When Blake made it to his floor, his leg was on fire, but he managed to enter his condo with the deftness of a thief. Leaving the door open allowed some light into the darkened hallway that led to his living room. All was quiet inside except for the sound of soft breathing.
The door to his room was ajar and there, spread out upon the king bed, Ethan slumbered away. If watching your own self sleep wasn’t odd to the extreme, Blake could think of nothing else.
Should he rouse Ethan now and tell him everything? Or was that not the right move? It might very well convince Ethan not to join Wallace, but that wouldn’t stop the Russians from their invasion. What choice was the right choice? He didn’t know.
At this point, Blake only knew that Ethan was no longer in harm’s way tonight. Turning, he limped out of the bedroom. As he entered the living room again he noticed the phone off its hook and muttered a curse. If the phone is off the hook then Ethan won’t get his morning wake-up call from Fredericks, and the timeline would no longer be intact. Continuity needed to be preserved — for now; just one more decision that wasn’t fully in his power.
Blake put the receiver back in its cradle and walked to the kitchen. He was so thirsty. A cold soda from the fridge sounded like a great idea. He’d take one and be on his way.
On his third step into the kitchen he slipped on a wet spot, but managed to catch himself and ended up sliding softly to the floor instead of crashing. It was then that Blake remembered the fallen ice cubes he’d left to melt so very long ago. For Blake it had been almost a year ago, but for Ethan only a few hours.
Standing up, he realized that he didn’t escape the slip unscathed. His calf injury had torn and the hot pain seared up his thigh. Blake clutched at his leg and felt wetness bleeding through his jeans. He had to get out of here before he woke Ethan up.
The pursuit of a soda forgotten, Blake limped to the door. As he stepped into the hallway he pulled the door closed silently, leaving behind a bloodstain that Ethan would never notice.
52
Twenty-One Missed Calls
Blake had taken extra care on his second attempt at wrapping up the leg injury, but the wound still burned like hell with each movement. Pain had hindered his sleep the night before, but this morning it felt a great deal better.
Now he was back at Tobias’s looming mansion. From his vantage, Blake could hear snatches of dialogue between the old bum Ethan had paid and the police officer, but he had to crane his neck around to see Ethan scaling the large oak near the brick wall. Blake watched the officer return to his car then he settled back into his own seat to wait.
It seemed to go on forever. What’s taking him so long? Ethan had been in there for over forty minutes. Blake didn’t remember being inside for nearly that long. His fingers tapped a nervous beat on the steering wheel that would make Nicko McBrain green with envy. He glanced at the clock radio again. Those fucking choppers are going to be here any minute!
Blake replayed the sequence in his mind, trying to remember every detail from when he had been sitting in the house going through Tobias’s papers. He recalled getting lost in confusion over everything he’d found in that safe, and then the damn telephone had started ringing, and –
His mind snapped into focus. Could it be? Maybe what he remembered wasn’t how it had really played out before. Maybe the loops went deeper than he could fathom.
What if he hadn’t originally been captured at the Knotty Beaver motel? What if he’d been caught at Tobias’s house all along? Or if he hadn’t placed the phone on the hook, maybe he was found by Wallace’s men, sleeping off the whiskey. The various paths that could have emerged seemed infinite, and they probably were.
Was it possible that he’d already changed history before? That instead of being caught right here and now he’d been collared at The Elysium Terrace? It had been bugging him as to why a version of himself had gone in, guns blazing, and wound up dead on the sidewalk in front of his own apartment.
The clock on the radio brought him back. As if drawn by an invisible force, his eyes shot down to the mobile phone sitting between the front seats.
“Goddammit!” He blurted out loud and snatched up the phone to dial Tobias’s home number. There was no answer, but this was expected. He hadn’t answered before. Blake hung up and dialed again. And again.
As he re-dialed and listened to the ringing, he wondered what he would say if Ethan answered. The thought occurred to him that if Ethan did pick up the phone, something had gone wrong along the way in this time stream.
Don’t answer, don’t answer …
The words became a silent but persistent chant in Blake’s head each time he dialed the number, heart lurching at every pause between the rings, convinced that Ethan’s voice would come on the line, but knowing that he had to keep calling. His eyes searched the mansion, looking for a sign of Ethan’s activities.
Finally! The front gate was opening, and he saw Ethan running along the wall, trying to stay out of sight of the police cruiser.
Blake disconnected the call and let out the breath he’d been holding. Then he stared at the receiver for a moment, and it dawned on him almost instantly. Cursing, he yanked and pulled on the phone until he ripped its base away from the screws that held it in place. Now all that kept the device connected were the wires; they would be easy enough to rip out.
He let go of the phone and began rolling down the window. A fresh breeze drifted through the car, and then he heard it … the faint but steadily growing sound:
THOOOOMP, THOOOMP, THOOOMP
There was a sudden screech of tires as the police cruiser shot up the driveway. Blake saw Ethan sneaking through the open gate, and then there they were. It was breathtaking to watch them all, knowing what was going to happen. They moved almost like one body as Jackman’s squad slid from dangling ropes and landed near the police officer.
He doesn’t die. Blake tried to reassure himself, but the sound of the gunfire made him wonder, and watching Officer Stan Bailey hit the pavement disturbed his calm.
In the melee, Ethan crept away, and Blake returned to the phone. He pulled the last of the wires free and peeled out. The char of burning rubber added an acrid smell to the air that wafted through the open window as he drove away. He used a knee and the stub of his forearm to steady the steering wheel as he tossed the phone out onto the pavement, then quickly grabbed the wheel with his hand to regain control.
Trace that, you bastards!
As he navigated his way through the neighborhood, Blake thought about what had to happen next.
It seemed there was no alternative. He would have to head to his apartment, but if he died there, Ethan would be caught eventually at the Knotty Beaver hotel. Perhaps there was a different way that didn’t end in his death. If so, what would be his next move?
Ah yes — he remembered now: Ethan would meet with Fredericks at Jo Ann’s Café. When the memory of that crossed his mind, Blake realized it had been a long time since he’d thought about his Captain dying right before his eyes. His mind drifted to the sniper … that Son of Stalin — Gernot.
That’s it! He had the answer: two days from now, across the street from the café. Third story window.