SUICIDE
Jamie Brown
Smashwords
Edition
Copyright 2010 Jamie Brown
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If I hadn’t ducked to pick up the piece of paper I would have been decapitated by the high velocity bullet that shattered the mirror behind me. As it was I got sprayed with razor shards that left the side of my face feeling wet and numb.
My eyes focussed onto the envelope lying near my face. The childish scrawl spelled out in red crayon just one word. DUCK!
I heard running footsteps and shouts. In the distance a cars siren approached.
I gingerly crawled through the shattered glass to the corner of the room and peered towards the open window. Somewhere out there someone had tried to kill me and maybe was hanging around for a second shot.
The envelope that had saved my life was still on the floor. On an impulse I crouched and picked it up. I turned out the light and groped my way out into the pitch black corridor. I heard voices and someone was slowly climbing the stairs at the front. Whatever was going on around here it was time to get out. Moving as fast and as silently as possible I made my way down the fire exit and out into the cold wet darkness of the night.
I walked quickly away from the tenement, pulling my thin coat around me. It was freezing cold, the rain like liquid ice, the wind stinging the cuts on my face.
I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened, how that scrawled message had saved my life and why someone would be shooting at me? The whole thing was impossible to understand.
~~~
This morning I had got up late, rushed through a shower and half a cup of coffee and got to the bus station just in time to miss it. Every Monday was the same and I rang in to give my excuses as usual.
Frank answered the phone “Hi John – so what’s the problem this time?”
“There’s some kind of accident on the South East freeway. It’s stuffed up the bus lane and everything’s running late. I’ll be in about 10” I lied.
“No problems – I heard about that on the radio. This weather is causing havoc everywhere, so I don’t expect you until 11 or 12. See you later”.
Amazing! Looks like the gods were on my side today, I thought. After a weekend of overtime working I needed a break. The failures with the project were frustrating; I was beginning to think something was fundamentally wrong with the science.
With this unexpected free time on my hands I decided to go and have a decent breakfast somewhere. The weather had gone crazy. Yesterday it was 28 degrees and sunny and today it was 19 and cold and dark. A small café across the road looked inviting and had a breakfast special on so I entered. It was cosy inside with a few people tucking into a late breakfast and reading newspapers.
The coffee smelled good and I sat at an empty table. The waitress approached, offering the menu. I ordered the Special with extra toast and a long black. The headline on the paper caught my eye –“Henry Madden Missing” filled most of the page. I grabbed a spare copy from the rack and read the article.
The Billionaire had disappeared without a trace, his limo found abandoned in a country lane. There was no sign of a struggle and no ransom note but foul play was suspected. The police forensic team was combing the area for clues.
A picture showed a well fed man in his 60’s shaking someone’s hand. He looked vaguely familiar.
The bulk of the article described how Madden had made his fortune by an uncanny knack for picking winning technology stocks whilst they were still 1 cent start-ups. He was a philanthropist noted for making large donations to biomedical research. I recalled there had been some kind of scandal a few years ago, but then my Big Breakfast arrived and I got down to serious business.
Relaxing over the coffee I picked up the paper again. On page two it continued with the headline story. Turns out the scandal had been about a missing air hostess last seen arguing with Madden at one of the night clubs down town a couple of years previously. She was never found and the story had gone away.
Further down the page I noticed someone had circled a small advert with a red crayon.
It said “John Banks CALL ME on 0135 362 431. Alice”.
My heart missed a beat and I nearly spilt my coffee. Was this addressed to me - how many John Banks were there?
I didn’t recognise the number or the name.
Why was the “CALL ME” in capitals?
Who had circled the ad - Someone in the café had been interested in this. I looked around the room. A woman glanced in my direction and then back to her food. No one else was paying me any attention. The woman gave me a funny look so I looked a way.
The only Alice I had known was years ago in college. She was a classy hard worker who never gave me a second glance. I was a player and she was strictly there to study so we never moved in the same circles. I couldn’t even remember her last name.
I figured the advert was just a strange coincidence and looked at my watch. It was past 10am and time I was getting to work. I pocketed the paper for something to read on the commute and paid the bill.
Outside it was pouring with rain and getting colder. The traffic was bumper to bumper and not going anywhere. At the station there was a big sign saying that the freeway was still blocked and very long delays were to be expected. I called work and told Frank that things were looking bad about getting there. He knew all about it. It seems there had been a really big smash between a semi and several cars and all the lanes were still closed.
“Ok, just take the day off. We’ll put it down as a sick day” He said.
“I’ll be in tomorrow on time” I promised, relieved that I wouldn’t be docked any money.
Things were not turning out too bad. Mondays were never my favourite days and now I could take it easy without having a bad conscience.
The weather was really something. The temperature seemed to have dropped even lower and the wind had picked up. I needed to find somewhere warm to spend time. My apartment was too cold and miserable so I headed for the Mall, maybe there was a movie worth watching.
It was warm, bright and packed with people getting out of the rain. I shook the water from my hat and undid my coat.
There was a Jackie Chan movie starting at 3.30 so I had 5 hours to kill.
I walked through the Mall, window shopping and watching girls, killing time.
Starbucks smelled good. I ordered a cappuccino and pulled out the paper I had picked up at the café.
“John Banks CALL ME on 0135 362 431. Alice”. Why would Alice want me to call her after 6 years?
On impulse I dialled the number. It rang once and then picked up.
“Hello John.” It was a husky female voice I didn’t recognise.
“I’m sorry, my name is John Banks, but who are you? “ I said hesitantly.
“It’s Alice Danes – we were at college together – don’t you remember?”
“Hi Alice – yes I think I remember you, but we weren’t exactly close friends. Why do you need to speak to me so urgently?”
There was a long pause.
“Alice?”
“John – I” Her voice was a whisper “- It’s very important that I meet you today, tonight at 7” she said.
Why would this person I hardly knew want to meet me - and why put an advert in a newspaper that I had never read before?
“What is this all about? I’m sorry but I have made plans for tonight” I lied.
Her voice was low and hard to hear “John, this is very important for you. If you don’t meet me tonight you will regret it for the rest of your life. Come to room 17, 37 Westlake apartments, at 7pm. Ask yourself – who circled the advertisement in the newspaper?”
The line clicked dead.
My head was spinning. Who did circle the ad in the paper? If she had been in the café, why not just meet there? How did anyone know I would be in that cafe and pick up that newspaper?
I looked around. People were milling everywhere. I didn’t see anyone watching me, but who could tell.
The Jackie Chan movie was a waste of time; I couldn’t concentrate on the action. The darkened theatre felt oppressive and smelled damp. I was glad to get back into the acid lights of the mall.
It was 5.45. I ate a burger and fries and drank scalding coffee from a Styrofoam cup at a table in the food mall. Nice.
Westlake apartments were a 20 minute walk away but this wasn’t a day for walking. It was too early so I lit a smoke outside the Mall entrance. The ground was littered with cigarette stubs and fast food wrappers. The cold rain beat down and rivulets ran through the garbage.
At 6.30 I grabbed a cab and headed for my appointment. The traffic was still bumper to bumper but the Black and White managed to edge forward, the wipers thumping away torrential rain.
I paid the cabby and ran into the entrance of a dilapidated building. I checked the street number; number 37 was hardly the kind of place I would have associated with Alice Danes.
The foyer was dark and deserted; a feeble neon the only source of light. It was close to 7pm and the lift didn’t appear to be working so I took the stairs.
The first floor corridor was dark, with only a gleam of light coming from under one or two doors along its length. The door nearest the fire exit was marked “17”.
I knocked but there was no answer. There was no gleam of light on the linoleum floor. No one appeared to be at home. I turned the handle and the door was unlocked. It was dark.
“Hello?”
There was no reply. Where was Alice?
I found the light switch and turned it on. The room was small and dingy with space for a single bed, a small table and not much else. I caught sight of a movement and, startled, turned to see my own reflection in a mirror. I smiled at myself ruthfully.
It was cold, the window was open and the curtains were billowing in the wind. I walked forward to close it and something on the floor caught my eye. It looked like a letter, maybe a note for me blown onto the floor by the draft.
I stooped down to pick it up – and the world exploded around me…
~~~
I walked swiftly down the alleyway and out into the brightly lit street. Dodging through the snarled traffic I slipped into a dark shop front and looked back and waited. No one seemed to be following me.
What the hell was going on? I felt like I was stuck in a cheap pulp fiction thriller. Reaching for a cigarette I felt the envelope in my pocket. That single red word sent a shiver down my spine. DUCK!
There was something inside the envelope. I tore it open and pulled out a faded newspaper clip. It was dated from 20 years ago, a story about Henry Madden when his incredible stock market skills first began being noticed.
This clip was for me. Someone wanted me to know that Madden was somehow involved with whatever was going on. But he was supposed to have been kidnapped!
The article said that he had just bought a 5 million dollar mansion up in Parkville, a lot of money in those days. It gave the address.
It was looking like Alice had set me up for a hit and this Madden guy was the only clue as to why. Whoever had left me the envelope wanted me to check out the house; ok, but first I wanted to go home and clean up my face. And get a gun.
The lacerations were as bad as they felt, a big gash probably needing stitches. I cleaned myself up and taped things up as best as I could. I would live but I wouldn’t be Pretty Boy anymore. Damn!
My old 9mm Mauser was at the back of the drawer; an old family heirloom. I found a clip with 5 rounds, God knows how old but still looking good. I found the safety, flicked it on, and pushed home the magazine; if people were shooting at me I would feel better with this in my pocket.
~~~
I paid the cab and got out onto the wet pavement. The rain had finally stopped but it was bitterly cold.
Across the street was the ornate gateway to the Madden estate. I didn’t intend entering that way so I crossed over and walked along the fence, looking for another way in. The estate wasn’t particularly secure; a low wall was topped by a clipped private hedge and in one place it was possible to squeeze through without too much effort.
It was close to midnight and very still. Moonlight lit up the lawn but the house was in darkness. I noiselessly ran across to the gloom of the patio.
I could make out some patio furniture, a table and some chairs. The French windows were all locked.
Around the side of the house I found a small sliding window that reluctantly pulled open when I dug my finger nails into the frame and applied some pressure. The opening was a black hole that did not look inviting. With the hair on my head tensing, I pulled myself up, and tumbled inside with a crash.
SHIT! I had landed on what felt like a mop and metal bucket, and banged my aching cheek against the hard floor. The clattering had sounded very loud, and I sat there listening for someone to come and check it out.
Nothing stirred.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see I was in a storage room. The door was open, leading out into a corridor. Several rooms opened off to the side. This was the kitchen area, it smelled of cooking oil and disinfectant.
I padded down the corridor and through some double doors into a carpeted living area. This was an entrance hall with wide stairs winding up to the first floor.
What was I looking for? Maybe some kind of office, somewhere where I could find some information.
The rooms on the ground floor were all for entertainment, a dining room, a huge lounge; what looked like a home theatre, a games room. I went upstairs.
The hall at the top was split into two wings, to the left and the right. If anyone was in the house they would be sleeping in one of the bedrooms, so I moved cautiously down the corridor to the left.
I gingerly opened a door. It was a large empty bedroom. I tried another. Empty. This place was huge.
The corridor turned to the right and I suddenly stopped.
The door straight ahead showed a gleam of light!
I listened. Maybe someone had left a light on. I crept towards the door and peered through the keyhole.
“Hello John, I have been expecting you, please come in”. The voice sounded familiar.
My heart was pounding. I put my hand in my pocket and held the gun. Pushing open the door I walked in, and stared at the man sitting there.
“I thought you had been kidnapped.”
“No. That was just a way to get people out of my hair” said Madden, smiling. He sat relaxing in an armchair smoking a cigar. “Would you like a drink?” He gestured towards a bar.
“No! What the hell is going on! Are you trying to kill me?” I was seething.
“Calm down! I’ll explain everything. Have a drink – you look terrible” He said, sipping from a shot glass.
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on!” I bellowed.
“Ok, but it’s a long story and I need you to listen carefully because it’s going to be hard to comprehend.” Madden sat up and put his drink down.
“Try me” I said, gritting my teeth. The gun was getting sweaty in my hand.
Madden stood up and started to walk around. The cigar smoke hung in the air. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just looking at me from time to time.
“What the FUCK is going on!” I snarled.
“I’m sorry – I am having difficulty knowing where to start” he said.
“Do you remember that time you were a kid, pushing a ride in the park? You looked away for just a second and it came back and smashed you in the face. It sent you flying back three yards and gave you that scar across the top of your nose?” He said suddenly.
I stared.
“Do you remember when you were maybe 4 years old and were playing Moms and dads with a little girl on the garage roof, and your dad came up and caught you?”
“What!?” Nobody knew that story.
“Are you my father?”
“No.”
Madden stubbed out the cigar and turned to me.
“Do you remember when you went to your first confession and didn’t have any sins to repent, so you made one up? “ He said slowly, “You said you had stolen a box of matches.”
He looked at me steadily.
I was speechless. Nobody knew that but me.
“John, listen carefully.”
“I am you” he said with a faint smile.
“See this faint scar on my face” he pointed to his cheek, “I got that 25 years ago. Yes, I’m afraid that cut on your face is going to leave a scar.”
My head was spinning. I couldn’t grasp what he was saying, it made no sense. How could he be me?
“How can you be me?” I said hoarsely.
“John, I …. WE - got the Spatial Displacement generator working! The reason why you are not getting any results is that it’s not only displacing in SPACE but in TIME as well! Those test modules you sent through are in the storage room out back. They got displaced three weeks back in TIME. Someone found them lying around and tidied them away.
Tomorrow go and have a look - but don’t tell Frank anything!” Madden was looking earnest now.
“But how are you - ME?”
It suddenly clicked – “Unless you went back in Time…” The thought was staggering.
“Yes, I got the generator operational. The project got cancelled because nobody could get it working – things just seemed to disappear, but nobody could find a flaw in the math. I salvaged the components and spent 6 months calibrating the Time shift.
I tested it out on rabbits and everything was working fine. No health problems, no distortion - even at the molecular level.
I was worried about the Paradox effect but nothing seemed to be affected! Maybe I was creating new timelines – but there is no perceptible change to the timeline that we are on.
So who cares?
But what could I do with the machine? If I announced the discovery I knew the government would take it from me. There would be attempts at massive re-writes of history – the entire span of human existence could be changed at the whim of some politician. Just think about the kinds of things they would get up to!
Nobody would KNOW that history had been changed, but giving that much power to the government would be a crime..” Madden sat down.
“So you decided to just use it once yourself” I said.
“Yes. WE use it once.
Tomorrow you will find the test modules. The project will be cancelled and you will build the machine and go back to August 2nd 1981.
You will be right at the beginning of the Computer age. You will change your name to Henry Madden, invest heavily in IBM stock, then Microsoft and Google and become extremely rich.”
Maddens forehead was gleaming with perspiration. He looked grey.
I was suddenly suspicious.
“So why did you try and kill me - Commit SUICIDE!” I yelled.
“It was a mistake.” Madden whispered.
“The machine could not only go BACK in Time, but FORWARD as well. I decided to go into the future and check out what would happen to me. I followed the career of my new persona, Henry Madden.
It ends tonight…
I think you kill me…” He stared glassily at me.
“I decided to kill you first, and I did.”
He continued.
“I put the advert in the newspaper, circled it with red and left it in the café for you to find. You found it and phoned the actor I paid to answer it.
You went to the apartment and I shot you.” He sat looking at the floor.
“But you MISSED – I am here!” I said.
“Not the first time. I saw the bullet hit you in the head, it was a mess. But then something strange started to happen – the world started to get THIN!
It was like I was disappearing, the timeline was fading away as it became more and more improbable.
I realised I could not Kill myself before I had existed! You cannot kill yourself in the past! That really IS a paradox!” He laughed harshly.
“So what happened?”
“I couldn’t stop myself from shooting you; the timeline was getting too muddy. So I went back to BEFORE you entered the room and planted the envelope on the floor. As soon as I did that I knew I had saved you, because things became normal again. I had fixed up the timeline.
Complicated isn’t it?”
“So what happens now? I am not planning to shoot you!” I said.
“Oh, but you will.
I have done the very best I can for us with the money we have made. I have been investing in biomedical research – cloning technology. We have a number of clones that are maturing nicely.
In the room next door is a cryogenic tank. When you kill me – try and get me in there soon, ok?” He was sweating freely now. “Maybe we can get through this somehow…”
I had been absently fingering the gun in my pocket.
Suddenly there was a roar and it went off.
Henry Madden looked surprised as a hole appeared in his forehead, and he sank to the floor.
~~~
Epilogue
Everything was going as planned.
Madden was safely frozen for a future resurrection.
The Time machine was working perfectly.
I knew I had a few chores to do before I settled down as Henry Madden, stock Market whiz kid.
Kill myself.
Plant the envelope that will save me from killing myself.
I would have plenty of time over the next 25 years trying to figure out how to stop myself from FINALLY killing myself; but I had a few ideas.
Only one thing puzzles me…
What ever happened to the Time machine?