THURSDAY: Two Hours and 27 Minutes

BY JOHN-PAUL COTE

Copyright is held by the author.

TWO HOURS and 27 minutes.

That’s how long he had.

Two hours and 27 minutes until the killer murdered again.

Two hours and 27 minutes to find Melanie Parsons. No, two hours and 27 minutes to save her.

Special Agent Jones understood his opponent. It was more than anger that drove the fiend. It was madness. A madness and rage that focused on that 30-something-year-old woman.

Two hours and 25 minutes.

More than 30 confirmed deaths. More than 30 times he had to find her tortured body. In his life, his world, he had been dating Melaine for less than a month. Then he got the call and seeing her body for that first time. The savagery. The carnage. Indescribable. Unimaginable. An animal at a slaughterhouse was treated with more humanity. Like nothing he had ever seen before, but he would see it over and over again. He was becoming numb to it. What could cause such rage?

Where was she? Where could he start? In the last reality, Parsons had been a social worker. The time before that, a receptionist at a law firm. Before that, a doctor. We were married in one. We had children in another. Single in the last. And so on and so on.

Two hours and eight minutes.

Jones had an idea. He dialled the last number he had for her.

“Yes, hello?”

He couldn’t believe his luck. Yet, with the sound of her voice, he also felt the pain again of what would happen if he failed.

“Is this Melanie Parsons?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Special Agent Robert Jones of the FBI.” Dear god, let the FBI exist here.

“The FBI?”

“Yes, the FBI. You name was forwarded to us as a possible witness to a crime.”

“A crime? I can’t imagine what I’ve seen.”

“We would like to speak with you none the less in case there is something you might know but not realize. Would it be possible for you to come down to 2111 West Roosevelt Road for an interview?”

“West Roosevelt Road? Where is that?”

“It’s right downtown. About two miles south of The Loop.”

“The Loop? The Loop is in Chicago. I’m in Rockford.”

Rockford? Dear god, I’m not even in the right city! Rockford is an hour and more away!

“All right then, can we meet at the police station? I will call ahead and explain to them who you are and why you are there.”

“Yes, I suppose I can meet you there. How long will you be?”

“I will be there as soon as possible.”

Jones hung up the call and immediately began dialling again.

“FBI. How may I direct your call?”

“May I speak with Special Agent Robert Jones, please.”

“One moment.”

The phone rang. Thank God, I exist here.

“Special Agent Jones.”

Jones hung up on himself. In the days chasing the fiend across these parallel worlds, talking to himself wasn’t the strangest thing he had encountered.

If he was working at the building that meant he could access a government vehicle and drive to Rockford . . . if his ID worked in this world. Jones flagged down a cab and headed to One Federal Plaza. When he arrived, an Agent Thompson was exiting the building. She spotted Jones and gave him a quizzical look.

“Didn’t I just see you . . .”

“I took the stairs. Needed the cardio,” he answered quickly with a wink and tapping his chest as he walked by.

Entering the lobby, Jones drew out his Ident-a-Card and swiped it through the gate. No alarms. Nothing other than the soft beep and the green light of a clearance. He moved to the elevators to the garage. Another door opened and he looked away. Something told him to keep his gaze down. Jones heard the voice laughing with another. His voice. Just feet away from an awkward conversation. The door in front of him slid open and he walked in.

Down in the garage, it was an easy matter to sign out a vehicle and be on his way. Rockford was an hour and a half away. If he broke the speed limit, he would be cutting it tight.

Jones kept going through this bizarre chase in his mind. What had caused such rage in this fiend? And why this woman again and again across each reality?

Rejection. She rejected him. And he couldn’t tolerate that. The fiend killed once but that wasn’t enough. He had to do it again because he knew she existed across these parallel worlds. The thought of her escaping him like this drove the fiend insane.

It was the only explanation.

Thirteen minutes.

Jones arrived at the Rockford Police Department. He could feel the seconds ticking away on that imaginary watch in his head.

Twelve minutes. He had all the time in the world to go.

Entering the station, he found the waiting area empty except for the police officer working the front desk.

“Can I help you?” The officer asked.

“Yes, I’m FBI Special Agent Robert Jones,” he said, flashing his badge. “I was supposed to meet a woman here. A Melanie Parsons?”

“There was a lady here. She sat in the lobby saying she was supposed to meet an FBI agent. She left a few minutes ago. Maybe 15?”

Jones stood in shock.

“Which way did you see her go?”

“I think she headed west up towards the park.”

“Thank you,” Jones said as he raced out the doors. He scanned the area but saw nothing that could help him. West it was then. Dear God, not a park.

He ran, pushing by and nearly knocking people over.

Four minutes.

Jones reached the park. There were trees, bushes, coverage everywhere. The place was loud. Children playing. Parents talking. A roadway near by.

One minute.

Jones just stood there and listened carefully. He separated out the sounds. Isolated them one by one.

Then he heard it.

What sounded like a muffled yelp. An attempt to get someone’s attention? A last gasp of life? He dove into the bushes and trees and came to a small clearing.

There he was. Tying her up. That long bladed knife hung from his waist.

“FREEZE!” Jones yelled, pulling his gun.

The fiend stopped and looked up. Each time he had seen that malevolence he froze. That face. The eyes cold and calculating, with a sinister glint that sent chills down the spine. A twisted smile curled at the corners of the lips, a smile devoid of warmth, filled instead with malice. A mask of cruelty.

There was Jones staring at . . .

Himself.

What could have happened to create this monster, this vile Hyde-like creature that in some universe he had become? He could not imagine. Did he have such a beast in him?

This time he acted.

Jones fired his pistol. He missed. Then realized where he was. A park. Anyone could be hit. The hesitation was enough for his doppelgänger to push the button on the device on his wrist and vanish.

“Aaaaah, GODDAMMIT!” He yelled to the heavens.

Jones rushed to Melanie. She laid there crying through the rag that gagged her. He removed the gag and the wire that was twisted around her arms and legs. She turned, expecting to thank her hero, but instead was met with the face that had attacked her.

She screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Jones backed away, hurt by his inability to explain, to help. At least he saved this one.

He rolled his sleeve back and pushed a button on the device that was there. The air around him crackled with light. The smell of ozone filled his lungs.

Then there he was. A parking lot.

He checked the device.

Two hours and 27 minutes.

That’s how long he had.

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***

John-Paul lives in St. Catharines, Ontario with his wife and two children. He’s been writing for years and is a fan of Sci-fi and fantasy. His stories have appeared in the Niagara-On-The-Lakes’ Writers Circle’s anthologies Beginnings and Endings and Journeys as well as on sites such as CommuterLit, DarkWinterLit, The Writer’s Journal, and Jerry Jazz Musician. He is a person of few words, so he enjoys writing short stories and novellas the most.