A Split in Time

by Vin Carver

  “What are you guys doing?” Nathan said.

  “It’s the cops, man. It’s Toothpic—I mean…it’s Paul.”

  Everyone was over-reacting. Nathan stood up and raised his hand. “Hold on, calm down. If it’s Toothpick, I’ll tell him you guys went with Mom and Dad to dinner. By the time he finds them, they’ll be ten sheets to the wind, and you guys will be gone.”

  Brenda yelled from the kitchen, “What if it’s not Toothpick? What if it’s Mom and Dad? What am I going to do with these brownies?”

  Nathan loved his sister, even when she was being selfish. “It’ll be all right Brenda.”

  “You don’t understand,” Warren said. “Paul pulled a gun on me tonight. I don’t think he can be talked out of finding me. He’ll know if you’re lying.”

  Tanner pulled on Warren. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

  They headed for the kitchen, and Nathan grabbed Tanner’s arm. “Wait. Let’s see who's there before you run away like a couple of Pine Creek cops.”

  Nathan stepped to the window and pulled the curtain back. He couldn’t believe it. After searching all day for his truck, it sat idling in front of his house. “Hey, guess what? I’ve got good news, and I’ve got better news.” The truck’s engine stopped, and a door slammed shut. “The good news is, it’s not Toothpick. The better news is, I can give you guys a ride after all.” He tittered. “It’s my truck.”

  Warren’s face contorted, his eyes darted around the room, and his voice became shrill. “What? Nathan, no.”

  Nathan said, “Warren, relax.” He lunged to the door and grabbed the knob.

  “Nathan, stop. You don’t want to go out there.”

  “Sure I do. I’ve been trying to get my truck back since yesterday.” He opened the door and stepped onto the deck.

  An old man wearing black boots, denim pants, and a blue flannel shirt leaned against the truck. Nathan pulled the door closed and ran to the railing. “Hey mister, thanks for bringing my—”

  “Howdy, Hawt Rawd.”

  Hot Rod? Why is he calling me—

  The old man exposed his cracked teeth in a wicked smile, and Nathan remembered him. The football jersey, the jerky falling to the floor, the free cigarettes—this was the guy. This was the old geezer that had started the fire and taken his truck. Nathan stepped sideways along the railing, and his body quivered. The geezer didn’t have much muscle, but those teeth. They were like headstones worn jagged by years of wind, rain, and pain. Nathan gripped the railing with both hands. “Did I see you at the Tenoco yesterday?”

  “You sure did.” The geezer raised his hands. “Guilty as charged.” Shivers shot down Nathan’s back. “You want to tell me how to stack them jerky sticks now, Hawt Rawd? Or are you too busy being the big boss man to your buddies there?” He gestured to the window. “Hey, that one in the sweater. I think I know him, and his little scar-headed exiter friend. Oooh, and who’s that purty one back there?”

  Nathan glanced at the window and saw Brenda standing behind Warren, her hands on his shoulders.

  The geezer closed in.

  Nathan stepped backward with his hands raised. “Look mister, I don’t want any trouble.”

  The geezer took a step closer.

  Nathan said, “Just give me my keys and walk away. Don’t make me call the police.” He glanced at the road and hoped Warren hadn’t lied about Toothpick.

  The geezer took a pack of Townsboro Reds out of his breast pocket. He pulled two cigarettes from it and lit them both. “Aw, come on, I like this rig. It took me to…” His eyes darted back and forth. “It took me to Pine Creek and back, lickety-split.”

  Nathan reached behind his back and gripped the door knob.

  The geezer said, “All right, all right. You can have your keys back. I put them on my ring here.” He held up a giant key ring. A shiny, green shamrock dangled from the ring and reflected the light from the house. “If you figure out which key is yours, you can have your truck back.” He puffed on the cigarettes and swung the keys back and forth. “Come and get them.”

  “No.” Nathan said. “Toss them to me or I’ll go inside and call the cops.”

  “Oh, so you’re telling me what to do, huh? You want me to toss you these here keys?” His liver-spotted hand swung down and away. “Maybe you’d like to tell me how to do it too, eh Hawt Rawd?”

  Nathan stammered, “No, that’s okay. Just toss them to me and leave.”

  “You're the boss.”

  The keys broke free of the geezer’s hand, and Nathan tipped his head back. Everyone in the house started yelling, but the front window muffled their words. Nathan took a step back and reached above his head. The yelling turned to screaming. Nathan took another step, stretched, and caught the key ring by the shamrock. His heel caught on a board, and he fell.

  The geezer was on him. Pain exploded in Nathan’s left eye, and he closed it. He swung the keys at the geezer’s head and missed. With his right eye, Nathan saw a cracked-tooth grin disappear behind the tip of a lit cigarette. That eye exploded in pain. He tried to push the geezer off and dropped the keys. They landed on his throat, and he choked.

  Brenda screamed, and the front door rattled.

  “What do you think of that, youngins?”

  Nathan swung a fist and missed. He swung again and, this time, he connected. The retaliation was brutal. The geezer mashed the heel of his hand into Nathan’s throat, and it collapsed. Nathan couldn’t breathe.

  The geezer wrapped his bony fingers around Nathan’s ankle and raised it off the deck. The boards of the deck pulled Nathan’s shirt up as he was dragged away from the house. He gripped his throat and tried to breathe. He squeezed as hard as he could and got a single breath before his head banged down the steps. The door to the house opened.

  Tanner said, “Stop.”

  Nathan forced his right eye open a sliver, and a burning ember of tobacco fell into it. He tried to scream and failed. His left eye was useless, burned shut. He cracked open his right eye again and saw a blond blur pass over him.

  “Stop.”

  Tanner grabbed him by his armpits and pulled, but the geezer pulled harder. There was a thwump, and Tanner’s blurry blond hair disappeared from view. Brenda screamed.

  Nathan sat up only to get slammed down. The geezer pinned his shoulders to the ground.

  Tanner said, “Let me go. I’ve got to help—”

  Nathan turned his head to the side and saw a blue blob holding Tanner back.

  You can keep that sweater Warren. I don’t need it anymore.

  Warren was Nathan’s brother from another mother, and he loved him. Nathan loved the way Warren looked up to him. Nathan’s life had been one long charade, but Warren would never have to know that.

  The pain started on the right side of Nathan's neck, ran over his crushed windpipe, and finished below his left ear. Air rushed into his lungs. He could breathe. He tried to tell Tanner goodbye, but before he could, his mouth filled with blood. A whoop and a holler, followed by raspy laughter, filled his ears. He strained to see his brothers, but instead of seeing a blue blob and a blond blur, he saw flashes of light.

  POP

  I’m dying. I’m supposed to go toward the light.

  Nathan reached for the light, but the geezer grabbed his hand and put it on his chest. A glut of blood filled his lungs, and he stopped breathing.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The Second Silhouette

  Warren opened his eyes. A light shone from the upstairs window of Tanner’s house and pierced the yeasty vale of banana bread fog circling overhead. He ran his hand over the wet grass in search of the urn and found a hand. Tanner lay face down, and his skin was cold. Warren sat up and shook him. “Tanner, are you all right?”

  The urn leaned against Tanner’s side. Sparks had burned black holes in the shape of the urn on Tanner’s Los Cabos shirt. Warren picked the urn up and looked for his backpack. A layer of fog hung over the lawn, obscuring the front of the house. Warren
wiped his face and blinked. “Tanner. Wake up. Let’s get out of here.”

  A strange feeling came over Warren. He walked toward the house, stopped, and stared at the ground. The light from the upstairs window pushed through the fog and reflected off droplets of water on the grass. The grass was more than alive. It had a soul. He turned away from the house, and fixated on the place where the thief—no, the arsonist—no, the murderer had slit Nathan’s throat. Nathan wasn’t there.

  Warren turned toward the house. An image of the old man dragging Nathan off the deck flashed before his eyes. Nathan clutching at his throat, struggling to breathe. The old man sitting on him, punching, cutting, and laughing at him. The lump of all lumps welled in Warren’s throat. Anger seethed over his Adam’s apple and onto his face. Tanner lay motionless on the grass—more dead than wizard or monster. A scream bounced around inside Warren’s rib cage and—

  Look away, then, run away.

  Warren ran to the side of the house, picked up his backpack, and put the urn in the outer pocket. He saw a teal towel lying on the deck and went to it. The mermaid hook above the towel read CASSIE, and Warren relaxed.

  I’m here. I’m in Nirvana.

  He put his hand on the back of his neck, and a smile emerged through his anger. He ran to Tanner. “Tanner, we’re here. Wake up. We’re in Nirvana.”

  A psychosomatic voice startled Warren. The upstairs window framed the silhouette of a thin, short-haired teenager. “Hey, what’s going on out—it's you. Wait right there.”

  Warren’s voice box vibrated. “Wait right there.”

  The teenager disappeared. Warren shook Tanner. “Come on Tanner, we have to go.” He put his fingers on Tanner’s throat. Warren’s heart raced, and he couldn’t find Tanner’s pulse. He pulled one of Tanner’s eyelids up and, not knowing what to look for, confirmed Tanner still had an eye.

  The door to the house opened, and the teenager ran onto the deck. “What are you doing over there?”

  Warren clutched his throat. “What are you doing over there?”

  POP

  Warren wrapped one arm around his backpack, and the other around Tanner. His head lolled to the side, and he resisted the urn’s pull on time. He turned his head toward the other him, and it took forever. His thoughts screamed at high speed, but everything else slowed to a crawl. He tried to make eye contact with his doppelgänger.

  No. It’s not fair. You’ve had your turn in Nirvana. It’s my turn. I don’t want to leave—

  POP

  His head turned slower. The driveway moved into view, followed by his dad’s sports car, then his mom’s SUV, then the side of the house, and then…a second silhouette in the shadows of the eve.

  The second silhouette stepped into the light with an unearthly speed. Warren stopped moving his head and strained his eyes. Sound moved slow. Warren’s voice box tingled as the other him spoke. “Waait. Whoo arre youu?” Light hit the second silhouette and illuminated a figure composed of both texture and form. A black hoodie shaded the figure’s face, and drawstrings hung over a slack front pocket. The figure wore a pair of jeans, muddy sandals, and—

  POP

  With lightning speed, the figure pulled a gun out from behind his back and pointed it at the other Warren. A brilliant orange splotch of fire appeared on the tip of the gun and sprayed across the front of the house. Warren’s throat erupted, and he heard himself scream. The world spun out of control and—

  POP

  Warren rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. “No. I want to stay.”

  POP—POP, BANG

  The world spun down, and Warren opened his eyes. A cluster of stars peeked around an invisible cloud. He rolled toward the house, and the fog was gone. The upstairs light was out, and the second silhouette had left. He rolled onto his other side to see if Tanner was okay, but Tanner wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Run Youngin

  Warren grabbed the ground where Tanner had been and pulled out a handful of grass. The aroma of banana bread stung his nose, and he sniffed. A yeasty glob of mucous fell into the back of his throat, and he spit it out.

  “There you are little fellow. I found you.”

  That old, raspy voice pulled on Warren’s nervous system.

  “Say, you weren’t trying to spit on my boots, were you?”

  Warren froze. He waited for the old man to stab him, and when that didn’t happen, he rolled away and pushed himself to his feet. He raised his hands to ward off the attack, but the old man just smiled at him.

  “Calm yourself, youngin.”

  The old man leaned against the back of Nathan’s truck and cleaned his box knife. The flat edge of the knife reflected light into Warren’s eyes and blinded him for a moment. With careful intention, the old man pulled the knife across the sleeve of his flannel, inspected it, and pulled it across again. He held it up and smiled. “You know, this here box knife has been good to me. I got it way back when I was working up in Pine Creek. I never got to use it the way I wanted back then, but I’m glad I got to use it that way tonight.” His cracked tooth smile broadened, and he nodded toward the front lawn.

  In his peripheral vision, Warren could see Nathan’s body. He tried to take a step back, but something blocked his foot. He pushed his heel against it, and it moved. Keeping his eyes on the old man, Warren reached down, felt around, and grabbed the strap of his backpack. He stood up and slung it over his shoulder.

  The old man grinned at the knife one last time and put it in his pocket. He pulled out a small key ring and waved it in front of Warren. “Want to play catch with this here ring? This ring actually has Hawt Rawd’s key on it.” He laughed and hooted.

  Look away, then, run away.

  Warren looped his arm through the other strap and took a step back.

  “I’m kidding you boy. I ain’t going to hurt you. I was just mad at your friend for telling me what to do and how to do it.”

  A lump formed in Warren’s throat and burst. “You what? You were just mad?”

  “Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it. Heck, it was more fun than running over that little Russian girl.” He pinched his chin. “What was her name now…Dasha?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Oh, calm your wad. It don’t matter.” The old man motioned downward like a policeman trying to slow traffic. “Alive in this Tamarack, dead in that one. This youngin’s got to go because he’s supposed to, but that youngin’s got to stay because that’s what the teaching says.” The old man rambled. “It’s a bunch of horse pucky, that’s what I think.” Warren took another step back, and the old man raised his hand. “Stop right there youngin. I said I ain’t going to hurt you. I got a job paper here telling me to remove you, but I ain’t going to.” His lips pulled apart and bent into a smile, exposing his cracked, yellow teeth. His hands balled into fists. He tipped his head back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I quit my job today and guess what? They ain’t caught me yet.” He leaned forward and gazed into Warren’s eyes. “Of course, they don’t know I quit yet because I ain’t told them.” He laughed.

  “Your job?” Warren couldn’t think. His cranium ached. “Your job? You killed Nathan you son-of-a—”

  “Calm down youngin.”

  Warren said, “Remove me? Are you a hit man or something? Is that what you did to Nathan, remove him?” Warren pointed at the front lawn.

  The old man’s smile faded. He took a deep breath and spoke slower. “Nobody wanted Hawt Rawd dead except me. I was hiding out up in…” His eyes darted back and forth. “I was hiding out up in Pine Creek, and I saw this thing of jerky sticks, and I don’t know. Something in my brain just snapped.” A wild look flashed across the old man’s eyes, and he smiled. “Ha. That stupid Hawt Rawd didn’t see it coming did he? I pulled up to his house in his own truck, and the ijit come right outside to greet me. Hee hee.” He laughed, hooted, lifted his leg, and slapped his knee.

  Warren didn’t laugh. “Who wanted you to rem
ove me then?”

  “Hee, hee…hee…my bosses. They wanted me to remove you because you're a temcor. Folks like yourself mess up their time lines. They think every time line ought to run its course, but I don’t care. I ain’t going to kill you just to make them mad. You can go skipping between the time lines all you want, I don’t care. I don’t work for them ghosty fellows anymore. I don’t work for anybody except myself.” He waved his hand in a circle over his head. “Woo hoo…I’m free.”

  A car skidded around the bend in Melody Lane, and red and blue lights flashed through the pines. The old man opened the door, jumped inside the truck, and stuck his head out the window. “Run youngin. They can’t get both of us if you run the other—”

  The engine roared to life.

  “What?”

  “Run. They’re going think you killed Hawt Rawd if you don’t run.” The truck’s headlights came on, and the police cruiser’s sirens blared.

  Warren looked away, but he didn’t run away.

  He ran to the truck, grabbed the tailgate, and pulled it to his chest. Before he could jump in, the old man hit the gas, and the back wheels spun, throwing pieces of Melody Lane onto the lawn. Warren hooked an elbow over the tailgate. The truck swung left, corrected, and skidded sideways, dragging Warren’s feet down the road. The police cruiser swerved, scraped the side of the truck, and tore off the driver’s side mirror.

  “Thank you, you ijit cop. I didn’t want that useless mirror anyway.”

  Warren’s feet bounced off a pothole, and his body flew upside down. He pulled himself into the bed of the truck, spun, and peered out the back.

  The police cruiser came to a stop in front of Tanner’s house. The cruiser’s searchlight came on and moved over the lawn until it lit up Nathan’s body. Brenda stood on the deck with her hands over her mouth, crying. Warren lowered his head behind the tailgate and wished he was in Nirvana.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  The Quintessence of Time