Jump City: Apprentice Page 21

  I felt the car slide beneath my feet. I looked to Fynn; he leapt and disappeared into the darkness. I followed even though I didn’t want to. The icy cold fled, and I was immediately assaulted by the smell of cigarettes and stale nachos. This was not quite like any oblivion I had experienced before… it seemed to linger longer than usual; no pain this time, except for a slight prick in my arm.

  PART III

  WEDNESDAY

  * * *

  chapter fourteen

  cali la

  The first thing that came to mind was: who is going to feed my cat while I’m away? Odd. Stranger still, I immediately knew it was Wednesday, though I have no idea why. Everything else was pretty hazy. This had been a soft jump back to a previous self. Oblivion yes, but no searing pain. I tried to understand where I was, and looked around to see a cramped room, dark and in disarray, strewn with trash and clothes. There were a few windows, but every blind was drawn down tight. Even these shutters could not hold back the intense daylight that forced itself into the room. And who would want to be inside on such a lovely day? Why would anyone shut themselves up like this?

  These were my first thoughts. A distorted song played from somewhere, an old song from another era, a meandering melody slid by, maybe something by Roxy Music… Out of the Blue: All your cares, now they seem oh so far away…

  Something was very wrong though, something more than the fact that I had just jumped off the top of a sinking car in the middle of Colorado. I tried to see who I was. That is, I wondered what version of me was here to examine, or converse with. It was not immediately apparent. If there was another mind present, he seemed oblivious and somehow obscured from my attention. I sought to understand my physical existence, my very present, and started to breathe consciously, almost as if meditating.

  Eventually, when I looked down to my own hands, I was shocked to find that one of them was holding a hypodermic. I watched myself with morbid fascination: I was cooking something in a spoon and sucking it up in a needle. I noticed a tourniquet tied along my upper arm. In that moment I was happy enough to have an intense fear of needles. No way that thing was going into my arm— but it did cross my mind how this other self had let things get so far. Or perhaps I was already too late. I noticed a prick of dried blood on my forearm.

  I glanced around the room, feeling myself drifting back towards a stupor. Something painted on black velvet, a portrait perhaps… a few guitars lay scattered on the floor, a big twelve string in its stand… and a small four piece drum kit.

  Next to me there was a woman, young, beautiful and completely naked. She seemed to be asleep mostly, murmuring softly, curled up against me. I thought it might be Suzy at first, but it wasn’t, though she was maddeningly familiar. I knew her— of course I knew her— and intimately, yet I couldn’t recall her name or anything else. I tried to focus my thoughts though a heavy dullness prevented any clarity. Increasingly, it was difficult to stay awake no matter how hard I fought to focus on my surroundings. I may have started to doze…

  It’s difficult to say when exactly but soon enough I was jarred awake by the distinct sound of pounding. Loud knocks and shouts. Three startling bangs later, the door swung wide open. Black figures filled the room, most with uniforms and all with guns, backlit against the bright, sunshiny day. From there to here was not exactly a linear experience, it was more like a pastiche of images. Police cars with flashing lights that seemed impotent in the relentless sun. An ambulance, not for me… Cuffs on my wrists, a hand pushing my head down, the backseat of a police cruiser, and glimpses of the outside world: a hot, dry place with palm trees gliding by and a road sign that read: Bauchet Street… and wire cages everywhere.

  Inside again, I had one phone call, I was told, but I didn’t know who to contact. I declined the generous offer, was given new clothes, and thrown into a cell. I don’t remember being charged with anything, just stripped, searched and handed a bright blue jumpsuit and plastic slippers. Not long afterwards, I was sick as a dog, retching up with a dry stomach. That much I do remember. I’m not sure if I spent that time in a cell or an infirmary. It’s all a fog to me. Someone gave me a couple of aspirin and a cup of water. Hours, or maybe even days later, I was sitting on a bunk bed and watched as two guards came up to my cell and stopped. I heard the door buzz and unlock.

  “Jardel, Patrick… Visitor. Follow me,” one of the guards said in a monotone through the opening.

  “Lawyer?” I asked.

  “Beats me… let’s go.”

  I didn’t remember having an attorney, but started considering who it might be. The name Burton Michael Dean came to mind, the only legal expert I knew from somewhere, though surely not here, nor was he likely to be on my side. As I shuffled down the corridor, I didn’t put much stock in the dark figures that danced on the edge of my peripheral vision. They seemed to be running down the hallway, turning the corner and disappearing as fast as they had appeared. No doubt this was a symptom of withdrawal.

  For some odd reason, the idea that Anika, Fynn’s daughter, would appear as an attorney filled my imagination. She would be smartly dressed in a suit, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, and wearing glasses unnecessarily. Perhaps she would be carrying a stylish briefcase.

  The two guards escorted me to a place called the IRC, then a cinderblock conference room. There, I waited alone for quite some time. Finally the door swung open and two men stepped inside. One I didn’t know. He was rather nondescript and had a weary look about him. Predictably, he was dressed in a jacket and tie, though he didn’t strike me as a lawyer. The other was Tractus Fynn. I’m sure I was never happier to see someone in all my life. A smile of relief swept across my face though I tried my best to mask it.

  The stranger spoke first as he sat across from me, “Mr Jardel, I’m Lieutenant Edison, DOC. Are you able to communicate today?”

  I nodded.

  “Alright then… You’re scheduled for arraignment tomorrow morning… You have been formally charged by the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office with the possession of a schedule one controlled substance. A public attorney has been assigned to your case…” He glanced down at his notes: “Ms Poppi Flores. She’ll meet you in the courthouse at least ten minutes prior to your hearing.” The lieutenant sat back in his chair and tapped a pencil against his clipboard. “Do you understand everything I’ve just said?”

  I nodded again.

  “I need you to answer yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright then. You may be facing further charges tomorrow. The feds might jump in… there’s also intent to distribute, and possibly… manslaughter.”

  “Manslaughter?” I asked and felt a bit of panic well up.

  “You understand the trouble you’re in?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay then, this man with me is Inspector Fynn from Interpol, and he’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Are you willing to cooperate?”

  “I guess…”

  “And you waive your right for an attorney to be present?”

  “Yes.”

  The officer gave a nod of approval to Fynn.

  “Thank you for allowing me to speak with you, Mr Jardel. I am from the Amsterdam Police and I have some questions, if I may…” Fynn showed me an eight by ten glossy photo of a very pretty girl. “Do you know who this woman is?”

  “She looks familiar to me, but I don’t think I know her well.”

  “The girl is a Dutch national, Anika Luis.”

  “She looks like a model.”

  “She is at death’s doorstep, lying in the county hospital,” the lieutenant commented angrily.

  “An overdose?”

  Fynn nodded. “If she dies, I can say things will not go well for you.”

  “It’s not my fault,” I stammered.

  “Whose fault is it, Mr Jardel?” the other man asked.

  I had no answer to that.

  “A moment please, Lieutenant Edison,” Fynn put his hand
on the officer’s arm. He turned to me. “I need to find her associates. These men…” Inspector Fynn produced more photos, mug shots, scary characters all. None of them were remotely familiar. I glanced at the recorder on the table and then up at a video camera. “Is this off the record?” I asked.

  “I thought you were willing to cooperate here, Mr Jardel.”

  “I am, of course I am… Just that I’d feel more comfortable if this was off the record.”

  The lieutenant gave me an exasperated look. He rose from his chair and switched off the recorder. “Alright then, I’ll leave you to it… Hit the buzzer when you’re done, Inspector.” He glanced over to the door and left by the same means.

  “Fynn, I know who you are,” I whispered and managed a feeble smile as the lieutenant exited.

  “You mean to say, you remember Colorado?”

  “Yes. It’s the present I’m having trouble with. What’s all this about Anika? Is she alright?”

  The inspector put his finger to his lips, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cube about the size of a game dice. He tapped the top and a small green light began to glow.

  “What’s that?”

  “A device that will mask our conversation.” Fynn glanced up at the video camera.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “I don’t think it’s been invented yet. Very effective though.”

  “When is this?”

  “The present, of course.”

  “It’s not the mid-seventies, is it?”

  “No. What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, nothing really, just a song I heard this morning.”

  “It’s Wednesday, the twenty-first of April, two thousand and ten.”

  Nothing was clear to me except that I did feel extremely guilty. “Fynn, I’m so sorry about Anika… This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not. She may well have been the one who corrupted you, or appealed to your lower nature.” Fynn seemed unperturbed. “It’s not really your doing, Patrick. If anything it was she who led you down this terrible path.”

  “Still, I’m responsible for—”

  “I must speak quickly, Patrick,” Fynn interrupted. “I suspect the Lieutenant will return too soon.”

  “You have to get me out of here.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Is this my eating-out-of-a-dumpster timeline?”

  Fynn looked up at me, holding back any definite expression. “How is it that you recall such a thing?”

  “I don’t, not really. You told me about it back in Sand City… on one of our walks.”

  “Oh yes, our map quest.” He smiled briefly. “I will only say, you are probably correct.”

  “Probably?”

  “Very little is truly certain.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.”

  Fynn gave me a serious expression. “You must not be here, Patrick.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that this is not your most auspicious timeline. It’s a quagmire.”

  “I’m beginning to see that,” I said, sarcasm unnoticed. “How did you find me?”

  “Though there may be infinite variations, all traveling is subject to probability. It was somewhat likely that you’d end up here.”

  “So… you guessed.”

  “Yes, but I guessed well as you can plainly see.”

  “I’m not even sure where here is… Southern California, maybe near Santa Monica? All I can really say is that it’s hot and sunny, and there are palm trees.”

  “That’s a fair assessment. Do you recall how you got here?”

  “Drug charges.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Right... I do remember jumping off the top of a sinking car, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Good. And you’ve had a very close call, I would say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look how near we are to the Pacific.”

  “That matters?”

  “Another few miles and we’d be in the ocean.”

  I tried to think if this made any sense at all and feebly protested, “But it was a soft jump, right?”

  “For you, yes, and in this you are lucky.”

  “Good lucky or bad lucky?”

  I could tell from his expression, Fynn was in no mood for humor, especially mine.

  “It can’t be helped, we jumped from a very high altitude.” He drifted into some private reverie.

  “Let me ask you something, Fynn… What would’ve happened if this Lieutenant didn’t leave us alone to talk?”

  “Ah, I have a plan B, as you like to say.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I would feign a heart attack and request a glass of water.”

  “Not much of a plan.”

  “It’s worked well in the past.”

  I laughed out of nervousness. “Well, I’m always amazed by you, anyway.”

  “How so?”

  “That you have a knack for showing up at exactly the right time.”

  “It may well seem that way, but I’ve been here for several months already.”

  “That long?”

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

  “You were here before I was arrested?”

  “For quite some time.”

  “Why didn’t you do something? Stop me from—”

  “There was nothing to be done beforehand, I’m sorry. I had to wait till they took you here.”

  “But we left Colorado at the exact same time.”

  “Nonetheless…”

  “Where did you end up?”

  “Ironically enough, the Chateau d’If… off the coast of Marseilles.”

  “Sounds nice…”

  “I’d rather not speak of it just at the moment. We have more pressing concerns.”

  “Like?”

  “Liberating you from this prison.”

  “How?”

  “You must hide this,” Fynn said and surreptitiously handed me a toy compass. It was very familiar and I realized it was left over from the Sand City treasure hunt.

  “Wait a second, how did you get this?”

  “Another long story. Smuggle it under your tongue perhaps…” he whispered.

  I tucked the plastic disk between two fingers.

  “Do you have a watch, a timepiece of any kind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is there a way to tell the exact time in your cell?”

  “Someone told me the lights go out at ten.”

  “Good…” Fynn opened a briefcase. He fiddled with his astrolabe then looked up at me again. “And you understand the compass directions?”

  “North, South, East and West.”

  “At ten o’clock tonight you must face exactly one hundred and seventy-five degrees and jump from your cot, or the highest place in your cell.”

  “Wait, one hundred and seventy-five degrees? What’s that?”

  “Almost due south. I must warn you, there is some risk jumping from here.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Ah, but you do not take my meaning. Jumping from this coast is inherently dangerous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There is a very large expanse of Pacific Ocean to our west.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You must jump backwards and it must be a soft jump, else you’ll land in the middle of the ocean. This is a genuine risk. You must go to the past again, further back. It cannot be avoided.”

  “How much further back can I go?”

  “That may surprise you.”

  “What about a hard jump?”

  “No…” Fynn said and slapped the table. “In this life you have a terrible addiction. A hard jump is out of the question.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You would bring this trouble with you and suffer the consequences. In a few hours you will experience withdrawal symptoms again. I won’t lie
to you, it would not be pleasant.”

  “Even if I went backwards?”

  “Any hard jump from this place will bring your suffering with you. Your only option is finding a previous self to inhabit. And you must do this quickly.”

  “Wow…” I had more to think about and less to say.

  “Do not make any mistakes,” Fynn warned. “Now I must leave.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Well, I will stay for a while, to be sure that Anika recovers. We will meet up again and very soon, don’t worry.”

  “Does she?”

  “Anika does just fine.”

  “What about Cindy and Andy?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “Back in Colorado… my friends, what happened to them?”

  “Oh yes, your colleagues… We cannot know… I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done for them.”

  “I have to go back and fix it.”

  Fynn stared at me and asked, “Back?”

  I stammered… no words came out.

  “You cannot, not from here at least. This has yet to occur.” The inspector gave me a grim expression.

  “When I jump… Where am I likely to end up?”

  “There is no way to predict. The speed, the angle, the distance of your jump are variables that cannot be accounted for exactly.”

  “Great.”

  “You have very few options.” Fynn paused. “Tell me, Patrick, are the prison bars painted blue or green inside?”

  “That’s an odd question.”

  “Well, the jumpsuits seemed to have changed color. I was wondering about the rest.”

  “A bluish green, I’d have to say… and they seem freshly painted to me. Does it matter?”

  “No, I think not, you’ll be leaving soon enough.”

  ***

  I was shuffled back to my cell: an eight by ten box with a narrow slit of window, though it was frosted and nothing could be seen of the outside, certainly no sky. I wasn’t even sure if it was daylight. The rest was painted cinderblock walls and hose-able floors. There were two bunks, a modular shelf and a bench attached to a combination sink and toilet. And, I started to recall, my crazy cellmate, a man with a penchant for pushing my head against the thick plexiglass window and muttering obscenities in my ear.