A Paradox Broken, page 20
Electrified fire yanked free from my left shoulder, making me lose my balance as the bullet flew from where it had lodged itself in my bone and returned to the chamber. I was instantly reminded of hitting my foot in the shower—even though time had reversed, my pain sure as shit didn’t.
“OW, TIM!” I cried out between gritted teeth.
Sorry! Sorry! I, uh, lost focus for a moment as I watched you, um, do the impossible … again.
Dropping to one knee, I let my focus drop as my right hand clapped around my shoulder and began to tentatively probe for the damage.
To my chagrin, the hole was still there, evident by the blood spilling down my fingers.
“Stephens?” the second officer asked, complete disbelief dripping from his words thicker than the blood from my shoulder.
“I SAID GET DOWN!” Stephens instructed with his gun aimed at where I was crouching.
“He’s got a knife!” the second officer cried out, shifting his muzzle off of me.
No, I don’t, I thought to myself before deciding to follow his gun sights.
Retnuh had slipped a fillet blade free from the knife block and was looking at me with a grin.
“See you soon, Mr. Frost.”
“Drop the knife or we will be forced to shoot!” Stephens yelled, also shifting his weapon off of me now that I was perceived as less of a threat, blood pouring from my fingers.
If they kill him, another Retnuh will immediately take his place, Tim reminded me. One with his Clepsydra intact.
Retnuh shifted his focus to the cops while wielding the blade, cackled like the madman he was, and lunged.
“Drop him!”
“NO!” I bellowed, waving my hand toward the two officers, freezing them in place.
Retnuh slowed his steps, realizing what I had done, and sighed while turning to face me. “The hard way it is.”
The knife flew into his neck just behind his ear before the crazed man started to pull it forward. I started to will him to freeze in time as well, but I could feel that shifting my focus would mean the cops would return to the now and resume shooting the suicidal Clockman.
Letting go of the gaping hole in my shoulder, I shot my right index finger toward Retnuh, latching onto a random scene from the Avengers: Infinity War movie.
As the razor-sharp blade crept toward one of the critical arteries in his neck, Retnuh’s face went from a stoic yet maniacal grin to a surprised contortion of pain.
Yanking his closed fist back, he opened it to see a clear liquid fall from his grasp.
What did you do?
With a pained grin, I said, “I replaced the molecules of the knife with the hydrogen peroxide under the bathroom sink.”
Oh-ho! I bet that stings like a motherboard fucker!
That felt like you were reaching, I mentally whispered to Tim at the not-so-clever pun.
Retnuh confirmed Tim was right by showing all his teeth while still managing to produce the biggest frown I’d ever seen. Though he tried not to scream, his ragged breaths were just as satisfying to hear as if the man were wailing in agony.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said with a tooth-bared smirk as I got to my knees while my right hand moved to cup the tattered flesh of my shoulder once more.
Already working on the repairs, Tim announced. I started to feel the pain subside as he controlled the receptors. Look out!
Shooting my gaze from my shoulder back to Retnuh, I saw he had grabbed the butcher knife from the block and was turning it to plunge it into his heart. A part of me thought there was no way a human could stab through their own sternum no matter how much they wanted to. But then I remembered Retnuh had his strength enhanced.
On instinct, I swung my right hand around, flinging blood in a wet arc throughout the kitchen, and pointed at the knife as it flew toward the man’s chest.
There was a loud scream that I couldn’t help but crack a smile at.
As Retnuh pulled his hand back, the rubber chicken with the gaping mouth and surprised eyes began to inflate again with a comical, steady cry.
Okay, seriously … how the hexadecimal are you doing that?!
I … I don’t know, I mentally answered, not wanting Retnuh to hear how unsure I was. I just changed the sands.
“Very clever, Mr. Frost,” a pale Retnuh weakly said. “But you’re too late. I’m … I’m already dead.”
The chicken plopped to the blood-soaked tile as Retnuh turned to face me. Where his left arm had been ripped free, a stream of crimson continued to flow with no signs of slowing.
“Is that so?” I replied, not knowing if I could prove him wrong or not.
Lifting my index finger one more time, I imagined his wound being scarred over like an amputee. Retnuh groaned as his flesh knitted itself together and the bleeding ceased. While keeping a portion of my focus on the cops to remain frozen in time, an idea came to me right as Retnuh futilely reached for the knife block again.
I imagined his healthy shoulder perfectly mirroring the scarred-over one.
Retnuh crashed his hips into the cabinet as his reaching arm vanished into colorful grains of sand that proceeded to fade from view entirely. Just to be sure, I repeated the process on his legs, struggling for a moment on whether or not to amputate him at the hip or the knee.
At the last second, I chose the knee because I didn’t know if his pants would fall off, revealing his junk to me—and that was just something I didn’t care to see.
Retnuh didn’t even grunt as he collapsed to the blood-soaked floor, all his limbs removed.
“Let’s see you hurt yourself now,” I taunted, returning my full attention to the cops just outside the kitchen.
I’m sure he’s going to find a way, Andrew, and will be back in a matter of time.
The idea is to be long gone by then.
Ah. Fair point.
Unless …
Unless what?
Slowly turning my attention back to the man who lay, unmoving, in a lake of his own blood, I said, “I could erase him. Just like I did Traze before, and Davix a few minutes ago. Remove him from all timelines forever.” I didn’t try to speak inside my head this time, opting to let Retnuh hear my words. That’s when I noticed I was breathing again, my body having been fully healed by stealing from the other very dead Retnuh.
Then we will be faced with the literal grandfather paradox, Andrew, Tim said with a voice that urged me to reason. If you kill your ancestor, you will never be born.
“I don’t care anymore,” I growled, lifting my right hand to point at the man as the air wavered and crackled around it.
Then Alison will never have been born.
“GGGRRRRAAAH!” I bellowed in a cresting wave of rage before something came to me and it quickly receded, leaving my ocean of emotion calm once more. The crackling power around my hand shifted from a wavering to a pulsating white. “Then I’ll just remove him from this timeline using antimatter. Davix was only erased from our home timeline, right? So Retnuh, my Retnuh, will live.”
I wanted to bask in the fact that I could pull sweet, cool air into my lungs once more, but had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
He’s defeated, Andrew. What purpose would that serve? Even though his words were nothing more than electrical signals inside my brain, I could still hear the warning just beneath the surface.
“It would feel good,” I growled, taking slow, heavy steps toward the man hidden behind the kitchen island. My left hand remained pointed toward the officers as more sirens began to grow in the distance.
Is it worth the risk?
My footfalls, which had been intentionally loud thuds on the tile, became light splashes as I stepped into Retnuh’s pool of blood. The unmoving man merely stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes as I approached.
Then I saw it.
What remained of the once proud leader of the Clockmen was lying next to Alison’s body.
The blood I so enjoyed tromping in … wasn’t just his.
I gasped, taking several hurried steps back as if the cooling scarlet liquid were molten lava. My muscles seemed to violently spasm on my left side just as deafening barks pierced my ears. As my eyes flicked toward the source of the noise, I was only able to start the process of recognition of what had happened when Officer Stephens proved what an elite-level marksman looked like.
Oddly enough, I think I felt my head jerk before hearing the bullet smash into my skull.
ANDREW! Tim shouted from somewhere off in the distance as all the light was swallowed by a void darker than the center of a black hole.
CHAPTER 26
My bare feet stood on lush, manicured grass as I stared through a kitchen window—my kitchen window. The love that filled the house was on display through the glass like priceless art.
Inside, Andrew, Sylvie, and Alison Frost were preparing for their ASA-Day. Andrew had just given his girls their gifts and was preparing to go outside and cook their steaks.
Worry filled my heart, and I shot a glance to the grill where the white plastic container of lighter fluid sat. The same fuel that had disappeared, prompting me to go to the store and get more, leaving my family exposed. But there it sat, and there it would sit.
Worry was replaced with determination as I prepared to stop anyone from taking that fuel and starting the cycle of my family’s murder.
After several seconds, nothing happened, and Andrew happily stepped outside to begin cooking the meal for his girls.
Something above me pulled my focus from my beautiful, living family, and I looked up to see a night sky devoid of all light. Not a single star twinkled, leaving nothing past the few clouds except an inky blackness that reminded me of looking at the ocean at night while on a cruise ship.
But then, the dream seamlessly shifted to a nightmare.
The scene wavered as bits of colorful grains of sand began to drift away from the wooden fence, green grass, and a confused Andrew, who started to scream as he tried to run back inside the house to get to his girls.
“No!” I cried out, right as pain erupted from my back and chest.
Looking down, I stared with disbelieving eyes as a hand struck through my sternum and light began to slip free from somewhere inside my body to disappear into my attacker.
“Do … what must … be done …” Retnuh whispered into my ear as everything went unfocused.
CHAPTER 27
Andrew? A familiar voice asked like an ethereal whisper carried by the whistling wind. Andrew, can you hear me?
Tim? Is … Is that you? I mentally asked. That’s when the sensation of being encased in concrete burst into my belabored consciousness, ringing all the alarms in an effort to sow panic amongst my other groggy thoughts. Why can’t I move?
I sent rapid-fire signals to any and every muscle in my body, but I would have had better luck trying to convince a picture of a lion to roar.
Tim?! Wha—Wha—What’s happening to me?!
One moment, please. His words were a little clearer this time, as if he had moved closer.
An unnatural feeling of calm splashed over my consciousness like a dump truck dropping a payload of ice water on me.
Tim … I …
Whoops! Too much good stuff, heh heh, a crystal-clear Tim said. The intensity of the relaxation was dialed back right as I tiptoed toward unconsciousness again. Better?
Ye—Yeah …
I took note of what was happening now that my head was free from the conflagration of chaos that sheer panic always seemed to bring.
Why can’t I move?
I haven’t repaired the damage to your cerebellum yet.
My what? I asked before the name registered. Is—Isn’t that part of my brain?!
You were sort of … shot in the head.
I was? I asked, trying to lift my hand to rest against my forehead. Once again, I was reminded that I was paralyzed. Luckily, whatever Tim had done to suppress my emotions prevented me from freaking out again, though I could still feel the knee-jerk urge to do so.
Among other places, he added under his breath. But that’s not important right now. Actually, it’s a good thing that you appear to still be in a coma. Specifically because of the angry officer sitting next to your bed.
Why is a cop sitting … I started to ask when fragments of my memory flashed across my mind—though they appeared to flow backward for some reason.
Turning to see the barrel of a gun flash before everything went dark.
Looking down at Retnuh, who lay in a thick pool of blood … that wasn’t all his own.
Ali’s headless body on the floor.
Somehow ripping Retnuh limb from limb with my mind.
Davix and Lane bursting into blackened grains before the tiny specks burned into nothingness.
Retnuh holding my daughter’s head at the top of the stairs.
Ali disappearing upstairs to use the bathroom.
Explaining to Ali the entire situation in an effort to see if she was able to provide any critical insight into her own life’s work. And her phone with the last sentence from her notes.
The answer … I said.
Yeah. The answer that you wanted me to carve up your brain like a Christmas turkey to give you a thousand years’ worth of memories so you could, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, feel the universe. Pervert.
Do you have a better suggestion?
As we speak, I’m barely able to stitch pieces of your brain together to keep you alive! And that’s with trying to put things back exactly as they were! Let alone trying to create new pathways with a brain that doesn’t have anywhere near the capacity to store all the information.
Wait … I started, just realizing something Tim had said. You are repairing my brain?
Trying to. Yes.
I thought you couldn’t do that. You explained that when I asked how Drew was still alive waaaay past what I thought was possible. I thought back to our conversation about basically being immortal because of the nanoids. Yeah, you said you could fix damages from strokes and heart attacks and stuff, but—but wouldn’t be able to heal things like massive brain damage.
I’m going to be honest with you, Andrew. Tim inhaled as he prepared to deliver what I immediately knew to be bad news. As much as it pains me to admit, without the proper equipment, I will not be able to restructure your brain as adequately as what nature created.
Oh … is there good news?
Yes, actually. The officer had probably gone to the range recently and forgot to switch his ammunition from full metal jackets back to a typical hollow point. That and the round being a 9mm saved your life, as the velocity and condensed mass allowed a straight path through your temporal lobe and cerebellum.
Aren’t those important?
Humans might argue that every portion of the brain is important. But luckily for you, you have me! And I, ahem, should be able to mimic some of the missing functions of your cerebellum.
Which does what?
Let’s see: motor coordination, balance and posture, fine motor skills, eye movement—oh, and speech articulation.
Well, luckily, that doesn’t seem to be affected.
If you are referring to your ability to mentally speak, then yes.
Um … what do you mean?
The formation of thought in the style of cohesive internal voices stems from areas of the brain such as the Broca’s area, parietal lobe, and prefrontal cortex, which were unaffected by the bullet.
So … I might not be able to speak with my mouth?
Honestly, that is the least of my concerns. But for now, I need your permission to attempt and restructure your brain.
Re … Restructure? I gulped.
As the round tore into and out the back of your skull, it took with it precious brain tissue that I will not be able to replicate without the necessary equipment.
Aren’t we in a hospital? Can’t you just use their, um, equipment?
No, Andrew. I mean equipment from at least twenty-seven years in the future.
Oh. So … when you say restructure … you mean like when you moved muscle from my butt to my leg … ?
I’m afraid so. The fact that Tim didn’t take the golden opportunity to make a leg-butt joke showed me just how serious his proposal was.
What could go wrong? Like, could you accidentally make it where I speak with a British accent all the time?
Let’s put it this way: if one of the voiceover artists who swiftly reads off the common side effects of pharmaceuticals on American television were to, in one breath, attempt to read the potential outcomes of rebuilding your brain, they would pass out.
That … doesn’t sound fun.
AND if the next voiceover artist were to pick up where the first left off, they, too, would lose consciousness before reaching a tenth of the list.
I thought about how half the length of pharmaceutical commercials was dedicated to the narrator reading the side effects like an auctioneer who could effortlessly recite Eminem’s Rap God before he’d even had his first cup of coffee in the morning.
This sucks.
Truer words have never been spoken.
My mind raced with any and all ideas that dared to form themselves.
Can we … um … steal the nanoids from Retnuh’s Clepsydra? I pictured his arm being ripped off and allowed the smallest semblance of satisfaction to peek its head from the shadows.
It’s not the nanoids that are the issue, Andrew. I am unable to replicate the tissue and reconnect all the neural pathways that were lost.
Oh! Can’t we just use this timeline’s wormhole? You know, go to the future so you can fix me up?
I could open a wormhole underneath you now and guide us to a safe point in time to do just that.
Great!
But the Clockmen would register our access to the wormhole and quickly track us down. And while you are incapacitated, I think it’s best we remain where we are.
Isn’t Retnuh with us? I asked, remembering how I had left him alive. Rather, I hadn’t gotten the chance to erase him from the timeline before I had apparently dropped my focus on the officers.
Yes. I am keeping an eye on him as we speak.
Where is he?
