Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Meeting Larry face-to-face would be another bridge that Dave would just have to cross when he came to it. After seeing the kid in the trench, he was terrified of Larry Smith; the thought of going anywhere near him thrust a frigid bolt up Dave's spine, made his stomach clench and twist. Dave didn't know how he could quell his fear sufficiently to approach and negotiate with Larry, behave as anything other than a babbling, frightened idiot. Still, he would have to find a way to manage; he would have to trust that the urgency of the situation would somehow inspire and strengthen him.

  If the plan worked, all the strain and risk would be worthwhile. One way or another-by his consent or by police intervention-Larry would be stopped from killing. If Larry's story had any basis in fact, Billy's fate would be secure though no one else would die; if there had been nothing to Larry's story to begin with, Dave wouldn't have to worry about Billy at all.

  The killing would stop. Billy would be safe...or would he?

  What if Dave brought in the cops and they stopped Larry but he'd told the truth? Would that not leave the chance that the out-of-towner might someday threaten Billy?

  Yes; there would be that chance. Still, Dave thought that he could deal with it.

  According to Larry, all the killings after the first one were just insurance. With the death of the girl whom Billy would have impregnated, Billy's destiny had already been revised; supposedly, the other murders were just meant to guarantee that there wouldn't be a resurgence of the destructive pattern.

  While Dave hated to leave any uncertainty about Billy's future, he thought that leaving the out-of-towner alive was a chance that he would be willing to take. Larry had already collected a lot of insurance by murdering Steve Kimmel, Ernie's parents, Tom Martin, the kid from the youth center; perhaps, no more insurance would be needed.

  Dave decided that it would be an acceptable risk. If the out-of-towner wasn't killed, there might still be some danger to Billy, but Dave would make every effort to minimize it; he could keep track of the guy, steer Billy clear of him over the years or at least until he was sure that Billy could no longer be harmed by him.

  Though he believed that it wouldn't be disastrous to prevent the out-of-towner's murder, Dave would still have to avoid summoning the cops until they were absolutely necessary. If he contacted the police as soon as he could, they might apprehend or kill Larry before he could reach his out-of-town victim; as a result, Dave might never learn the intended victim's identity...and, not knowing who the guy was, Dave wouldn't be able to shield Billy from him in the future. If he wanted to safeguard Billy's fate, Dave would have to go after Larry instead of going directly to the authorities.

  Pacing slowly in the cleft, Dave glanced down at his unconscious comrade. Abruptly, he realized that there was a complication which he hadn't yet addressed, a question which had to be answered.

  What would he do with Billy?

  Dave didn't want to endanger his friend; the whole plan was designed to protect Billy, so Dave certainly didn't want to drag him into what could be very hazardous proceedings. Larry had said that he wouldn't hurt or kill Billy, that he couldn't kill him, but Larry had already proven himself a liar.

  Still, how could Dave hope to keep Billy out of it? For that matter, how could he prevent Billy from going to the cops, effectively scuttling the entire scheme?

  Once Billy woke, he would immediately want to seek out the police. How could Dave stop him? Tie him up and hide him somewhere? Even if he had no compunctions about binding and stashing Billy for a while, how could Dave explain it afterward? And what if Dave was killed before he could send someone to free his friend? If Billy was tied-up and hidden in the woods and nobody knew where he was, he would receive a death sentence as real as a date with the electric chair.

  Could he leave Billy unconscious in the trench, just take the car and run for it? That would buy some time, maybe enough to get the plan underway; Billy would have a long walk home. Of course, maybe Billy was more seriously injured than he appeared to be, would need medical attention when he regained consciousness. Maybe, he wasn't injured at all, but would quickly hitch a ride to town and get to the cops in time to ruin Dave's plan.

  No, Dave couldn't tie up his friend or leave him alone in the cleft. It seemed that there was only one thing that he could do: take Billy along on the hunt.

  He would have to carefully manipulate Billy with lies, feed him a story which would convince him to accompany Dave instead of seeking the police. As soon as Dave got close to Larry, he would ditch his friend, somehow lose him before the fireworks started. By that time, even if Billy went to the cops, it would hopefully not make any difference; Dave could advance on the killer, play out his plan, and Billy would be out of the line of fire.

  No question, it would be a difficult proposition. As skeptical and perceptive as Billy was, fooling him for an extended period wouldn't be a cakewalk; Dave would have to anticipate his every inquiry, concoct perfectly logical lies which would evaporate his every doubt...never letting him in on the crazy time-travel story. Once involved, Billy wouldn't be easy to lose; Dave would have to contrive some truly remarkable maneuver to unhook his tenacious friend.

  There would be some rough sailing ahead, to say the least. Still, Dave could think of no viable alternative, no other way to keep Billy safe and away from the cops at the same time.

  On the floor of the rift, Billy shifted again, twitched an arm and a leg as if he sensed his friend's intentions. Pulse instantly accelerating, Dave stopped pacing and watched for more movement; there was none, but Dave guessed that the latest flicker heralded an incipient awakening.

  Soon, he thought, Billy would come to...but that was okay. The decisions had been made; for better or worse, Dave knew what he would do.

  He would go after Larry Smith. He would take Billy with him, then lose him at the appropriate time. He would try to talk Larry into sparing the next victim. If Larry wouldn't cooperate, or if he made a hostile move, the cops would be called into the fray.

  It was settled. The choices had been made.

  He would go after Larry Smith.

  How?

  How would he go after Larry Smith?

  How could he hope to find the killer?

  All that Dave knew was that Larry was going after the guy from out of town who would supposedly frame Billy for murder. Larry had said that he was leaving Confluence, heading for the out-of-towner's domain; that, however, could be just about anywhere. "Out of town"; that was the only clue.

  Frowning, Dave leaned a shoulder against the wall of the cleft, tried to figure out what Larry's next stop might be. It didn't seem possible to guess the killer's destination; still, Dave had to try to narrow down the choices.

  According to Larry, though the next victim was from out of town, he'd been, or would be, familiar with the local area. In Larry's story, the out-of-town guy had led the robbery of a Confluence bookie; the guy had had dealings with the bookie, and the bookie had crossed him, offended him enough to make him want to kill the bookie and his whole family. Larry had said that the out-of-towner had known the layout of the bookie's home, had known it well enough to slip inside, lead his accomplices to the money, quickly find and murder the family.

  If the out-of-towner had known the bookie and his home so well, he must have associated with the bookie extensively; therefore, the out-of-towner must have been in the Confluence area often, must not have come from too far away. Dave thought that was a reasonable assumption.

  If the out-of-towner didn't live a great distance from Confluence, then what was his point of origin? Perhaps, he lived an hour from Confluence, or two or three; with a driving time of three hours or less, it was conceivable that he could frequent the area with little inconvenience. There was a lot of territory within a three-hour drive of Confluence, though, a lot of communities within the likely radius.

  There were a number of sizable cities within a three-hour drive; perhaps, the out-of-towner could be found in one of them. Pittsburgh was
two hours to the west, Harrisburg three hours to the east; Baltimore and Washington D.C. were a little over three hours to the southeast.

  Abruptly, it occurred to Dave that Larry's next victim might not even be out of town, after all. Perhaps, Larry had lied about the guy, had once again attempted to misdirect and confuse.

  If the next victim was a local resident, that would explain how he'd known--or would know--the bookie and his home so well. Such a scenario would also explain why Larry had been so adamant about keeping Dave from going to the police; if Larry's quarry was in the immediate area, the killer could be thwarted more easily than if he were on an out-of-town hunt.

  Yes; it was possible that Larry would commit his next murder in or near Confluence. Dave didn't find it difficult to believe that Larry had lied about his next destination, planted a false lead to deter intervention.

  Of course, it was also possible that Larry had planned to leave the area, that he hadn't lied about going out of town.

  Larry might still be in Confluence.

  He might also be on his way to Pittsburgh or Harrisburg, Baltimore or Washington, just about anywhere.

  Anywhere; Larry might be anywhere.

  As hard as he tried, Dave couldn't winnow the possibilities, determine the most likely location. He didn't know where he should go; though he'd decided what course of action he would take, he could do nothing if he didn't know where to find Larry.

  He needed more information. He needed some kind of clue, something to point him in the right direction.

  Perhaps...

  Perhaps, Larry had left something behind. Maybe, in his tussle with Billy, something had fallen from one of his pockets. Even in the heat of a struggle, it hardly seemed possible that Larry would be careless, that anything would get past him...but maybe...

  Immediately, Dave began to search the rift. At first, he just made a cursory scan, slowly walked around Billy and the area in which Larry had stood during his speech.

  After a few minutes, when nothing had caught his eye, Dave dropped to his hands and knees. Crawling along, he stared at the dirt, brushed his hands over it in the hope that he might uncover something. The only thing that he found was more dirt.

  Rising, he examined the walls of the rift, methodically pored over every crease and recess in the stone. He covered a long section of the trench, went up one side and down the other...and again, he found nothing.

  For a moment, he paused in his search. Hands on his hips, he shook his head and sighed with frustration; without a clue to Larry's destination, he couldn't proceed with his plan...but he was beginning to think that there was no clue to be found.

  Where else could he look?

  Perhaps, there was something underneath Billy, concealed by his body. Dave didn't dare try to move his friend, though; he didn't want to risk waking him one moment early, one second before Billy would come around on his own.

  With another sigh, Dave cast his eyes upward...and then he had a thought. Maybe, Larry had dropped something above, on the rim of the cleft; in clambering out of the cut in the stone, he might have deposited something, lost it on the surface instead of in the fissure.

  Boosting himself from the rift, Dave set about scouring the rim. Slowly, he plodded alongside the crevice, eyes trained downward, inspecting the pale stone.

  When he'd examined most of the length of one rim, he hopped over a narrow segment of the break and concentrated on the other side. He had no success there, either; the smooth stone surrounding the trough was absolutely bare.

  With a long, despairing sigh, he finally stopped hunting, stood straight and gazed over the plateau. Flat and nearly featureless, the stone formation spread before him, a tablet as blank as his mind was at that moment.

  He was stymied; it seemed that Larry had beaten him, forced a checkmate at last. If he didn't know where to find the killer, Dave could hardly enact his plan, couldn't prevent Larry from killing again.

  Arms hanging limply at his sides, Dave tried to accept the dispiriting conclusion of his struggle. Exhausted in every way, completely wrung-out, he wondered what the aftermath would bring, how he could possibly trawl up the strength to deal with any of it.

  Then, he remembered the faceless kid.

  The other trench; he hadn't yet searched the other trench, the one which held the faceless kid.

  There might be a clue in that trench. Great violence had occurred there, a savage attack; if Larry had dropped anything that day, he would most likely have done so during his brutal exercise with the kid.

  Timidly, Dave looked toward the terrible site. From his vantage point, that trench didn't appear especially threatening; it looked much the same as any of the other fissures, just another crack in the stone.

  Still, the impression of innocence was fleeting. Though his eyes showed him an undefiled cleft, Dave's memory provided a far stronger and more disturbing vision.

  Red and white and red and red.

  Most of the face was gone.

  Glistening.

  Surely, he couldn't go back there.

  The one visit to that cleft had been enough to stock his nightmares for a lifetime. Just the thought of what he'd seen made his stomach lurch, made his gorge jump like mercury in a thermometer tossed into boiling water.

  He couldn't go back there.

  Feverishly, he tried to convince himself that he didn't have to return to the grisly spectacle. He struggled to compose excuses which would allow him to abstain from further exposure to the horror.

  He told himself that since he'd found no clues anywhere else, he would probably not find any with the faceless kid. He told himself that even if he did turn up a clue, even if it did point him toward Larry, he would probably be too late to catch up to and stop the killer. He told himself that he would be better off just going to the police, forgetting his crazy plan.

  He told himself that he should believe Larry's story, trust that Larry would only kill once more and that would save Billy's future. He told himself that inaction wouldn't be immoral, that he wasn't to blame for Larry's crimes.

  He told himself that he deserved a rest, that he'd done all that he could, that there was no way to stop Larry so he should wisely withdraw from the game. He told himself that he could live with the knowledge that he'd let Larry escape, that he could forgive himself under the circumstances. He told himself that he could deal with any consequences which might arise, that he could accept future travails in exchange for avoiding this one.

  He told himself that he would wash his hands of Larry from that moment on, that he wouldn't care what happened as a result of his resignation.

  He told himself that everything would be okay.

  He told himself that he could give up, get on with his life, and everything would be okay.

  Everything would be okay.

  He was out of his league; he'd done all that he could. It was time to cut his losses, quit while he was ahead.

  Red and white and red and red and glistening.

  He told himself that everything would be okay.

  Everything would be okay.

  He told himself that everything would be okay.

  Then, he took a step toward the faceless kid.

  *****

  Chapter 32

  The name; it was a clue. There was something important about it.

  Dave told himself to think about the name.

  Think about the name.

  He vomited again.

  The name the name the name. What was it about the name?

  He had to think about the name, not the...

  His stomach bolted with another painful expulsion.

  ...not the blood and smell and mess, not the mess where the face had been.

  He told himself to think about the name. He tried to force down the awful vision, but it kept surging up like the contents of his stomach.

  It had been worse the second time. He'd thought that he could steel himself, shut out the horror, focus only on the minutiae of his search
...but his second visit to the kid had been much worse than the first. He'd been unable to close himself off from the atrocity, control his attention, edit his observation; he'd been unable to numb himself, dull the impact, sustain equilibrium.

  He'd been determined not to look at it; his resolve had been short-lived. Over and over, his eyes had been drawn to it, deflected from it, drawn to it, attracted and repelled in an awful repetition over which he'd had little control.

  He'd tried to see only the dirt and stone, narrow his vision to each small spot and fragment that he'd inspected; he'd failed. The corpse had seemed to keep popping up, leaping directly into his line of sight, thrusting itself at him as if it had craved his notice.

  As vivid as his memory of the first visit had been, he'd thought that he might be somewhat used to the scene, that he might not be as dramatically affected by a second encounter. Since he wouldn't be completely surprised as he'd been the first time, he'd hoped that he would be better prepared, able to minimize his reaction.

  He hadn't been better prepared. Each glimpse had shocked and sickened him, blindsided him afresh. Being so close to the corpse, being right in the trench with it instead of gazing down from the rim, had amplified its influence; walking around the mauled body during the search, seeing the mutilation from all angles, Dave had been gouged far more deeply than he'd expected.

  And then he'd...

  Again, he vomited.

  ...and then, he'd touched it.

  He'd known that he'd had no other choice. He'd found nothing in the rest of the trench, nothing but blood...and bits of...

  He'd found nothing, and there had been but one place left to look.

  He'd touched it.