“Then I’ll destroy my work!” Amhurst wailed, and swung the pot toward Gernot’s head.
The younger, stronger man swatted Amhurst aside like he was was made of paper and sent him crashing into one of the lab tables. Amhurst tried to steady himself but was unsuccessful.
Gernot approached, reaching out to curl his hand around the doctor’s thin neck. “Dr. Amhurst, do you not understand?” the Russian whispered. “After I kill you here, I will travel back three months from now to meet you once again on the steps of this very place. To you, it will be our first encounter.”
If the choking grip had not been so tight, Amhurst would have tried to offer his best retort. Instead, he concentrated on trying to suck precious air into his struggling lungs.
“Even so, I would like to know who sent you the telegram.”
“What telegram?” Amhurst gasped.
Gernot threw back his head, letting out a haughty laugh. Then he stopped like the flip of a switch and fixed Amhurst with a cold glare. “You are not listening to what I’ve been saying. This has all played out before.” He stuffed a hand into the old man’s pocket and pulled out the telegram with the attached clipping, flinging them away in a dismissive motion.
He was nose to nose with Amhurst now. “As sad as it is to watch you die time after time, it’s taxing and it halts our progress; now I must start three months back. I need whoever sends this telegram gone!”
Amhurst recoiled from the ferocity in the other man’s eyes. It was hard to fathom that this was the same man who had been so courteous and respectful nearly three months ago. While his demeanor had altered and he’d seemed too driven these last few weeks, Amhurst never expected this transformation. He decided that if he couldn’t stop this cruel man, the least he could do was slow him down by keeping silent.
The truth was that Amhurst didn’t know who the sender was, but having seen the clipping from the paper that detailed his own death from a blaze in this lab, he was now willing to believe what would happen.
Gernot continued, “The only reason I allow the messenger to deliver that telegram is because I already know your reaction and what you attempt to do. Otherwise, something else entirely could happen and I don’t want to risk that. I can’t afford to start over. Perhaps I should run the risk.”
When Amhurst didn’t say anything, Gernot clenched his throat harder and hissed, “Who is he?”
Doctor William Amhurst stared up into the man’s harsh face, and pressed his lips together in a final display of defiance. Then he closed his eyes, ready for death, and prayed that Celice waited for him there.
40
To Kill a Fucking Turd
The buzzer echoed again throughout the lab, the red light pulsing in unison with the ringing of the bell. Gernot’s head snapped around. What was that? His eyes darted about as he processed this unexpected occurrence, and he pulled Amhurst closer, unclenching his hands slightly from around the old doctor’s neck. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know!” Amhurst choked out after taking a ragged breath.
The whites of the old man’s eyes were reddened from lack of sleep, his irises dulled with age. Gernot searched the doctor’s face for a sign of deception and knew he was telling the truth. Amhurst had always been a horrible liar.
But he was stubborn; fear of death had never been enough to force him to reveal the mysterious sender of the telegram, and he’d lost count of how many times the loop had continued. But now there was a new twist. Gernot glanced back at the stairway as the buzzer sounded and the red light lit up again like a Christmas decoration.
This had never happened before. Gernot was trapped in a state of uncertainty. Should he just teleport now? Kill Amhurst and reset the clock? Destroy the work they’d spent months on? They were so close this time. He couldn’t leave it to chance; whoever was at the door could be another American time traveler.
As if the same questions were stirring in Satoshi’s mind, the Japanese man reached for the hidden twin blades that were strapped to his back beneath his coat. His eyes asked, What do we do? Gernot offered a staying hand and motioned for Mikhail to take point and check the door.
Mikhail returned the gesture and headed up the stairwell as he pulled his weapon from the inside holster of his jacket. If it was bad news, Mikhail would have to be the sacrificial lamb.
Gernot had always made a solo trip on the leaps back after each time William Amhurst’s mystery telegram arrived. There was only one watch to go around. One piece of information Satoshi and Mikhail didn’t know was that he had to kill them both. It wasn’t that he had anything against them; he just couldn’t allow them to live beyond the alternate future he was creating. His concern about what would happen if he didn’t keep everything the same was the driving force behind such decisions.
Despite his reservations, he wanted to see this new twist. The setbacks were driving him mad and being locked in this eternal loop was making him desperate. How many times had it been now that he had jettisoned to the past? How many times had he killed his other self? They both couldn’t be allowed to live; that would ultimately bring conflict. It was best to go back now — take Amhurst’s book and kill his past self, continuing from there as usual.
And where the hell is Mikhail?
There was a fracas above that lasted a few seconds, punctuated by a: BAM! BAM! THUD! Then another scuffling noise filtered down from above.
Gernot and Satoshi locked eyes as the realization hit them that their numbers had just dwindled down to two. While it was entirely possible that Mikhail had felled the intruder, instinct told Gernot this was not the case. Mikhail was nothing more than an unskilled extra hand. Strong-minded, yes, but Satoshi was a born killer and Gernot — well, he was a leader of the Nach-Soldat. He was Der Attentäter. He would kill this intruder.
Without warning, the bright lights of the lab went out, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Gernot froze, his hand still around Amhurst’s throat. The sound of the doctor’s ragged breathing was loud in the black room.
A moment later, the backup generator outside kicked on, and the lights popped back to life. But before Gernot could savor relief, the generator’s hum changed to a dying rumble and the light dimmed out again.
Gernot spat out a savage curse as he tried to adjust his eyes to the shadowed room. The only light available pierced the gloom feebly from the upper walled windows of the basement. Dust particles floated in lazy drifts in the rays of moonlight shining through. Gernot and Satoshi remained silent in the surreal quiet of the room, listening to the creaking noises coming from above. Even Amhurst seemed to hold his breath, but Gernot sensed he was the one being stalked.
This was a new experience and he didn’t like it. He was the one to fear. He was the one who snatched life from his victims. He was the taker of souls. Yet even with these mental encouragements, he felt his shirt collar grow tight on his neck, and his grip on Amhurst’s old leathery throat loosened some more.
Gernot looked down at the shadow of Amhurst’s face and saw the old doctor for what he was — a variable. It was two versus two, or — given the age of the doctor — two versus one and a half. Time to remove the half. A snarl curled the edges of his mouth and he straightened, dragging Amhurst with him.