BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (e book reader txt) 📕

From howlong ago? Is that why she opened the door to her apartment and let him inside,let him scroll back the vidfiles on the screen beside her doorframe while shewatched him with those sagging eyes, not saying a single word? She recognizedme?

He turned away and headed up the vacant sidewalk against thepouring rain. "There might be one place we can go."

Horton brought his hands together with a clap before stuffing theminto the pockets of his heavy coat. "Excellent!" He hastened to follow.

They moved in a single file of sorts, Muldoon leading the way with Horton closebehind, both with their heads down, hats tugged lowagainst the driving rain and wind, coats flapping behind them. Their shoessloshed through inescapable puddles that would have reflected the moonlight ifleft undisturbed by the bombarding rain. Vehicles passed at random intervalswith lights flashing and horns blaring until Muldoon turned down a side streetand crossed one block of imposing tenements followed by another, then another.

Here it was quiet, save for the ferocious storm. For now, theywere alone. The streetlights gradually dimmed to nothing. Snatches of moonlightbetween the clouds were enough to illuminate the way, but shadows threatened toovertake any passerby.

Muldoon's eyes roved as he walked. It was habit. He knew what toexpect. He knew what lurked in these shadows.

In another life, he might have been born here.

Eventually, this part of town would be torn down to make way forluxury apartments, funded by the owner of The Pearl. It would be touted as anew age for the heart of the city, a reconstruction of the civic spirit. Theever-present undesirables would be pushed outward, as far away as possible fromthe ones who really mattered—those with expendable lines of credit. Cityofficials would turn a blind eye as deals were struck behind closed doors bypeople of influence, but the end would justify the means: the city wouldflourish, becoming the Provinces' pride and joy, attracting humans and syntheticsalike from all over. And in the process, the owner of The Pearl, GavinLennox, would triple his fortune. Not to mention his prestige.

But for now, it was as it had always been: the outskirts, theother side of the tracks, the area you avoided at night. Locals called itHellTown.

Muldoon stumbled.

"What is it?" Horton asked, leaning forward.

"I've been here before." He brought a hand to hisforehead, squeezed his temples with a wince.

"Well, I'd hope so!" Horton chuckled. "You livearound here, don't you?"

I've been here—this moment, this exactmoment—before. With the boy, out cold, slung over my shoulder. I carried himthis way. Hours ago? Days?It seemed like years, if that was possible. Maybe so.Time was slipping beyond his grasp.

Horton frowned up at Muldoon. "Déjà vu, you mean."

"Yeah."

Horton nodded to himself. "I was afraid of that. Happens alot, does it?"

"Every now and then." Muldoon released his forehead andblinked against the rain. He glanced at Horton. "Next block up." Heforged ahead.

"Any headaches?" The old man trailed behind.

"What?" Muldoon didn't look back.

"You've got headaches too, right? Bad bouts of vertigo attimes?"

Muldoon frowned. Who is he, really? How does he know so much? "Onlyat the opera."

Horton chuckled. "Funny man."

"I try."

"So where exactly are we going?" There was nothing butcuriosity in the old man's tone. "Not to your apartment, unless you have adeath wish and plan to take on the cops all by yourself, go out in a blaze ofglory. Though I wouldn't put that past you. It's been you versus the world for a while now,hasn't it?"

Muldoon didn't reply.

Horton cleared his throat. "How long has it been,Harry?" He waited for a response of some kind. "How long have youbeen without her?"

Muldoon reeled. His hand shot out, gripping the old man's throatand hefting him up onto his toes.

"I don't know who you are, or what you think you know aboutme," Muldoon grated out through his teeth. "But you're wrong. Youdon't know me. I don't know you." Yes I do—somehow. "So justshut the hell up until we get to where we're going. Once we're there, I'll bethe one asking the questions. Got it?"

The old man gulped, choked out, "Yeah. Yeah." His headjerked in the affirmative.

Muldoon released him with a shove and strode away, straight forthe glassed-in entrance of Tenement 3166.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Horton rasped, rubbing his neck.

The door didn't move aside at the first sign of their presence; itignored them instead. But with a familiar ease, Muldoon shoved it open and heldit for Horton. The old man followed close behind, eyes darting. Every aspect ofthe dilapidated foyer seemed to be of interest to him, from the crackedplastiglass to the multitudinous layers of graffiti. The stairwell door hung open.

Inside, the jittery light was cold and grim. The two men's sloppyfootsteps on the stairs echoed, leaving a wet trail of prints. Eight flights upwithout a word between them, until Muldoon reached another lopsided doorand stepped out into the silent hallway beyond.

"Your floor?" Horton said.

Muldoon didn't look back. He veered to the left instead of goingstraight up the hall to his own unit, 806. His eyes scanned the numbers on thedoors he passed, one at a time. 899, 898, 897. How long had it been?He'd run down here, gun drawn, chasing that phantom of a man—who now followedhim in the flesh.

The floor. There had been wet shoe prints, nothing else.Hours ago? Weeks? He vanished into the air. Now there were two sets ofprints—left behind both men. Easy to track, once the police arrived.

Muldoon's pace slowed. He paused outside a door like every otherin this long, nondescript hallway.

"Your unit?" Horton whispered. "You've got balls,I'll give you that. You're actually going to wait here for the cops to show up.Crazy! But kind of cool, at the same time. Brazen and intrepid. Definitelyintrepid. I don't often have an opportunity to use that word. So many leftunsaid, you know? Remember dictionaries? I'm babbling. Sorry."

Muldoon curled his fingers into a fist, which he raised toward thedoor instead of the old man. Unit 893. He'd been there once before—thatmuch he remembered. Was it earlier tonight? The longest night of my life.But there was another memory at the same time, the one with a rubber