Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “No one could have aimed that tree better, nor timed it so perfectly.”

  “What are you saying exactly, Mr Mears?”

  “It’s just where the tree fell, right on top of their bedroom, and right at nap time more or less.”

  “Nap time?”

  “Sure. The Dumonts are famous for spending their afternoons up there. If they weren’t sleeping, Peggy was usually reading or sewing. And Jacques? Probably playing solitaire on his computer or something.”

  “Sounds cozy.”

  Mr Mears smiled at me. “They seemed very happy together.”

  “So you know them quite well?”

  “I’d say so, best neighbors I ever had. Peggy is an excellent cook, always having me over for dinner, and I’m often the recipient of leftovers… Being a bachelor, I’m overjoyed to fill that particular role.”

  “What is it that you do, Mr Mears?” Fynn asked.

  “Huh?” He was taken by surprise. “Wait a second, I thought you guys were from the insurance company. That sounds like a cop question.”

  “Apologies, curiosity got the better of me.”

  Mears laughed. “Well… I buy and sell old books on the internet.”

  “And how is business?”

  “Kind of slow really…”

  “You must be friends with Mrs Lovely then,” I said.

  “I don’t think I know her.”

  “She runs the library in town… loves old books.”

  “Oh yeah, right, maybe I do know her. In fact, I think I bought a nice edition of Dickens from her a few months back.”

  “What do you know of the extended family?” Fynn asked.

  “A bunch of idiots. They never visit… oh, not more than once or twice a year. And all those screaming grandkids, running around in the backyard…”

  That struck me as an odd thing to say. “I thought they were all college aged?”

  “Well, they are now, of course, but back in the day…”

  “Were you witness to this terrible accident?”

  “Who me? No, I wasn’t around. I was overseas, traveling. I didn’t hear anything till I got back. Shocking news.”

  From Mr Mears house, Fynn and I crossed the street to the final Dumont neighbor. We knocked and waited sometime before a middle aged woman answered our call. Behind her were several big dogs snarling and barking. She looked us over and gave me a severe glance. Fynn barely got a word in, when she angrily interrupted: “I’m not going to talk to you, either of you,” she said and slammed the door.

  “Can’t say I was expecting that,” I said.

  “Well, you’re not the most popular person in Sand City.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t wish to offend, Patrick, but you’ve estranged a good many people in town.”

  “Fynn, what are you saying?” I was confused by his comment. “It’s not like you to be cruel.”

  “Surely that’s not my intent.”

  “Well, what is your intent?”

  “I’m merely pointing out that you’ve made some enemies in Sand City.”

  “Enemies? Me? How?”

  “I’m certain Billy Baker is no friend of yours.”

  “Billy Baker— the retired baseball player?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I was nothing but nice to the guy.”

  “And the scathing exposé in Sports Illustrated? How was that being nice?”

  “That was Leaning… he did that piece.”

  “Jack Leaning?” Fynn asked, “from the Times?”

  I nodded.

  “Another life you ruined.”

  “Wait a second here… this is all wrong.”

  “Tell it to your good friend, the craven Mr Chamblis… next time you lunch at the yacht club, or at your usual golf game.”

  “I don’t play golf.”

  “Nonetheless, Patrick, even you must admit to making some rather poor choices in recent months… and now the consequences loom large.”

  “But you’re implying that I’m some kind of evil bastard.”

  “Perhaps evil is too strong a word.”

  ***

  By the end of the day I found myself in Inspector Fynn’s living room again. He was sitting in the chair opposite, sipping his single malt. I was drinking coffee. I knew we had traveled here in no other way except my Saab. Fynn turned to me and said, “It’s very strange, Patrick, that your extraordinary memory has completely failed today.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Your idea of how Sand City should be, is at odds with how it is.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  “So you believe something is wrong?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “And yet, I think you must.”

  “What?”

  “Start… offer some explanation.”

  “I can’t really… Everything you described is not part of my one timeline. I don’t remember making any of these choices.”

  “That’s rather curious. You don’t recall making a deal with the devil— Michael Burton Dean, the attorney for Mr Chamblis?”

  “He approached me with an offer, or a bribe, but I turned him down.”

  “You do not write a syndicated column under the name of Gary Sevens?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Were you not promised a new house at Baxter Estates?”

  “No. I opposed that development.”

  “Did you oppose the re-opening of the quarry?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about plans for a casino at Saint Albans?”

  “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “And the new canal?”

  “What canal?”

  Fynn took a sip from his glass. “You do understand that you are moving to Colorado under a cloud of controversy, yes?”

  “No, that is, I don’t understand it at all.”

  “Hmm…” Fynn muttered, softening a bit.

  “Mrs Philips mentioned I used to work for the Chronicle… where do I work now?”

  “Are you saying you don’t know?”

  “Yes.”

  “You work the night shift at the Fish City packing plant.”

  This came as a complete shock. “I just hope it’s not a weird doppelgänger thing.”

  “How do you mean?” Fynn asked.

  “Another me running around, doing stuff. It’s a terrifying prospect.”

  “Such might not be the case at all,” Fynn said. “It may be that you made some terrible decisions in this particular timeline and now have to live with the consequences.”

  “I think I would remember that.”

  “Well, as paradoxical as it may seem, your doppelgänger is quite distinct from you.”

  “Apparently.”

  “There can be no interaction between the two different you’s, other than conversation over dinner or coffee.”

  “Says who?”

  “This is my current understanding.”

  I sat brooding in silence for a while, thinking this current timeline was not at all to my liking; worse, I had a hard time imagining how it came to pass without my knowledge or consent. “I think I’ll go out for a while.”

  “But where?” Fynn asked. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I don’t know, maybe down to the jetty. I just need to be alone…”

  “Of course, I understand this, Patrick. But be careful… no libra lapsus, please.”

  “Promise.”

  “Do you have a place to sleep tonight? I will leave my door open…”

  “I’ll be okay, but thanks.”

  Foolishly or not, I had made up my mind to jump. This was not my Sand City, and anywhere would be better— or would it? I climbed up onto the lifeguard chair at Middle Cove. Sitting on top, I started to recall some of my past experiences. A good deal of fear and anxiety swept through me. No, ju
mping would be a stupid idea. I started to climb back down but slipped on the wet ladder. I fell face first in the sand. I sat up of course, but remained there on the dark beach with just the sound of the waves rolling in. As far as I could tell nothing had happened. No oblivion, no fiery pain. Everything seemed exactly the same, including myself.

  * * *

  chapter nineteen

  leap years

  I felt a steady breeze on my face and there was someone calling my name, softly but quite persistently. I opened my eyes and couldn’t think where I was for a moment. I saw Fynn immediately, sitting on a low branch and holding a thermos. I smelled the scent of pine needles. It seemed to be a chilly morning and I found myself dressed in a cotton hoody under a leather jacket.

  “Where am I?”

  “In your temenos,” the inspector said.

  “My what?”

  “Your own personal sacred ground… your secret garden, if you will.”

  “Oh, you mean my pine grove.” I smiled sleepily but suddenly realized I was laying in a hammock. A few seconds later, I fell to the ground on my backside.

  Fynn started laughing at my mild misfortune. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve fallen quite far.”

  “The sand is soft.”

  “Your hammock?” he asked.

  “Mine? No. I found it here.”

  “Why didn’t you sleep in your own bed?”

  “I’m a little confused. I’m not sure I still have an apartment.”

  “Well, I am quite certain you do. I don’t think a new tenant has been found, and there is an empty u-haul parked in your driveway.”

  “Is there? I guess I didn’t pack for Colorado then.”

  “And your cat?”

  “Zachary?” I asked almost in a panic.

  “Not to worry, I seem to remember you telling me that your cat is in the loving hands of Joey and his mother.”

  “Oh right,” I agreed, but had to stop and think about whether Joey actually liked cats, or his mom.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Your cell phone is not operating.”

  I checked my phone and held it up. “Forgot to charge it. Battery’s dead.”

  “I see… well, I brought you some coffee.”

  “Thanks.” I sipped greedily if that’s possible, and after the first few mouthfuls my mind seemed to clear. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you.”

  “Why?”

  “I was worried, the last time we spoke you didn’t quite seem yourself.”

  “That might be an understatement. Things don’t seem right. I was going to visit Suzy or Joey last night, but I didn’t want to freak them out—”

  “Likely not. For them, it’s a few days before you move to Colorado, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.” Fynn paused and grim lines crossed his brow. “At least such was true when last we spoke. Today, it’s entirely different.”

  “What?”

  “I have some rather bad news…”

  “What bad news?”

  “To start with, it’s very likely you will not be attending your going away party.”

  “My what?”

  “The surprise party which Anika has been planning.”

  “Oh, well, that’s not so terrible. I don’t really like that kind of thing.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “What?”

  “You are wanted for questioning.”

  I was at a loss for words and simply stared at Fynn.

  “Detective Durbin is inquiring about your whereabouts. Certainly he has told you?”

  “What?”

  “Your friend Suzy Chandler has disappeared. She’s been missing for several days.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Patrick, she was found dead in your apartment. It’s a wonder you didn’t know.”

  “Know? How could I know?”

  “Anika has disappeared as well… And Lorraine is no where to be found.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “This is why I am here so early this morning. I can only conclude that Mortimer has returned.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I can think of no other reasonable explanation.”

  “His awareness, his memories are back?”

  “It would seem so, and with a terrible vengeance. We both seem to be targets of his wrath.”

  I sat in the sand thinking, though not very clearly. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “I seem to be missing a day.”

  “Which day?” Fynn asked.

  “Um, yesterday, I guess.”

  “Don’t you recall visiting the crime scene, the Dumont’s residence?”

  “No… when?”

  “Tuesday. You had some rather good observations.”

  “Did I?” I tried to recall. “It sort of seems familiar…”

  “Dreaming again?”

  “I guess, but it didn’t feel like a dream— more like a nightmare.”

  “Not a memory?”

  “Not this time, at least I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we must be off, if you’re feeling up to it.” Fynn helped me to my feet.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I borrowed Hector’s bicycle.” He nodded over at the bushes. It was leaning against my Saab.

  “What about my car?”

  “Best you leave it where it is.”

  “Leave it? Where are we going?”

  “To the beach. North Hollow is closest.”

  I immediately took his meaning but refused to admit it to myself. “Not the quarry?”

  “If you wish. Either does the trick.”

  “No, no, you know better, I’m sure.”

  “Hopefully, the beach is the last place Durbin will look.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s be on our way.”

  We walked quickly through the pine grove and made a path towards the high dunes above North Hollow.

  “Fynn, a question...”

  “Yes?”

  “Why here, why Sand City?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Of all the places in the world, why are you here in Sand City? Why is Mortimer here?”

  “But it is the perfect place, very well situated.”

  “How so?”

  “We are at sea level, and the beaches run roughly north to south. It is the ideal place to travel from.”

  “That’s it?”

  “There are many more reasons. Even with the worst jump, you might end up in Serenity Bay. Certainly that is survivable. There are the bluffs as well, a place to find respite. Too high for another traveler with bad intent to sneak up on you. And of course there is the quarry.”

  “The quarry?”

  “A superb spot for the adept traveler… nearly an entire circle of varying elevations. One couldn’t hope for more.”

  “But why did you come to Sand City in the first place?”

  “Purely by chance… in the early nineteen-seventies. I was working on a tall ship as a crew member. We were berthed in Fairhaven. I took a trip here and met Lorraine. We fell in love.”

  “Love at first sight?”

  “As you say.” Fynn stopped and turned to me. “You must understand, Patrick, all that I did before was for purely selfish motives,” he said ruefully. “I was completely focused on saving Lorraine and Anika. It was my single purpose.” He paused and managed a beleaguered smile. “I certainly do not wish to repeat the experience. My patience has limits. I refuse to live through Mortimer’s inglorious manipulations yet another time.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “We must find him, we must find his cane and destroy it… Not achieving this has been my biggest blunder.”

  “Is that possible? Destroying his cane, I mean?”

  “It is necessary. I am responsible for bringing Mortimer here, like a plague to this
fair town. At each turn it is completely my fault.”

  “Not sure I understand that.”

  “He came here to do injury, to kill my wife and my daughter. Yet, he realized the potential of this place and made his plans back in the nineteen thirties.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Naturally, I have spent a good amount of effort exploring the matter. While it seems this cane is from a distant future, I was informed it came into Mortimer’s possession in nineteen thirty-three.”

  “Informed by who?”

  “A friend of mine, Pavel, Mr Mekanos.”

  “And you trust him?

  “To a point, yes… though, I am still left with the mystery of how Mortimer could fall so far and merely splash.”

  “You mean, not disappear… At the quarry?”

  “Exactly so. And then, a moment later he finds his cane, jumps, and he does vanish. Obviously, the cane serves some critical function. Mr Mekanos could offer no good explanation for this fact.”

  “I seem to recall that the first time Mortimer lost his cane it was an accident, up along the bike trail.”

  “I remember it the same way. It was a complete stroke of luck for us.”

  “None of this is predetermined then?”

  “I don’t believe in such things.”

  “Was meeting Lorraine a random event?”

  “So it would seem… but a random event can be one chock full of meaning and significance.”

  “So it wasn’t fate that you met Lorraine?”

  “I don’t believe in such nonsense.”

  “Of all people, Fynn, how can you not believe in fate?”

  “Why is this, Patrick?”

  “The one time line thing, only the timeline you live through.”

  “This is exactly so. Only one’s awareness can glean meaning from events, random or otherwise.”

  “I have to say, that surprises me a little.”

  “I am not deterministic by inclination. I don’t believe it is a viable model for the way nature works.”

  “Why not?” I followed Fynn over a half-buried dune fence.

  “It’s hubris to think so… the cosmos is too vast and complicated. Randomness seems like a better model to me. But here we approach the realm of the Quantifier.”

  “What?”

  “The Quantifier, or the Inquisitor, the Collector... he goes by many names, unfortunately.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “A colleague of mine, if such is the correct word. He looks at the world quite differently.”