Brink by Mikel Parry

CH – DECASTRO

The frost bitten ground gnawed into Thomas’ exposed hands. He could feel the ice cold weather slither through his veins, making him shiver uncontrollably. He’d been here before, and yet, it still felt like a foreign world. Snowcapped mountains, blue skies, a seemingly endless sprawl of celestial skyline. If he had been a more spiritual man, perhaps the scene would inspire in him some mode of reverence. In his own attempt at supplication, he was just thankful to still be alive to see it. Looking up at the side of the cliff, he gasped. It almost seemed nonsensical to test his fate again, but he had to. Digging his hands back into the frozen rock face, he began writhing his way up the path he had taken before in what seemed like a past life. His mind recalled every detail, every crag, every crevice, and even the iced rock that had so nearly taken his life. Everything was going as planned until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall. He wasn’t alone. Looking back down, he saw them. Two agents, dressed to kill, as always. Both were climbing after him. They must have glimpsed close, too close to his location. He needed to move quickly.

With a shot of adrenaline that muted everything else, he propelled himself up and over the ledge. The agents were closing in fast. It was clear that their intent was to capture him. But if given the right reason, an extreme decision might have to be made. Once at the top of the ledge, Thomas immediately dove into the scene like never before. The woman was there, frozen solid. The mess of items from the crash was still strewn about like discarded laundry. Then there was the cave; he had to have missed something. Sprinting inside, he could hear the agents struggling up the last leg of the climb. He opened his mind—the name on the wall, the leftovers from a vicious wreck, a crumpled up parachute tucked neatly into the corner like a bed.

Her bed.

Running to the place she had slept, he looked it over in full detail. The imprint of a body was still there, pointing to the woman’s time spent alive here. The woman was an agent; there was no doubt about it. He had seen the symbol. But that wasn’t enough. She was connected, but to who and what? Hunching over, he let his thoughts linger.

Who are you?

Off to the side of the make-shift bed laid a tiny notebook. Its brittle pages looked like thin sheathes of ice ready to break apart. He carefully inspected it. The repetitive use of it had creased it to a natural open. Digging his fingers into the top of the notebook, he threw his back into an arc. He let out an enervated scream. The notebook fought to keep its place, but with a few more herculean-like pulls, it gave way just an inch. A flash of light burst throughout the world. He gasped. In truth, he hadn’t expected it to actually happen. But he had to seize the opportunity. He looked at the pages that had opened; the last entry, the last testament. A few scribbled lines clumsily put together. She must have known her time was short. It looked to be a goodbye. The same name that was on the wall appeared, tenderly addressed. Barb had been right; there was something far deeper here. Just then, he heard the groans of the two agents as they rushed into the cave.

Here we go.

Thomas’ eyes darted back and forth through the notebook. That’s when he saw it. Like all wishing to leave their mark in the last moments of life, she had done just that. A signature. Although barely legible, it provided a clear enough image to read.

TAYLOR DECASTRO

His mind only needed but to see it. Now he had some ammunition. He looked up as the agents rushed into the cave to stop him. He couldn’t waste a second. Throwing his wrist into the open, he quickly plotted in the coordinate of his next glimpse. He had seen it for a fraction of a second on the killer’s wrist. But it had been enough. The watch hummed as the agents leapt at him. With the usual flash, the whirlwind came, sweeping him out of the ice cave on top of the world into a place he knew very well. The white floor came blindingly fast at him. His body struck hard, bringing pain to his entire being. He yelped loudly. He slid onto his side and gasped for air.

Get up! Get up now!

Pushing himself to his feet, he saw it all again. Roslin, Banks, and the agents, stuck in time. Each one was standing in the exact same position as before, their hellacious argument seemingly extending on forever. But it would end, and the results would continue on as a mystery. Thomas ran up to Roslin and looked him over. He had already done so once before, but this time he was seeing him through different eyes; a lost woman, a fever-pitched argument, and a trail of blood.

What is it? What are you hiding?

He inspected each agent before him, one-by-one. All seemed to be fervently involved in the discussion. But none of their faces had appeared at any point in his own timeline, except for Banks. The persona of Banks was that of a steadfast, devoted agent, willing to do what it takes. But Thomas had also seen another side of Banks; one that had begun to question the agency, and even Roslin, if ever so slightly. Perhaps there was more to Banks and Roslin than met the eye. Years of working together could taint anyone’s relationships. There were always things kept hidden.

But the woman . . . what about the woman?

The room seemed barren without her. So what if the agents were in an argument with one of their higher ups. Roslin was the sheer definition of arrogance. His take-all, win-all attitude had assuredly been one of the reasons he’d escalated up the ranks of the organization. With an attitude like that, he wasn’t short of enemies. But were any of these men capable of such heinous acts? The question loomed large within Thomas. As he continued his search for truth, there was a forceful pounding on the door. Almost jumping out of his skin, he turned to see what he so desperately had been hoping he wouldn’t; the same two agents who had followed him up the mountain were now throwing themselves into the door, leading into the room. The only deterrence was the forces of time refusing to secede their position. But he knew it was possible, he had done it himself, after all. They would be upon him in mere moments.

Focus, Tommy . . . focus or die.

Working his way past the crowd, he headed for the room from which the killer had been watching him. The murderer, now absent, had waited patiently for him to see. To see the world through his eyes. To give him the truth. But the truth about what?

What is this to you?

The door to the room was almost wedged open wide enough for a body to push its way through. Ripples of energy moved through the air like transparent waves in an ocean. He could hear the agents’ heavy breathing. Thomas stepped into the dark room. He was met by a treasure trove of filing cabinets, each filled to capacity with folders containing a library of information. Information carefully locked away, never to be seen by those unworthy of the privilege. One of the cabinets was ajar; jar enough to have been recklessly shut. Perhaps the argument had ensued at this point. His eyes scanned the tops of the folders that were out in the open. Names, carefully organized, mysterious in nature. His mind organized the data and came to a conclusion; a folder was missing. Recalling the signature, the connection was made. How hadn’t he seen it before? The killer had practically given it to him.

Why didn’t I see this?

Stepping back into the room, Thomas could see that the agents had finally worked their way inside. One pulled his gun out and pointed it directly at Thomas’ chest.

“This is where it ends, Mr. Ghune.”

The cordial title was very Roslin-esque. No doubt, these were some of his new henchmen. It was likely that even Banks was being contained at this point. Roslin was out of control. But there was one more thing he had to see, one more detail. Looking desperately around the room, he found it. The folder was on the table near the agents. It lay open, divulging the intimate details of one Taylor Decastro’s life. Who knew how much was there? The papers were slightly scattered. Thomas looked at Roslin. How had he not seen it before? His infuriated stance, much like a magic trick, had led his eyes away from it. Clutched tightly in the hand at his side was a piece of paper. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the agent who was closing in on him.

“Don’t make me do this.”

Thomas took a deep breath and leapt forward with everything he had. His mind shot straightaway into pure panic mode. He hadn’t planned on this happening. Waving his hand over his watch, he quickly plotted in one of the dates that flashed into his mind. It didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t matter. As the world was spinning wildly out of control in shards of light, he saw it. He’d taken a gamble that had paid off. The folder was missing its most recent entry; a paper with a photo, a name, and a description with three bold red letters. Luck graced his eyes as he saw the one line that hammered the open question.

T. DECASTRO - KIA

Electric pulses of energy blasted him into another moment in time and space. He felt himself roll over a desk covered with paper. The momentum he had gained in his leap drove him hard into the ground. His hands instinctively shot out in front of him to help absorb the impact. Gasping for air, he sprung up and began running. He had to outlast them. The chase couldn’t go on forever. Sooner or later the agents would capture him and his fate would be sealed; just another face that mysteriously disappeared to a nameless fate. He grimaced at the mere thought of it. Looking around, he paused, if just for a heartbeat.

It’s good to be back home.

Police men and women were stuck frozen in time in the middle of their daily hustle and bustle. Stacks of papers, fresh brewed coffees, and a plethora of police force nostalgia filled this world to its brim. A warm blanket of belonging came over him. Why he had chosen this date was a mystery. Although, then again, everything he was doing was becoming more and more random. He wasn’t himself anymore. There was Vaun. He sat innocuously at his desk, rummaging through some papers. His face was much younger, much brighter. It hadn’t been aged by Thomas’ incessant demand for more details. It had been Thomas’ first day on the force. His introduction would be imminent. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Pete and the old, but physically younger him. His eyes gleamed with the prospect of becoming the unsung hero of the police force. A weapon for justice. Had he known then what he knew now, he would have probably turned tail and ran. The moment resonated with him. It was miraculous. So many things had happened since then. So many things had gone so terribly wrong.

Suddenly Thomas heard the loud thudding of heavy footsteps coming from somewhere lower in the building. The agents had arrived. Something told him that the situation had escalated. He had directly disobeyed their command. His life may well be considered a necessary loss for the good of the whole. He wasn’t going to stick around to see. Turning to run, he saw the agents burst through a pair of doors at the exit. His heart sank as they both reached for their guns. Looking around the scene in front him, his mind plotted a million different options with a million different results. It was a race against time to stay alive. He needed to endure until the brink took him back to his place in the present. Glancing over, he saw one of the routes his mind had exhaustively put together. It was illogical, unheard of, and complete insane. The open room was surrounded by a stair railing that skirted the second level. Above him was a hole he could get through if he could maneuver it right.

I’m going to die.

The men shouted their demands just as Thomas took off full stride. He pressed his fedora down on his head as he ran in a furious sprint. A shot rang out and ricocheted just a few inches from one of Thomas’ feet. Thomas leapt up onto a desk. From there, he climbed onto a man’s outreached arm as he passed some papers to his desk mate. He carefully placed his foot on the stack of papers which bought him a few more inches. His body swayed slightly as he tried to keep his balance. Another shot rang out in the room. It flew just over his head before bouncing off of a cup of coffee being sipped on by one of the policemen. He plowed his foot directly into a man’s face from where he launched himself towards the wall. A large American flag stood motionless in time. Its smooth fabric rippled slightly by the small breeze created by the vents in the building. He reached his hands out as wide as possible and hit his target dead on. In a moment of reprieve, his hands grasped the flag pole tightly, hoisting him higher. It was surreal. His weight outside the brink would have easily toppled it over. But here the rules of physics were temporarily suspended. It was a playground for the imagination.

The two agents watched in awe as Thomas quickly climbed up the flag, hoisting himself over the railing. But they just as quickly returned to the chase. They had but one job to do; eliminate the threat. Thomas’ short cut to the second floor had bought him some time. But the stairs weren’t far, and he was running out of options. Looking across the gap in the floor, he saw an open door leading to the roof. But it was on the opposite end. He looked for the closest connection. His heart sank. It passed by the stairs. The same stairs the two agents were scrambling up at a blistering pace.

Can’t I ever catch a break?

The agents appeared at the top of the stairs and took aim. Thomas grabbed at the only path available—the lights. They were hung by scrawny, decorative pieces of wires that were suspended from the ceiling. In any normal realm, his attempt would be utterly insane. But here it was his only option. Running straight at the railing, he flung himself over it and flew through the air, arms outstretched, hands desperately grabbing for the flimsy piece of wire. The agents fired a few rounds at him, the bullets streaming by before glancing off a half-opened door. His heart was ripping itself out of his chest. Incredibly, he found his mark and clutched at the wire. It slid through his hands, leaving a small laceration behind as his feet finally came to rest on the pathetically small island that was the light fixture. The world seemed to be rocking back and forth. He tried desperately to keep his balance by steadying himself with the wire. The intense game was pushing his core to its limits. But he had to keep moving. Another wave of well-aimed bullets flew by. The agents had only one goal in mind—kill Thomas Ghune.

Come on! Keep going! You can do this!

Swinging from the time-regulated light fixture, his eyes ballooned out of their sockets as he watched the world below him fall in and out of focus. If he missed, he’d end up a broken pile of bones. The second light fixture came at him more quickly than anticipated. He missed the wire completely. Screaming in terror, he flung one of his hands behind him in a desperate attempt to save himself. His luck rang true as his flailing hand was able to grab the wire just above a glass bulb. His momentum rag-dolled him backwards like a whip. He could feel his joints violently popping. But it wasn’t over. His hand was beginning to slip. His weight was forcefully sliding his hand down the wire onto the smooth top of the fixture.

“No, no, no!”

In horror, he watched as his hand slid free. In one last-ditch effort to save his own life, he let go and stretched both hands towards the light bulb. It went against every logical fiber in his body. His mind poisoned him with doubt. But miraculously his hands locked around the bulb just as the force of his velocity stopped him midair. He sighed out a nauseous moan. That sensation was quickly replaced by searing pain. Like grasping a fiery coal in his hands, the light bulb was scorching his flesh. He let out a grunt of agony as he fought the powerful urge to let go. Another round of bullets streamed past his wriggling body, suspended in the air. For a moment he felt like he was going to succumb to the pain and let go. But he dug deep, deeper than ever before, and began pulling himself up.

Come on, Tommy! You can’t die now, not here!

One of the agents had reached the railing. The other had preemptively gone down the stairs. They were going to trap him. But they had underestimated his resolve. Fighting against the scorching pain, he pulled himself up to the wire and then onto his feet. Sweat was pouring down his face. He looked back to see the agent pointing a gun directly at him.

“Mr. Ghune, it’s over! Don’t make me do this!”

Thomas’ eyes glinted with emotion and energy. He was panting like a marathon runner. His body screamed in distress.

“It’s never over!”

He launched himself at the next light fixture. As he did, the man holding the gun fired off another round. His gun clicked; he would need to reload. The man gave a prompting look to the other agent who was now directly below Thomas. The agent sprinted back up the stairs. He was going to cut Thomas off on the other side. Thomas felt his insides shift as he whirled around the third light fixture’s wire like a pole dancer. He came to an abrupt stop upon reaching the top. He was swaying back and forth from the momentum of his jump. He was so close to the other side now, it was just within reach. Peeking over his shoulder at the man near the railing, he saw him begin to reload.

Where do they find these guys?

The heavy steps of the agent dashing up the stairs echoed through the room. Thomas had to make a move. Bracing himself for his soon-to-be ungraceful landing, he closed his eyes. Could he really jump that far? With the sound of a clip clicking into a holster and the echoes of bullets ringing through the building, he vaulted from the light fixture, feeling it give, even if ever so slightly. Amidst a flash of light, another fiery round passed by him, tearing through his suit. His fingers caught the railing and slid. He floundered wildly trying to stop his inevitable plummet. With an excruciating stretch, his fingers found the top of the railing and dug themselves into it. With a magnificent burst of adrenaline, he pulled himself up and over it.

He rolled onto the floor. Looking towards the stairs, he could see the black, polished shoes of the encroaching agent. It was enough incentive to push him on. Springing up from the floor, he flung himself through the door onto some stairs. As he did, a ricocheting bullet whizzed by, sending the agent sprawling to the floor. Thomas pressed his hat onto his head. It was time to run again. Scanning the stairs ahead, he began to feel like death at the hands of the agents might be a better option. He was beyond fatigued. The lumbering pace of the nearest agent resumed. Thomas’ time was again running short.

Where is the storm? This is an eternity!

Scaling the stairs two at a time, he looked back to see the agent pointing his gun and firing. The shot missed him and bounced directly back into the massive room. Faint flashes of light were being emitted from the impacts each bullet had on time itself. Directly in front of him was the door to the roof. It was tightly shut. He swallowed a throbbing lump in his throat. He felt ill. His luck had finally run out. He could hear the agent closing the space between them. Soon he’d be joined by the other agent. There was nowhere for him to go.

Damnit, not like this!

Unwilling to give up even now, he grabbed the door handles and pulled. The agent behind him was nearing but had also run out of bullets. He paused only to pull a clip out to reload. Thomas continued thrashing about like a fish out of water. He was fighting for his life. The door had to move. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes making them sting horribly. If this was going to be the end, h would go down fighting. With another gut wrenching pull, the door moved slightly. Now familiar with the physics of relative time, he jammed his foot into the gap. He grunted with pain as the door pressed into his foot, trying to push its way back to its original position. But it worked. His valiant effort had produced the sliver of opportunity that he needed. Just as the agent secured another clip and aimed, Thomas slid through the gap, letting the door slam shut behind him. Ripples of energy swept through the air. He had bought himself some time, but it was still of the essence. The agents would breach the door soon enough. Where was he going to go now?

Now what, Tommy? Now what?

The roof was an open canvas with no saving grace apparent. He was on the verge of extinction. Frozen in time—birds, garbage, and the still world populated the outside. Feeling overcome with frustration, he furiously kicked a nearby pigeon. The impact vibrated through his body like he’d kicked a rock. But the worst was far from over. Hearing the sound of voices, he looked back and saw the two agents heaving on the door. With both of their energy properly applied, it was opening quickly. In a moment of sheer panic, he ran. This time he had no direction and absolutely no plan. He was stuck on a roof. The only quick route back down would be his last one. What now?

“This is not good, not good at all!”

He ran to the edge of the building. He skidded to a complete stop as his shoes dug into the abrasive cement. His heart skipped a beat. The world down below seemed much further than he had expected. His eyes were wide open. A noxious mixture of adrenaline and exhaustion were competing with each other in his body. He heard a wave of sound as the door to the roof slammed shut. Someone had made it through. Glancing behind him, he saw one of the agents, gun in hand, approaching him slowly. The other one struggled, his body pressed between the frame and the door. The agent approached Thomas cautiously.

“Last chance, Mr. Ghune. I promise I won’t keep missing.”

Thomas looked at the agent and then at the edge of the building. His train wreck of a mind was oddly curious about what would happen if he jumped. What would happen to his body? What would happen to the present he was trying to get back to? Would he end up as nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones squashed on the sidewalk below?

“I’m warning you, Mr. Ghune. You either come with me or I end this here.”

Again, Thomas looked at the agent then back over the edge.

Where is brink? It’s never gone this long!

It all came down to an extreme surge of adrenaline. This moment in time and space was breaking down, frame-by-frame. The agent’s finger tensed. A life ending piece of lead was about to exit the gun’s chamber. Thomas’ life was hanging in the balance. He had only one choice. As he jumped off the building, a part of him let itself die. It was the part of him that still feared death, our final destination, the be-all, end-all, of life events. He knew it was inevitable now. He closed his eyes as he heard the bullet whiz by him. He let his arms flail in the air. The cruel grace of time was now sweeping him away. His future now trapped forlornly in the past. It was ironic, really, that his final resting place would be where he had first started his journey into justice.

I’m sorry.

The ground was rushing at Thomas at a heart-stopping pace. A sudden cloud of pulsing energy and light appeared. Like an omnipresent angel finally coming to the rescue, it swept him away. His time really had finally come to an end.

A blast scattered loose debris into a perfect circle. Thomas’ body collapsed to the ground with incredible force. There was a sickening thud as his body’s mass conformed to the pavement. He let out a shrill, shriek of pain and terror. The world around was fuzzy. Rolling to one side, he saw a polished set of black shoes moving towards him. It appeared his last-ditch escape effort had only dropped him into the waiting arms of the organization. As his consciousness weaned, he closed his eyes. It appeared that time had finally taken his soul.