Flashback (15 page)

“Can I help you?” he said.

“No,” said Max then thinking quickly, added, “My dad used to talk about Mr. Dexter. He helped a lot of people.”

“Have we met somewhere?” David asked, with a puzzled expression on his face as he took a few steps closer. “You seem very familiar.”

“I don’t think so,” Max replied. “I just wanted to pay my respects, that’s all.”

“Well, thank you,” said David, politely, extending his hand for Max to shake. “It was nice of you to stop by.”

Max reached out to grab David Dexter’s outstretched hand. When their palms touched, Max experienced a flood of images from his experiences in David’s life, traveling at incredible speed across his mind. Max let go of David’s hand and took a step backwards, staggering slightly as he did so.

“Are you all right?” David asked.

“Yes, yes thanks,” said Max, haltingly.

“Good,” said David with a smile. “Well, it was nice of you to stop by.”

Max watched as David returned to the car, which then drove off through the cemetery gates.

“You okay, Max?”

Max was startled as he turned around to see Jeff and his grandmother standing there.

“You don’t look so good,” said Jeff.

“I’m okay,” Max replied, although he did feel incredibly confused.

“Who was that guy?” Jeff asked him.

“What?” said Max. “Oh, just someone my dad used to talk about, his son anyway, visiting the grave. Just wanted to say hi, you know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Max?” asked Mrs. McNally, with an expression of concern.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Max, forcing a smile.

“You going to be okay for the game?” Jeff asked him. “You’ve never missed one yet.”

Max remembered he was supposed to be playing third base that afternoon, but he knew he couldn’t be at the game. With his thoughts still reeling, he had to get home, even if he couldn’t tell Jeff the truth.

“You certainly do look a little pale, Max,” remarked Mrs. McNally.

“Maybe you should just go home?” Jeff suggested. “I’ll get someone to fill in on third, no big deal.”

“You might be right,” said Max.

He was still trying to wrap his head around how the conversation was virtually the same as before. It was so weird.

“Sorry about the game.”

“No problem,” said Jeff. “Jason and the others will be there for sure. Are you sure you’re going be all right?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded. “You’d better get going or you’ll miss everyone.”

“Well, we’re about done here,” said Mrs. McNally. “You go with Max, Jeff. Uncle Bill said he’d be here at 1.30 to take me home anyway.”

“You sure, Grandma?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Mrs. McNally. “You go ahead.”

Jeff gave his grandmother a peck on the cheek and he and Max made their way out of the cemetery.

Max hardly paid any attention to what Jeff was saying as they walked, responding just enough to keep the conversation going. Max was still finding the whole bizarre situation so hard to believe. The last thing he remembered from his own time was being in Deanna’s house before she’d sent him back into what had been David’s life. Had he now returned to where it had all began, before any of what he’d experienced had happened? Had he now never even met Deanna to set the whole process in motion? If he hadn’t, how could he have traveled back into David’s life and saved him from being killed? After all, he’d just met David, who was older, but very much alive. And what about Carrington? What had happened to him? The entire situation was mind boggling, to say the least.

The lights changed at the intersection and they crossed the road. Max noted the empty bench beside the nearby bus stop. There was no boy in a black shirt and jeans, with a thick mop of dark hair. David had now never died young and been the catalyst for Max’s incredible experience.

“You sure you’re okay?” asked Jeff. “You seem pretty spaced out.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Max replied. “Just tired, I guess.”

For the rest of the walk home, Max did his best to participate in the conversation.

“So,” said Jeff, as they arrived at the corner of the street where Max lived, “still on for this weekend at Jason’s?”

“Jason’s?” said Max, before he remembered that this conversation had also happened previously. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ve been wanting to try that new game.”

“Me too,” Jeff agreed as he started off down the sidewalk to walk the couple of blocks to his own house.

“Hey look, I’m really sorry about this afternoon,” Max called after him.

“No problem,” said Jeff. “Like I said, I’ll get somebody to cover third. I’ll text you tonight.”

Max was relieved to see that his dad’s truck was missing as he approached the condo. He didn’t want to have to engage his dad in conversation just now, not until he got his head together about everything that had happened. He opened the door and hurried inside, closing the door behind him.

Max headed to the kitchen where the newspaper lay open next to a half full cup of coffee. Max quickly checked the paper to see if there was any mention of the Dexter funeral. He turned the pages and found a story entitled
Wealthy Philanthropist Laid to Rest,
complete with a photograph of David and his mother, at what looked to be a very well attended funeral the day before.

Jonathan Dexter, founder and CEO of the Dexter Foundation, died earlier this week after a short illness. Mr. Dexter at one time held several senior government positions, most notably those connected with science, technology, and defense. He was frequently mentioned as a potential presidential candidate, but resigned at the height of his career to spend more time with his family.

Following his departure from politics, he established the Dexter Foundation and worked tirelessly to make it one of the nation’s leading charitable organizations. The Dexter Foundation is involved in many fundraising activities, but has always retained a strong focus on the plight of missing persons and their families. Mr. Dexter leaves a widow, Vanessa, and a son, David, who will replace his father as CEO of the Dexter Foundation.

Everything had changed. Jonathan Dexter had still left politics, but hadn’t died in the fire that Carrington had believed was deliberately set to silence the former politician. Vanessa Dexter and David were still alive. They’d obviously been at the cemetery for a private visit after the crowded funeral the previous day.

It seemed to Max that the incident at the waterfront had been covered up somehow. Yet it had still meant the end of Dexter’s political career, with a cover story developed to explain his departure from politics. Not surprisingly, there was no mention of Kovac. It seemed highly unlikely to Max that the doctor would have continued working at the university and then recently retired, as reported in the newspaper clipping he’d read at Carrington’s office. Max wondered if Kovac had been pensioned off, with his career in tatters, but escaped prosecution, due to the secret nature of the project?

Max wondered what had happened to Carrington too and grabbed the
Yellow Pages
from the kitchen drawer. He was very pleased to see that Carrington was listed under
Investigators
and even had the same office address. Max then thought about Deanna and grabbed the
White Pages
. Sure enough, she was still listed at the same address.

As he put the phone books back in the drawer, Max felt the beginnings of a slight headache. Then to his horror Max realized it was a terrifyingly familiar sensation. He whirled around and instantly recognized Kane standing by the back door near the entrance to the basement steps.

Max ran from the kitchen, banging into the table and smashing the coffee cup on the tiled floor. He got halfway to the front door before his knees gave way and he collapsed onto the rug in front of the fireplace.

“How touching, all your friends living happily ever after.”

Max heard the voice in his mind and when he opened his eyes, Kane was standing over him. Max immediately noticed the deep, disfiguring scar running along Kane’s right cheek and neck, which Max suspected had been caused by the screen shattering back at the lab. Max could barely speak, as he struggled to cope with the intense pain in his head.

“Where . . . where did you come from?” he murmured. “How . . . how did you know where to find me?”

“I know everything,” Kane replied, switching to verbal communication.

He ran his fingers along the scar.

“This is an ever-present reminder of another reality, when I was something else. But you changed all that, didn’t you, you and that damned psychic.”

“I don’t understand,” said Max, his voice quivering.

“You don’t need to understand anything, Max,” Kane sneered. “All you need to do is die. Then the psychic, then Dexter.”

Kane began concentrating deeply, the stare from his piercing pale blue eyes growing ever more intense. Max felt his nose starting to bleed. Kane grinned, making his scar appear even more grotesque.

Out of the corner of his eye, Max could see the poker lying on the hearth, tantalizingly just out of reach. Max felt like his head was going to split open as the pressure on his skull dramatically increased. Straining his arm and stretching his fingers, Max finally connected with the handle of the poker.

Kane noticed too late, his concentration broken seconds before Max swung the poker at him. Kane fell back onto the carpet, stunned, but still conscious. The pressure on Max’s brain immediately subsided. He struggled to his feet and stumbled out the front door. He knew he had to get as far away from Kane as possible and that only one person could help him now.

MAX RACED DOWN
the street and ran for four blocks. Gasping for breath, he leapt onto the first bus he could find. He needed to find Deanna. Since everything had changed, she

wouldn’t know who Max was if he showed up on her doorstep. He had no idea how Deanna was going to react. But Max knew he had to take that chance. Deanna might remember him, maybe because of her psychic abilities, but Max had to admit it was a long shot.

Max changed buses just outside downtown. He remembered Deanna’s neighbourhood, even if he couldn’t recall the exact address. He was hoping that he’d spot something familiar once he arrived in the right part of the city. He’d then have to try and find Deanna’s house from memory.

The bus didn’t take long to reach the older part of the city where Deanna lived. Max immediately recognized the mature trees when he got off the bus, but at first he couldn’t locate the house. Then as he passed the end of a street, he spotted a black convertible PT Cruiser parked outside a house with a tall hedge. Max ran down the street until he reached Deanna’s high wooden gate. Max opened the gate and walked up the path to the front of the house.

Max pressed the bell and a moment later heard footsteps approaching the opposite side of the door.

“Who is it?” said a voice.

“Deanna Hastings?” Max asked.

The door only opened slightly, held back by a chain. Deanna peered out curiously at Max.

“That depends. Who are you?”

“It’s me, Max. I really need your help.”

“You have the wrong address,” said the woman, beginning to close the door.

“No, I don’t,” said Max, in exasperation, slamming his hand on the door. “You must remember me! Please try and remember!”

“I said,” Deanna replied firmly, “you have the wrong address.”

“I met David Dexter’s ghost!” exclaimed Max, throwing caution to the winds. “Well, I mean, in another timeline anyway. You sent me back into his life! I found you in the park after the experiments, remember?”

“My god, I do remember,” said Deanna as she stood in the doorway, looking utterly stunned.

“You do?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” she replied, haltingly. “Come in, please.”

Max followed Deanna into the house, along the short hallway, past the dark wooden staircase into the sitting room. Everything was the same as Max remembered—the hardwood floor, the Turkish rug, the antique grandfather clock, the framed pictures and the well-stocked bookcases. Deanna walked over to the wide window overlooking the garden at the rear of the house and closed the curtains.

“I always thought this day would come,” she told Max as she turned to face him, “although I also didn’t expect it to ever arrive. Does that make any sense?”

“No,” Max replied, “but then again, not a lot of this makes any sense, does it?”

Deanna began to pace back and forth in front of the window, gently running her slender fingers though her shoulder-length hair.

“I mean, I have these memories of you, or rather you as someone else. It seems like a dream, or something that never happened, but sometimes it’s so clear. Years ago, the memories were quite intense but then I managed to suppress them. At times I thought it really had all been imaginary. Yet deep down, I always thought you’d come here. I can’t even explain it, it’s like—”