The Jump Journal

by Douglas Corriveau

  Desperate to get out, I sprinted blindly down the halls. I had no sense of direction. Langorn had dragged me here unconscious, so every door and every hallway hid both unknown dangers and the potential for escape. Idly sitting there wasn’t going to set me free, so I chose a path and hoped for the best. As I stumbled along as quickly as my uncooperative legs would carry me, I heard a shout from the interrogation room, immediately followed by a blaring alarm. I swore; this had gone south fast. The three officers spotted me, lined up an impromptu firing squad, and opened fire.

  That’s how I wound up on the ground as three bits of metal sped through the air on their lethal trajectory to my heart.

  Time didn’t slow. I didn’t see a bright light or hear an angelic choir sighing melodies in Latin. What I did experience was clarity and a profound sense of regret. There was no time for those emotions to be put to words; those bullets were unbelievably fast and there was no stopping them. Still, I hadn’t spent the last decade searching for a reason to keep living just to roll over and die now without a fight. I reached for the continuum one last time.

  They say the human body can do amazing things when placed in fight-or-flight situations. They have no idea. Imagine, if you will, a friendly game of catch between you and a buddy; it’s a simple demonstration of motor skills and reflexes. Now picture cutting the distance between in half, but keep the throwing speed the same. Cut it in half again... And one more time. Now, you’re three feet away, hammering each other with the ball. See how hard it is to react in time? One last change: Your friend is now a professional grade pitching machine set for a ninety mile-per-hour fastball. Good luck.

  That should give you the proper context. Let’s continue.

  I had the same odds of surviving as you did for catching that robotic fastball, which were virtually none. A split second of darkness later, and three slugs buried themselves in the grimy linoleum tiles of the police station floor behind me. We all stared in disbelief, as the klaxon blared unheeded in the background.

  One of the officers coughed and just like that, the spell was broken. I leapt to my feet, running blindly toward them as they snapped their weapons back up and opened fire. Not a single bullet grazed me. With every step, I flickered in and out of existence. I strafed right and left, each stride shoving me off in the opposite direction. Panic formed on the cops’ faces as they emptied their clips at a seemingly intangible target. A second later, I had closed that gap and with a scream, I launched myself into the air and prayed to God that the adrenaline had cleared my head enough to complete the circuit. The last thing I saw was the grimacing expressions on my opponents as they braced themselves for a fight, but it was unnecessary.

  I was gone before my feet touched the ground.

  ****

  Soaked once again, I shivered in the chilly night air. The rain fell as heavily as it had hours earlier, but then again, it was hours earlier. The pay phone beckoned; its familiar boxy outline called to me like a siren out of Greek legend. I remembered why I’d been here in the first place, before things had gone so “Zero Dark Thirty”. Regardless of what had happened to me, there was still a crime that needed to be stopped. However, the second I dialed, I was effectively painting a target on my back.

  So what? The dragon hissed. Let Langorn try to bring us down again. He can’t touch us. We have a new trick, after all.

  A cold smirk inched across my lips. It was true; his highly illegal “questioning” had forced an unexpected yet fascinating development with my gift. He would try to shoot me with the tranquilizer dart, but he would fail. Leftover adrenaline coursed through me, reinforcing the dragon’s seductive suggestions. I could use a little payback, Langorn, I sneered mentally. Shall we?

  I delivered my lines robotically to the dispatcher, straining to pick up a sense of Langorn’s presence. He was there in the shadows somewhere, I just couldn’t identify where exactly. It wasn’t necessary, though; I knew where the shot came from the last time and I had a tight grip on my powers. The surging energy sent shivers of ecstasy up my spine.

  I stepped out into the torrential rain, my nerves alight with nervous tension. The squelch of my shoes was deafening, but I could barely distinguish it from the blood pounding in my ears. The unseen gun was being leveled at my neck, the trigger inching back ever so gently.

  Now.

  I let the void wrap itself around me like a quick hug. The dart zipped ahead of me as the world returned, pinging off a nearby trashcan. A muffled curse echoed over the splash of rain drops, and a shadow shifted deep within the recesses of the alley. I smiled and wiggled my fingers in a mocking wave, certain that the dim light wouldn’t allow him to make out my features. Langorn’s silhouette set up for another shot, but I turned and fled into the night as darts hissed around me. I hoped that the sound of my laughter reached his ears. Now that I knew he was out there, I’d never allow myself to be caught again.

  I tossed myself into the mess of cushions that served as my bed in the shelter that night, still buzzing with a sense of victory. I was pretty proud of myself. Not only had I escaped a police station despite being drugged and shot at, I had discovered a useful new talent. The ability to momentarily disappear from the physical plane was nothing short of game-changing. Bullets couldn’t touch me; neither could fists, clubs, or any other solid object an adversary might grab as a weapon. Best of all, it didn’t hurt! The continuum was content to let me sit in its grasp unharmed if I remained in one location of space and time.

  I lay grinning at the ceiling, contemplating an endless parade of scenarios. My unpleasant encounter in the police station all but faded from memory, replaced by an echo of my earlier superhero fantasy. Who needed the police now, when I could simply swoop in and save the day, immune to any attack thrown at me? I’d failed before because I hadn’t realized the true depths of my powers, but now…..now I was invincible. The dragon rumbled in contentment.

  The sun came up what felt like minutes later, but I was already on the move, strolling toward my favorite newspaper stand. The news that morning carried no references to an altercation at the police station, and I took a lot of pride in that. They’d tried to cage me, but I’d refused to be caged. I was a superhuman, a god among mortals. It was time that I acted like it. I eyed the morning traffic, full of pedestrians facing yet another inconsequential day at work. They scurried about, staring at the ground in an attempt to shut out the world around them. I lifted a smug eyebrow. Walking was for the common man. With a mental shrug of power, I flickered ahead to the shelter and smiled in satisfaction as its drab exterior manifested itself in front of me. That was more like it.

  The next month was a blur of jump after jump, save after save. My formerly noble cause became an ego trip, and each victory only served to feed the growing dependency I was developing. The jump frequency increased to the point that it became exhausting to puzzle out if I was in today, tomorrow, or yesterday. Hours were cut out of my daily schedule repeatedly. Since every rescue required a trip back to the previous day, I often spent multiple days in a single twenty-four hour period.

  My addiction was worse than it had ever been. I don’t remember more than a handful of the people that I saved. I can’t recall eating or sleeping, although I must have. The only thing that springs to mind when I think about those days is a hunger beyond anything I had ever experienced, and jumping was the only thing that could satisfy me. The symptoms of time-travelling became almost enjoyable. The aches and pains associated with the continuum were seen as precursors to release. I was like a junkie looking for a fix; the prick of the needle didn’t matter as long as the contents delivered the expected rush. It got so bad that sometimes I would just stay in the time stream, staring into the void for the sole purpose of holding that power in my hand.

  As the days of May ticked by unnoticed, I was so consumed that I often performed the same rescue more than once. It became a game, a sick test of how many ways I could solve the situation by jumping. I used those people, recycling their
terror and confusion without a second thought. It was so easy to rationalize everything. Oh, it’s ok, they won’t remember. It’s fine! She was alive this time, the last few tries didn’t count. Please, I’m not addicted. I can stop any time I want.

  But why should I?

  Chaplain would have wept to see me that way, but the fond memory of the hermit never even crossed my mind. I was obsessed; the only conscious thought that I was able to fully flesh out was the quest for my next slip into the void.

  The continuum was the only thing that could give me relief. When the first symptoms started popping up, I thought I was just coming down with a cold. Too many late nights, I figured. I was dead wrong. Soon, I began feeling feverish at random points during the day. My hands shook violently, worse than a Parkinson’s patient. Paranoia chewed hungrily at my imagination, turning every object into a potential threat and every individual into a criminal mastermind hell bent on my destruction. Like a terrified child, I ran to the dragon for comfort and it always came through for me, sending me into the void until the sickness retreated back under the surface. It didn’t matter if it was a rescue or a random jump; obeying my impulses always brought me relief.

  May 16th arrived once again, catching me off guard. I had just taken down a would-be rapist when time and reality squeezed together. I whistled jauntily, flipping a quarter aimlessly as I strode away from the beaten, groaning criminal on the sidewalk. Satisfied with my work, I tossed the quarter extra high as I hit the last note. When the quarter didn’t return to my hand as expected, I stopped and glanced around the ground for it. It wasn’t there. Puzzled, I went to scratch my head and something metallic bumped against my hand. The quarter floated idly at face level, suspended in mid-air by unseen forces. A sound caught my ear; it was a faint whistle, paused on a single note. I recognized it. It was the last note of the tune that I’d just been humming. It started off distant and quiet, as if I’d walked past it, but suddenly it grew louder, reaching a crescendo until it was unbearable. I clapped my hands over my ears, struggling to move against a crushing pressure in the air.

  It all clicked at once.

  “No! Not now!!” I screamed, barely audible over the sound of that deafening whistle. For some reason, the idea of leaving this place was unbearable to me. It felt as though leaving here would take all the comfort of jumping away, and I was terrified. I reached for the time stream, scheming to flee back to yesterday so I never had to leave. But I couldn’t connect. The continuum was closed to me entirely. I felt the air wrap around me like a wet blanket, and my despair was muffled into silence as the clock rewound back to August.

  Year 179

  Date unknown, 2012

  Chapter 26

  “Pis aller” is a French phrase. It translates as “last resort” or “final resource”. It’s the ultimate blind stroke, the stone that completes the bridge or causes it to crumble. No one ever wants to be in a position where the only course of action is to flip the next card and hope for a royal flush to win it all, but there is almost never a choice. Some of us are dealt perfect hands in life and never have to count on wild cards. Others are in a constant state of duress, continuously throwing all their chips into the pot. When life threatens with a tsunami, they grab the nearest thing to help bail them out and pray to God it isn’t a spoon.

  It usually is. But sometimes, if fortune favors, it’ll be a life raft.

  ****

  Sweaty, feverish, and dazed, I stumbled down an unknown road in the middle of nowhere. I’d been dumped out in Ohio State’s backyard somewhere between two days and two months ago. Keeping track of time had fallen low on my priority list lately, especially since I couldn’t go more than two hours without a timestream fix. The withdrawal symptoms resurfaced liked clockwork, to the point that even I couldn’t deny that I had a problem. No longer in any shape to play hero, I spent the time since the year ended walking. That’s all. Walking, eating, barely sleeping, and walking some more was my life. I didn’t have the capacity for anything more.

  The sunset was beautiful. The jagged, peaked horizon captured the last rays of light in hues of pink and orange. It was stunning, but I had no appreciation for it. It wasn’t new; I’d seen dozens of sunsets just like it across an unknown number of miles. The only important things in my life at that moment were dehydration, the holes in my sneakers, and my complete ignorance of where I was.

  The stretch of road that I was on wound steeply around a mountainside, providing me with some spectacular views, but offering little in the way of shelter or food. The hazards of jumping forward remained; I was painfully aware that just because I couldn’t remember the act, I had still walked the distance from point A to point B. My legs burned with fatigue, my tongue ached for moisture, and my mind craved solace. The dragon churned restlessly, gnawing away until the next jump. Its claws perpetually spurred me to jump, regardless of my growing physical needs.

  My mind was restless too, constantly mulling over the same questions with no answers. How could I be addicted to an action? Was it possible that it was all in my mind, that the act of jumping itself wasn’t addictive? If that were true, the answer lay in willpower. On the other hand, the signs of withdrawal were physical, so how could it all be in my head?

  The soles of my sneakers slapped loudly against the cracked pavement. I thought I noticed a vulture circling overhead, but when I attempted to focus on it, it turned out to be black spots ballooning in my vision. Chills wracked my body in waves. I was clammy, but too dehydrated to sweat. The dragon snarled impatiently, but in a rare moment of lucidity, I knew that if I jumped forward again, I might have passed out in the future. I’d never experienced a scenario where I exited the continuum unconscious. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. Despite my surging dizziness and shaky hands, I knew the risks were too high.

  As I shuffled along in the throes of withdrawal, I failed to hear the rumble of a vehicle approaching. An ancient Ford Windstar rattled past me as I watched with dull eyes. Its maroon shell was worn and beaten, and a third of it was rust. Two of the four hubcaps were missing and the rear bumper looked like a giant’s chewed toothpick. It screeched to a halt a few yards ahead of me in the breakdown lane. I stopped, weaving unsteadily on my feet as I watched the driver exit and head in my direction.

  “Hiya! You alright there?” the figure called out in a woman’s voice. “You need a hand?”

  I was far too parched to make conversation. I gurgled and collapsed to my knees. Suddenly, a pair of hands thrust under my arms and heaved me back to the upright position.

  “OK, guy, here we go,” the woman said calmly. “Let’s get you some water. It’s not far to the van, baby steps, that’s it. One foot in front of the other.”

  As we awkwardly approached the rundown minivan, I glanced at my rescuer. She was a black woman in her mid-50’s, but judging from the way she was herding me along, her vim and vigor was still very much intact. She rambled on in that soothing tone, probably to help keep me conscious. It wasn’t helping much; every muscle slowly surrendered to exhaustion, leaving the poor woman to drag 180 pounds of dead weight the last few feet by herself.

  Barely hanging on, I felt her lower me back to the warm pavement as the van doors unlocked with a muffled chthunk sound. The last thing I saw was the side door sliding back and her concerned face hovering over me as she urgently tried to rouse me. After that, I lost the battle and slid into unconsciousness.

  ****

  I woke hours later, enveloped in soft bed sheets. As I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I took in the cream colored walls and the simple, homey décor surrounding me. There was activity in the adjoining rooms; the sounds of casual conversation and laughter wafted through the walls.

  I stood slowly, marveling at how refreshed I felt. There was no way I had just come out of unconsciousness. I was hydrated, alert, and well-rested for the first time in who knew how long. Vague, dreamlike memories came to mind as I stretched blood back into my muscles. I remembered the jostling of the van as
it bounced down worn back roads, and I could blurrily make out the image of multiple concerned faces peering at me as water trickled down my throat. I had no idea who those people were or where I was, but my instincts told me that I was with friends.

  I ventured out of the bedroom, scoping out my new location as I went. The walls were coated in floral print wallpaper that could have been ripped off of any suburban grandmother’s house. It might have been a bit tacky, but in a way, it was homey too. Photos graced the hallway at irregular intervals and random heights. Some were even below my waist level, requiring me to stop and squat down on my heels if I wanted to investigate further.

  They all were all group shots, each face glowing with happiness. Oddly enough, every photo contained a different cast of characters. There were a few individuals that carried over, but no one appeared in more than two photos. No one, that is, except for the woman from the road. She popped up in every picture, beaming with delight in the center of the group.

  “I like that one,” she said from the end of the hall. I glanced over at her as she stepped up next to me, admiring the framed portrait. “2010. Ah, I did love those kids.”

  Kids? I looked again, and sure enough, everyone else in the photos looked to be in their early twenties or under. My host smiled distantly, as though reminiscing about the days of 2010.

  “And see there? That’s 2006. That brings back memories.”

  I nodded robotically. While I felt comfortable being here, and while she seemed a lot more like Mother Goose than Matilda the Hun, recent experiences had left me prone to suspicion.

  “You brought me here off of the road.”