Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (12 page)

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 1:47 PM

It was an hour and a half before the accident.  Mark strolled through his old neighborhood.  His alter ego (former self) would soon leave to pick up Daniel and Brittany from school.  For a short amount of time before then, the Camry would be parked in Mark’s driveway, unattended.  If he couldn’t get to Chadwick’s car, maybe he could paralyze his own.

As soon as he reached the front of his house, however, Mark muttered a curse under his breath.  He’d miscalculated the timing.  The front door was opening, which meant his old self was emerging to begin running errands.  Mark whipped his face away to keep from being recognized, and walked on.

Friday, May 23
^rd
, 2009, 3:16 PM
      

Mark was determined to end it.   This time, he was perched on the roof of the shopping center with a high-powered sniper rifle.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed movement around Chadwick’s vehicle below.  He knew it had to be one of his former selves slashing the tires, but it still gave him the heebie-jeebies to even think about seeing himself outside a mirror, so he ignored the form.

A minute later, Chadwick exited the pizzeria.  Mark centered the drunken teen’s head in the crosshairs of his scope.  This rifle was new to him, so he’d practiced for over a week at a local shooting range, fine-tuning his aim with it and the scope.   A good sniper made sure he knew his weapon.  It was now accurate to several miles, and Chadwick was only a hundred feet away.

The rifle rested on a tripod to hold it stable as he took the shot.  The wind was virtually non-existent.  He would not miss.

 The revolting face bobbed in his sights, as if it were only a few feet away.  He stayed his finger until the right moment.  Slowly, then, he depressed the trigger, squeezing it gently without the slightest pull or jerk.

Click.

 He pulled it again.

Click.

Jammed.

By all rights, the peaceful summer afternoon should have been shattered by an explosive rifle round tearing toward its target.  Instead, the birds nearby kept chirping their tunes happily, undisturbed.  The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder should be rewarding his nostrils, yet nothing but fresh air was to be had.

He tried several more times, but something inside the rifle was seriously jammed, and his hurried, frustrated fingers could not release the mechanism in time.  He watched with angst as the jock jumped into his car for the millionth time.

Mark kicked the rifle with all his might and sent it skidding across the roof.  He would not wait for the inevitable.  Not again.  He shifted forward to 2012 to escape the nightmare he was forcing himself to relive endlessly.

May 23
^rd
, 1959, Milledgeville, GA

There was more than one way to skin a cat, and Mark wasn't about to give up.  It was time to get serious.  Very serious.

It had taken a little research to find the right town, but he had done it.   He now stood on a onion farm just outside of Milledgeville, GA in 1959, awaiting the right opportunity.

And he soon had it.  From his observation post, Mark watched his subject packing empty wooden crates in the back of his truck and realized he would soon be going into town for something.  Mark drove his car up the highway several miles and parked on the shoulder with the engine idling.  When the truck drew near, Mark whipped his vehicle sideways into the middle of the road, completely blocking both lanes of the highway.

The truck’s brakes whined to a stop.  Throwing his vehicle into park, Mark leapt out, decisively aiming his rifle at the driver.  He also had a couple of .45's hidden in holsters under his shirt, and a Bowie knife — just in case.  No jammed gun would stop him this time.

The driver nervously stumbled from his pick-up, hands over his head, baffled by the unexpected threat.  Mark ordered him to his knees in the dry road.

This was young 17 year-old Robert Chadwick, running some innocent errand for his father.  He would grow up to become the father of Stephen Chadwick, the boy who would kill Mark's children.

Robert’s wide eyes were full of fear, darting back and forth in search of some explanation or escape.  He was completely unsure of himself.  Some maniac had just stopped him with a gun and he had no idea why.  His lower lip quivered, his hands visibly trembling.

Mark steeled himself.  He would feel no remorse.

As an adult, Robert Chadwick would arrange to have his son’s DUI records lost in order to protect him.  In spite of knowing Stephen had been drunk, this man would file a lawsuit against Mark, further destroying Mark’s family.  This was the man who would someday choose family and greed over justice and righteousness.  If he died, if he no longer existed, he could never father his son, and Mark’s children would not die.  It was that simple.

Mark took aim, steadying his arm until it felt like an iron beam, his bead centered right on the young man’s forehead.  Just a little pressure on the trigger and half the boy’s head would disappear. The seconds ticked by.  He tightened his finger.

He couldn’t do it.

The hate and bitterness weren’t strong enough to erase the sense of basic decency which resided somewhere deep within.  He squeezed his eyes shut hard in forced concentration and tried to overcome it.  He needed to kill this boy.  It was the only way.

With all his might he tried to rip that decency out, roots and all.  Vengeance was calling, and he wanted to give himself over to it.

Mark cursed and dropped his weapon into the dust.  The boy, seeing his respite, leapt back into his truck and tore off toward his farm like a panicked madman.

Mark didn’t wait around.  He’d failed again.

May 22
^nd
, 1959, Milledgeville, GA

The diner was a regular grease spoon, but was an obvious hit with the locals.  Most of the tables were filled with the weekday lunch crowd.

Mark stared blankly at the order of scrambled eggs he was idly pushing around his plate.  He’d just shifted back one day earlier to take a second try at Robert Chadwick, but now he was questioning that plan.  He’d probably just freeze up again.

He was very disquieted by the fact that he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.  Surely, any loving father would be able to kill in order to protect his children. Wouldn’t he?  It wasn’t exactly killing though, was it? 
More like murder.
  Was his morality streak really so strong that it wouldn’t let him kill a man, even if that man being alive meant his kids would die.

The more he deliberated, the more he realized just how dangerous these time travel watches were.  If Mark wanted to, he could jump from time to time killing just about anybody he chose, or stealing anything he wanted, and simply shift to another time to avoid getting caught. 
If these devices ever fell into the wrong hands....

Mark reached down and grabbed for his backpack protectively.  He unzipped it far enough to see that both the extra watches were still safely in his possession.  He’d have to be more careful with them.

The truth was his frustration level was soaring.  He’d tried just about every way he could imagine to save Daniel and Brittany.  He did still have a few options.  He could try to kill Robert again, or he could try to prevent Robert Chadwick from meeting his future wife, which would eliminate Stephen’s conception.  He could try to get Chadwick Jr. flunked out of school before he became a football star, or sabotage the Governor’s campaign before he was elected.  Why not just call a bomb threat into his children’s school earlier that fateful day?

Did it matter?
Everything he’d tried so far had failed.  He could understand a glitch or two, but the obstacles he’d encountered were inexplicable.  There was no reasonable way he could mess up so completely every time, unless he really was dumber than he thought, and he didn’t think that was the case.

Maybe it was just impossible to change past events.  Maybe there was some mysterious, cosmic force out there making sure nothing changed.

No, that couldn’t be.   He had definitely changed some things so far.  Every time he went back in time to make an investment and returned to find his modern day bank balance higher, it proved he could change things.  Plus, he'd saved Red Johnson from dying under that tree.   He could clearly alter the past. 
So, what was going on?

“Give up yet?”

“Uh....what?”  The voice shook Mark from his reverie.

“I asked if you’d given up yet.”  The speaker was a sandy-haired young man in his 30's, dressed in blue jeans and a short-sleeved button-down shirt typical of the 1950's.  He looked very muscular and clean cut.  Under any other circumstances, Mark would have sworn he was military.

“Given up on what?”

“You know what I mean.  Given up on changing the past.”

“I’m in the past....I ...er....I mean...what are you talking about?”

The man sat at a table across from Mark’s.  He was calm, sure of himself, and would not break his unnerving stare.  He leaned back into his chair, the very image of a man relaxed, which was the complete opposite of Mark, who was bordering on a nervous breakdown.

“I’m talking about your children, Mark.”

Taken aback, Mark suddenly leaned forward and hissed, “
Who are you?
”

None of the other diner patrons noticed the conversation.

“Hardy Phillips, pleased to meet you”.  He extended his hand.

Mark declined.

“Okay....Hardy, who are you and what do you want?”

The man merely grinned, tapping his wrist lightly, drawing Mark’s attention to it.

Mark gasped.  This man wore an identical time travel watch to his own.  At least, it
looked
just like his.

Mark sat back with his arms crossed and waited for an explanation.

The man’s grin only grew wider, which was irritating.  He placed a scrap of paper on the table and slid it toward Mark.  It was a sequence of numbers:

120000P06052012

Which was, of course, 12:00 noon, June 5, 2012.

“Meet me at that address, in your office.  We’ll talk then.”  Phillips stood and exited the diner.  By the time Mark got outside, the stranger had disappeared.  He’d probably shifted out.

He had a million questions to ask, and no one to answer them.  Unless he kept this appointment that is.  Not much choice in his book.

If you get there before I do, don't give up on me.

I'll meet you when my chores are through.

“Love, Me”

                        ~ Collin Raye

12:00 PM, June 5
^th
, 2012, Atlanta, GA

“Welcome.  Have a seat.”  Mark motioned for Phillips to take the chair in front of his desk.

“I wasn’t quite sure if I
would
be welcome,” his guest replied.

“Figure of speech.  I’m not sure you are yet.”

There was that irritating grin again.

“Mr. Phillips, you approached me, from out of the blue, frankly, and you mentioned my children.  I want to know exactly what you know about them, and I want to know
now
.”

“We’ll get to that.  First things first.”

Mark glared.

“Mr. Carpen, we know a great deal about you....”

“Who’s we?” Mark demanded.

“At the moment, that’s not important.  What I can tell you is that we know you have become aware of certain, shall we say, possibilities within the realm of physics of which most people are not.”

“You mean time travel.”