Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “You’re a traveler?” I asked the obvious.

  “What do you think?” Drummond smirked. “You two hombres time-skip to the past just like I do.”

  “What does that make Kaiser? Another Drummond, like you?” I asked, thinking about his disguise.

  “Kaiser? I don’t know what he is exactly, but he’s not one of us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, no. Who can be sure?” Drummond chuckled.

  “And your daughter?” I asked, remembering something Cindy had mentioned.

  “How do you know about her? She has nothing to do with any of this… she’s an innocent.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Not here.”

  Toby and Travis returned with sullen expressions. “Nobody’s around,” one of them said.

  “Damnation,” Drummond cursed. “Where’s that girl, where’s Kaiser?” he shouted at us.

  “They called the police,” I said.

  “Did they now?” Drummond eyed me doubtfully, then smirked. “And what do you suppose they said?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To the police.”

  I took his meaning and wondered what Franny might be trying to explain.

  “Travis, keep an eye out for Mendez…”

  Drummond waved his gun at us. I didn’t get a good look but it seemed to be an old six-shooter. “Now what to do about you two hombres?”

  “I’m quite sure you do not wish to shoot us, Mr Drummond,” Fynn said.

  “And why not? I’m pretty good with a gun.”

  “Yet you have questions. There are some things you would like to know.”

  “I reckon you’re right about that, Mr Fynn.” Drummond smiled. “Still, you two have raised a ruckus around here… and I gotta say, I didn’t see it coming.” He let off a frustrated sigh and smacked his lips. “One of us is gonna have to mosey-on back and take care of this mess: Kaiser, the girl, and Doc Ollie— he shouldn’t have found what he did. Got to fix that.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “How? I don’t know, break his sonar equipment or something. I’ll tell you though, it’s going to be a real pain in the saddle.”

  “I meant, how do you go back?”

  Drummond laughed. “Oh, I see what you’re saying… well, that’s mighty complicated, isn’t it?”

  “Why have you killed all these people?” Fynn asked.

  Drummond turned his gaze to the inspector. “It was necessary.”

  “Necessary for what?”

  “To protect the first-born, the holy child.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “You’re looking at him right now,” Drummond glanced over at Lambert. “Though, this particular version of me has failed to live up to expectations.”

  “Protect me from what?” Lambert shouted back.

  “From those who would do harm, or trespass against you.”

  “What, like my father?”

  “You’re talking about your foster dad, you know that.” Drummond was clearly angry. “You’re so damn predictable.”

  “Clyde was just a hapless drunk. I hardly knew him.”

  “He used to beat us mercilessly.”

  “He never touched me.” Lambert walked closer to Drummond. “These terrible things that you say happened, did not happen at all.” He was almost screaming. “The bully? Jeff Wheeler— we were best friends. He never hurt me.”

  “July eighteenth, nineteen eighty-two. He was a bad taco, cruel and as mean as they come.”

  Lambert replied with a scornful laugh. “Ha, and the teacher? Mr Hannah? You called him a pedophile…”

  “You came home crying from school… he slapped a ruler across your knuckles. September sixth, nineteen seventy-eight.”

  “You killed my mom,” Lambert screamed.

  “A foster mom— not your real mother. She left you in that car to die.”

  “That was an accident.”

  “She abandoned you. February fourteenth, nineteen seventy-three.”

  “I would have gotten out on my own. It was no big deal. You didn’t save me. It’s all in your head.”

  “In my head, eh?” Drummond screamed back then composed himself. “Itero vitae,” he muttered. “How many times do you think I’ve lived this life? Huh? Over and over again… I lost count.”

  “You never lived my life…” Lambert yelled. “You just sat back and watched. You can’t tell me what really happened.”

  “If I hadn’t saved you, you’d be dead.” He stared at Lambert. “That’s why I came back.”

  “I wish you never did.”

  “I had to. You didn’t hear the voice of god.”

  “Voice of god, my ass. You killed my mother.”

  “That woman was a walking disaster. She was just in it for the money, a check every month from the government… Pretty little thing though, she was.”

  “She took care of me.”

  “Well, I did wait till you were eighteen, you should thank me for that at least,” Drummond said.

  “And the prom queen, Rumiko?” Lambert asked. “I never liked her all that much… but she didn’t have to die.”

  “You don’t fool me, Desmond… that little missy broke your heart,” Drummond shouted back. “Two days later you tried to kill yourself because she jilted you. May twenty-second, nineteen-ninety.”

  “Are you kidding? I was drunk out of my mind and fell out the dorm window.”

  “You lying son-of-a…” Drummond said with disgust. “You’re an emotional cripple, a worthless human being… you hear me, Desmond?”

  “Why kill my sister, Kimberly? She was nothing but kind to me… she was like a second mom… she did not deserve this.”

  “Maybe not, but she was getting a might suspicious. She read your diaries… Started calling me at the ranch. December first, two thousand and two.”

  “So that was just to protect yourself…” Lambert countered. “And Jolene? I’ve never met anyone who made me happier… We were lovers, best friends… You’re a racist bastard.”

  “The color of her skin had nothing to do with it. Fact is, she bamboozled me out of a whole lot of money, a small fortune— bad investments. She was a pushy little broad anyhow. January twenty-second, two thousand twelve.”

  “Trouble,” Travis said from the window.

  I turned and saw the outside darkness fill with flashing blue lights.

  “Watch ’em,” Drummond said and tossed his gun over to Travis. “I’ll deal with Mendez…”

  ***

  Drummond returned some minutes later with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well, that sure was easy.” He laughed. “Franny, sweet as she is, did not fully convince Officer Mendez that anything was awry. She tends to get a bit hysterical at times. Hardly worth a call to nine-one-one. I told him we were having a party and invited him in for a drink. He politely declined of course.” Drummond glanced around the room again. “And, that means Kaiser is still somewhere inside…” He turned to the twins. “Search again, boys. Find him this time.”

  “Are you the first to jump?” Fynn asked.

  Drummond walked closer. “The first to double myself, you mean?”

  “As you say.”

  “I can’t really be sure about that, can I?”

  “What can you be sure of?”

  Drummond sat on the sofa again. “Why so curious, Mr Fynn?”

  “It’s not every day I speak to a fellow traveler.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is… well, let’s just say I come from the future.”

  “How do you get back?” I asked and immediately regretted it. I felt Fynn’s boot in my shin.

  “What?” Drummond said and came right up to my face, his own expression a mask of contempt and confusion. “No one can travel to the future.”

  “Of course not,” Fynn spoke up. “My young friend is mistaken. He has a limited understanding of such things.”

  Drummond sat back, hardly satisfied. He glared
at me.

  “But why have you come from the future, Mr Drummond?” Fynn continued.

  “I had to… protect the first born… It was decreed.”

  “By whom?”

  “God himself spoke to me.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Believe what you want, Mr Fynn. I know the truth. The future was filled with apostates and devils, blinded by worldly pursuits. The ranch was a place of debauchery, a Sodom and Gomorra.”

  “More imagined harm?”

  “No, the future was godless— my brothers had strayed— I was chosen, filled with the irresistible voice of god. He directed my every thought and action, showed me the true path… I was to be guardian of the first born.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I brought the holy infant back with me, to this place, to a past where he could not be found.”

  “And he survived the journey?”

  “As you see him.”

  “So basically, you’re a baby-snatcher.”

  “Call it what you will, Jardel… It’s not me that matters, only the holy child, the well-spring of us all.”

  “And the future?” Fynn asked.

  “Forever changed and forgotten.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “After I traveled back, the ranch was no more than a broken down shack and an abandoned oil rig. I erased that godless future and built it anew.”

  “And now? What is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

  “I just aim to make history a better place, Mr Fynn.”

  “A better place for whom?”

  “Well… everyone I know.”

  The twins returned some minutes later.

  “Did you find him?” Drummond barked.

  “He’s gone,” Travis said. “The backdoor’s open and I saw tracks in the snow.”

  “Where’s he heading?”

  “Into town probably.”

  Drummond said nothing.

  “Should we go after him?”

  “No. Stay put for now,” he answered, but stopped to think. “We better hurry things along. What to do about these two hombres right now, tonight?” Drummond smacked his lips and called out to the twins. “Watch ’em, boys, I have to put on my damn boots.”

  Toby and Travis eyed us nervously, with the latter waving the gun and Toby growing increasingly anxious. It was pretty clear they did not exactly reside together on the same page. I wondered if he might be vulnerable to reason…

  “You know your father is insane, Toby. You can end this right now…” I said.

  “Shut up, Jardel,” Travis yelled instead and pointed the gun at me. He clicked the trigger back.

  Their father returned some minutes later looking more like a diver than a Drummond: heavy rubber waders and a wet suit. He was also carrying a black duffle bag, a large axe and a sledge hammer. He hoisted his heavy jacket back on. “As soon as you see headlights on the far shore, you can snip the wires to the NedCam…”

  “What about Desmond?” one of the twins asked and glanced over at Lambert.

  “Get him back to the ranch… and you two should lay low for a while.” Drummond turned to me. “What kind of stereo do you have in your car, Mr Jardel?”

  “Huh?”

  “Cassette player, CD’s or MP3?”

  I realized why he asked that question and it did not bode well for us. “All I have is a radio,” I lied.

  “Crying shame that…” Drummond replied. He nodded to one of his sons. “Go check…”

  Fynn and I were handcuffed with plastic ties and roughly thrown into the back of my Saab. One of the twins seat-belted us in and jammed a shim into the release buttons. Drummond got into the driver’s seat and headed towards Nederland, and the reservoir. It was easy to guess what was in store for us, though it was completely disconcerting to see someone else driving my car. Nor did I have much leg room.

  Once down the hill, I looked out the window for Andy’s Lincoln as we drove by the Black Forest parking lot. It wasn’t there, moreover the restaurant looked completely closed. Drummond made a right just after Fynn’s hotel onto First Street. He hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when a siren chirped and flashing blues cut through the darkness. He had no choice but to pull over into a vacant lot.

  “Mendez,” I whispered to Fynn.

  “One word from either of you and you’re both dead,” Drummond threatened, though he had no leverage except his gun.

  “We’re already dead,” I answered harshly.

  “I’ll kill Mendez, if I have to.”

  The policeman walked up to the driver’s side window. It wasn’t Officer Mendez after all, but the town marshal. “Well, if it isn’t Mr Drummond,” the wizened old man said, peering into the window. “This isn’t your car.”

  “Evening officer… and no, it’s not. This is Mr Jardel’s car. We work together at the paper. Him and his friend had a little too much celebration. I’m taking them back to Boulder.”

  “Do you know why I stopped you, tonight?”

  “No, sir.”

  “One of your brake lights is out.”

  “Well, he should get that fixed, shouldn’t he?”

  The marshal shined a flashlight onto Fynn and I, but didn’t seem to notice our hands were tied behind our backs. He said nothing to us. “Alright, I won’t write you up… it’s too damn cold… Get that fixed by tomorrow, Mr Jardel.”

  I nodded feebly.

  “And Mr Drummond, I don’t like it when people cut across East Street to the highway, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Some minutes later, Drummond continued on, then veered left towards the post office. He swung right again and parked at the edge of the lake. The headlights illuminated a good portion of the frozen reservoir. He flashed the high beams, then cut the lights entirely— a signal to cut the NedCam. “Ninety-one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-three,” Drummond announced.

  “What’s that?”

  “The odometer reading,” he replied. “Oh well, can’t be helped tonight.” He turned on the CD player. A song began: Thrown like a star from my vast sleep, I opened my eyes to take a peek…

  I turned my head to look out the window again. In the parking lot, I saw a big boat of a car next to a postal van— unmistakably a Lincoln Mark IV— it was Andy and probably Cindy as well. The car was covered with snow but the windshield was not. I saw the wipers go by once or twice. Why they had parked there of all places was not quite clear to me. I felt the Saab bounce roughly as Drummond drove onto Barker Meadow. I also heard a loud crack, then several more, splintering across the lake, seemingly from shore to shore.

  Our driver never wavered, but stayed the course out to the middle of the reservoir. He finally parked and turned back to us. “Won’t be long,” he said as if running an errand and closed the door. Fynn and I watched with a certain horror as he started to hammer giant railroad spikes into the ice around the perimeter.

  “I don’t suppose you have that knife I gave you?” Fynn asked pleasantly.

  I thought for a moment. “In my pocket.”

  “Can you get to it?”

  “Maybe.” I arched my back and squirmed, then started shaking my torso. The knife fell to the seat. Fynn managed to grab it and started cutting. I felt a prick on my skin and a sharp cut, some blood maybe, but at least my wrists were free. I sliced through the seatbelt and released Fynn as well. He immediately reached into his pocket for his astrolabe.

  Headlights caught the rearview mirror and crossed the scene to illuminate Fynn’s face momentarily. He was deep in concentration, adjusting the dials. When I turned my head I saw a car barrel out of the darkness and down the road that led directly towards the reservoir. It was a big car, kicking up a lot of snow, even dirt and gravel. Outside, I watched Drummond pivot, taken completely by surprise. He even slipped on the ice for a moment.

  It was Andy, and he was following us. His Lincoln had other ideas though, and after about twenty yards, it plunged n
ose first below the ice. Its head lights now cast a feeble underwater glow. Cindy and Andy were aboard a sinking ship and I noticed them scramble out the doors. I saw Andy race over to Cindy and cradle her in his arms. He started cautiously towards shore, slipping the whole way.

  Closer though, the ice was creaking. I could feel the Saab dip as one wheel broke through. Drummond carried on relentlessly, hammering like a fiend. Fynn and I slipped from the car, holding onto the doors for balance. Drummond was some yards away, standing on more stable ice.

  “It’s over. Surely you can see that, Mr. Drummond?” Fynn called out, though it was in vain.

  “Of course I do, I just don’t care… May be over for me, this version of me, but that doesn’t matter a whole lot. If I can get y’all out of the way, I’m more than satisfied.” Drummond took a final mighty swing with his sledgehammer. My car started sinking, the ice made a terrible groaning sound and water rushed in up to our knees. Fynn scrambled to the roof of the Saab and hoisted me up from the other side.

  Drummond took a few steps away, satisfied and laughing. “Adios, amigos,” he called out and started towards the shore.

  I turned to look behind me. I saw Andy struggling now, waist deep in icy water, cradling the tiny Cindy in his arms. It was a gut-wrenching sight. Route 119 was filling up with flashing lights, a long line of vehicles approached at a rapid clip, stretching back into the canyon that echoed with their wailing sirens. They were all heading straight for us. I was pretty sure Jamal Morris would be among them. The armada of vehicles began to arrive at the reservoir’s edge. Drummond was not going to get far. Obviously, justice would be served.

  “It’s the end of his story,” Fynn said quietly and turned to me. “And now for us…”

  “But…”

  “This way,” Fynn shouted. “You must face this way. Both of us will jump to the past. At this height, this altitude, to do otherwise is suicide.”

  “Wait. You have to explain all this, doppelgängers, doublers, Drummonds…”

  “I cannot. There is no time.”

  I didn’t want to jump but I felt the car list to one side. I kept my eyes focused on Andy, now up to his chest in icy water, struggling to keep his footing, and holding Cindy as high as he physically could. I saw her face as well, a look of terror. Andy stumbled and disappeared from view, falling below the ice. Fynn shouted again, “Jump Patrick, you must, and quickly.”