The Flight, the Hunt

"January twelfth, Linda Staren reporting.
     Police were summoned to the home of Dr. and Brenda Jacobson yesterday morning after a concerned neighbor reported strange sounds before sunrise. The police found the house unlocked and in a state of disarray, eventually discovering the brutally slaughtered body of Brenda Jacobson in her bedroom.
     Paul Jacobson, a scientist with multiple degrees, works in a nearby lab, but the police were unable to get in touch with him. Later in the day, an assistant at the lab made a call to 911 to report another body, that of Kyle Den. Den was also an assistant, working under Dr. Jacobson.
     Dr. Jacobson still has not been found, and he is currently the prime suspect for the murders. He is five feet and ten inches tall, approximately two hundred and thirty pounds, with thinning black hair, glasses, and a graying beard. He has minute scars on his hands, and a small acid scar on his right cheek. The authorities want to warn the public that if Dr. Jacobson is seen, do not approach him. He should be considered dangerous.
     Dr. Jacobson was in the process of working on a revolutionary system of mirrors and lenses that..."



"...Could give us the secret to time travel!" Dr. Jacobson said, grinning. "We've almost got it!" He looked at his assistant, Kyle. "Is the camera set up?"
     "Just about," Kyle said. He grunted, screwing in the dial to hold the camera steady. He looked through the lens. "Okay. It's in focus."
     Jacobson wrote in his log: "January the tenth. We are ready for our first serious tests. Of course, the previous tests have been serious, but this is the first one that we feel has even the remotest chance of succeeding. The Zenith has been calibrated with such minute precision by the talented hands of Kyle that I harbor no diffidence that something will not happen to change our lives. The time now is twelve minutes past nine in the evening." Jacobson paused and stuck the eraser end of the mechanical pencil in his mouth. He continued: "It is snowy and cold here. The hills around us are like a wonderland. But the heater in the lab is working at full capacity, and we frequently sweat heavily while working. We are beginning the first test now, and will be capturing video evidence."
     Jacobson looked over at Kyle. The young man leaned against a table with his arms crossed. He looked tired and tattered. Just out of graduate school, he was tall and thin and walked with an uncommon confidence that Jacobson envied. He possessed degrees in physics, engineering, and mathematics, a paltry amount that Jacobson scoffed at.
     He himself had doctorates in physics: quantum, astro, and pedestrian, mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. He'd written papers on gravity, light, string theory, general relativity, and more.
     And he would be forever known for what he was about to do, he knew. He looked at the Zenith, an octagonal pillar, measuring more than two feet high, filled with lenses, mirrors, and panels. He almost didn't enjoy looking at it. A piece of him kept saying that if he looked at it, there would be some mistake because he had observed it. His training in quantum physics. But then again, that was part of the device's functioning.
     Light would shine from a small red laser, and interact with the mirrors in such a mind-bending way that only Dr. Jacobson could comprehend. Kyle said it made his head hurt, as did Jacobson's wife Brenda. But to Jacobson, it was art. Beauty. Perfection.
     The light would funnel down, coming to a point, squeezing tighter and tighter. Then it would hit the panel. This panel would split the beam of focused light and the light would, as had been recorded in thousands of tests before, disappear.
     Time, somehow, could not understand the light's actions, and would shunt it off to some else-when. the angle, and color of the beam, or the angle or distance of the Zenith, could affect where and when the beam of light appeared. Realizing this, Jacobson and Kyle had made furious calculations to interpret the spin of the Earth, its tilt, and its motion around the sun. The smallest error in their figuring would shine the beam a million years into the future or a million miles away.
     "Where do we put it?" Kyle asked. This test, their first serious test, was to send the simple beam of light somewhere else, and go to make sure it appeared when and where it should.
     "We don't want to frighten anybody," Jacobson said. He picked his nose thoughtfully. "Put it out somewhere in the woods behind the lab. The chance of someone seeing it there is miniscule. Here, I have the distances. Just a moment."
     Jacobson went to a file in the laptop next to him. After a few minutes of searching, he came up with the right file. "Ah, yes. We want it sent six hundred and twelve meters east by northeast, eighty-one point six six degrees clockwise from north. There's a small clearing there where I measured."
     Kyle began to put the numbers into a mathematical function they had created to compensate for the spin, tilt, and travel of the Earth. This function took some time. Kyle tapped away at his laptop as Jacobson studied the device. It looked heavy, but it wasn't. The glass inside was thin, and brittle. It could be carried by one man easily, but any unnecessary motion might break it.
     It had been years in the making. The science behind it, and the calculations involved, and the blind digging into particles and quantum, all had taken years away from him. Kyle was not the first assistant, and he might not be the last. There was another assistant, Emily, but she only worked during the day. She also wasn't much of a scientist. Oh, she could certainly understand the concepts, but she really shined with record keeping and organization. Before she had arrived, Jacobson's desk was a disturbing and disoriented array of papers and parts. Now it looked proper and organized.
     "Nearly there," Kyle said. Kyle had worked without tire on the distance calculation, learning more about the software he used than Jacobson thought possible. It was a long function with places to plug in numbers, which first required other sums to be calculated to get those numbers, and two more levels deep. Once the calculation completed, a computer-controlled motor would spin or move the panel as required. The motions made were sometimes so small they could not be noticed by human eyes.
     "What time?" Kyle asked. This calculation was no easier to figure, and took the use of multiple mirrors and lenses inside the device. They were all connected to the motor, and could be spun or shifted gently.
     Jacobson thought. "Put it two hours from now, at..." he looked at the clock on his laptop. "Eleven fifteen. We should be able to get out there and set up enough equipment to capture it, if it appears. Kyle nodded and tapped his keyboard.
     "Last question doctor," Kyle said. "I just need to program the type of beam and how long it lasts."
     The possibilities boggled the doctor. Messages in Morse code, even data, could be sent back in time with the use of flashes of light. Would they be able to warn people of disasters? Perhaps tell certain people the correct lottery numbers?
     No, no. That would be immoral and wrong. To decide who should have more money than another was not a power Jacobson would accept with ease, especially in such a way as letting one win the lottery.
     And then there was... it was almost impossible to think. If light could be sent back in this way, could then objects, even humans? Jacobson shivered. He had an inkling. The size of the beam wouldn't have to change... but that was for another time.
     "Just a simple beam for now. We can experiment with messages or code later. Make it last for ten... no, twenty seconds. That way we should have enough time to focus a camera on it." Kyle nodded and entered in the right numbers.
     Jacobson's heart jumped. This was it. They were really going to try. Maybe, just maybe, all of his hard work, and Kyle's work, and Emily's work, and Brenda's work, would pay off.
     Brenda, yes. She wasn't a scientist, and she didn't work in the lab, but without her by his side Jacobson would not have made it this far into his research. On the days when he found the time to travel the five miles home from the lab she was there, waiting. The house was clean and there was food for him to eat. It might not be hot, but there was a microwave and a stove. He could handle quantum measurements, an oven was no matter.
     They had met when Paul was in graduate school. She worked as a secretary in a law office, and a few years later they were married. Paul worked away at his doctorates, and Brenda worked to support them both. Eventually Paul got into a few big projects and their funds increased. Brenda kept working, more to pass the time than to earn money, but certainly the money helped. She had always been there for him. When the experiments failed, when the funding ran out, when the assistants quit. Now she was to be repaid.
     "Okay, it's ready," Kyle said. He smiled. "It's going to work, I know it is."
     "As do I. Is the door locked? No intrusions." Kyle nodded. "We need to record everything. Do your copy-paste," Jacobson said, waving a hand. Kyle saved the data to a file on his laptop.
     "Saved."
     "Stupendous. Now, is there anything else?" Jacobson wondered, looking around their lab. It was on the first floor of the building; above them was a production company, and a server storage company above that. Their lab was mostly the big room they occupied now, containing a big table strewn with lens-crafting tools, various equipment, the device, and Kyle's laptop. Kyle, Jacobson, and Emily all had their own small offices to work in, as well. "No. I think we're ready to proceed. Can you think of anything?"
     Kyle paused for a moment. "No. Nothing."
     Jacobson nodded. "Good. Ready when you are."
     Kyle hit record on the video camera and went to his computer.
     "Aligning the panel." Kyle hit enter on the formula, and his computer started to whir. The motor spun the small slitted panel. It stopped moving after a moment, and the two men stared at it. Kyle took in a breath. "Shining laser in three, two, one, mark."
     The small red light shot out of the blinker attached to the device. It bounced and rebounded off of mirrors, broke and was reformed by lenses, and struck the slit in the panel. It did not appear out the other side. Jacobson leaned his head around the device and looked through the other side of the panel. It was as if no light was being shined.
     "There is no light," Jacobson said clearly. His heart crashed inside his chest, and he hoped he wasn't going to have a heart attack. "The light should appear in the clearing in the forest at eleven fifteen tonight, the tenth of January, 2013."
     They waited until the light stopped shining twenty seconds later. Kyle looked at Jacobson, and Jacobson nodded. Kyle shut the camera off. He stood by it with his hand poised to turn it back on, perhaps thinking that something else might happen. Then he smiled.
     "It worked!"
     Jacobson nodded. "It's worked before. The important part is going the light reappearing where and when it should." He pushed his glasses up. They had fallen as he watched the laser trace its lightning path.
     "We know it's going to work! We should celebrate!" Kyle said. "I'll order us a pizza. What do you want?"
     Jacobson sighed. At least a pizza was practical. They were due to stay at the lab for at least two more hours, and maybe more, making sure everything still worked. "Sausage and onion."
     "You're a dangerous man, doc," Kyle said. He stepped into the hall, out of the lab. Cell phone reception was negligible inside
     The lab was quiet. Only the hum of Kyle's laptop was there to disturb the silence. Jacobson looked at the device.
     It could have been a piece of art. It was, to him. Graceful, flowing glass and light. It was the greatest thing mankind had ever done, and he did it with just two assistants.
     He stood and stretched his back out. What joy! What elation it was to know it worked! Jacobson almost felt like dancing.
     Something caught his eye then. It invaded his vision, and he turned to look at it. There, on the wall of the lab near his desk, was a blinking red light. His heart skipped and he looked around for a source. He found none, and his hypothesis was proved true. He bellowed for his assistant, and Kyle ran in with the phone in his hand.
     "What? What is it?" Jacobson pointed at the blinking light. Kyle did the same search for a source, and looked again at it.
     "We're getting a message from the future," Jacobson said, his face a wild grin.
     Kyle nearly dove at his computer and pulled up a Morse code translation. "It's a congratulation, it has to be!" He shouted. "We sent it back in time to thank ourselves!"
     "Stop blabbing and figure out what it says!" Jacobson said, yet he was too happy to be angry. He studied the pattern on the wall. He started after the longest pause: dit dah dit, short pause, dit dit dah, short pause, dah dit. A long pause, several seconds, and the pattern repeated. Dit dah dit, dit dit dah, dah dit. Dit dah dit, dit dit dah, dah dit.
     "It isn't a very long message," Jacobson said. Surely there should be more. "What does it say?"
     Kyle wrote down the pattern and translated it, looking from the paper to his computer a few times. Then he looked at the light. Abruptly, it stopped. "Was there any more to the pattern?" He asked Jacobson.
     "Not that I could see. It seemed to be the same thing over and over. There was no differentiation from the pattern. What did it say?" Kyle didn't answer. He stared at the paper in front of him, frowning. "Kyle."
     "It said 'run.' Over and over, that's all that it said."
     "It can't have," Jacobson said. He snatched the paper away from Kyle. Written there was the same pattern he had seen: dit dah dit, dit dit dah, dah dit. Under the dots or dashes were letters. R U N. That's all there was.
     A buzzer sounded in the lab, somebody ringing the bell. "That's the pizza," Kyle said, and he exited. Jacobson looked up from the paper just as he left the room.
     "Wait!"
     Kyle was already out the door. Jacobson wheeled around the center table and hauled the door open. Kyle's form was down the hallway, right hand dragging out his wallet. Kyle turned a corner and disappeared. Jacobson carried his overweight body after him.
     Just as he rounded the corner he heard a terrible cry. "What the he– Arrrr!" He saw Kyle's body fall, throat ripped open and gushing life over the floor. Jacobson looked up at the thing on the other side of the door.
     It was thin, and about his height. It looked like a person seen in a mirage, dark and blistered and shimmering. A chill covered the doctor. He backed away. The figure lurched toward him, clutching its right hand, tapered like a claw, to its chest.
     Jacobson looked at its head. It ran to a sick point like its hands. Pus... or blood... dripped down its cheeks and onto its decaying chest. It had remnants of clothes on, but they were ripped and torn into fine shreds.
     It stared at Kyle, then with aching slowness lifted its head to look at Jacobson. It found him with its eyes – it seemed to have some difficulty – and roared.
     Jacobson turned and rushed into the lab. He slammed the door behind him. A few seconds later the door was hit by a tremendous force, and Jacobson was thrown away from it and into the center table as he heard tortured howling. The Zenith teetered, and Jacobson watched it.
     It righted itself and, after a moment of swaying, kept still. Jacobson's heart started beating again and he went to it. It was undamaged, and Kyle's computer purred. The door thudded again, and more roaring came from the other side. Jacobson looked at it and his brain shouted at him to run.
     Run where? There was another door, on the other side of the lab, which led to a staircase and an alarmed exit. Jacobson took two steps toward the door, and then stopped. He looked at the machine and the attached laptop. That... thing... could cause untold damage to the equipment. Kyle's computer held all of the calculations... all of the data from previous trials. It was backed up elsewhere, but scattered. And what might be lost could set him back years.
     Jacobson went to the table and closed the laptop. He unplugged the cord connecting the laptop to the device and stuck it into his pocket. The door thudded another time, and Jacobson saw clearly that splinters were sticking from the wood. One more hit might shatter it. He took the laptop in one hand and the device in the other; thank goodness it wasn't too big.
     Would the monster chase him? It was clearly after him. It must have come through time. Was it a being from beyond the solar system? Something from so far in the future that human numbers lose meaning?
     Jacobson moved toward the other door, burdened by the device and laptop. He went past Kyle's backpack and halted. He looked at the door. He hadn't heard anything for a few seconds. He dumped out the papers in the backpack and stuffed the laptop in, zipping it up and pulling it onto his back.
     The door cracked and a gap appeared. Jacobson stared through it in horror as the monster reached a claw toward him. They were twenty feet apart, but the monster was not deterred. He started pulling away at the pieces of the door, widening the hole. Jacobson ran out the other door, this one metal, cradling the device to him. He found himself in a stairwell with an emergency exit that would sound an alarm but – he knew – not alert authorities. Outside? Or up the stairs?
     The monster was surely faster than he. It looked built for speed. If he got in a footrace with it, there was no doubt he would lose.
     He heard a crashing noise from the door behind him and then silence.
     The monster was in the lab. Jacobson waited to hear the sounds of tearing or breaking, but nothing came. Could it track him? Smell him? See through walls?
     Jacobson pushed open the alarmed door just enough to set it off, and then hauled his fat ass up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was on the second floor, the deserted production company, when he heard the monster get through the metal door.
     Jacobson listened to the wailing alarm and the monster. Its feet clumped on the ground and its claws scratched over the wall. He heard them clatter on the glass door. Yes! He thought. He would be able to go down the other stairs and get to his car!
     Then he heard the sound of the monster start to climb the stairs, and his pulse jumped. His vision seemed to narrow. No! Jacobson turned and went up the next flight of stairs as silently as he could. He hoped the monster would enter into the production company instead of following him up to the server storage space.
     He got out of the stairwell and leaned against the door. The lights in this room were off, but hundreds of small LEDs blinked, enough for him to see down the rows of servers. He put his ear to the metal door behind him and heard nothing.
     He went down the first row of servers, looking for the exit. This floor of the building was mostly these large rooms and a few offices, mostly filled with more components.
     He hoped that the building had been empty, aside from him and Kyle. He made his way down the server aisle, turning at one point to fit through a tight squeeze. His heart pounded, and again he suspected if he was going to have a heart attack.
     He made it to a more natural hallway, and looked around for the main exit. He went down the hallway in one direction, and found it turned to the left just like his hallway had. He got to the main staircase and looked down. There was nothing. He looked behind him to the server storage, and heard nothing.
     Heartbeat falling a little, he went down the stairs. He shifted the device carefully, all too knowledgeable about its frailty. He got to the second landing, the production company, and listened. He heard nothing from above him, or from the floor he was on. He went down the last flight and hit the main floor. He looked back at the door that led to his lab and saw that there was a smear of blood on it. He turned his eyes away and pulled the front door, heading for his car.
     He tasted blood and his heartbeat doubled. He ducked back into the building and the door swung shut. It was there! Waiting for him at his car! How could it know? There were two cars there, his and Kyle's. It stood without moving in front of his driver side door! He couldn't get past!
     Jacobson took breaths. What now? What?
     The emergency exit again. The alarm was already going off, the monster wouldn't realize he'd gone through the door again. He would head off into the woods and try to find a hospitable building, or a road, or anything! If he found someone else he would be safe!
     What if he found someone and they thought he was crazy? A man wandering in the forest late at night, carrying a big glass pillar, screaming about a monster?
     There was no other way. He needed to go fast. He pushed open the door to his lab, and cringed away from Kyle's still body. He felt gorge rise in his throat, and quickly moved the Zenith aside as he vomited next to the body of his assistant.
     After a moment of shock and disgust, Jacobson looked behind him at the front door. He heard nothing. He wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and recoiled at the smell. He hadn't eaten much in the past hours, but there always managed to be something to bring up. Jacobson rounded the corner away from the body and sick and took in a deep breath.
     He saw the door to the main lab. It was cracked and broken, with a big hole in the middle. Gouges surrounded the handle, and when Jacobson twisted it the door nearly fell off the frame. The lab inside looked almost the same. There was little different than the last time he had seen it, aside from a few scratches on the tables or walls, and a few things knocked around. The monster didn't seek destruction. What did he seek?
     Jacobson knew. His life. It'd killed Kyle without hesitation, and it would do the same to him. Jacobson put a sweaty hand to his throat and rubbed.
     He could still get away. The monster... knew about him, he must. He knew he'd gone upstairs instead of out the door, he knew to stand at the car.
     But if Jacobson could get lost in the forest behind the building, even the monster wouldn't know where he was. Jacobson rounded the big center table – again – and opened the metal door there. The monster had been able to pull this one open, though with some damage to the hinges. The alarm still blared. There was a deep scratch on the glass, and glinting splinters covered the floor. As Jacobson pushed the door open he wished he'd taken his jacket. Especially since, he realized as the door clapped behind him, it had his cell phone in it.
     Now, where to? Jacobson stood for a second. There was no handle on the outside of the door. A chain-link fence surrounded the building, and Jacobson plunged through the snow to it.
     He looked around, searching for any decayed shape, listening for any growl. He got to the fence and, very carefully, lowered the Zenith on the other side. He hoped it would still work... if he escaped. He pulled his body over the fence near it and cursed his sagging flesh. If I get out of this, he promised, I'm going to lose a lot of weight.
     He stumbled through the snow to the device. He was cold, but he couldn't stop. He picked it up and looked at the trees around him. Without a better idea, he moved to the closest set. The more trees he could put between himself and the monster, the better. It certainly didn't have a lot of fine motor control. He had it beat there. He left the building behind him.

"'The lab was destroyed!' Ms. Emily Manasse said. 'Everything! Every book! Every device! Even the computers! The hard drives and the notebooks were gone if they weren't shredded! Whoever did this knew what he was doing! He took everything and hid it! I just can't believe Dr. Jacobson would want to do that to his research.'"

He didn't know how long he wandered. Left, right, north, south... he lost direction, and got colder. It was dark, and the moon was covered by clouds. The air carried scents of nature. It was nearly to dark to see, and he bumped into his share of trees. One time he almost ran headlong into an oak, which would have smashed the Zenith and sliced him to pieces with glass.
     Finally, he stopped. He was in an area with fewer trees, and he took the time to rest. The adrenaline he'd felt escaping from the building was gone, and his body drooped. Hot breath escaped him in white plumes, barely seen in the darkness. The laptop in the backpack, which was still on, warmed him slightly.
     He sat. His butt was wet with melted snow, but he didn't care. He hadn't heard anything. Neither had he seen anything, but there was no light to see with, so of course he wouldn't.
     What now? He needed to rest; that much was obvious. The monster. It looked almost human, but twisted and stretched. Its head was the most disturbing, like a tallow candle that had been melted. Jacobson shivered at the memory.
     Something happened to the left of him that flooded his body with flight chemicals, and he turned his head.
     It was a small, red dot trained on a tree. Jacobson looked for a source, and felt a particular sense of deja vu. He realized with a shock that he was in the clearing he'd measured.
     "I'll be damned," he said, looking at the Zenith. "It works. Just like we wanted." He set his head against the tree behind him. "We did it Kyle."
     He watched the red light until it shut off. What was it... twenty seconds. He remembered a time, seemingly long ago, when he'd told Kyle to keep the light on for twenty seconds.
     It disappeared, and green blotches appeared in his vision. Green and darkness. He rubbed his eyes. He wanted to take a look at the spot the laser hit. He didn't have a flashlight.
     But he did have Kyle's computer. He drew it out of the bag and opened it, sending a wide beam of light into the air. Jacobson closed it until it was just a sliver, listened carefully for crashing trees, and then went to the tree that had been the laser's target. The white light put off by the screen gave him just enough atmosphere to see the point.
     It looked like a small burn mark. But other than that, it looked like nothing. The tree would certainly survive. Jacobson smiled. Kyle's horrendous formula had worked perfectly.
     It had, hadn't it. Jacobson looked down at the laptop, and at the Zenith, lying next to it. He could do something. He had to! He could warn them, send them a–
     They had been warned. There had been a red dot on the wall telling them to run over and over, blinking in the same pattern until it disappeared. They had ignored the warning, and now Jacobson was running for his life.
     No... he had accepted the warning, but Kyle had ignored it! He'd gone to the door, thinking it was the pizza delivery (and where was that man now?) and then he died. It was the warning that had made Jacobson flee, turning and running as soon as he saw the monster in the door.
     He had to warn... well, himself. He made another look around to assure himself that he was alone. He heard and saw nothing, but decided quick work would make him feel better.
     He opened the formula that Kyle had created out of mind and math and genius. The first step was to figure out where to put it. Old information still lingered in the formula. Six hundred and twelve meters to the east northeast. He reversed it, making it west southwest, same distance. Next step was when. He knew when: nine fifteen in the evening.
     But... no. That would land it before they... we... had conducted the first test. It had to be after. Jacobson changed the data slightly to make it nine twenty in the evening, this January the tenth of 2013.
     Now the last part. He looked at the one piece of the formula that was mostly ignored, what to transmit. He still knew the code for run: dit dah dit, dit dit dah, dah dit.
     How many times had he seen it? He cursed under his breath, and looked around, fear increasing his vision. There was still nothing. Maybe it had given up?
     No, he couldn't count on that. And still, he needed to warn himself, or he might not get away in the first place. He put in the formula to transmit the message seven times. That would be enough. For a moment he wondered about alternate time lines, divergent universes... and then shook his head. Time for that later.
     He plugged the Zenith into the computer. Thank goodness the device itself had its own batteries. The laptop drained quickly. He looked at the formulas again, scanning them to make sure they were correct. Kyle would know. If only there was a way to warn him, too.
     He set the Zenith in the center of the clearing and hit the button on the laptop. It chugged, spitting hot air out the side as it ran through the formula. The panel on the Zenith started to spin, and it sounded far too loud. He thought he heard something in the forest, and turned his head. The light on the Zenith started to blink, put through the Morse pattern he'd laid out for it. He'd just be noticing it now, in the lab. A few blinks later he would be calling for Kyle hoarsely, and now Kyle would enter holding his phone.
     They'd converse for a bit, and Kyle would dig out a Morse code translator. The past Jacobson watched it run through its pattern as Kyle translated. Now he was demanding what it said, and Kyle wasn't answering. He demanded again, and Kyle had said run.
     Now they stood in silence, watching the pattern run over and over. And after the seventh time–
     The Zenith shut off. Jacobson looked at it, marveling. Time, he thought. The final frontier.
     He'd warned them, now it was time to keep moving. He wouldn't feel safe until he was back in civilization, and maybe not even then. He needed to be behind a wall or in a car. Head back to the parking lot? He knew the way now that he was in the clearing.
     But... which direction? They were all the same. Jacobson was no outdoorsman. Even if he was, the moon was small and hidden, no stars penetrated the cloud cover. Every tree looked the same. He felt no wind. His tiny arsenal of tools for the world outside the lab was depleted, and he was lost.
     He picked a direction. It was the closest thing to west he could figure. If he found the lab he could, hopefully, get in his car. What if the monster was still there, waiting by the car? Then he'd creep off in some other direction until he found a way to contact someone, anyone, and point them to the lab. With any luck the monster would wait there until someone shot it dead and he would be freed from suspicion.
     With the laptop packed away he started walking. One way or the other, if he found a building he'd be safer. He looked around him, listening for the crunch of snow anywhere but under his own feet.
     The trees got thicker, and he pushed his way through tight squeezes, holding the Zenith like a child. Should he leave it, to allow him greater mobility? No, it could too easily be damaged. And if he didn't know where it lay hidden, he might never find it.
     But on the other hand... if he was killed and left to rot in the forest but the Zenith survived, then there would be something left of him on Earth. Surely they would understand that he hadn't killed Kyle and then himself. People had to understand that it was an outside – a very outside – force that had acted upon them.
     He heard something on his right and froze. Not a muscle twitched. It had been a... twig, snapping? Snow, breaking under a heavy foot? Some woodland creature squeaking at him?
     He didn't move. Didn't breath. Didn't think. A minute passed and he felt his leg cramping. Another thirty seconds and the pain made him grit his teeth.
     Tenderly, lovingly, he eased onto the other foot, making as little noise as he could. He sighed quietly as his calf muscle relaxed.
     He leaned against a tree and took in deep, slow breaths. He felt tired and sore. There were scratches in his clothing where tree limbs had snagged him, and snot ran out of his nose. He wiped it away.
     He'd heard nothing for five minutes. He started moving again, heading in the same direction. It would be his death sentence to wander in circles until he froze, so he tried to keep on as straight a path as he could.
     An hour passed... or so he thought. There was no real way to keep time with the clouds and the darkness, but it felt like an hour. He found a big tree to lean against and catch his breath. The snow was thick and hard here, and each footstep broke through with a gut-churning crunch.
     How far did the trees go? Miles? Maybe. He'd certainly never investigated them. There had to be a highway or an interstate somewhere or, he hoped, a town. A town with a police station that he could explain himself to. He reiterated to himself the need to stay alive. If he was alive he could prove he was innocent.
     Then he thought about Kyle. The poor man. He wondered if maybe he could send a message that only Kyle would see, but turned it down. There was no way to calculate the time, the distance. Besides, Kyle had ignored his first warning, what use would a second have? Little.
     Unless... it would take some thought, but... if he could send something besides light back, then maybe Kyle would take notice. What? An item? A note? Impossible.
     It came to him in a shaking bolt. If he want back, himself, he could warn them. Kyle might not die, and they could run out of the lab before the monster appeared. If he, Jacobson, saw himself, Jacobson, knock on the door and warn them about a monster, he would have certainly believed himself. He was an intelligent man. Kyle would be alive, and the monster could be avoided.
     He wondered what talking to himself would be like. Easy, he figured. Two heads are better than one.
     But how to do it? The special panel, the one with the slit, that was the key to sending the light back, but how could one send something else?
     He heard a noise behind him, and looked. The monster was there, reaching out a claw to him. It had crept up on him without a sound. When Jacobson spun away the claw was inches from his shoulder, sharp and ready. His heart nearly stopped as he dashed away from the tree. The monster roared, high and loud in Jacobson's ears. His brain propped up the fact about worse motor skills and Jacobson dashed around a tree. The monster went after him and crashed straight into it, loosing a roar that burned Jacobson's ears.
     He moved around another tree and took off, churning the snow under him. The adrenaline was back and it filled him with energy. He heard smashes and snaps behind him and he cut around a tree again. He kept moving, heaving himself around corners and in circles.
     The monster roared repeatedly, thundering behind him. Once he went around a tree and risked a look, and saw it floundering in a dense pocket of sharp branches, skin torn by the frozen fingers of the trees. Jacobson took another turn and sped away until he was out of sight.
     Now he had no idea where he was. The monster still made noise, and so he was able to evade it. The ground started to slope down, and get rockier. He thought he heard water.
     It was water... but he couldn't see it. The darkness beat him again, and he could only hear the burbling water.
     One questing foot found nothing as it dropped, and Jacobson lunged backwards, grabbing onto the nearest tree to prevent himself from falling into the invisible gorge. The Zenith fell from his grasp and landed in soft snow. Jacobson thought he heard the clinking and breaking of glass, but he picked it up with careful slowness and heard nothing as he righted it. Sounds of flowing water came from below him, down the gorge. There were maybe four feet of separation between him and the drop. He could not tell how far down he would fall if he decided to go forward those four feet
     The monster was silent now. Jacobson didn't hear a thing. He didn't like that. But at least now he had a sort of natural defense. The monster was in the forest so he would come from the forest, not from the gorge.
     He got his mind working on the task of sending more than just light back in time. He looked at the Zenith, or at least in its direction, and tried to think of something, anything, that could give him a hint to the possibility. He was a smart man, but this was something that no human had ever achieved, or even come close to achieving.
     But it worked. He knew it did. He'd seen it from both ends twice, the sending and the receiving. How wildly different the circumstances had been for each of them. The laser and its repeated blinking the first time, and then its steady gaze into the trunk of the tree. The scientific, cautious single laser the first time, and then the frenzied, hurried communication the second time.
     He had to do it. He needed to send himself back in time. But there were rules. The universe had rules, and surely this would break them! Surely sending a person back in time would shatter the thin pane of reality and madness, and destroy the universe, or himself!
     But the laser had survived, so to speak. Twice. Just that simple fact meant that it was possible. But that had been light, and light played by its own rules.
     So why couldn't he? He would become something out of time, a fiction, a fragment of a world that had never lived. Would his mind accept the fact that his wife would be married to... in his eyes... a different man? Would he find himself homeless and hated?
     It was necessary. Kyle would live, and whatever tragedy the monster could cause would be avoided. Maybe, then, with the three of them working on it, a solution to his own time could be found.
     He opened the laptop. He'd need to work fast, the battery wouldn't last long.
     There was no way to make the positioning useful, except to update the formula to assure that he didn't end up floating in space. He would appear a little over six hundred yards to the west southwest. He lingered over what time to send himself to. If he was only sent six hundred yards, he'd need enough time to get to the lab before the monster. The monster had appeared at about... nine twenty three. A few minutes after the Morse code warning. He didn't know where he was, or how far he was from the lab, but he needed to make sure that he had enough time. More time was better. He set it for seven in the evening.
     Now was the hard part. He needed to figure out how to get himself back there at all.
     He thought about the theories and ideas working to send the laser back at all, and if he could adjust them. It was foolish to try and adjust the mirrors or lenses, he would surely break the device so that it couldn't be used at all. If that was the solution, he would need to think of something else.
     He wondered if he should continue getting to safety. He decided no; there was no safety to get to, unless he found a way over the river. Behind was a forest and a monster, in front of him an impassable barrier. Better to focus on the task.

"'I rang the buzzer on the front door, which is what they'd told me to do earlier,' Pizza Hut delivery driver Darren Utunemay said. Darren came forward yesterday, after we asked for any information about the lab or Dr. Jacobson. According to Darren, a little before nine thirty in the evening Kyle Den ordered a pizza. Darren said the lab was a regular customer. 'They ordered pizza all the time, but they didn't like to be bothered too much, so they have me ring the front door instead of the one to their lab. So I rang, and nobody came. I rang again, because I can't call them when they're in the lab. I didn't see anything. Then I went back with the pizza.'"

An hour passed, and concepts floated around his mind until he felt a headache. He had been awake for more than eighteen hours now. It must be almost one in the morning. The sky looked no different, the clouds still blocked all light, and Jacobson had heard nothing at all from behind him, and nothing but the gurgle of water in front of him.
     Changing the beam would do nothing, the beam itself was the ink and the panel at the end was the pen to write with. Power wasn't an issue, aside from the fact that the batteries in the Zenith might not appreciate so many uses between a charge.
     The only thing that Jacobson considered was the panel. That was how the light was sent back: through the panel, and that was the thought he had toyed with before. Quantum theory and energy and relativity, and on and on until the formulas and data stacked onto itself in a mind bending circle of information. Jacobson himself practically stumbled on the important bits without realizing it, years ago. Kyle, with his three degrees, found it painful to understand. Brenda didn't want to know anything about it.
     So maybe Jacobson, the one person alive who seemed to be able to understand it, could figure out a way to improve on the already complicated idea.
     The laptop was closed and off, to save power. Jacobson sat in the wet darkness and pondered. His memory was good enough to know many of the concepts by heart, and he turned them in his mind, searching for a way that would reveal a new, exciting pattern. They remained still, silent, and cold.
     He felt himself slipping in a drowse. He shook himself and pressed snow to his face. After wiping the water away he concentrated.
     One piece of information stuck out. It was the panel. Its formation had been a turning point in his research. It inhabited quantum states, both seen and unseen, and made just one of the possibilities real – the one that went away. The laser hit it from a certain point, on a certain side. Only one laser appeared out the other side, but it would appear in a different place and a different time.
     Jacobson wondered what would occur if he turned the panel around. It was so simple it seemed juvenile, but the science made sense. A panel that let one through from one side and sent the laser on that side back, turned around, would let through one laser to the other side. Anything that laser might hit could be affected in the same way.
     He needed to test it. The first thing he'd need to do is reverse the panel. Luckily, this was easier than he thought it was. All he had to do was unscrew it from the motor and flip it around. He carefully screwed it back in, wary of not dropping the nut that had secured it. Next, he set up the device and pointed it away from himself. There were a number of fist sized rocks near the edge of he gorge, and he set them up in a sort of shooting range. He knew that only one beam of light would get through the panel, and he wasn't sure in which direction it would be sent.
     He got the laptop running and pointed the Zenith at the rocks. With the light of the laptop blinding him, he started the machine.
     It whirred, and the red light cascaded down through the mirrors and lenses. It struck the panel and fanned out. There was a flash of light and heat, and when next Jacobson looked, one of the rocks was gone.
     He went to where it had been. Smoke curled away from the ground and the other rocks, but not a trace remained in the gap.
     He rejoiced! Not only had he figured out the secret to time travel, he was about to do it himself! He reset the Zenith and prepared it for another go. He would be unable to take the laptop or Zenith with him, but if he was lucky it wouldn't be needed.
     If he was lucky, he'd get to the lab, warn Kyle and himself, and get away. As long as he got there before the monster, it would be hard to fail. He knew that, if he saw himself warn himself about something, he'd probably believe himself.
     The device was ready to go. Elation rose in him. He'd be the first man to travel in time! Perhaps not the last... but yes, the first. The monster has no way to stop me, he thought.
     It didn't, at least until Jacobson saw it appear a hundred feet away from him, peering left and right along the gorge until it saw him illuminated in the light from the dying laptop. Jacobson smashed go and ran into place, where the stone was no more. The monster roared and rushed at him as the computer ran through the formula, until it stopped and the panel steadied. The laser split out of its housing.
     The monster was only ten feet away, reaching out a pleading claw toward him and screaming in a high, unintelligible voice when the laser split out from the panel and washed over Jacobson. Jacobson raised his right hand and extended the middle finger as the scene disappeared from in front of his eyes.

Like falling, but standing still. Great heat and wind rushed through him, pulling, warping his body. He could only see red, and he knew it was because that was the color of the light. He started to hurt, his skin started singeing with the great release of energy and quantum forces. In an instant his body was only pain, and he screamed himself into a hoarse symphony of sound. On and on it went until his mind felt like it broke, images and memories became real and he lived them out.
     And, finally, it stopped.

His body felt as if heat was its natural state, that to cool off would be to die. His flesh tingled. His clothes seemed to be in some disarray.
     His vision wavered and flowed. The trees around him were colored in strange light, which seemed to come from nowhere. The clouds still covered the moon and stars, and the light of the sun had already passed away. It was seven in the evening of that day, and Jacobson knew that he and Kyle should still be in the lab, making adjustments to the formula, preparing for the final test that would occur less than one hundred and forty minutes from now.
     He needed to go. He took a step forward, and smashed straight into a tree.
     Something had happened to his muscles. The flow of time had turned them taught and strong, so strong he had no way to control their motion.
     And his mind was warped. He did not notice at first, but as he struggled through the snow, he realized thoughts slogged in and out of his brain instead of popping and speaking. He found a rock that looked oddly familiar, and stared for a minute before realizing that it was the rock he'd sent back in time. The fact that it was at a different spot than he had appeared did not occur to him as pertinent. He wandered, his body a coiled spring.
     Which way to wander? He knew; he should have known. If he had gone in the direction to his right – because that was the direction he had traveled through time and space... toward the lab – he would have gotten there much sooner. But he did not know, so drained were the thoughts from his brain. A fog was there, keeping him from seeing him taking two steps but just the single step. And, then, the next. He hurried, moving with such speed and ferocity that he was shocked. He couldn't see his body very well, his vision was distorted and painful. Trees shook in the still air, lights flashed in the darkness. He wanted Brenda. But he knew that what he was doing was the right thing – to save a life.
     After too long, he felt he was getting into familiar territory. The trees began to look more like the trees he'd seen every day walking in to the lab. He felt close, and his skin prickled. He wiped moisture off his face. He walked, sped, through the trees, feeling the pass of time now more than he thought possible. For now he felt a traitor, an intruder in this time.
     He broke through the trees and found the back of the building. He ran into the chain link fence with a painful crash, and the fence rattled as he fell to the ground. Growling, he climbed over the fence and tumbled to the other side. At least it was easier than the first time. He looked at the back of the building. The emergency door was over on the right, but it had no handle to open it, something he should have known. He wandered up to it and looked it. The scratches on the inside glass were gone – or had simply not happened yet. The alarm was silent. Good. He might still have time.
     He went around the building to the front, and saw there were only two cars remaining. His and Kyle's. That meant the night janitor was already gone. He left at eight thirty. Time was short. He barked a laugh to himself at his own joke. He went up to the front door and pushed it open. He stood in the entrance, the landing of the main stairs to the building. The door to his lab was clean of blood, and all was silent. He tried the handle, banging his hand on the metal, but it was locked. Of course it was, they had locked it hours ago to keep from being disturbed. He rang the bell and waited. Kyle was probably going to yell something, and he had to be ready.
     The door opened, and Kyle was there, hand hanging onto his wallet. His eyes went wide when he saw Jacobson.
     "What the he–" Jacobson shot his hand out to clamp over Kyle's mouth, brain screaming at him as he did. Blood sprayed out. He hand sank into warm flesh and blood, and Kyle's curse turned into a dying cry. Blood coated the wall next to Kyle, and splattered on the door that he had opened.
     Jacobson watched Kyle's body, wavering in his demented vision, fall to the ground without any other motion. Jacobson stumbled forward and looked at his hand.
     How had he not seen? He'd looked, after moving through time. His hand was long, thin, drained of fat, lined like corduroy. His fingers were long, narrowing to sharp nails.
     He heard a noise and looked up. Jacobson – himself – stood pressed against the wall of the hallway, looking at his future self in horror. "Jacobson!" The fat man turned and ran back down the hallway, slamming the door behind him.
     Jacobson's brain broke through the haze. He rose a hand to his head and felt the angled slope of his skull, the charred and tapering flesh that... so long ago... had looked like a melted candle to him. His flesh was charred and burnt from the heat of the travel. His clothes were destroyed. He felt his cheeks and wiped away the pus or the blood that dripped there.
     His mind cranked and burned. He put his hands on it and mumbled. He was the monster. He had spent the last three... four... five... hours running from himself.
     And the clarity disappeared. The thoughts dropped out of his brain again, never to return.
     One thought remained. The smallest remnant of his genius brilliance lingered, to tell him one thing: destroy the Zenith.
     Yes. If he destroyed the zenith he would be unable to go back in time, and in some way become this thing he was now. Kyle would live. This would never have happened at all. Divergent universes and alternate time lines bothered him not, for he had no brain to consider them any longer.
     Only seconds had passed since his former self had fled, and he ran down the hallway, muscles snapping. He flew down the hall and smashed into the door, yelling.
     "Jacobson! Jacobson open the door! It's me! You! You're future self!" He reached for the handle, but found it impossible to use. He kept missing, or his hand kept slipping away from the brass handle. His fingers could not hold. He stumbled away from the wood door and saw that there was a crack down the center because of his forceful greeting. He could bust the door. If he broke it down, he'd be able to get in and destroy the device.
     He ran to the end of the hall and charged. His feet flew under him, skimming over the tile until he smashed into the door again, creating new cracks. "Jacobson!" How long had it taken him the first time? He didn't remember. He retreated to the end of the hall and attacked again.
     He impacted the door and could nearly see a hole. Another might break through. He ran back, sliding on slick blood, and hit the hall. He fell and groaned. A sharp memory of the rushing, burning heat from the travel blitzed him. He stood, and shook his head. His vision spun and he felt dizzy.
     The door!
     He rushed, thrusting his left hand forward through the wood, puncturing it and letting him see through to the lab. His former self was hunched over Kyle's backpack, dumping papers out of it and shoving the laptop in. Jacobson tore at the splinters of wood hanging to the wood, trying with desperate strength to widen the hole and get through. He watched the fat man in the lab gather the Zenith in his arms and get through the metal door on the other side of the room. Jacobson tore at the door with frenzied strength, rending it until he could slip through. He fell to the floor on the other side, limbs bleeding from the hole's sharp points. A second later an alarm started shrieking, and he covered his ears. Even they felt longer. He missed his ears and cut gouges in his head with his long nails.
     He stumbled to his feet and knocked a few books off the table with an uncontrolled swing of his hand. He tripped over his feet and nearly fell into the wall. He caught himself.
     In front of his eyes, staring at him, was a small point, burned into the wall. The message he'd sent back, telling himself to run. He curled his hand into a fist and pounded.
     If he hadn't sent the message, he might have been able to destroy the Zenith! If he'd seen this burn, strong enough to even burn into the stone walls of the lab, he might not have traveled back.
     For a moment too brief he thought but of course I didn't notice.
     He ran for the metal door. He wouldn't be able to get through the metal, but the handle was a lever, he'd be able to claw it open. He pushed through.
     The alarm blazed in his ears. The alarm only went off when somebody went out, so he must have run out through the door into the forest. He placed a hand on the inside window, and his nails cut divots in the glass. Fragments of glass, burning starlight in his sick mind, fell on the ground.
     The noise touched his mind and revealed a covered memory. He was crouched one floor up, hearing the skitter of sharp claws on glass. He still had the Zenith.
     Jacobson turned and took a step up the stairs, and the memory collapsed. He kept climbing stairs, aware that the person he looked for was up, but unsure how he knew. It took him too long to get up the first flight of stairs, so untrained were his reflexes. He cracked a glistening wrist on the wall to his right and heard a crack that sent a shock of pain up his arm. He pulled the hand in to his chest. He shook his head and went up the next flight, arriving at the second floor.
     Where had he gone? This door? Up to the next level? He went up, for some reason he did not know – neurons firing told him so. He met a metal door like the one on the first floor and pulled it open as quietly as he could. Cramped rows of blinking lights shone out at him, and he took one step before hitting the first metal object. He rebounded and struck the next one, knocking it nearly over. It came back and struck him, and he went right back out the door and down the stairs, landing on his knee at the bottom of the landing. He sat for a minute without speaking. His fuzzy brain decided that the long rows of lit objects wouldn't allow him through. Where had he gone next, after escaping up the stairs?
     His brain provided no answer. He got to his feet and went down the stairs until he ended at the glass door again. He pushed it open as the alarm bounced in his head, and he stood in the snow for a moment. Did he go out into the forest?
     No! No. No... he had gone down the stairs, past the blood-stained door of the first floor, and pulled the door to the parking lot – he was trying to get to the car!
     He turned and sprayed snow up as he wheeled around the building, following his tracks from the first trip in the darkness. He got to the asphalt and looked at the two cars for a moment. He went to the car he identified as his and stood next to it.
     What was going to happen next? He stared down at his feet. He knew that the earlier Jacobson tried to get out to his car, but couldn't. Something would stop him from getting out of the building... and then what?
     He heard a noise, and his head snapped up. He saw the front door to the building swing shut. He looked around. Where was he? Had he left the building? He looked around, at the dark, snowy grass surrounding the parking lot, and the similar buildings next to his. He couldn't see anything move.
     No, wait. He'd gone back inside because he'd seen something. Jacobson looked around. What was it he'd seen?
     He couldn't remember. But he did remember seeing Kyle's torn throat, and feeling the rise of hot gorge up his esophagus. He'd gone through the lab next, heading out the back door and into the forest, with the thought that the alarm... no, the door wouldn't... something. Jacobson headed in to the front door, but stopped.
     He couldn't see Kyle again. If he saw the body again he would lose what function remained. He'd need to go around the building, try and cut himself off. Why didn't he understand himself? He'd yelled, in perfectly understandable English, to stop, to come back, that it was him, not some monster out to get him. His brain itched and he reached a sharp hand up to scratch it. All he succeeded in doing was cutting the top of his head. Blood dripped off him.
     His wrist still hurt, and his knees were in pain from the fall down the stairs. He felt loose, almost like he was coming apart.
     He rounded the building at a walk, sloshing through the snow. There were a lot of footprints. Had there been other people? He hadn't seen them.
      He got around the building and reached the chain link fence. He pulled himself over it and flew high into the air, the unnatural strength of his muscles again taking him by surprise. He collided with a thick branch ten feet off the ground and crashed into a drift under the tree, making him cry out. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the twinkling sky.
     As he pushed himself up and wandered into the forest, in search of the device that had turned him into this monster, he did not question why he'd been able to see the stars. The question did not even occur to him.

"Ms. Kowalski, the neighbor that called the police, looked stricken when Detective Fessum told her the details, and declined to comment."

The forest was endless, tree after tree filtered past him. At one point it occurred to him that he should be looking for the clearing where the test light had been sent, where he would see it and have the idea planted to send a message back to himself to run. If he could stop that from happening, he'd be able to destroy the device, and time would be healed. But in a minute the thought was gone, and he wandered.
     The light was too bright. Sometimes he had to shade his eyes from it, the everlasting burn in his brain, but it didn't help. Did it come from his hands? He hid them behind his back. It shone still. He clamped his eyelids shut, but there must have been holes in them because he was still blinded.
     He stumbled through blinding snow and through pitch-black shade. He sat down, covering his face in his hands and burying his face in his snow, trying to stop the blinding light.
     He might have slept. He certainly dreamed. Images of the past attacked him, made him see double. He saw an image of the bob and stream of trees and snow in blessed darkness, snow crunching under each footstep.
     And he heard it too. Slowly he raised his head, peering out from behind a pile of snow. His shift in weight made a pillow of snow under him slip and crunch.
     He saw the past Jacobson freeze mid step, one leg extended and the other supporting his full weight. Both of the Jacobsons kept still and quiet. The Jacobson from the future saw the clench of the other's jaw as his calf muscle tightened and strained. After a minute, the past Jacobson eased back and leaned against a tree, somehow assured that he was safe.
     I'm right here! Jacobson thought. How can he not see me? It's so bright out!
     The Zenith glittered in the other's arms as the fat man breathed and rested. Jacobson wanted to sprint out and destroy it in a single swipe, put his life back on track and get back the wasted time.
     Then the other started walking, straight as an arrow the way he came. Jacobson rose from the pile of snow, flakes drifting off him, and followed as silent as he could. If the other Jacobson turned and looked, just peered behind him, he would lay his eyes on the monster that was chasing him... but he never did. Jacobson was glad.
     They moved through the forest twenty or thirty feet apart. If the old fat man carrying the infernal device stopped, the other Jacobson would move slowly and silently up on him, gaining over the course of an hour. Eventually the other stopped under a tree to catch his breath. Jacobson's heart thundered in his chest, and blood seeped out through the wounds on his body. The other Jacobson had the device in his right arm. If he could just reach over his shoulder and pluck it out, he could hurl it through the forest with his monumental strength and shatter it into a billion flashing pieces. He was twenty feet away.
     The other was trapped in his thoughts. Jacobson crept forward with a blank mind. He moved around the crusty patches of snow and brittle tree branches to keep from making any noise. For once Jacobson felt in control of his body, and he slithered forward, one foot after the other.
     He got closer. His heart pounded in his chest as he quietly extended his arm toward the shoulder of the previous Jacobson. He was still ten feet away.
     One foot after the other. He flowed over the ground behind the tree until he was a foot away. The top of the Zenith was visible over the other Jacobson's shoulder, and it flashed with light. Almost, almost.
     He stretched his body. He'd just have to grab hold of the top and smash it. If he could just touch it, he would be free; never to exist.
     The ends of his long nails were six inches from the other Jacob's shoulder when he brushed against the rough hide of the tree, and the other Jacobson looked. He ran, and Jacobson shouted. "No! Come back!"
     He gave chase, and the fat man twisted around a tree. Jacobson smashed into the tree, feeling a rib break. He cried out in terrible pain as he watched his previous self dash through the woods. He crawled to his feet and lurched – faster than his old body had ever run – after the retreating figure. The other Jacobson was zig-zagging through and around and under trees. The past him could move quicker than he could; he had better control. The incredible strength granted to the future's Jacobson only hindered him in tight spaces, and after trying to mimic the quick motion of the other Jacobson he found himself stuck in a grip of branches. He shouted at the other Jacobson to stop, come back, but he was ignored.
     He pulled himself free and ran in the direction the other had gone, calling for him.
     "Jacobson! Jacobson! Don't use the device! Destroy it!" He wandered and called, trying to get out the right words. Why didn't the other Jacobson listen? He should have been able to tell he spoke English! Why didn't he stop!
     Jacobson walked through the snowy forest, blinded by the light. His skin dripped with blood from the hard fingers of the tree, and more and more of him hurt.
     What now? Where had he gone, where had he hid? For that matter, why had he hid? There was no reason to run from himself. Jacobson looked down at the burnt and flayed body, with wiry muscles and long nails. Why was he afraid? What was so strange about this appearance that he had run?
     He called out more: "Jacobson! Jacobson! Don't be afraid of me! I came back from the future! I'm you!" Nothing responded. "If you use the device Kyle will die! Don't go back in time! Just listen to me, and everything will go away!"
     He stopped to catch his breath. He scratched at his chest, and peeled away layers of skin without realizing. He continued moving, unsure of the correct direction. How big was this forest? He felt as if he'd spent the last year inside it.
     He looked into the bright sky. He couldn't find the sun, but he knew it was there. Nothing else could put off that much light.
     He was so hot. He dove into a pile of snow and sighed as the snow cooled him off.

"Alicia Den simply stated that she refused to believe Jacobson had committed these acts. She called him a 'good, if strange, man,' and she knew they were getting close to a breakthrough."

He woke up, and rolled out of the snow. His skin was chilled and his ragged breath came in waves of white steam, clear in the light. How long had he been asleep? Too long?
     He looked at the sky. No, the sun had hardly moved. The shadows were the same. He must have only been asleep for a few minutes. It was enough to clear his head. He needed to find himself. If he just talked to him, it would surely be enough to convince him not to go back in time.
     Something twanged in his brain, telling him that he needed to hurry. Why? It had something to do with light. He stepped over his makeshift bed and wandered through the bright forest, going where he felt like it. He ran into an area that seemed familiar... or perhaps he was wrong.
     No, no. There was something distinct about it. He must have been here.
     There was a period of alignment in his brain, and he looked for the burn on the trees that would tell him it was the clearing he and Kyle had set apart to test. He didn't find it. It wasn't the area he'd just been in, trying to take the Zenith from his old self. What could it be?
     He saw a rock that made him ponder. Had he seen it before? He must have. It looked familiar, and felt familiar. It didn't taste familiar, but that must have been because he'd never tasted it.
     Now hold on, his feeble brain said. If this is the rock you sent back as a test, you should know where you are.
     And he did. He was six hundred... and... twenty? Six hundred and twenty meters north. If he just went south, he would find himself. He still had time.
     He looked up at the sky, but the sun still hid, so he couldn't discern the direction from that. There was no wind.
     He looked around himself with foolish complacency. Perhaps that way? No, that was silly. That way looked much easier. Yes, this way was the right way. It would be gentle on his aching body.
     He was about to start walking when something from the left of him caught his eye. It was a fan of light, a red sweeping aura that cast contrasting shadows from the bright light over him.
     His mind broke through and screamed hellfire at him. He surged in the direction he thought the light had come from, heat and energy pulsing in his body. It was far, farther than he thought it was, and as he ran he heard noise, impossible to determine.
     He skated over the ground, barely touching, arms flailing back and forth. He went through and around trees, concentrating on moving fast and not the direction.
     He broke through the trees and stopped just in time to avoid falling into a gorge a few hundred feet deep. A river ran at the bottom, burbling over sharp rocks. He looked to his right. There was nothing there, and his mind bellowed at him in a language he could hardly understand. He looked the other way, and saw the old him, the fat him, standing stock still with terror.
     Jacobson turned toward him. "Don't do it! Don't touch the laptop!"
     And yet he hit the button anyway. Jacobson charged. The wind rushed in his ears. He saw the red light erupt from the emitter on the Zenith and speed through the structure as Jacobson sped at the device. The other Jacobson stood, petrified, as the light reached the panel at the front and split into a wide beam, mimicking the light Jacobson had seen just moments before.
     "Stop! Don't do it!" Jacobson shouted. The light fanned over the the rotund man. "No! NO!" He was twenty feet away. He reached out a hand to smash the device, or the computer, or himself, and saw, for the second and last time, him give himself the finger.
     The light disappeared, not just from the machine. The bright light overhead was gone too. Jacobson's body felt cool for the first time in hours.
     And his mind worked. His head was the same demented shape, but the mind inside ran with unexpected efficiency.
     And his momentum carried him into the Zenith, crushing it into thousands of glass slivers. The slivers embedded in his skin, cutting it and slicing his skin into strips. He screamed and fell, also crushing the laptop. The hard plastic bruised him and ripped open several cuts into gaping wounds that spat blood.
     The night was quiet, and peaceful. The river down in the gorge bubbled and flowed. The sky was dark, and though no breeze blew, the air was cool.
     Jacobson laid on his stomach, not feeling anything. He probed the wounds, and felt hot blood and muscle under them. The blood melted the snow.
     His mind worked, just as it had before he'd gone back. His memory was full and complete now, and he raged at his stupidity. If only he had done something different... but there was nothing he could do now.
     He didn't know why he had lost his mental faculties, or where the bright light in the sky had come from. It hadn't been the sun, certainly not the moon... there was no explanation.
     He sat up. He could see, just barely, the shredded remains of the Zenith and the laptop. He stood, picked up all the pieces he could find, and hurled them into the river. He stood and listened for a splash, but nothing reached him. It must be too high. He had seen it before the other Jacobson had gone back... how high had it been? Several hundred feet.
     Wind came, rising over the gorge to blow the tatters of his clothes and skin away from him, hurting him.
     He wavered on his feet; the wind was nearly enough to knock him over. So it was over. He had lost.

"'There was an awful amount of blood, everywhere in the house,' Senior Detective Fessum said. 'Some of it was Brenda's but a lot of it was Dr. Jacobson's. It looked like it had been dripped around. The blood leads out of the house but we don't know where it goes. The evidence is there, though. If it wasn't Jacobson that did this, it was somebody trying really hard to make it look like it was. But whoever it was, we're going to find him.'

He went back to the lab. He knew what direction it was, now. It took him only a few minutes with his speed. He couldn't do anything about Kyle's body. Had he really killed him? Yes.
     He got into the lab, the alarm still blaring, and proceeded to trash the place. He ripped notebooks, smashed equipment, and demolished the computers. He wanted nothing left of the research he'd done. His story had ended, but he wasn't going to let others destroy themselves. Mankind had enough dimensions to travel in, the fourth could keep to its own.
     The lab was a mess, but Jacobson carried pulped paper and the hard drives to the river and threw it in after the Zenith, not trusting himself now, after this twice-lived night. The river would help him.
     He went back to the parking lot, and looked at his car. He didn't want to take it. In the side mirror he saw his putrid reflection, and recoiled from the bloody, twisted, deformed beast. His reflexes would never handle a car. He started to walk home, wrist and ribs and skin burning.
     Home! He could go home! Brenda would surely be able to understand him. He would be careful, not do anything unless he needed to. He would sit on his hands and talk to her, make her understand what had happened. If he couldn't speak, he would write, or type. One way or the other he would be able to get his story out. Would he be punished? Perhaps for the protection of others, or his own. People would find him a monster, a freak. A small cell would be just the place.
     Blood dripped from him as he went home.
     His speed let him get there in only a few minutes, and soon the buildings and houses became familiar. He raced into his neighborhood, and up to his house. He still had his keys, and he managed to fit the key into the lock, leaving a smear of blood on the door. If he could open the door, he should be able to communicate with Brenda.
     He went in the door to the hall. The house was quiet, and the stairs to the upper level were dark. He went up the stairs, listening to the creak of the old wood and the plik of blood on carpet. He found the door to his bedroom and, after a few tries, turned the knob. Perhaps his control was getting better.
     He heard a murmur from the bed, and the rustle of sheets. "Paul?"
     Brenda Jacobson turned the bedside light on just as Jacobson said "it's me." She saw him and screamed, jumping over the bed to the other side. "Brenda, no! It's me!" Jacobson said. All she heard were frothy grunts and growls from the twisted, zombie figure in front of her.
     He took a step at her, and she pressed herself against the wall, hands ranging for something to use as a weapon.
     He had to tell her! He had to do something!
     There was paper in the bedside table, and he went to it. Brenda kept across the bed from him. He pulled the drawer open, and it flew out of the night table, spilling the contents. A pad of paper, a pencil with a dull nub, a book of matches, and a small box of tissues flew across the room. He dropped the drawer and ran to the paper and pencil. He might have to scratch it on the walls, but he would get through to her!
     He hadn't been watching her. She'd found a table, this one with a broken lamp. As Jacobson picked up the pencil she ran at him, swinging the lamp around from his left.
     His hand shot out to stop it, and smashed through the lamp, sending shards of china into him. One of his eyes was hit, and his vision turned flat. He felt the dribble of fluid on his cheek.
     Large chunks of the lamp sliced through Brenda, into her face and chest. She lay on the floor, blood pooling out of her. Jacobson got to his feet and crawled over to her, and picked the chunks out. One of them was stuck in her skull, and after a moment of tugging, he let his hand drop.
     The light had already gone out from her eyes. The china must have... hit something. He didn't know anatomy; he'd never studied it. There was a lot of blood. A vein, in her neck. He felt his own body. Besides his eye, nothing had changed.
     But...
     Brenda was dead. His blood was all over the house, dripped onto the carpet and drive. Nobody would believe him. If they saw him they would kill him as soon as they could. Maybe they would chalk it up to a lab accident. Would they know it was him?
     He ran out of the house. He saw a light on in Mrs. Kowalski's house. She'd heard. He ran away, back to the lab, speeding down the road and diving out of the way when cars approached. He couldn't be seen, not now. They might be able to follow his ever-present blood trail, but by then...
     He got to the lab, and ignored it. Instead he ranged around it, streaking off into the forest, tearing through the trees, leaving sprays of blood on the trunks and snow, the crisp air startled into swirls by his rushing form.
     Then he was at the gorge, and didn't let himself stop. It was easy, falling.

"With the lab destroyed, only a small amount of Jacobson's research remained, in hand-written notes. There is also some information saved on his personal computer, and once it has been accessed, Ms. Manasse intends to continue research with the help of several other scientists.
     'I'm confident that something can be salvaged,' Ms. Manasse said. 'This research won't go to waste.'
     This has been Linda Staren reporting."