Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (11 page)

He longed for the way things used to be.  He ached to see Daniel and Brittany.  He wanted it to be the four of them again, living happily in their cozy, three-bedroom ranch.  Saturday morning cartoons and frosted flakes.  Family picnics in the park and snuggling on the couch at night.

He would trade all the wealth in the world for a chance to get his old life back.  He could
travel
back in time, but he couldn’t
turn
back time.  He could go back a few years and see them at any age he wanted, but he couldn’t be a part of their life again.  You can’t put the eggs back in the basket.

Money and grief are lonely partners, he was learning.

Epiphanies have a way of shining a piercing light into an abandoned area of our mind, a place full of cobwebs where we thought new ideas were impossible, and at the same time mentally slapping us upside the head for being so dense we hadn’t considered a possibility before.  The truth dawned on him.

He had a
time machine
.  He’d saved Red from the falling tree — which had to mean he could
prevent the Accident.
  Excitement and anticipation rushed into his veins like a narcotic.  He was more than ready.  He would be kicking himself for months to come for not having thought of it before.

This should have been the first thing he’d done.  Then again, when he first found the shifter, he hadn’t even had enough money to eat, much less provide for his kids.  Now he could operate from a much stronger position to save them.

It was all moot anyway.  At this point, he just needed to get busy.

***

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009  3:17 P.M., Lawrenceville, GA
        

Mark’s nerves were humming.  He sat in a rented sedan along GA State Hwy 124 in the parking lot of the Hair Cuttery.  There were no customers this afternoon at the tiny hair salon, which was located in a quaint old, red train caboose behind him, and that was good.  It made for fewer potential complications.

His plan was simple.  Mark knew that he — his former alter ego that is — would be driving by in approximately five to ten minutes with his children in the back seat of the car, unaware of the fate awaiting them around the corner.  His former self would turn right onto Hwy 20, and just as they were passing the old Belk’s shopping center, the drunken football star would whip out in front of them, slam on his brakes, and the unbearable tragedy would begin.

Unless Mark could change it that is.  All he had to do was watch for his Camry.  When he saw it coming, he would pull out in front of “himself” and basically do everything in his power to slow the other car down.  Hopefully, he would change the timing of events just enough for his family to be saved.

He looked at his hands.  They were shaking.  Changing history was a whole different matter when it was your own family at stake.

There it was.  The Camry was coming.  His heart leapt into his throat as he slowly pulled out into the lane in front of the vehicle bearing his children.  He purposefully restrained his eyes from looking too closely at the other car.  He did not want to see them yet.  Not until he knew they were safe.  Once they were safe, he would give them the biggest hug a father has ever given his children.

He accelerated to the speed of normal traffic, and then, as the car drew close, he stepped heavily on the brakes, shortening the gap between them.  The blue Camry switched lanes to avoid him, but Mark had anticipated this and changed too.  Another few seconds, and he would be affecting the Camry’s speed.

The Camry moved to switch back to the right hand lane without slowing down, and Mark tried to counter but his foot slipped off the gas at the crucial moment, costing him his lead and his chance to stay ahead of the other car.  It passed by smoothly and continued on its way.

He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, cursing as he watched the Camry turn right into oblivion.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009 3:08 P.M.

This time, Mark waited much earlier on the route he’d taken that fateful day, closer to the elementary school.  He’d modified his plan.  This time, he would pull out behind the Camry and, at the best possible moment, say at a red light or a stop sign, he would gently rear-end himself.

Once he’d caused an accident, Mark would shift forward to the future, abandoning his current vehicle.  His old self would be forced to stop and get out.  That would ensure a significant delay, and even a few seconds difference would save them.  He laughed, imagining the look he’d probably have on his face when he saw it was a driverless car that had rear-ended him.

There the Camry was again.  Mark deftly whipped his rental in behind it.  It was just a matter of timing now.  He stayed close on their tail, studying the situation, ready for any opportunity.  If they just came to a stop somewhere, it would be so easy.

Suddenly, flashing blue lights filled his rear window.

You have got to be kidding me.

It couldn’t be.  Not here, not now.  He was being pulled over.  Could he ignore the officer and still put the plan into effect?  He wasn’t sure.

He could risk it, but instinct told Mark to try again in a different way.  He decided to cut his losses.

He pulled off onto the shoulder and waited obediently for the officer to approach.  The ticket was for following too close.

It's a long trip alone
over sand and stone

That lie along the road
that we all must travel down

“Long Trip Alone”

                        ~ Dierks Bentley

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009 2:30 PM

The pizzeria was one of those buffet places where $3.99 would buy you all the pizza you could want in one sitting.  It was decorated nicely enough for a budget restaurant, but definitely left no doubt as to its level in the gourmet chain.

The place was not very full, being well after the lunch hour, but there were several families with young kids enjoying a late afternoon meal together.

From the depositions taken during his trial, Mark knew that Stephen Chadwick, the 17 year old who would kill his children in a little less than an hour, had spent this afternoon at this pizzeria before the accident.

Mark’s plan was, once again, simple.  He would do whatever it took to stop or delay the Chadwick boy. He would wait until it was time for Chadwick to leave, and then he would pick a fight with him.  One way or the other, he would make sure the boy was delayed from leaving the premises.

Bile rose in his throat as he watched from several tables away.  When Chadwick entered the restaurant, he was already drunk.  Mark endured the torment, seething as the brat stuffed his face full of greasy pizza.  He was laughing it up with several of his friends, ignorant of the pain and travesty he was about to wreak.  They’d snuck a couple of beers into the joint.  Apparently, the boys hadn’t had enough yet.  It would be a pleasure ripping Chadwick’s face off.  That was something he’d longed to do for quite a while.  A preemptive strike for justice.

His blood pressure rose.  His hands trembled slightly under the rush of adrenaline.  This would work.  He was finally going to save his kids, something he’d never even been able to do in his dreams.

Mind humming, he narrowed his eyes, focused on his prey.  It was time.  The young Chadwick stood up to go, guffawing at something that had been said.  To Mark, it looked like a disgusting, mocking sneer.  Mark rose from his chair and made a beeline for his target.

While Mark was still twenty feet away, another patron, who by all appearances was the very definition of the word redneck if there ever was one, stood to refill his Coke — right in Mark’s path.  The collision was brief and not too jarring, but the man took offense and spouted off an insult.  Mark's eyes remained locked on Chadwick.  Nothing would distract him from his purpose.  The redneck was still in the path, so Mark pushed him aside, but the guy unexpectedly went down in a heap.

Mark bypassed his fallen form and pushed his way further toward Chadwick.  Other patrons were noticing the commotion he’d caused with the redneck.  Chadwick sensed something was going on and turned to face him.  Mark leapt forward, snarling, striking for the boy’s face, ready to tear into him like an animal.  In a drunken panic, Chadwick turned and tried to dodge.  He was aided by one of his sober friends who anticipated the swing and pushed at Mark’s arm, deflecting the blow.

Mark would have to fight all of them.  So be it.  As long as he could stop or delay Stephen Chadwick, nothing else mattered.

He had just dropped into a fighting stance, ready for the enlarged battle, when something solid hit him hard in the base of the skull.  Mark collapsed helplessly to the floor.  It wasn’t a crippling blow — he’d be fine in a minute — but he was stunned, taken completely off guard.  A second later, the redneck had rolled him over and began punching him repeatedly in the face.  A mad melee ensued with some customers yelling and others trying to pull the two of them apart.

Mark, however, was oblivious to the blows.  He was watching his prey slip out the door, unimpeded.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 2:47 PM

He had a knife and he was through playing around.  All Mark needed was one unobserved moment to slash a few of Chadwick’s tires. 
That
would do the trick.

Unfortunately, the vehicle parked right to the side of Chadwick’s pulled out right when Mark had been set to move, forcing him to wait.  Another car then pulled into the space in front of Chadwick’s, and its driver sat for what seemed an eternity talking on a cell phone.

At last, when a casual observer might have thought frustrated smoke was about to begin billowing from Mark’s ears, the man ended what had to be a needless conversation and finally left his vehicle.

With no hesitation, Mark strode to the sports coupe.  A very satisfying hiss accompanied Mark’s knife as it sank deep into the front tire.  Twisting the blade, he gouged a wider hole to let the air out even faster.  It was flat in no time.

A commotion arose behind him from the pizzeria.  Chadwick was coming out.  Quickly, Mark stabbed a second tire and then ran to the other side of the parking lot where he could watch to see if he’d finally succeeded.

Chadwick was so drunk he never noticed the flat tires.  He got in the car and peeled out of his space.  In no time, his tires would be ripped to shreds and he’d be riding on the rims.  Unfortunately, the end of the parking lot would come long before then.

Chadwick screamed onto the street Mark was working so hard to keep him off.  Then came the assaulting screeching of tires, breaking glass, and a twisted Camry in the drainage ditch.

The bitter vomit rushing up his esophagus weakly symbolized the gut-wrenching grief ripping through his soul at the sight.  He hadn’t wanted to see it again. 
He had
not
wanted to see it again.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 2:43 PM

Mark called the police to report a drunk teenager who’d parked in a certain shopping center and was now eating at the pizzeria there.

They responded, but not until it was too late.  Not until there was already an accident on the scene.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 2:03 PM

Mark reported the drunk driver again, but way ahead of schedule to compensate for their slow response time.  This time they showed up too quickly.  Chadwick hadn’t even arrived yet.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 1:27 AM

Mark stood outside Chadwick’s darkened home.  Moonlight glinted off the teen’s silvery Toyota Celica in the driveway.

Tonight, Mark brought his knife once more, but this time he'd also brought a Slim Jim to jimmy the door and a gallon of bleach.  He approached the car.

He would make sure the car was completely inoperable this time.  He would slash all four tires.  He’d pop the hood, remove the distributor cables, and take them with him.  He’d cut the battery cables, and drain the radiator.  To make doubly sure the car would stay immobile for quite a while, Mark would pour bleach into the oil to lock the motor.

Many people thought adding sugar to a gas tank was the way to destroy an engine, but Mark knew that was an urban legend.  Bleach in the oil was the way to go.

While he was jimmying the driver side door to get the hood open, security lights suddenly blazed from the house.  A shout went up, and there was no time to wait.  Mark dropped his tools and took off down the street.   He would have to find another opportunity.