Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "I know, I know," sighed Dave. "It does sound way-out. I don't think I'm completely out-to-lunch on this one, though."

  "Why?" asked Ernie."It's just, like I said, a couple of times he's talked about things, or dropped hints, and then the things have happened. I mean, one or two of them I could accept as coincidences, but one of them was just too incredible to believe. It was like he knew every detail of what was going to happen."

  "When was this?" quizzed Ernie, the whimsy in his voice now mixed with curiosity. "What happened to convince you?"

  Dave nearly launched into the story of Boris, then caught himself. Though he'd bared the truth to Darlene, he didn't yet feel that the time was right to confide in Ernie.

  "Uh, I really don't want to go into it," he told Ernie. "It was...well, it's kind of personal. Trust me, though...it was just incredible how much he knew ahead of time. I just couldn't believe it. When I put that together with the way he predicted the cop Saturday, and the way he hinted at me getting busted at work, I couldn't think of any other explanation except that he can see the future."

  "He hinted at your getting busted?" Ernie asked with some interest.

  "Yeah," nodded Dave. "The night before Mr. Wyland called me in his office, Larry was telling Billy and me not to trust everybody at work. We were talking about how we sneak food and stuff, and Larry said we should be more careful...and the next day, bingo, I'm busted because I trusted Peggy Kutz."

  "Really?" piped Ernie, raising his eyebrows. "Well, that's pretty wild. Did Larry have some inside information from someone?"

  "As far as I know, nobody told him in advance," stated Dave. "Anyway, if he had heard about it, I think he'd've just come right out and told me straight, instead of hinting around about it."

  "Maybe he couldn't tell you," offered Ernie. "Maybe he heard it from Tom Martin, huh? He's supposed to be an old friend of Tom's, right? If Tom told him, and Larry told you, and Tom found out that he told you, maybe Tom would give him a hard time."

  "No," Dave said firmly. "If he hadn't wanted to tell me, then he wouldn't have even given me a hint."

  "Maybe it just slipped out," shrugged Ernie. "I doubt it," rejected Dave. "Larry doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to just let something slip out."

  "All right," said Ernie, propping a foot against the wall, resting his cup of beer on his upraised knee. "What you're trying to say here is that Larry knew what was going to happen to you because he's psychic, but all he told you were little hints. Okay. Assuming he really is psychic, why didn't he just tell you everything?"

  "I think he wants to hide what he can do," replied Dave, glancing down the hall at Larry and Darlene. "For some reason, he doesn't want anybody to know...probably because everyone would pester him if they knew he could see the future."

  "Then why did he even give you hints?" asked Ernie.

  "Maybe he still tries to help people a little, just enough so they don't figure out what he can do."

  "Then what about the cop, and this other thing you won't tell me about? Why would he keep leaving himself wide-open if he's so worried about hiding what he can do?"

  "Look," Dave said drily. "I don't know. All I know is that after what's happened, I'm convinced."

  Perhaps sensing that Dave had had enough counter-arguments for one night, Ernie sighed and shrugged. "Well, that's up to you, of course," he said nonchalantly. "Personally, I find it hard to believe that Larry's psychic, but then again, I haven't had the benefit of your direct experience."

  "I'm convinced," Dave declared forcefully, meeting his pal's eyes with a steady gaze. "There's no other explanation."

  Ernie frowned, and for an instant, Dave thought that he was going to provide another explanation...but then, his features lightened once more, as if he'd decided not to risk antagonizing his friend. "Well, you never know," Ernie said noncommittally. "Psychic phenomena have supposedly been documented in the past. I've never witnessed any, but that doesn't mean they don't exist."

  Nodding, Dave realized that the discussion had run its course.

  After refilling their beers at the keg, the two friends returned to the main mass of the party. Though he wasn't entirely satisfied with how the conversation had gone, Dave at least was glad that he'd let his comrade in on the investigation, and he felt ready to rejoin the rest of the crew. He was again eager to have a little fun, be with Darlene...and, of course, watch and listen to Larry Smith. He still hoped that Larry might make another slip, provide more clues to his secret nature.

  Unfortunately, no clues were forthcoming. Through the hours that followed, Dave carefully monitored the man's every move and utterance, his every tic and inflection...and he found nothing of value.

  Dave questioned Darlene, asked if she'd detected anything unusual in her own reconnaissance, but she said that she hadn't. She revealed that she'd spoken with Larry for a long while, and had been very diligent in monitoring his every word, but she hadn't discerned a thing. Larry had fostered a friendly, casual conversation, and had said nothing which could be deemed out of the ordinary.

  Gradually, when it became clear that he wasn't going to break through Larry's stonewalling that night, Dave began to unwind a bit. Naturally, he kept his eyes and ears trained on the secret-keeper, but he did so without as much single-minded intensity as he'd employed through the evening.

  Dave began to drink more freely, and he found himself loosening up even more. Surrounded by his comrades, Darlene constantly at his side, he eventually lost himself in the familiar dynamic of the party, stopped worrying about Mr. Smith. Dave welcomed the weakening of his obsession; it felt good to let go of the ever-present pressure, the driving curiosity, the state of alert watchfulness. The beer worked its magic, and soon, Larry just seemed like another laughing partygoer.

  The core cadre of the gang gathered around the kitchen table, like always, and Dave held a seat among them. They played drinking games, teased and goaded one another, told steakhouse stories which often involved as much imagination as fact.

  "So as soon as I throw the knife, Fred walks in," grinned Jack Bunsen, reaching the climax of yet another steakhouse story. "The knife flies right past him and sticks right in the side of the box, and he just stands there for a minute and looks at it."

  "Oh no!" giggled Jane Niessner. "What did he say?"

  Jack crossed his eyes and let his head fall to one side. "Umm," he said in a mocking, idiot voice which sounded nothing like that of the manager whom he was quoting. "Um, Jack, um...are you, um, having a little trouble, um, hanging onto the silverware today?"

  "That's our Fred!" laughed Billy Bristol, sitting with arms crossed, rocking his char back on its rear legs.

  "Yeah!" beamed Jack. "So I tell him 'Y'know, we really oughtta' get some gloves back here, 'cause you know how slippery this stuff gets from all that soap. Somebody's gonna' get hurt one of these days."

  "Somebody like Fred, maybe," cackled Billy. "That knife almost stuck him instead of the box."

  "Well, he really zips around, sometimes," contributed dark-haired Becky D'Amoto. "One time, he came swoopin' past me and scared me half to death, and I dropped a whole bus pan! I never even heard him coming!"

  "Anyway," resumed Jack, "Fred walks over and leans real close to the knife, just stares at it for a minute. He's got this goofy look on his face, and I can't tell if he's pissed or not."

  "Uh-huh," nodded Jane. "The Fred Wyland look. I know it well."

  "Then," continued Jack, "he pulls the knife out and hands it to me, and he goes over and stands in front of the box. He puts his arms out like this," said Jack, spreading his arms wide, "and he tells me 'Go ahead, take a shot. I feel like calling in sick for a couple days.'"

  "Ooo!" broke in Billy, a great grin on his impish mug. "That'd be a tough opportunity to pass up!"

  "The chance of a lifetime," Ernie tossed sardonically.

  "So anyway," proceeded Jack, "I tell him 'No thanks. It's no challenge aiming at such a big target.'" With that, Jack Bunsen let out a h
earty laugh, and everyone joined him.

  "What'd Fred say to that?" Becky D'Amoto asked between fits of giggling.

  "Oh, he just laughed," replied Jack. "He told me he'd try to lose some weight if I'd stop throwing knives around the dishroom. He was cool about the whole thing."

  "Fred usually is," Billy chuckled. "He's a cool guy most of the time."

  "Compared to Mr. Martin, anyway," qualified Ernie. "Then again, compared to Tom, everyone's an upstanding individual."

  "Except Peggy Kutz, maybe," interjected Dave.

  "Oh, don't be so hard on Peggy," suggested Jane Niessner. "She really feels awful about what happened, you know."

  "Well, that's comforting to hear," Dave said harshly.

  "Hey, I'm just telling you what she said," Jane clipped defensively. "I'd like to see what you'd do in the same situation, with the managers putting all kinds of pressure on you."

  "I wouldn't turn in my friends, that's for sure," snorted Dave. "Would you?"

  "Of course I wouldn't," frowned Jane, "but that's not the point. I wouldn't hold a grudge against somebody for the rest of their life, either."

  "Well, I would," smirked Dave. "I'm just not a forgiving type of guy."

  "Neither am I," laughed Billy. "I've got a grudge against all of you, and I'll never forgive any of you!"

  "What brought on this grudge, pray tell?" Ernie asked wryly.

  "I just don't like you!" chucked Billy, eyes glinting mischievously. "You guys really get on my nerves!"

  "Well, ex-cuuuse us!" flouted Jack Bunsen. "If you don't like us, then why invite us to your lousy parties?"

  "Nobody that I like will come!" grinned Billy. "I've gotta' settle for you people."

  "You could do a lot worse," Larry Smith pitched from his corner of the table.

  "Yeah!" cheered Becky D'Amoto. "You tell 'im, Larry!"

  "Speaking of parties," cut in Dave, "when's the next one gonna' be?"

  "Ask Ernie," shrugged Billy. "I've had the last two, so the next one's up to him."

  "So what's the word, Ernest?" queried Dave. "Will there be a bash at your place?"

  "Oh, definitely," nodded Ernie. "I'm just not sure when it will be. I had considered throwing a party tomorrow night, because my parents will be out of town, but that idea's fallen through."

  "Why's that?" asked Larry. "Have they changed their plans?"

  "No no," said Ernie. "They're still going away."

  "When're they leaving?" wondered Billy.

  "Tomorrow evening."

  "Then what's the problem?" grinned Billy. "They leave and we show up with the beer."

  "The problem is, they're not taking anyone with them, so I'm stuck watching my brother. Plus, my sister Amy wants to have her own party at the house tomorrow night, and I sort of agreed to go along with it."

  "Hey, no problem then!" chirped Billy. "If there's already a party, we'll just make it a bigger one!"

  "I don't think so," laughed Ernie. "You know how those high school parties are."

  "Sure I do," piped Billy. "We used to have them all the time!"

  "I'm sorry, but I'm just not going to invite you guys out tomorrow night. I promised Amy I'd keep Matt out of the way, and she could have the house to herself otherwise. Anyway, we're already having our party for the weekend tonight."

  "So what?" persisted Billy. "You can never have too many parties in one weekend!"

  "Maybe I'll have one two weekends from now," offered Ernie. "My parents will be out of town again, so I'll try to set everything up ahead of time."

  "Two weekends from now?" protested Billy. "Are you kidding? We have to have a party before then!"

  "Well, don't look at me," shrugged Ernie, cool and unfazed. "If you want a party any earlier, someone else will have to throw it."

  "Gee, Billy," smirked Jack Bunsen. "I guess it's all up to you, then."

  "Yeah, I guess so," sighed Billy, woefully wagging his head. "All because Ernie doesn't want us hanging around his sister and her teenybopper friends."

  "I can't say I blame him," laughed Jack.

  "So, Ernie," spoke up Larry then. "Why exactly are your folks going out of town for the weekend? Are they visiting relatives?"

  "Not really," said Ernie. "My dad's one friend lives in Lancaster, and they drive out to see him quite often. It used to be more of a family thing, but now my parents usually go by themselves."

  "How long does it take to get from here to Lancaster?" wondered Larry, reaching up to stroke his sandy goatee.

  "About three hours," offered Jack.

  "More like two!" blurted Billy.

  "Sure, if you drive like a maniac," spun Becky D'Amoto.

  "Well, that's how I drive!" grinned Billy.

  "I guess the turnpike's the quickest way to go, huh?" asked Larry.

  "It is," nodded Ernie. "You can either pick it up in Bedford or Somerset, but Somerset's a little closer. That's the way my parents always go, anyway. Route 219 to Somerset, and then take the turnpike from there."

  "It's a half-hour to Somerset," added Jack. "Turnpike's an easy drive, though."

  "Well, that's good," said Larry, skimming a beefy hand up and over his crew-cut. "An easy drive's good for this time of year, what with the weather and all that."

  "The weather can be pretty unpredictable, all right," conceded Ernie. "Last year, we got snow in the middle of April. Spring doesn't really set in until the middle or end of May."

  "Even then, it doesn't amount to much," lobbed Dave. "Every season's pretty short around here except winter."

  "So," Larry said casually. "Even though the weather's unpredictable, I guess there aren't many accidents on the turnpike this time of year?"

  "Once in a while," shrugged Ernie. "No more than you see on any other highway. Why do you ask? Are you planning on taking a trip?"

  "Not now, no," dismissed Larry. "I just like to know the best way to get places, in case I get the urge to pack up and go."

  "So where's the next place you think you'll go?" asked Ernie. "Are you setting your sights on Lancaster maybe?"

  "Who knows?" chuckled Larry. "When I get the itch, I'll probably just pick a direction and start walking."

  "Well, if you decide on Lancaster," said Ernie, "I'm sure you can get a ride with my parents sometime."

  "Thanks," smiled Larry. "Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime. I'm not quite ready to go by...when did you say they were leaving?"

  "About six o'clock," supplied Ernie. "I'm not quite ready to leave town by six o'clock tomorrow evening," laughed Larry. "I don't think I'll have the itch to leave by then. I'd still like to get to a few more of these parties before I hit the road."

  "You better!" lunged Billy Bristol. "Attendance is mandatory, man!"

  "Oh, brother," Jane Niessner drawled sardonically. "Mandatory, shmandatory. What're you gonna' do if we don't show up?"

  "I won't have to do anything!" crowed Billy. "You'll all show up because you won't want to miss all the fun!"

  "There wouldn't be any fun if we didn't show up," amended Becky D'Amoto.

  "Exactly!" pounced Billy. "That's why attendance is mandatory!"

  Dave laughed. The banter at the kitchen table rambled on, but he felt more and more removed from it, removed from everything but the gentle dissolution of his intoxication. Disconnected and blissfully vacant, he maintained little more than a physical presence in the room.

  Glancing at Larry, he felt a faint tug in the back of his mind, the weakest tweak of his recent obsession...and then it was gone. Larry spoke, but the sound of his voice wafted past like unimportant background noise. Usually, Dave's ears would whip like radar dishes to catch that voice, and his brain would rumble and whir to process every word and nuance; now, he let it all glide past without the slightest flicker of interest.

  He began to feel groggy and drowsy, and his eyelids grew heavier. Soon, he would ask Darlene to drive him home, and then he would get some sleep.

  Hangovers and Larry Smith wouldn't concern him unti
l morning.

  *****

  Chapter 17

  They would come any minute now.

  He imagined the looks on their faces. They would be just a little worried, a bit tense because the weather had gone bad; her frown might be a little deeper than his as she stared through the rain-streaked windshield, as she gazed at the gleaming pavement picked out by the headlights. 'That shine,' she might think. 'Is it ice, or just a film of rain?'

  He imagined what they would say. Perhaps she would turn to her husband and ask if he thought they should go home, postpone the trip until the weather was more favorable. Confidently, he would dismiss the notion, assuring her that the roads were fine, it wasn't yet cold enough for them to freeze. He would tell her not to worry, and he would calmly guide the steering wheel, perhaps using only one hand to demonstrate his faith and competence...all the while secretly worrying himself, wondering if indeed they ought to head home.

  The Miraclemaker didn't believe that they would head home. He was convinced that they would come, that they would come to him.

  He checked his watch once more, then looked around. All was ready, conditions were perfect; nodding, he thought again how fortunate he was, how easy the task would be.

  The road was indeed slick, and a freezing rain continued to fall. The stolen pickup in which he waited was in excellent shape; earlier, he'd run it through its paces, and it had responded marvelously. The stretch of road at which he was posted was lined on both sides by dense walls of trees, and they flanked the pavement uninterrupted for at least two miles further. It was already quite dark, and traffic was practically nonexistent; in the last hour, only three vehicles had passed him, and they had done so at intervals of at least fifteen minutes.

  Perfect. It was a shadowy, slick, deserted corridor, perfect for his purposes, perfect for the miracle. He waited in the cab of the pickup, parked in a nook between trees just off the road, and he was satisfied.

  Everything would happen just as he'd known that it must.

  The two would die. The other four in the family would be untouched, and it would all appear to be a terrible act of God.