The Jump Journal

by Douglas Corriveau

  My relapse wasn’t the only looming cloud on the horizon. The police, no longer content with my anonymity, were on the hunt for me. I finally realized my error; I’d fed them so much detail that they suspected that I was a criminal myself. How else could I know so much about the crimes committed before they happened? It was a fairly reasonable assumption. After all, they would never think that I had actually witnessed the crime and traveled back to the past to warn them. They wanted answers and they wanted them from a man with a face and a name, neither of which I was willing to give. Thus began a merry chase, a la Tom and Jerry. Cameras were surreptitiously placed at pay phone locations that I frequented, so I started switching up my tactics, borrowing cell phones from strangers and calling from hotel lobbies. Dispatchers were instructed to keep me on the line as long as possible, so I began delivering instructions the second they picked up the phone and hung up before they could get a word in edgewise. As the list of crimes that I called in grew, the legend of Mitchell grew until every water cooler in Chicago’s precincts was abuzz with speculation and gossip.

  What the police could never possibly guess was that while I’d started out well-intentioned, I had dissolved into a junkie who got his fixes from these so- called selfless acts. Those newspaper stories became my gateway, and on slow crime days, I even went so far as to skip town and head for the suburbs in the hope of finding a home invasion or domestic violence situation to resolve. To all appearances, I was perfectly healthy (albeit a bit scrawny). No one would ever guess that I was an addict, but looks were more than deceiving; they were about as genuine as any email from a supposed Nigerian prince. The symptoms of my addiction were entirely mental; the craving and the lack of will power were rooted in the mind, but that didn’t make them any less potent. By the time that the calendar read “April”, I couldn’t go more than an hour without finding some reason to jump.

  The funny thing about any dependency is that its grip is subtle for a long time, but invariably, a crisis strikes that reveals just how precious that joint, shot, latte, or interruption of the space-time continuum has become.

  My catastrophe struck in a back alley on a typical Thursday night. The sky was crying like a girl dumped right before prom, and the sound of the downpour was muffling the dispatcher’s voice on the other line. Impatiently, I started yelling into the receiver.

  “No, I---look, there’s a—-What?? No! 1st and Haymarket, yes. Thank you!”

  I slammed the phone down on the hook. The payphone was located under the lip of a nearby rooftop, so in order to use it, I’d had to stand under a miniature waterfall as opposed to the normal rain everywhere else. I glanced up at the omnipresent clouds, black in contrast to the orange glow of the streetlights. I sighed. Now I’ll have to throw everything in the dryer, I complained mentally. You’d think that wouldn’t be a huge problem, but the dryer at the homeless shelter was a veritable Bermuda Triangle of clothes; if you turned your back for even a second, things disappeared. The shirt, pants, and jacket that I was wearing now were one of two complete outfits I had left, so I’d learned to keep an eagle-eyed vigil over that dryer. I squinted against the water running down my face and strode off towards a bus stop.

  A sudden pain bit my neck. It felt like a horsefly bite, but there was no way any horseflies were out in this weather. Suddenly woozy, I fingered the area where I’d been stung. A metallic lump greeted my touch. I gasped as I yanked it off my neck. It was about the size of a bullet, dense but much lighter than it looked. A small needle tip dripped with my blood at one end, and a feathery pad clung to the other. I’d never seen one before, but as my knees kissed the concrete and the alley spun around in a rapidly darkening kaleidoscope, I pieced it all together.

  Tranquilizer dart?

  I didn’t have time for any more thoughts after that.

  Chapter 25

  Parched lips. Throbbing head. Unfocused vision. These first sensations eased me back into consciousness. Harsh beams of light from fluorescent bulbs elevated my headache to migraine status, and I groaned. I went to rub my temples, but my hands were tethered to something and I couldn’t quite reach my face. Narrowing my eyes to slits helped to filter the brightness until I was able to look around in relative comfort.

  I was cuffed to a steel table in the center of a claustrophobically small room. The overhead lights dangled from twin chains, swaying ever so slightly. The whitewashed walls caught every unforgiving beam and threw them back, creating a deficit of bearable places to focus. Eventually, I chose my own miserable reflection in the one-way glass window facing me.

  I’d seen enough TV in my lifetime to recognize a police interrogation room when I saw one. I just couldn’t fathom why I was even here. I didn’t get much time to speculate before a smartly dressed detective tossed the door open and planted himself in the chair across from me. He smiled widely like a satisfied cat, proud of its catch. It wasn’t intended to be malicious, but it was far from comforting.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me, as if expecting something. I replied only with a look of genuine confusion. After he realized that I wasn’t going to break the silence, he rocked back onto the rear legs of his chair and spun the manila folder he’d been holding onto the table.

  “Mitchell the elusive tipster, we meet at last,” he said silkily. “Gotta say, it is a genuine pleasure.”

  “Are you the one who shot me?” My voice sounded as hoarse and dry as it felt.

  “I am.”

  “Then the pleasure’s all yours.”

  “Ha!” He grinned at the ceiling for a second, then turned his gaze back to me. “I like you. You’ve got brains and a sense of humor. I don’t know too many rats that like a good joke.”

  Rats? Maybe this guy was a cat after all.

  “Sorry, what’d you call me?” I wasn’t threatening, merely offended.

  “A rat. You know, a whistle-blower. A snitch. Or if you prefer spy vernacular, a double agent.”

  “OK…?”

  He sighed as if I were playing dumb.

  “Look Ryan…can I call you Ryan?” They had my ID; the game was up. I shrugged. “Ryan, no one knows as much as you do about crimes that haven’t happened without being on the inside. I just want to help you help us, like you have been all along.”

  “Wait,” I said incredulously. “You want me to help you. So you shoot me with a tranq dart and abduct me, all in an effort to get me to cooperate?”

  “Abduct?” he repeated innocently, smiling his feline smile. “You haven’t been abducted. You’re here at our invitation!”

  My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. I lifted my cuffed hands, the chains clattering noisily on the table. He waved dismissively.

  “Just a precaution. After all, we knew very little about you before now.” He tapped the folder. “We couldn’t be sure that you’d come without a fight.”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded sarcastically. “And it doesn’t violate any of my rights at all.”

  His eyes hardened, no longer brimming with smug friendliness.

  “I’m glad you understand,” he murmured. “We wouldn’t want there to be any miscommunication about your rights here, would we?”

  I swallowed hard. His tone meant that this conversation had taken a wild swerve off the road. I just didn’t know if I could get back on a level stretch or if I was about to plummet off of a cliff. Only one way to find out; I smiled and stood up.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” My voice was confident, bordering on nonchalant, but my gut twisted nervously. I held out my shackled arms as if to say, Well? What are you waiting for, uncuff me.

  He didn’t. He locked eyes with me and nodded back towards my chair. The message was clear; I wasn’t free to go.

  “Ryan, you’ve led us to over two hundred incidents in the last six months, ranging from double homicides to a cat stuck in a tree... metaphorically, of course.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I wasn’t finished. It’s an impressive laundry list, for sure.” He stood and paced
the narrow length of the room, musing aloud for my benefit. “What I can’t figure out is, whose dirty clothes are you washing? And why?”

  He leaned in, intensity rolling off of him in waves.

  “Whose fixer are you? Hmmm? Cavernough’s? Bertelli’s? Maybe you’re a freelancer. Lots of money to be made playing behind enemy lines. And using the police as your personal clean-up crew?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Risky, but bold.”

  “I’m not ‘playing beyond enemy lines’ or behind any lines for that matter,” I snapped. “You’ve got a gift horse here. Stop checking for teeth.”

  The man in the suit snarled like a feral panther. Without warning, he whipped out his badge and slammed it on the table. His voice, unlike his sudden outburst and enraged face, was smoothed and poised, like a beautiful dagger drenched in poison.

  “You’re arrogant, Ryan Mitchell from Ohio. You seriously think that pissing me off will get those cuffs off of your wrists? I’m not Detective Langorn in this room; I am God. I hold the power, and you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  He paused for a second to let the truth of his words sink in. I don’t know what I was thinking, taking an attitude with this cop. I hadn’t meant to, but I was twitchy, nervous, and more than anything, I wanted to jump. The cuffs binding me to the table made it impossible. I had no idea what yanking a large steel object into the continuum with me would do, so I forced myself to maintain control. The dragon roared in frustration and beads of sweat started to form on my brow.

  Detective Langorn kept talking.

  “Whatever plans you had, they’re over now. You fed us an endless string of crime warnings, for which we are grateful,” he said. “But we’re tired of hearing from you when it’s convenient for you.”

  His fingers stroked my shoulder before sinking into the muscle like cruel talons. I winced in pain as something popped under the force of his grip. As he put his head next to mine, he hissed into my ear.

  “We have enough circumstantial evidence to easily convince a jury of your peers, especially since our DA would call in some favors to have one of our public defenders represent you in court.”

  I picked up the emphasis on the word our. Langorn wanted this bad; if I didn’t play ball, he’d be more than willing to follow through on his threats. The urge to jump was growing by the second. My hands shook.

  “This was the wrong town…….no, this was the wrong police force to mess with, Mitchell. Tell us everything, and I do mean everything, and spend a few months in county lock-up. Anything less, and well-“

  With a wicked smirk, he gestured to the camera tucked away in the corner.

  “Have you noticed? It’s not on.”

  A wave of shudders visibly raced through me. He noticed.

  “Are you doing ok there? You look a little…..peaked.” The Cheshire-cat smile crossed his face again, but didn’t make it into his eyes. “Can we get you anything? Name your poison.”

  I was drenched in sweat. I bit my lip painfully to concentrate on anything except the allure of time travel. Risky or not, that desire was devouring every other thought until I couldn’t think straight. What was wrong with me??

  Langorn peered at me, curious. I couldn’t hide the tremors of my hands or rivulets of moisture running down my face. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, adopting a sympathetic expression.

  “The streets are tough, aren’t they? No shame in indulging in a little pharmaceutical habit to relieve the stress. What’s your trip of choice? From the looks of you, I’d say something fun. Ecstasy? Acid? Or maybe you like some hard core ‘shroom action.”

  I struggled to form a nasty reply, but the words slid out of my grasp like buttered eels. I had to settle for a death glare.

  “You know, whatever it is, I can help you get it,” he whispered, playing the confidant. “Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll get you your fix.”

  He thought I was an addict. I started to laugh, but the sound got strangled into a sob. The truth ran me down like a freight train. I was an addict again, and I was even worse off this time than ever before. Defeat coursed through me, and I let my head drop nervelessly to my chest. Langorn waited like a patient vulture, waiting for its prey to roll over and surrender to the inevitable.

  A moment later, I did.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Triumph burned in his eyes. I’d seen that expression once before, in the eyes of a blonde, cross-dressing jewel thief named Nicolae. It was the face of a man who knew he had total control over another, and I hated it.

  He answered simply, relishing the word as it flowed off of his tongue.

  “Everything.”

  ****

  Alarms blared as I fled down the hallway, casting desperate glances back over my shoulder as I ran. Three uniformed officers burst out of a side door in confusion, but their confusion quickly turned to awareness as I barreled towards them. Struggling to stay on my feet, I staggered on as they drew their sidearms. Unable to maintain my balance any longer, I fell to the ground as three bullets spun through the air toward my heart.

  Chill. I’ll tell you how I ended up there.

  Langorn was thrilled when I began surrendering information. At least he was until he figured out that everything that I said was totally bogus. The second that he pieced it together, his tactics went from legally questionable to downright vicious. He stormed out of the interrogation room, and when he returned, he brought all sorts of…”fun”…with him.

  The first thing he did was stab me with a needle. I have no idea what was in the syringe, but the alkaloids circling through my bloodstream captured me in a sort of waking coma. Comatose, I blearily watched him pull a small rectangular device from his pocket.

  “Now this-” he said, waving the device in my direction. “is really going to hurt.”

  With the press of a button, he brought the box to life with a snarl of electric energy.

  “Wha’ arrrrrre you doing?” I slurred quietly.

  “I’m getting some answers, Mitchell.” He traced the taser along my neck. “I want you to tell me a story.”

  He jabbed the sparking weapon into my flesh. Pain arced through me, and I tried to scream, but the mystery drug coursing through my veins stifled it to an agonized groan.

  “Tell me how a former college kid winds up spilling the beans on crimes before they happen.” He continued as I gasped for breath. The taser lashed me with current again, sending my nerves into a frenzy. “What’s your secret? Huh?” Again the electricity raced through me and again I gurgled in pain. He spun the chair across from me around and sat on it backwards, rolling up his sleeves. “See, I don’t like hurting people. Normally. But the thing is, you’ve been causing me and a handful of others in the precinct a great deal of inconvenience.”

  Black spots danced in front of me, and Langorn was nothing more than a blurred figure. It took every ounce of the concentration that I didn’t have just to listen to his voice, much less make sense of his words. By focusing on the tone, I could vaguely make out that he was telling me something important, but that was all the mental activity I could handle. The world started to spin.

  The detective slammed a fist on the table, startling me back to awareness. He screamed, attempting to push his words through the drug-induced haze.

  “You’ve brought down more of Cavernough’s operations than any cop on the force! And what could I do about it, huh?? Couldn’t throw it under the rug like all the others; no, it was an anonymous tip! The chief sent others to check it out!”

  Furious, he started driving the taser into me over and over to emphasize his words. The repeated jolts rippled through me as the livid Langorn roared in my ear.

  “You made a fool out of me, in front of some very unstable people, Mitchell, and I can’t have that! So I think that we’ll have to come to some sort of…understanding about where we go from here.”

  He hauled me to my feet, propping me against the table as he unlocked my cuffs.

  “The mor
ning shift is coming in and there are a few boy scouts in that crew that would happily tattle if they knew what was going down in here. Let’s adjourn to some place private so we can continue our conversation. Shall we?”

  The click of the shackles disengaging was the greatest sound in the world. I whirled around and slammed both arms wildly into the detective, knocking him away. The force of the continuum gathered around me, circling in visible ripples in a way that I’d never seen before. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t effective. I strained to connect with those forces, to vanish into the time stream, but the chemical I’d been injected with was interfering with concentration. I’d never been in this position before; I was so fogged I couldn’t concentrate on where I needed to go, and without a destination, I was somehow blocked from jumping.

  Langorn regained his balance and rushed me. With no options left, I braced myself for impact, but before he could tackle me into the wall, I flickered out of existence and into the blackness. I marveled at how peaceful it was. Then, just as fast as I’d been sucked in, I was spat back out. I hadn’t moved an inch or a minute in either direction, yet somehow the detective was behind me. He looked as bewildered as I was.

  His confusion didn’t last long, though. Teeth clenched and eyes ablaze, he swung a fist towards my face. Still under the influence of the drug, my reflexes couldn’t protect me in time. I watched helplessly, waiting for the inevitable impact. It never came. Once again, without warning, I found myself staring into the void, only to reappear as Langorn gawked in astonishment. Neither one of us had any clue what was happening, but that didn’t stop him from attacking with blind ferocity. We circled around the tiny room, Langorn striving to close the gap between us, and me fighting to clear the mental fog enough to complete a full jump.

  As my motor skills returned to me, I managed to fumble the door open while dodging wild haymakers from the dirty cop. As he lunged after me, I performed another miraculous disappearance. Off-balance, he stumbled closer to the metal doorframe and on an impulse, I summoned all my strength and smacked his head into the steel edging as violently as I could. He dropped like a stone.