Backtracker (46 page)

"
If I
'
d told you the truth, and you
'
d told everyone you knew, all those people would
'
ve been ruined for me. If they
'
d known about my flashes, I wouldn
'
t
'
ve been able to use any of them to try to change the future.

"
Of course, they didn
'
t do me any good, anyway,
"
mumbled Larry.
"
Maybe I should
'
ve just told you. Maybe things would be different now.
"
Frowning, he massaged one temple, kneaded it as if he were suffering from an intense headache.

"
Y
'
know,
"
he said after a long pause.
"
I really wish I didn
'
t have this...this power. I really wish I couldn
'
t see the future.

"
It
'
s nothing but a curse. All it does is make my life hell.
"
Closing his eyes, Larry lifted his free hand and began to massage his other temple.

"
Every time I have a flash...see that something awful
'
s gonna
'
happen to somebody...I feel responsible for that person. I know there
'
s always a chance I can help, that if I work it just right, I might be able to get someone to change things...so it
'
s like it
'
s all up to me, it
'
s all on my shoulders. If my flash comes true anyway...I feel like it
'
s all my fault. I feel like...it
'
s all because of me that this person died, or that one was crippled.

"
Shit,
"
muttered Larry.
"
I
'
m really sick of this. I
'
m tired of this lousy game.

"
I save one person, and the next four die. I change the future once, and I don
'
t do it again for a year.

"
I
'
ve heard people say they wish they could see the future. They seem to think it
'
d be great.

"
I think I
'
d give anything if I couldn
'
t do it,
"
said Larry Smith.
"
I
'
d give anything.
"

*****

Frozen in place, unable for the moment to think of anything to say, Dave Heinrich stared at the man on the cot. Apparently, Larry was done with his amazing, tragic tale; he was hunched silently on the mattress, eyes closed tightly, fingers rubbing his temples. Though he
hadn
'
t
stated that his story was over, there was an air of finality about him, a sense of completion and exhaustion.

As he stared at the man, Dave felt dazed. Surprisingly, he
wasn
'
t
overjoyed or relieved now that
he'd
won, now that
he'd
finally forced the truth from Larry. There was no swell of satisfaction or self
-
congratulation, no rush of pleasure in his success.

Instead of euphoria, Dave was enveloped in sadness, a sympathetic sorrow for Larry Smith. He was no longer angry with the man; having heard Larry
'
s tragic story, Dave could find no rage within himself, only heavy
-
hearted pity.

Now that he knew what Larry had been through, what suffering his power had brought upon him, Dave felt sorry for him. Before listening to the story, Dave had blamed him for allowing Ernie
'
s parents and Tom Martin to die; now, he understood that Larry had been unable to prevent the deaths, that
he'd
tried and failed, that he was blameless. If anything, Larry was a victim, a victim of fate;
he'd
been gifted with unique abilities, only to be severely restricted in using them.

Even as he pitied Larry, Dave felt a new respect for the man. Larry seemed stronger, more noble than Dave had ever imagined him to be; though
he'd
suffered greatly through the years because of his special ability, Larry still wanted to use that ability to save other people. He still strove to rescue his fellow man from the predestined disasters which he glimpsed in his visions; he was still deeply affected every time that he failed to save someone, though
he'd
failed so often in the past. Faced with nigh
-
insurmountable odds, weighed down by the arbitrary restrictions which fate had clamped upon him, he struggled onward, battling to avert catastrophes.

Dave admired Larry
'
s courage and inner strength; he was also ashamed for ever having despised Larry, for having blamed him for not saving the Dumbrowskis and Mr. Martin. Dave felt sick when he thought of the way that
he'd
badgered and threatened Larry;
he'd
seen how difficult the confession had been, how painful it had been for Larry to tell his story, and he hated himself for putting the guy through it.

Dave was further ashamed at the way that
he'd
failed Larry and blocked his vital work. Though Larry had planned to use him to save several lives, Dave had only assisted in rescuing Boris Blovitz; because of his intense curiosity, the way that
he'd
pried and guessed at Larry
'
s secrets, Dave had inadvertently rendered himself useless in changing the future. There was no way that he could have known, of course, but he still blamed himself for not having been able to help. Larry had counted on him, expected him to accomplish important things...and Dave had let him down.

All in all, Dave felt very small; in the presence of such a brave and noble man, such a tragic yet stoic figure as Larry Smith, he felt as if he
were nothing
, an absolute zero. As he stared at the man, he was filled with sadness and self
-
reproach, with admiration which bordered on awe...with a sense that Larry was as far beyond him as the most distant of stars.

The reactions which Dave experienced
weren
'
t
those which
he'd
expected that night.
He'd
anticipated only rage,
hadn
'
t
imagined that Larry would have any acceptable excuse for not saving Ernie
'
s parents and Tom Martin. Instead of anger,
he'd
found sympathy and respect for Larry, shame and inadequacy for himself.

Leave it to Larry to surprise him yet again.

As the silence in the room continued, Dave finally decided that it was time for him to leave...past time, probably.
He'd
intruded enough; he was ashamed at having caused Larry so much grief, and he
didn
'
t
wish to bother him any longer.

"
Well,
"
Dave said quietly.
"
I guess I
'
d better be going.
"

With a deep sigh, Larry opened his eyes and looked up.
"
Okay,
"
he said simply, his voice low and weak.

At the weary, beaten look in Larry
'
s eyes, Dave felt a surge of guilt; he started to speak, then hesitated, had to take a deep breath and steady himself.

"
I, uh, I
'
m sorry,
"
he said at last.
"
I
'
m sorry for pestering you.
"

Larry Smith coughed softly.

"
I didn
'
t know,
"
continued Dave.
"
I really didn
'
t know what it was all about.
"
Pausing, he nervously scuffed his shoe on the floor; he felt childish, like a little boy stammering his repentance to a parent.
"
I...I
'
m sorry I wasn
'
t more help to you.
"

"
Don
'
t worry about it,
"
Larry said dully.

"
I...wish I could
'
ve helped more,
"
fumbled Dave.
"
Maybe...if I hadn
'
t been so hell
-
bent on finding you out...some people wouldn
'
t
'
ve died.
"

"
Wasn
'
t your fault,
"
said Larry.
"
Don
'
t worry about it.
"

Dave knew that he
would
worry about it, that he
was
at fault...but he could see no purpose in arguing the point. For a moment, he was silent; he felt as if there was something else that he should say...something conclusory, something apologetic...but he
couldn
'
t
find the right words. Agitated, he shifted his feet, glanced around the room; he half
-
hoped that Larry would break the silence, provide some kind of comfort or the chastising that he felt that he deserved...but Larry
didn
'
t
speak.

"
Well, I
'
d better be going,
"
Dave muttered at last, and he shuffled to the door.

Larry said nothing.

Dave reached for the doorknob.
"
Uh...thanks for talking to me,
"
he said sullenly.

"
Right,
"
said Larry Smith.
"
Hope I answered all your questions.
"

Larry
'
s tone was so disconsolate, Dave
couldn
'
t
help but feel more ashamed. Nodding once, he tugged the door open.

Then, he hesitated. Abruptly, he realized that all his questions
hadn
'
t
been answered; there was still one thing
that
he
didn
'
t
know,
that
he
hadn
'
t
asked about,
that
Larry
hadn
'
t
explained.

With the open doorway gaping before him, Dave wondered if he should ask the last question or just leave well enough alone. He was extremely reluctant to delay his departure; he felt badly for having pushed Larry into such a woeful state, and he
didn
'
t
wish to cause him any additional unhappiness. At the same time, though, he wanted to unearth the last answer, fill in the final gap in his understanding of recent events.

For a long moment, Dave debated whether he should inquire or simply exit. He knew that
he'd
overstayed his welcome, depleted any good will or patience which Larry had reserved for him; on the other hand, he
didn
'
t
know if he would ever have the opportunity to ask again. If he left without posing the final question, Larry might never open up to him again, and a part of the mystery might go forever unsolved.

Ultimately, despite the shame and awkwardness that he felt, Dave decided to press for the one piece that he needed to complete the puzzle. Hand on the doorknob, he turned to face the hunched figure on the cot.

"
Uh, Larry
?
"
he said tentatively, timidly.

Larry looked at him, but his eyes seemed glazed and unfocused, inattentive.

"
I really hate to bug you any more...but there
'
s just one other thing that I wanted to ask you.
"

Larry just sniffed.

"
It
'
s about...your file at work,
"
continued Dave, feeling more uncomfortable and
self
-
conscious with every word that he spoke.
"
I had a look at it, y
'
see. I mean, I guess I had no business checking up on you like that...but I was really...I wanted to know more about you.
"

Silently, Larry listened from the cot, displayed no reaction.

Dave cleared his throat.
"
Anyway, there was hardly anything in it. Like, usually, there
'
re lots of forms and stuff...but all there was in your file was one note.
"

Still, Larry said nothing. Though his eyes were aimed in Dave
'
s direction, it was unclear if Larry was actually looking at his guest.

"
See, there was just this note,
"
said Dave.
"
All it had on it was your name and a phone number...and the word
'
special.
'
All the other files have a bunch of paperwork in them...but yours just had this note that said
'
special.
'"
Nervously, Dave paused, waiting for some kind of response from Larry...but there was none.

Gripping the doorknob a little too tightly, Dave swallowed hard and proceeded.
"
It looked like...Mr. Martin
'
s handwriting...on the note, that is. I was just wondering...I mean, I
really
hate to bug you like this...but I was wondering what that note was all about.
"

For a moment, Larry remained still and unreadable, his worn and weary face cocked inexpressively at his interrogator. Then, at last, he shifted on the cot.

"
Tom did me a favor,
"
he said, his voice low and inflectionless.
"
He didn
'
t officially hire me. I never filled out an application, and he never sent papers to the company or the government.
"

"
How come
?
"
asked Dave.

"
I needed the money,
"
Larry said in his monotone.
"
This way, I got paid under the table, and I wouldn
'
t have to pay taxes. That
'
s what the
'
special
'
meant, I guess. I was
'
special
'
since I was working, but I wasn
'
t on the payroll.
"
Listlessly, Larry pointed a finger at the floor.
"
The phone number was for the bar downstairs, in case Tom needed to get hold of me.
"