Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  The husband mumbled something indecipherable, and the door swung open.

  For an instant, there was silence. Braced in his corner, the Miraclemaker listened and waited; he concentrated on his prey, tried to will them into entering the house instead of running from the premises.

  "Damn," said the husband, his voice level, lacking any note of surprise. "Look at this, will ya'."

  "What the hell?" blurted the woman.

  "Guess we got robbed," the husband said listlessly.

  Come in, the Miraclemaker thought urgently. Come on, he pressed impatiently...and he finally felt a flicker of his old intensity.

  "What dumb son of a bitch would rob us?" the woman snorted sarcastically.

  "Maybe your brother stopped by," retorted the husband.

  "Go to hell," huffed the woman. "You're more a worthless sack of shit than he is," she charged snidely as she stormed through the doorway.

  The Miraclemaker was pleased. Things would go his way, after all; his guests weren't smart enough to retreat.

  Paper crumpled as the husband shuffled into the room. On his way in, he bumped the door, pushing it further open; the Miraclemaker held his breath...but the door didn't swing wide enough to reveal him.

  "Look at this shit!" barked the woman. She kicked at some of the debris, sending bits of the table clattering. "Damnit anyhow! There's even puke! They puked on my carpet!"

  "Guess we pissed 'em off," sighed the husband. "They must'a been pissed 'cause we didn't have nothin' good for 'em to rip off."

  The wife cursed violently, then stopped for a beat. "Oh my God!" she exploded. "The kitchen, too!" Spewing an even wilder stream of expletives, she stomped through the living room rubble, hastening toward the next scene of destruction.

  "Geez," muttered the husband, remaining by the door. "Just what I needed."

  "Shit!" roared the woman. "Son of a bitch!"

  The wife bellowed, the husband sighed and mumbled...and then, a third voice rose.

  The Miraclemaker's eyes widened at the sound. He felt the sting of fresh adrenaline; his heart began to gallop.

  The third voice was like the hymn of an angel, signaling the start of the final miracle. To the Miraclemaker, it was as welcome and lovely as the pealing of church bells, the singing of choirs.

  There; he heard it grow louder. He closed his eyes and let it rush into him. The woman was still shouting, the man was still mumbling, but the Miraclemaker shut them both out; the third voice alone sailed into him, soothingly filled him.

  The spark of his dormant vigor began to grow bright. The vision of his rotting limb receded, and he knew that the old fervor would soon fully return.

  He was ready; thanks to the third voice, he was ready to resume his holy work...and he would savor it.

  The Miraclemaker clenched and unclenched his fists. He prepared to leap from his corner and work magic once more.

  In the kitchen, the third voice, the voice of the chosen one, continued its song.

  In the kitchen, the infant continued to wail.

  *****

  Chapter 40

  Dave hoped to kayo Billy with the first punch, bowl him over and be done with it. That strategy was almost successful.

  Bursting from the ground where he'd played possum so well, Dave slung his fist at Billy's head, putting all that he had into the sudden strike. Billy was kneeling, not looking in Dave's direction; the punch was true, and by all rights, it should have connected.

  At the last possible instant, though, Billy ducked his head to one side, away from the blow. Dave's fist shot through empty air, didn't even stir a hair on Billy's head.

  Having missed its mark, the fist kept going, lurching Dave around with its momentum. Surprised, unable to compensate, Dave flopped over on his stomach.

  As Dave went down, Billy spun and gaped at him, looking stunned. Apparently, Billy hadn't expected the attack, hadn't been watching for it; he must have spied the blow from the corner of his eye, or simply dodged by pure chance.

  Recovering as quickly as he could, Dave jerked his arms in close and thrust himself up on his elbows. Realizing that he'd lost the element of surprise, he again struck swiftly, swinging a fist out and back in an arc.

  This time, the blow made contact, clipped Billy on the chin; he didn't take the full force of the shot, but what he got was enough to push him from his knees, heave him onto his side in the dirt.

  Dave pressed the attack. Scrambling on the ground, he forced himself up on his hands and knees; whirling around, he pounced, throwing his full weight onto his partner.

  Billy was churned from his side onto his back. Dave grabbed his left arm and pinned it down, meanwhile pulled back a fist and lashed it toward his head.

  With his free arm, Billy deflected the incoming blow to one side. For a split-second, Dave was distracted by the miss; his grip on Billy's left arm relaxed just a bit, and Billy exploited that opening.

  Jerking his trapped arm in the dirt, Billy broke his partner's hold. Dave had been leaning heavily on the limb; when it came free, his own arm slid forward and he dropped, slumped halfway off his opponent. Before Dave could react, Billy twisted out from under him.

  With a grunt, Dave struggled to his knees, but he saw that Billy was already ahead of him. The wiry guy had shot to his feet in a flash, effortlessly snapped straight as if he were made of elastic.

  Lifting himself to a crouch, Dave charged as soon as he'd gained his footing. Billy ducked to the right, but it was a feint, and Dave anticipated it; when Billy made his real move and sprung to the left, Dave caught him across the chest with an outstretched arm. Both combatants toppled back to the ground.

  Again, Billy ended up on his back; he wasn't pinned, though, had fallen in such a way that Dave had only a limited grip on him, a single arm over his torso. It was a simple matter for Billy to roll away before his attacker could better his grip, sink his fingers into more than dirt and twigs.

  Failing to hold on to his partner, Dave pumped himself from a prone position to hands and knees. As Billy stopped rolling, Dave brought his right knee up and dug his foot into the earth beneath him; pushing off from the purchase, he dove at Billy, mashed him back down just as he was in the process of rising.

  Sputtering, Billy squirmed on the ground, couldn't immediately get free. He'd landed on his stomach, with Dave on top of him; though Dave's hold wasn't secure, his greater weight crushed Billy into the dirt.

  Face knotted in a grimace of determination, Dave levered himself up on one hand, pulled his other hand back and balled it into a fist. He swung at the back of his friend's head...but Billy writhed dramatically, jolting Dave enough to send the blow astray. When the punch missed, Dave's weight shifted to one side, following the momentum of his fist; Billy detected the change and bucked to the other side, tossing Dave from his back.

  Jarred by the abrupt ejection, Dave floundered, grabbed blindly at his comrade; he managed to snag the hem of Billy's shirt just as Billy was climbing to his feet. Dave yanked at the shirt, trying to pull Billy back down; Billy tugged with equal force, didn't drop...but didn't wrench away, either.

  The shirt stretched and tightened. Still sprawled in the dirt, Dave swung his other hand over and doubled his grip on the hem.

  Hunched and grunting, Billy strained to break away, but Dave wouldn't let go and the shirt wouldn't rip. Billy bucked to the right, then the left, then focused a fierce surge straight ahead...and then, he suddenly lessened the force of his resistance.

  Dave felt the tension in the shirt slacken, and he correctly guessed what Billy would do next. Instead of trying to take advantage of the slackness by pulling harder, Dave released his grip altogether.

  Sure enough, Billy burst forth with far too much thrust and plunged right to the ground. He'd been feinting, trying to surprise Dave by first reducing and then redoubling his exertion; Billy had applied a tremendous surge of energy to tear himself loose, hadn't expected Dave's well-timed disengagement.

  Puffing, Dave j
umped up and darted over to where his partner had fallen. Billy was shaking his head, trying to sit up; Dave finally got in a solid punch, bashed him squarely on one side of his face.

  With a pained gasp, Billy dropped back, his head pasted left by the blow. Eyes closing, he winced and groaned, clutched with both hands at the side of his face which Dave's fist had clocked.

  Standing over his friend, Dave felt a stab of guilt for having hurt him. Billy didn't deserve such treatment; as necessary as it was for Billy's protection, the beating seemed to Dave an unforgivable betrayal.

  Staring sadly at his wounded companion, Dave wished that there was another way to guarantee his safety. For an instant, Dave wasn't sure that he could strike Billy again, even if he had to do it for Billy's own good.

  Finally, though, Dave overcame his reluctance, reminded himself how vital it was that Billy stay out of the confrontation with Larry. Taking a deep breath, Dave raised his fist, started to swing.

  Suddenly, his legs were kicked out from under him. He toppled facedown in the dirt, hit the ground hard.

  Billy had borrowed Dave's own trick, played possum; he hadn't been as incapacitated as he'd looked, and now he'd regained the advantage. When Dave went down, Billy hastily scuttled over and slung himself atop him, straddling his back. Before Dave had fully realized what had happened, his right arm was wrenched behind him, his wrist pinned between his shoulder blades.

  Grunting and grinding his teeth, Dave struggled to throw his opponent, to no avail. Billy wouldn't budge...and he made it clear that his captive shouldn't budge, either; when Dave squirmed, Billy jerked the trapped arm, yanked it hard enough to send a bolt of pain shooting from the wrist to the socket. Dave cried out, feebly thrust his shoulder back in an attempt to reduce the awful pressure.

  "Why?" Billy grated angrily, locking Dave's arm at an agonizing angle. "Why the hell're you doing this?"

  Dave didn't answer. He had no idea what to say to his friend, hadn't prepared for the possibility of defeat.

  "What's got into you, you dumb shit?" snarled Billy. "What's the matter with you, huh?"

  Dave felt his captor's grip lighten just the tiniest bit. Desperate to break free and gain control of the situation, he put all his strength into one great heave which he hoped would fling off Billy.

  The latest bid for liberty was no more successful than that which had preceded it...and it had the same end result: more pain. Billy wasn't bucked; Dave's arm was again twisted behind his back.

  "Damnit!" blasted Billy. "What's with you, man?"

  Howling, grimacing, clenching, Dave couldn't even consider making a coherent reply.

  "I don't get it!" pelted Billy, his voice a mixture of rage and confusion. "Why'd you come at me like that? You go freakin' crazy or something?"

  Despite the pain in his arm, Dave made another escape attempt. He thrashed his upper body from side to side and kicked spastically at the dirt, fighting to get a footing from which to push.

  "Stop it!" commanded Billy. "Cut it out, you asshole!" With that, he again yanked Dave's arm, using more force than ever.

  Dave wailed at the influx of fresh pain; he ceased struggling, stiffened as the contortion of his arm became unbearable.

  "Shit!" barked Billy. "Am I gonna' have to break it? Am I gonna' have to snap it off to make you settle, man?"

  "No," gasped Dave, shaking his head. "I'm done."

  "You better believe you're done!" hurled Billy. "You aren't going anywhere, man!" he added, and then he stopped pulling Dave's arm.

  Dave released a great sigh of relief and slumped, let his face fall to the ground. Though his arm was still gripped tightly, Billy was no longer twisting it; mercifully, the current of pain had ceased.

  "Now tell me!" ordered Billy. "Tell me what the hell's going on here!"

  Breathing heavily, pinned beneath his friend, Dave wondered what he should say. He struggled to come up with a good lie, something which would explain his actions and appease Billy; in the end, he could think of no mistruth which wouldn't make matters worse.

  "Come on!" shouted Billy. "Tell me!"

  "I didn't...want you to go," Dave mumbled defeatedly.

  "What're you talking about?"

  "I didn't want you to go with me to Kline," continued Dave. "Because of Larry. I wanted to go alone."

  "I don't get it!" shot Billy. "You practically dragged me along to begin with! You talked me into it...and now you're trying to tell me you didn't want me to go?"

  "I didn't want you to call the cops," said Dave. "That's the only reason I got you to come with me. I knew you'd call them right away if I went without you."

  "We should've called them right away!" declared Billy. "It would've saved us all this bullshit!"

  "I figured I'd just ditch you on the way somehow," mumbled Dave. "Then, even if you got to a phone and called the cops, I'd still be able to get to Larry first, so it wouldn't matter."

  "So you tried beatin' the shit outta' me, huh?" Billy fired sarcastically. "Thanks a lot, man!"

  "I didn't want you to get hurt," said Dave. "I didn't want Larry to kill both of us if things went wrong."

  "Well, geez!" sniped Billy. "You sure did a good job of making sure I don't get hurt!"

  "I'm sorry," said Dave. "I couldn't think of any other way to ditch you. We were getting so close to Kline, and I just had to do something. I couldn't just tell you to pull the car over and get out."

  "So you were gonna' punch my lights out and leave me laying in the woods, huh? Just leave me here and drive away?"

  "I'm sorry," Dave said softly. "I really thought you'd be okay. I thought you'd wake up before too long and hitch a ride home."

  "Shit," Billy said disgustedly. "You know what? You're outta' your damn mind, man."

  "I just don't want you to get hurt," said Dave. "It's not fair for me to pull you into this. If Larry would do something to you, it'd be my fault."

  "You're crazy," Billy said contemptuously. With a sigh, he let go of Dave's arm and removed his weight from Dave's back, got to his feet. "This whole thing has just made you crazy. You're gonna' end up as crazy as Larry is."

  Dave couldn't help but wonder if Billy was right. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I was just worried about you."

  "Yeah, whatever," grunted Billy, striding a few steps from his partner, then turning to stare at him. "Y'know, I oughtta' just leave you here," he said pensively, folding his arms over his chest.

  "If that's what you want to do," Dave said as he rolled over and sat up.

  "What would you do if I left you here?" asked Billy.

  Dave thought for a moment. "I guess I'd walk to Kline," he said at last. "I wouldn't mind. At least you'd be out of it."

  Billy snorted. "That's what I thought," he said derisively. "It'd probably take you twenty minutes to get there, you know. By then, Larry'd be gone...if he isn't already gone, which he probably is."

  "Whatever," shrugged Dave.

  Billy shook his head. "Well, let's get a move on, then," he sighed.

  "What do you mean?" Dave asked flatly.

  "Come on," Billy said with mock courtesy, sweeping his left arm wide in an exaggerated summons. "Let's go, man. Let's get to Kline and see if that son of a bitch is still around."

  "I don't want you to go," said Dave.

  "Tough shit," smirked Billy. "I'm in this now. Before, I didn't want me to go either, but now, I am definitely in this."

  For a moment, Dave sat silently on the ground, frowning at his partner. He didn't want Billy to accompany him, put himself in jeopardy; it was clear, however, that Billy's stubborn streak had been fully activated, a streak which Dave knew from experience to be a formidable force.

  Dave thought that he would prefer if Billy would just leave him there; unfortunately, he didn't believe that he could convince Billy to do it, not now, with animosities so evident in the wake of the failed ambush. In addition, Dave doubted that he could really afford to have Billy depart; as Billy had said, if he took the car, and D
ave had to walk to Kline, he would lose too much time, would probably fail to reach Larry before he could escape (if he wasn't already on the run, of course).

  Slowly, Dave rose from the dirt, locked eyes with Billy. "Okay," he nodded. "Okay, let's go then."

  "After you," smirked Billy, waving graciously. "Ladies before gentlemen."

  Slouched and frowning, Dave sighed and moved past his partner toward the car. Billy followed at a safe distance, hanging back a few feet in case Dave again tried to attack.

  In fact, Dave did consider another assault, a last-ditch attempt to subdue his partner. As he marched to the fringe of the woods, he thought about whipping around and lunging, attacking so viciously that Billy might not be able to fend him off...but then, he decided that he wouldn't have a chance. If he'd failed with the element of surprise on his side, how could he hope to win now that Billy was expecting an attack?

  Later; he would have to try again later, when Billy wasn't watching him so closely. It wouldn't be easy, but he would try again later. He wouldn't let Billy face Larry.

  As he opened the door of the Camaro and slumped into his seat, Dave promised himself: he wouldn't let Billy face Larry.

  "Let's go get that son of a bitch," growled Billy Bristol as the engine roared to life.

  *****

  Chapter 41

  The man of the house never knew what hit him.

  In a smooth, soundless motion, the Miraclemaker tugged the door back and sprang from his hiding place. The man was in easy reach, just three feet away; a loaded grocery bag nested in each arm, and he was staring into the kitchen.

  Before the man could cry out or attempt to defend himself, the Miraclemaker had grabbed his skull and violently wrenched it around, instantly snapping his neck. As the groceries tumbled to the floor, the Miraclemaker jerked the guy to the wall and heaved his skull against it; the cranial bone cracked dully, and the Miraclemaker bashed it again, then a third time. After the fourth and most powerful impact, the Miraclemaker released the shattered head.