BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (e book reader txt) 📕

"Nobody knows we're here, genius." Younger Horton casthis older counterpart a sidelong glance. "So tell me what happens. You'refrom the future, aren't you?"

"Only one possible future. One that hopefully won't existanymore."

"And how exactly are you not creating a divergence inthe timeline by being here?"

Elder Horton shrugged with a goofy grin. "I'm just aninnocent bystander. Not here to interfere."

"Yeah, right. Bringing him over here." He jerkeda thumb toward Muldoon. "What's that all about?"

"You'll see."

Muldoon stared at the face of the man in the chamber. The albino'seyelids twitched, his thin lips parting as ifin the throes of a major sleep disturbance.The speed of his recovery was incredible, the gashes in his flesh sealingthemselves up without any trace of scarring. The wonders of geneticre-engineering.

Muldoon leaned on the chamber's glass door and tapped his fingers. "Canyou hear me?" He glanced at Younger Horton. "Can he hear me inthere?"

"He's not hearing much of anything right now. Give him a fewminutes. He's mending up, shouldn't be long." He shuffled toward the nextchamber to monitor the progress of the woman inside. He nodded tohimself. "You're gonna be all right, Mary."

Cade's eyelids fluttered, exposing the dark irises andpupils underneath.

"Hey." Muldoon rapped his knuckles against the glasswith muted clunks. The albino didn't seem to notice. "Hey, you!"Muldoon pounded with his fist.

"Easy, champ," Younger Horton scolded, returning."That's no way to welcome a man back from death's door."

Muldoon was in no mood to placate. He pulled out his revolver andaimed it at the inventor's head. "Open it. Now."

"I can't." Horton balked. "He's right in the middleof—"

"I really don't give a damn," Muldoon grated out,cocking back the hammer of his empty gun. "Open it."

"I'd do what he says. He strikes me as being just a wee bittrigger-happy," said Elder Horton, paying little attention. His focusremained on the monitor and the two men making steady progress through thesubway tunnel outside.

"Opening the chamber too soon will kill him," YoungerHorton said.

"Then we'll be even." Muldoon motioned with the gunbarrel. Hurry up.

Younger Horton cursed under his breath, reluctantly adjusting thechamber settings for an early release. "You have no idea what you'redoing."

"Can't blame him any. He's not really from around here,"said Elder Horton. "Hehails from that other reality. You know, the onewhere everything's so peachy."

"The one where we're both dead."

Elder Horton raised his bushy eyebrows. "Yeah. Thattoo."

"You said they were twining." Younger Horton frowned at theconsole as though he'd forgotten a key command. He glanced at his older self."The realities."

"They are. From the original point of divergence forward. Itcould be a while before we're all on the same blended timeline. Let's say theytwine at a direct ratio, second for second, minute for minute, hour for hour—wemay not see the result in our lifetime!"

"Or it could happen like that." Younger Horton snappedhis fingers. "Gavin Lennox is dead, after all. Who knows how much longer thebreaches will be passable?"

Elder Horton paused with a mischievous gleam in his eye."You're sure he's dead? I wouldn't be surprised if the man hadat least nine lives."

"I'll count to three," Muldoon snarled, patience all butdepleted.

"Hey, no need to get melodramatic." Younger Hortonpressed a pad on the console, and the chamber door released a hiss of vapor."Voila! Have at him. But be gentle, won't you? He's had a roughday."

Haven't we all? Muldoonheaved the glass door open and let it drop to the side, shaking the entirechamber. The albino's eyes opened with a start, but his body was sluggish torespond in like manner. Muldoon jammed the muzzle of his revolver under the SYN's chin.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Irena herself wouldn't have known, had she been asked.Everything was different—like a mirror image, important details backwards,aspects close to the way they should be, but off, somehow. She knew she was in the Hancock Building, on thetwelfth floor, walking down the hallway toward office 1208. Harry's office.Only...not anymore.

Ten years after his murder at Cade's hands. Skewered. Decapitated.

An involuntary shudder coursed through her as she approached theoffice door. She had to get a grip on herself. She couldn't fall apart. She coulddo this. She was strong enough.

It didn't help matters when the voice of the office AIgreeted her through the intercom: "Good morning, Mrs. Muldoon. Please,come in."

The door slid open automatically—the door with HAROLD MULDOON,PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR on the frosted glass. She swayed on her feet, unable towrap her mind around the conflicting memories.

Harry is dead. I saw his body here. Ten years ago...the nightHarry had vanished from her life. He went to pick up a package. That'swhat the clone had said. And he never came back.

She squeezed her eyes shut and remained rooted outside the opendoor.

She'd left baby Harry with the monks so she could find the adultHarry of this time. Yet she knew he'd already been dead for a decade by now. So whichis it? Her mind couldn't grasp thecognitive dissonance. Which memory was true? Which was false? Is he dead oralive?

"Mrs. Muldoon?" the AI's voice intoned with what couldhave been interpreted as concern.

"Yes, Jeannie." Irena heard her own voice, and it sounded hollow. Pitiful, likea lost child on the street.

"Please come in."

Irena drifted across the threshold, dimly aware of the doorsliding shut behind her, locking into place. Across the dark room, the glow ofthe desk's surface beckoned.

"Are you looking for Mr. Muldoon?"

Irena felt her eyes sting. She bit her lip. "Yes. Iam."

"He stepped out only a few minutes ago. I'm certain he willbe back soon."

No. Irena nearly choked. No, he won't.

"He left this behind," Jeannie continued. "Perhapsyou will find it to be of interest."

The left corner of the deskscreen blinked, drawing attention towhat looked like a small book. Irena reached for it hesitantly. When was the last time she'dseen an actual book? Not since she was a child, that was for certain,when her father had read to her from the musty volumes he kept on the shelvesin his study. They were a rarity and worth quite a lot, but he'd never treatedthem as off-limits as he sat on the edge of her bed and read her to sleep.

Black Beauty, Anne of Green Gables,Alice's Adventures in—

"Wonderland..." she breathed.