BACKTRACKER, Milo Fowler [books that read to you .txt] 📗

BACKTRACKER

A Novel

Milo James Fowler

www.milojamesfowler.com

For Sara

Now and Forever

PROLOGUE

Ten Years Ago:2166

April12

Alan stood at the railing, gripping it with both hands, knucklesas white as the raging waters far below. Plenty of rocks down there beneath thesurface, rearing their heads among the chop. They would break his fall. Andhim.

He tapped the plug behind his left ear and called up the lifeinsurance policy. Documents floated before his ocular implants, a hologram onlyhe could see. Not that anybody else would have noticed if he'd projected it.Nobody was around.

A lonely bridge in the driving rain. A desperate man under anavalanche of debt. But now everything was in order. His family would beprovided for. They wouldn't have much, but they would survive. All he had to dowas jump.

His boots slipped as he climbed over the railing, clinging to it.He had to do this right. Couldn't foul it up and just break his leg. He had togo face-first, crack open his head like a swollen watermelon.

Strange what you think about at the end. Not the faces of his wifeand kids, which would have made more sense. Instead he remembered fresh fruit,something he hadn't tasted since he was a kid himself. Times were differentthen. Everything seemed more real, somehow. Not like this.

Why wasn't he afraid? He should have been shivering with colddread. Instead this was more like a Link experience. Virtual. Almost real,only something was missing. It didn't feel like it was actually happening. Maybe part of him didn't believehe'd go through with it. He was a coward, after all.

His boots shuffled on the slick ledge. He was stalling. His gripon the railing behind him had yet to loosen. He couldn't feel his fingers.

"This is it," he breathed, psyching himself up.

He pulled his right hand free.

"Need some help?" called a voice from the end ofthe bridge.

Alan jerked his head, facing the voice. A dark figure approached,trench coat flailing in the wind and rain. A purposeful gait, unhurried. Anunfamiliar man. An unexpected obstacle.

"No thanks," Alan said, unprepared for conversation,hoping this stranger wasn't some good-doing Wayist here to save his soul."I'm fine."

"Unlikely, Alan," said the stranger. "You've beenmissing for days. The cops have given up on you, but your family hasn't.They're worried. People think you left them."

"No, I—" He struggled to hold onto the railing and facethe stranger at the same time. "I would never leave them. I lovethem."

"They know. They love you. That's why they hired me to findyou."

"Hired?" That didn't make sense. They had barely enoughcredit for groceries. "Who the hell are you?"

"You're in trouble. I get that." The stranger stopped acouple meters away. Both hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his coat."But doing this? Leaving your wife and kids? You'll only hurt themmore."

"They're better off—"

"They don't think so. I'm inclined to agree with them."He beckoned with a nod. "Come on, Alan. Let's go see your family. Trustme, they'll be happy to see you."

Alan turned his gaze back to the water. The rocks. The easy wayout. Except it wouldn't be so easy, would it? Not for his wife, Jean. Or thekids, Hana, Debi, andErnest. He saw their faces now, and his eyes stungwith hot tears. They would miss him terribly.

But he knew what was best. They would learn to live without him,and things would be better for them. No more gambling debts, living in fear ofthe collectors. Those bloodsuckers would leave his family alone once the lifeinsurance took care of everything he owed. Jean and the kids could start overwith a clean slate. Without his addiction poisoning their happiness.

His mind was made up. Not an easy choice, but the only one thatmattered.

He stepped off the ledge, both boots dangling in the air, coldrushing upward—

Until his shoulder wrenched free of its socket, his arm extendedover his head, his wrist snagged on something that left him swinging.He cried out in pain and surprise.

"No you don't." The stranger had a hold of him, grippinghim with both gloved hands. "I'm a man of my word, Alan. I promised yourwife I'd bring you home."

"Let me go!" Alan wailed. A pathetic sound. He hatedbeing so weak.

"C'mon." The stranger grunted, adjusting his hold,clutching Alan's forearm. "Help me out here. I don't have all day."

A pinpoint of light flashed from the man's wrist. He wore anoutdated timepiece, a black plastic wristwatch, something like a kid might haveworn decades ago. Alan hadn't seen anything like it since he was a boy himself,digging for the prize at the bottom of a cereal box.

The stranger cursed under his breath. "We're running out oftime, Alan."

"Who are you?"

"Harry Muldoon. Believe it or not, this isn't the first time we'vemet."

Mystified, Alan reached upward with his other arm, and Muldoonguided his hands to the railing, holdingonto him tightly as both his boots regained theirfooting on the ledge. Muldoon didn't let go until Alan had clambered overto stand beside himon the bridge.

"Hail a cab. Take it to this address." Muldoon handedhim a business card, as outdated as the wristwatch. On it was printed alocation Alan didn't recognize. "Wait for me there."

A chime sounded on Muldoon's timepiece. Some kind of alarm? The light continued to flash.

"We've got to get you cleaned up before you go home. You'vebeen out on the streets too long. Promise me you'll do as I say thistime."

"This time?" Alan echoed. Things were getting weirder bythe moment.

"I'll meet you there." He took a step back, beyondAlan's reach, and stood like a statue. The chime reached a fevered pitch."Don't freak out."

A sudden burst of electric-blue light, and Harry Muldoon vanished from sight, leavingnothing behind. It was as though he'd never been there. In the silence thatfollowed, interrupted only by the sounds of the churning river and drivingrain, Alan staggered across the bridge with trembling hands. Every few seconds,he glanced at the address on the card, wondering if it too would disappearwithout warning.

When Alan eventually showed up at his office, he openedthe door with HAROLD MULDOON, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR in bold lettering onthe frosted glass.

"You made it." He graced Alan with half a grin. Then hecold-cocked him, knocking him unconscious with