Flashback

Flashback

Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

www.TycheBooks.com

Copyright © 2015 Simon Rose

First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2015

Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-11-5

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-23-8

Cover Art by Artist Wiktoria Goc

Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

Interior Layout by Ryah Deines

Editorial by M. L. D. Curelas

Author photograph: Simon Rose

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

This book was funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.

“
ARE THE RESTRAINTS
tight enough?”

“Yes, of course they are. I told you, I know what I’m doing.”

“Now keep still, David, this won’t hurt a bit.”

The twisted smile on the doctor’s face told a far different story. Max struggled against the bonds securing him to the operating table as the old man’s hand moved closer. Max clearly saw the hypodermic, the needle now only inches from his eye. The younger man with the long blonde hair and pale blue eyes grinned, as Max emitted a scream that he was certain no one would ever hear.

“You okay, Max?” Jeff asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Max felt dizzy and disoriented, having to rest his hand on the taller headstone to steady himself.

Max and Jeff had gone to grab some pizza that afternoon. It was the start of summer vacation and Jeff had to stop and buy some flowers then meet his grandmother at Queen’s Park Cemetery. Jeff’s grandfather had passed away about six weeks earlier and his grandmother still liked to go to pay her respects and freshen the flowers beside the grave.

The boys had just been chatting to Mrs. McNally and Max had stepped away to give the two family members a few moments of privacy. He was standing by a tall elaborate headstone mounted on a marble pedestal, belonging to someone called Jonathan Dexter. There was a smaller headstone beside the pedestal. Before Max could read the name, his hand brushed the edge of the smaller gravestone. Disconnected, random images had suddenly flashed across his mind, culminating in the terrifying scene with the needle.

“I don’t feel so good either,” admitted Max, running his fingers through his light brown hair and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Did you hit your head or something?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Max, “but now I have this splitting headache.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Max?” asked Mrs. McNally, with an expression of concern.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Max, forcing a smile, although his head was truly pounding, and it must have shown in his face.

“You going to be okay for the game?” Jeff asked. “You’ve never missed one yet.”

Max had almost forgotten that he was playing third base that afternoon. Yet he knew he couldn’t play, feeling the way he did, even if he was reluctant to let Jeff know that.

“You certainly do look a little pale, Max,” remarked Mrs. McNally.

“Maybe you should just go home?” Jeff suggested. “I’ll get someone to fill in on third, no big deal.”

“You might be right,” said Max. “Sorry about the game.”

“No problem,” said Jeff. “Jason and the others will be there. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded. “You’d better get going or you’ll miss everyone.”

“Well, we’re about done here,” said Mrs. McNally. “You go with Max, Jeff. Uncle Bill said he’d be here at 1.30 to take me home anyway.”

“You sure, Grandma?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Mrs. McNally. “You go ahead.”

Jeff gave his grandmother a peck on the cheek and he and Max made their way out of the cemetery.

They waited for the lights to change at the nearby intersection. Sitting on the bench beside the bus stop was a boy around their own age in a black tee shirt and jeans, with a thick mop of dark hair almost completely covering his eyes. He was staring right at them. Although Max was sure he’d never seen the boy before, at school or anywhere else, he looked oddly familiar.

“Is he from school?” he asked Jeff.

“Huh?”

“That kid?”

“What?”

“Over there, on the bench,” said Max, just as the lights changed.

“What?” Jeff repeated, as they set off across the road.

When Max looked again, the bench was empty. The boy must have gone, but as Max scanned the area, there was no sign of him. A bus hadn’t driven by and there was no way the boy could have gotten away that quickly. Max knew he’d seen someone, but kept his thoughts to himself. He rubbed the back of his neck again.

“You okay?” asked Jeff when they reached the other side of the road.

“Yeah,” Max assured him, “just that headache.”

“
So,” said Jeff, as they arrived at the corner of the street where Max lived, “still on for this weekend at Jason’s?”

“Hope so,” said Max. “I’ve been dying to play Jason’s new game all week.”

“Me too,” Jeff agreed.

He started off down the sidewalk to walk the couple of blocks to his own house.

“Hey, sorry about this afternoon,” Max called after him.

“No problem,” Jeff assured him. “Like I said, I’ll get somebody to cover third. I’ll text you tonight.”

As he turned his key in the lock, Max could still vividly recall the strange visions that had flooded across his mind when he’d touched the gravestone. A smiling woman walking into a room carrying a cake decorated with fourteen lighted candles; piles of wrapped gifts surrounding a huge Christmas tree; sailing on the ocean aboard a luxurious yacht; skiing at an alpine resort; a musical concert at a theatre; a shiny black limousine; a

dinner party in a luxurious ballroom; and finally, the scientific facility with men and women in white lab coats, including the horrifying image of the needle.

His headache had subsided, but when he opened the door to the condo, Max’s headache returned as he was greeted by the screech of a power saw. His dad was still working in the basement.

Max closed the front door and headed downstairs. His dad had been busy on the renovations in the basement for months, but had now almost finished. He worked as a carpenter in the local construction industry, but despite the fact that somebody always seemed to be building something new, his dad’s fortunes fluctuated. Sometimes, Max hardly saw his father for weeks at a time. When work was plentiful, his dad left early in the morning and returned home well after dark. At other times, like recently, jobs had been scarce and his dad had filled his time working on the renovations. Such a lifestyle hardly helped their financial stability as a family. His dad had been promising Max that they’d move to a bigger place and in a different part of town. Yet they’d been living in the same cramped condo for several years now.

When he reached the bottom of the basement steps, all the dust in the air made Max cough and splutter.

“Hey Max,” said his dad, as he turned off the saw. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Max replied, with a shrug, as he sat down on an upturned toolbox. “Just out with Jeff. Dad, who was Jonathan Dexter?”

“The Dexters?” said his dad. “They were a very prominent local family once. Jonathan Dexter was an important politician. Even talked about as a potential president, I think. Why do you ask?”

“Jeff had to meet his grandma at the cemetery on the way home and I saw the big headstone, that’s all,” Max explained. “There was another grave next to Dexter’s, but I didn’t see the name.”

“Probably belongs to Dexter’s son, David,” said his dad. “He disappeared when he was about your age. He was a brilliant student and a virtuoso pianist, wonderful prospects. Tragic really.”

“Why?” Max asked. “What happened?”

“A few years ago,” his dad continued, “they found a skeleton in a remote area west of the city and identified it as David’s. It was in all the papers. Not long afterwards, Jonathan Dexter himself died and they built that fancy grave. Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“No reason really,” said Max, standing up. “I just wondered who he was.”

“So are you here to help me with this drywall?”

“Love to, Dad,” said Max, grinning, “but I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Just stuff,” replied Max, as he climbed the stairs.

When he reached the top, Max glanced over at the pictures of his mother on the shelf above the fireplace. There were several photographs of a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, with shoulder-length, light brown hair and hazel eyes. Max’s mother had died just after he was born, so he’d never known her. Thinking back to the huge memorial to Jonathan Dexter or the more modest gravesite Jeff’s grandmother had been tending, Max was struck by the fact that his mother had never had a grave for him to visit. She’d been cremated and Max’s dad always insisted that he didn’t need a fancy tombstone to remember her.

Max went up to his room, which as usual resembled a scene in the aftermath of a small hurricane. Twisted bedclothes lay where Max had left them when he’d tumbled out of bed that morning, alongside random items of clothing. The desk was covered in papers, binders, and folders, while two empty pop cans and half a bag of chips stood next to a book lying spine up that Max hadn’t touched for months. The shelves on the wall were filled with other books that Max had often started but never managed to finish. There was also a collection of medals and figurines he’d received in previous years along with the other members of his soccer and baseball teams. A selection of well-thumbed comic books lay next to the lamp on the bedside table. Most of his friends no longer read comics, but Max had been a fan since he was six or seven years old and still enjoyed them.

Max’s game system, accompanied by a bewildering tangle of wires and cables, sat beside a small TV on top of the three-drawer dresser. Empty game cases and loose discs were scattered around, a reminder of the sleepover with Jeff and two of his other friends the previous weekend. Max sat down on the bed and reached for the remote, when he suddenly felt really cold, just for a second. Max glanced at the window. It wasn’t open, and even if it had been, it was a really warm day outside. Max was about to turn on the TV when everything went black.