, stopping just a few feet away from Martin. “What in the hell have you done, Martin Taylor? What in the hell have you gotten us into?”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t know that I’ve done anything.”
That’s not true is it, Martin? You just ran someone out of the trees and possibly stopped an ambush.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Tanner, and that’s the truth.”
What about the tunnel, Martin? How did you get there? And for that matter, how did you get back out of it?
“I don’t know whether I’m causing this or if I’m just caught up in it. I’m sorry I dragged you into it.”
Martin turned and reached for the door.
“Wait,” Tanner said. “What if it happens again, the shooting I mean? You’ll never make it to your car. And then what?”
Martin parted the mini blinds and peeked out. The dog was still there. “Becker’s not barking.”
“Becker never barks.”
“But he’s lying there as if everything is cool. He wouldn’t do that if there was trouble, would he?”
Tanner shrugged. “Probably not, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.”
“I have to,” Martin said. “What if that maniac goes after Susan or Luke?”
Tanner rubbed his forehead. “I never would have guessed hanging around with the mild-mannered Martin Taylor would add such suspense to my life. I can’t let you go it alone, though. I guess we should ride over and check it out.”
Martin reached for the door again and opened it this time. He stepped out onto the landing where he paused and scanned the area.
He saw nothing out of the ordinary, heard nothing unusual. “You don’t have to do this, Tanner. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you walked away. And who knows, maybe this only happens around me, and maybe you would be just fine without me in the picture.”
Tanner turned and disappeared
into the double-wide. When he returned, he was carrying a large revolver, a .44, Martin suspected.
“I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m knee deep in this already,” Tanner said. “I can’t let you wander off to fight this all by yourself. Something tells me you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Martin nodded. “We can take my car if you want?”
Tanner pushed past Martin and trotted down the wooden stairs. “We started this ride on the Harleys. I guess we’d better finish it that way.”
Martin followed the old biker down the stairs and took the grassy pathway to the garage.
Tanner fired up his Knucklehead and stowed the .44 in the left saddle bag. Then, he eased the bike onto the driveway.
With an uneasy feeling in his gut, Martin followed. Tanner was a loose cannon, and Martin didn’t like the idea of the old biker carrying a gun, but he suspected Tanner was right about one thing. He would not stand a chance without him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOHN
May 5, 2020, 3:15 p.m.
John took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself while checking his appearance in the car’s mirror. He looked much younger than his sixty-plus years, a feat he had to admit was impressive, given the life he’d led. Not that he drank, smoked, or spent time at late social gatherings. He had done none of that. His afflictions were all job related, and his appearance, deceiving.
He climbed out of the car and started toward the door, trying to rid himself of excessive thought. Mentally reviewing the reasons why he should not tackle the task would only make it more difficult.
Someone opened the door a crack, enough to allow them to see without being totally exposed. With practiced efficiency, John studied what he could see of her face: the lady of the house, he presumed, a modestly attractive woman with reddish hair and inquisitive, green eyes. Her face spoke of a kind nature, and John was immediately taken with her and felt sorry that what seemed a good, above average citizen should be caught up in all of this.
A short time later, John had both Luke and Susan Taylor sitting around the dining room table, peacefully answering his questions. He was good at what he did.
As with Chris and Jennifer Barnes, however, John was quickly coming to the conclusion that Susan Taylor had no clue of what was happening. Luke, on the other hand, presented more of a challenge. He was essentially a child, around six or seven John guessed, living in a teenager’s body. He was at least six feet tall, and weighed around two hundred pounds, if John was guessing correctly.
“Martin is a good father, Mr. Rainbow, a wonderful husband, and, if the truth be known, a very capable man. He just doesn’t believe that or believe in himself. That’s the trouble with Martin.”
“Where is your husband, Susan? I’d like very much to talk to him.”
Susan Taylor didn’t answer, which was highly unusual. John repeated the question multiple times with the same result. When pressed, Susan would say she couldn’t give that information. Either she could override the drug, which was also highly unusual, or she just didn’t know. Then again, if it were as simple as not knowing, she would easily acknowledge that fact.
John pushed away from the table and entered the living room. The open concept layout enabled him to monitor Susan by glancing over the large, granite bar separating the two spaces. He chose a black, leather recliner and lowered himself into it. The events of the day had left him tired. He closed his eyes, only for a moment and with vigilant knowledge that he could not allow himself to fall asleep in such a situation.
“Mr. Rainbow?”
John opened his eyes to find Luke Taylor standing over him, an innocent, or perhaps not so innocent, hulk of a boy leaning close, looking intently into his face. He sat forward and gathered himself.
“What is it?” John asked, unable to mount a better response. The boy should have been sitting quietly at the table as his mother was. “Did you drink anything from the soft-drink can you had in front of you on the table?”
“I no like it.”
John considered that. No one had ever mentioned the drug having a taste, either bad or good. “I see. Well, what can I do for you, Master Luke?”
“You help my dad? Bring him back?”
John nodded. It was times like this he wished he was a banker, a real estate salesman, even a merchant marine, anything but the harbinger of bad news.
“I will try,” he said, “but I can’t promise anything. You see, I don’t know where he is. Maybe you could help me with that. Do you know where your father is, Luke?”
Luke shook his head. “I think he’s dead. Maybe. I don’t know.”
John wanted to say he couldn’t bring anyone back, and neither could anyone else. In the normal course of things, such would be so, but he didn’t deal in normal.
“Why would you say such a thing, Luke?”
“We had a wreck.”
“What kind of wreck?”
“In a car, Dad’s car.”
John considered the information briefly before saying, “Were you involved in the accident as well?”
He nodded.
“You seem okay, “John said. “Were you not injured as well?”
He shrugged. “I guess not. Airbag went off too.”
John relaxed into the chair. Going under the assumption that Luke and his father had been involved in an accident, it wasn’t out of the question that Luke would be unharmed. He had heard of such things before. It might also explain Susan’s odd response. Being under the influence of the drug and answering as honestly as possible, Susan would not know for certain where her husband was, at least in a spiritual sense.
“When did this accident happen, Luke?”
“Yesterday.”
It was easy to like Luke, easy to talk to him, which made following protocols, staying neutral and as uninvolved as possible, that much more difficult for John. He’d never had anyone circumvent his interviewing techniques. A disturbing thought occurred to him.
“Tell me, Luke, have you had any deja vu moments lately?”
“What that?”
“You know, like when you think you’ve done something or seen something before, that kind of thing. Maybe you were doing something, and all of a sudden it was like, ‘hey I’ve already done that.’ Have you felt anything like that, my friend?”
“Maybe. Yeah, like that.”
“Good, Luke, very good. Could you tell me about one of those times, something that’s happened within the last couple days?”
“I no go back.”
John waited, but apparently that was all Luke had to say. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what that means. You went somewhere, and you don’t want to go back. Is that it?”
“I no go back.”
Luke’s means of communication clouded the issue. However, there was little doubt in John’s mind over the importance of the conundrum he had just uncovered.
Don’t give yourself too much credit, John. Luke actually volunteered the information.
Andrew was adamant about residual memories and what should be done about it. No amount of crossover could be tolerated.
“Okay, Luke, you don’t have to go back. I promise.”
Careful, John.
Where or what, or more correctly what time and place the boy did not want to revisit could prove important, even invaluable in discovering the source of the rift. John could, he suspected, insist on Luke consuming the soft drink he’d doctored. Having him do that, however, would not solve the problem. The drug was effective with ordinary memories. Unfortunately, crossovers were an entirely different issue. He should try again.
“Luke, what exactly do you not want to go back to?”
The boy gave John a curious look, almost as if he were catching on to the importance of it all, though John doubted that was the case.
“You like hummingbirds?”
“Hummingbirds?”
Luke pointed toward the back patio, visible through the windows. “They come back. They eat sugar. Maybe it too early. I like hummingbirds, like little Pegasus.”
John sat forward, Luke’s words grabbing his attention. Project Pegasus was at the very heart of his world. “Pegasus seems a funny name for hummingbirds. Why do you call them that?”
“My dad like it. He gave me a sign.”
“What kind of sign?”
“A red horse with wings.” Luke nodded, a broad smile coming across his face. “I show you.”
With that, Luke turned toward the small hallway leading from the living area and disappeared through an arched opening.
With both curiosity and worry running through his mind, John followed the same route. He found Luke standing in what he guessed to be his bedroom, proudly pointing to a sign hung on the wall just above the headboard to the bed. The white, porcelain sign advertised Mobil Gas in blue letters, and depicted above the wording was a representation of a red, flying horse—an image of Pegasus, the winged stallion of Greek mythology. John was no expert on antique signs, but it looked to be the real deal, except it was smaller than the signs John had seen on television programs.
“That’s beautiful, Luke. Where did your dad get this?”
Luke shrugged. “Antique place, I think. He got it for me. I like the horse. Hummingbirds look like tiny horses, flying horses.”
John had never heard anyone compare hummingbirds to tiny, flying horses. “I’d like to ask you about that place where you don’t want to go, Luke. I know it makes you uncomfortable, so I will only ask once, okay?”
“I guess.”