Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

was painful, I managed to sleep without worrying about the next day and what drama would evolve. I achieved some proper sleep for the first time since that Sunday when Martin had arrived on our doorstep three weeks ago.

Last Friday, Martin had talked through his plans for his new life with such excitement. He really had embraced his time-travel leap with real enthusiasm after a predictably tricky start. I shed a tear for my fellow time-traveller and prayed he was now at peace.

I’d always wrestled with my ability to bend time and how it always seemed to pull back to the laid down path it already had set in motion. However, David’s death last year had proven I could bend time. Now for sure, I’d achieved it once again. I knew for certain Paul Colney had raped Jess, as he’d admitted it. Which would also suggest he raped those two women last summer. So, assuming that Martin’s mother had told the truth, and why wouldn’t she, it had to be Paul Colney who raped her in ten years’ time.

Convinced I’d successfully achieved another time-bend, I balanced off the sadness of Martin’s death against the knowledge that young Sarah Moore’s future life had indeed changed for the better. Martin would be happy with that knowledge, as it was his primary target to achieve. I would watch Sarah’s progress through life and now hoped she’d go on to achieve what she wanted, and when she wanted. Although I did laugh at the thought of that dork Carlton King and her together.

Although it hadn’t, I convinced Jenny my neck had improved as I had no intention of spending my Sunday afternoon in A&E.

The local radio station lunchtime news item reported the car accident on Friday evening. The newscaster stated there were two fatalities with no other vehicles involved. There were unconfirmed reports that two passengers had fled the scene, and the police were appealing for witnesses. One of the deceased was confirmed as Paul Colney, a twenty-three-year-old man from the Broxworth Estate. The other deceased had not yet been identified. The incident was reported as gang-related as firearms had been recovered.

Although the police were appealing for witnesses, I wasn’t unduly concerned about Jess and my descriptions being circulated. Those first on the scene that evening hadn’t looked at either of us. They were all consumed with the crash scene and the two dead bodies on the bonnet of my old Cortina. I certainly had no concern about the three lads on their bikes, as I believed they were from the Broxworth – you can just tell, can’t you? We were safe in that knowledge, as no one from the Broxworth talks to the police. I’m led to believe it’s an unwritten requirement of living on the estate.

No surprise Martin had not been identified, as he didn’t exist. Nowhere on the planet was there any record of Martin Bretton, aged thirty-one living in the United Kingdom. That would be a mystery the police would never resolve. Eventually, resources would dry up, and it would end up in a case file on a dusty shelf of unresolved cases – I was confident of that.

Pondering the Colney family and their evil ways dragged my mind to the Yorkshire Ripper. Over a year had passed since any reported murders which fitted his modus-operandi. I’d often tried to pull out of my memory the dates he murdered those women. That book Lisa had bought me, and I’d read that Christmas Day, had unfortunately not held in my memory. Apart from a few odd details like being repeatedly arrested and a lorry driver, nothing else stuck. However, over a year had elapsed since his last murder, so I deduced that time had bent again. Somehow, this time, Peter Sutcliffe had stopped his murderous campaign. Had perhaps my anonymous letter worked? Maybe the police interviewed him last year when following up the letter, and he was sufficiently spooked to stop?

That Sunday evening, it seemed as if time cruelly dealt its fate when I’d reached a point of believing I’d once again successfully moved its planned direction. Only a few hours earlier that day, I’d relayed my thoughts to Jenny about the Yorkshire Ripper, and we agreed that a prolific serial killer wouldn’t rest up for over a year. No, we both firmly believed he wouldn’t have taken a serial-killer vacation, but would regularly continue his murderous campaign until caught. Which is what my limited memory believed to be the case.

The early evening national news reported a young female’s body had been discovered that morning by a man walking his dog in a park in a suburb of Leeds. The brutal attack was dubbed the work of ‘The New Jack the Ripper’. The police had instantly linked this attack with the murders in January 1976 and October 1975.

Time was a force of nature that wouldn’t bend at will. It was official – a serial killer was on the loose in the north of England, and there was bugger all I could do about it.

49

Some weeks later

‘Murrayisms’

There were no more reports regarding our crash in February. It was treated as just another road traffic accident as I thought it would. The fact that Martin couldn’t be identified was presumably incidental. The case was probably just filed away, awaiting a missing person’s report to link it with – and that would never happen.

The Deputy Head position at school had to be resolved. I and another applicant, who until the day of the interviews I didn’t know, were put through the process in late February. Roy was frustrated and stated that he wanted his man, as he put it, and I should be appointed.

I was super relaxed about the whole interview and assessment process, probably as I really didn’t give a toss whether I got the position or not. My laid-back attitude must have helped as I subsequently was successful and appointed to the role. Roy was delighted, far more