ThrowBack: Flashpoint, #2

By T.R. Davis

The accidental death of a cop forces a teenage runaway into hiding. It doesn't help that memories from a thousand years ago are making Jerome question his sanity as well as his safety.

When Geoff Stallings finds Jerome hiding in a park and eating from a dumpster, he makes him an offer that seems too good to be true. All Jerome has to do is keep his mouth shut about his new "sponsors" and he can be part of a special project that studies kids just like him.

Jerome joins Ondy, Sarah, and Alka at the school to learn more about his ancestral memories of Benjamin, a squire from medieval France. Jerome is quickly engrossed with his new friends and new life, but he is forcibly reminded that his place at the school and in the project have conditions that will need to be met, including betraying his new friends.

Jerome has to make a tough choice, jeopardizing every good thing he has built, including his new friends, his family, and maybe even his life.

It looks like the memory project has some fresh blood and the new owner, Aiden, the grandson of the previous sponsor, doesn't mind getting some of it on his hands...

From the Editor:
This fast-paced sequel to the thrilling novel, Flashback, features Jerome, a troubled runaway who finds himself at the scene of a crime and flees into hiding. Jerome is beset by dreams that seem too real and skills he never knew he possessed. When a stranger offers to give him a new life and make his troubles disappear, Jerome can't wait to join the program and begin again. But this new life comes with conditions and consequences he could never see coming and he finds himself caught between a Boudicca and a hard place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.R. Davis
• Release date: May 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781775382522

Book preview

Throwback

T.R. Davis

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce, or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Any weird grammar is intentional.

THROWBACK

Copyright © 2020 by T.R. Davis

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

eISBN 9781775382522

For Marilyn

Contents

Prologue

Practice Makes Perfection

Scary Sarah

It Always Does That

Bards and Poets

A Day in the Country

Look Both Ways

Man On Campus

Run, Run Away

Geoff the Player

Do Not Tap on the Glass

Jerome Gets a Deal

Gina the Schemer

A Is For Attitude

How to Deal

Ondy Has a Plan

Coming Clean

Did You Just Touch My Database?

Chess, not Checkers

On the Road Again

An Impossible Offer

Roomies

Girl On Campus

The Driveway Talk

Welcomings

Sign offs

The Program

The Triumvirate

A Colder Welcome

Laughter and Plans

You Gonna Eat That?

Oh No You Didn’t Just...

Matt’s Back

Back to School

The Meeting

Hunting or Hunted?

Jennifer Gets Creative

An Unwelcome Reminder

Coming Home to Roost

Clean Up in Aisle 5

Gather My Armies

Gina, Gina, Bo-Beena

A New Day

Gone Where?

Planning and Fallout

My Face Hurts

Two Faces

One for the Road

Doubletakes

Wounded

Simon Grows A Feeling

Goodbye

Prologue

The Mediterranean Sea, 1195 A.D.

Benji!

He could hear the voice of his friend from somewhere back and along the far side of the ship, the galea grossa da merchado, or Venetian fat merchant ship, that they had chosen to pay for passage, to carry them across the sea.

Benjamin pulled his sword from the stomach of the pirate in front of him while holding the man’s hand, still feebly waving a curved blade, up and away from his body. Entrails and blood spilled onto the heaving deck, steaming in the cool breeze coming off the coast of Tripoli.

He thought that the pile of guts slightly improved the smell coming from the lower levels of the merchant galley, where the rowers sat, and from yet another stinking level below them where the cargo was stowed. Venice was, in some ways, one of the leading cities of trade, which included the slave trade. The interior of the ship smelled of shit and despair, and Benjamin had spent less than a minute belowdecks before opting to spend the entire time near the front of the ship, in the breeze.

Benjamin hated boats with a passion. Even without the smell of the slaves and the rowers, who were only marginally less pungent, the calmest of days had him heaving what few meals he could get down splashing over the side shortly afterwards. The sailors on the large trading vessel had laughed at his seasickness. Not loudly, of course, since he was a paying customer. As well, his similarly well-armed friend helped prevent anyone from loosening his money belt while Benjamin was at his weakest, or, even pressing him into service as a rower, a fate worse than death. Travel by sea was fraught with danger from every conceivable direction, but it was also the fastest way to get where they needed to go.

The pirates had been a surprise to everyone. The captain had assured them that his vessel was too large for any of the pirate ships to dare take on. He had a good crew with some fighters among them, and even the sides of the ship were too high for the average galley crew to climb easily. However, his glaring mistake was assuming that any pirate ship they came across would be operating alone.

Benji counted four smaller boats surrounding their ship and two more transferring fighters across the decks of the boats already lashed to the merchantman. They were hopelessly outnumbered.

He blocked an overhand swipe from another of those weirdly curved swords. His reflexive parry was followed by a smooth extension, spitting the man from front to back through his chest. The man’s eyes widened as he tried to scream past blackened and rotting teeth, but there was no breath to pass and he soundlessly dropped to the deck beside his already dead mate.

At least this is curing my seasickness, Benjamin thought to himself, getting ready for the next onslaught from more pirates. The crew was being subdued forcefully and those few still fighting were shown no quarter. But more and more of the trader’s men were throwing down their weapons and crying mercy.

There was a pounding of feet and he spun, dropping to a crouch, blade weaving in front of him. But it was his companion Roland, bloody from forehead to knees. The man had a broken broadsword in one hand and a curved pirate’s blade in the other. He grinned when he saw Benji still fighting. He slipped in the guts on the deck but caught himself before he could fall.

I’m glad I did not wait for you to come to me. You are not in a hurry, it seems.

Benji laughed and quickly stood shoulder to shoulder with his friend. They put their backs to the rail and faced the growing horde of what appeared to be extremely angry pirate sailors.

What do you think? Fight, jump, or surrender? Roland asked.

Hmmm, fight and we die in battle. Jump and we drown in water or get eaten by sharks. Surrender and they will probably lop off our heads for killing their friends here. I think I prefer to die in battle. You?

That seems acceptable under the circumstances, I agree.

They bared their teeth at the semi-circle of pirates around them and made ready to fight. Suddenly, there was a loud sound, like a whistle, and the pirates stopped advancing. Some voices came from behind the press of men, but the language made no sense to Benjamin’s ear.

The pirates parted to make a path and a tall man, bedecked in a black turban and what appeared to be bronze or gold ornaments from crown to belt, pushed through the men. He had thick eyebrows and a long black beard that was so well oiled that it fairly glistened in the sun. He shouted at the fighting pair where they crouched, but again not in any language Benji understood.

Roland issued a challenge, Come and feast on my steel, pirate.

The tall man smiled suddenly. Gaulish? Frankia?

Benjamin nodded tightly.

You... are soldier? Knight?

This time Roland nodded, perplexed.

The tall man laughed in delight. You will fetch the most excellent of prices in the slave market! He clapped his hands together, making another loud noise.

Both Benji and Roland made ready for an attack from the armed men directly to their front, but a large fishing net was dropped over them from the second row of men, who had apparently been waiting for the pirate captain’s signal. Hampered immediately, both knights tried to swing through the heavy rope, but to no avail. The sudden rush of the pirates, taking advantage of their predicament, quickly overpowered them. Benjamin and Roland were knocked senselessly to the deck as clubs and feet hammered at each knight in turn.

The pair had been captured by a slaver just a few short leagues from Tripoli.

A few hours later, Benjamin woke. He was chained at the wrists in iron fetters, and without looking he could feel a bracelet of steel around his ankle as well. His head ached both from the many blows and the swell and ebb of the waves. He was still on a boat and from the stench around him, Benjamin guessed he was on his own ship, but below the main deck.

He cracked an eye open which was a mistake. Once he did, he immediately threw up, doubling over and heaving. Eventually, he ran out of vomit and simply lay still. After a moment, he heard chuckling. It was Roland, from somewhere nearby.

That smells almost as badly as these benches. Rise and shine, Benji, our new world awaits. Roland’s tone was wry.

Sitting up and forcing away his nausea and dizziness with extreme effort, Benjamin took stock of their surroundings. As he had surmised, they were on the rowers’ deck. He was in the row closest to the proue, or front, of the merchantman, and they sat facing aft, or towards the rear. Benjamin was on the starboard side, while Roland sat across the aisle from him.

There were other rowers of course, three to a bench. Everyone, including the two beside Benji, was resting. Most were sleeping, slumped over their long oars. Some were pulling splinters of wood from other rowers who had been injured during the melee. The pirate boats had swooped alongside their boat and snapped many oars, causing those injuries.

A large pirate came down the steps and surveyed the area. His eyes lit on the two knights and he strode forward, knocking rowers from his path purposefully, even if they were barely leaning into the aisle.

He barked out something unintelligible as he walked, but no one moved. He barked again and one man in the row in front of Benji timidly raised his hand. The pirate spoke for a lengthy period of time and then stopped, waiting.

The rower turned and looked at Benji and then Roland and began to speak to them about their new circumstances.

You are now slaves and you will row for our new Captain, al Nasir. He is... happy... in the having of Frankian knights on his new flagship. You will row and then you talk him and know your... fate? Row... bad... the man stuttered over the words, looking at the pirate with fear then back at Benji, whip, beat, row forever.

He paused, listening to the staccato sounds from the pirate and then continued, row... good? Mebbee you fight for Captain al Nasir someday, mebbee he sell you. He shrugged.

Then he stared at both men with a hard look at odds with his beaten demeanor, row bad... he shook his head, long, hard... hurt, mebbee death. Death for you but not quick, mebbee very bad for us too.

He licked his lips, glaring now. You row good. Or mebbee pirate not your only problem. Understand?

Roland and Benjamin stared a long moment at the man, then at each other. Roland cocked an eyebrow at Benji and said, He makes a good point, doesn’t he? Our pleasure cruise awaits, my friend. Shall we row for a time and see where we end up?

Benji smiled through his nausea at Roland, then a reassuring one at his new compatriot and finally, up at the pirate with the whip.

We row good!

Practice Makes Perfection

Jerome wandered up and down the alley behind his apartment building. Sometimes the smell of his dad’s cigarettes and stale beer drove him outside to escape it. Living with a chain-smoking alcoholic was never an easy thing at any age, but, at thirteen, Jerome was feeling the entire weight of an unfair world on his shoulders.

Being poor, unpopular, and smart, had made things even worse for him. Today had been an especially bad day, as one of the wealthy kids at school had recognized one of their old shirts on Jerome. Since it was not a large town and Jerome got all his clothes from the thrift store, it happened more often than he truly thought would be possible.

He sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the frustration and sadness he felt. He kicked a can down the dingy alley, where it made an unsatisfactory clatter. He heard a cat yowl and a door slam somewhere.

He hated his life. What he wouldn’t give to be rich and have nice things for once... With that thought, he turned to go back inside, suffer through the smoke in the living room, and then go to bed. Another fun day at school tomorrow after all. But only a few more weeks and then summer vacation would arrive.

Carcassonne, France, 1192 A.D.

I think that you have not been giving me your full attention, young squire. Perhaps a reminder of why you should attend to my instruction is in order.

The castle’s master-at-arms, a burly giant of a man named Dagomar, lightly tapped Benjamin on one shoulder with a wooden practice stave. Lightly tapped was a generous term, since the impact of the heavy wooden dowel made Benjamin lurch to one side.

At thirteen summers, he was a stocky lad, full of as-yet-unmolded muscle and brimming with energy that anyone older than thirteen looked on with either envy or dismay, depending on their mood or their duties to the young master of the castle.

Benjamin’s close-cropped brown hair revealed his striking blue eyes. His nose was slightly crooked, having been broken during an enthusiastic fist fight with the son of his father’s groom. That event had resulted in whippings for them both and a dismissal of the groom from service. This had won Benjamin no favors with the servants and other staff, and his meals for the last six months were invariably cold, or tasted slightly off, or both.

But Benjamin was arrogant and as secure in his rights as only the son of a count could be. He scolded the staff and beat the children. He was a bully and he used his position to assert himself with those bigger than he was. With his father at court for much of the time, he was the de-facto lord of the castle. His word was law.

Most recently, and troublingly, he had discovered girls and their charms. He had already begun to cause trouble with the female servants, leering and pinching them. They were gratifyingly compliant. As they should be, he thought to himself.

Focus! Dagomar slipped past his sloppy parry and punched him in the chest with the tip of the practice sword. Benjamin felt the contempt in the strike and his temper flared. He swung his weapon with all his strength at Dagomar. It was a clumsy blow, full of anger but without proper form. Dagomar did not even bother to block. He took a pace backward and Benjamin overextended, falling to his knees. The boy’s face turned beet red.

I will have you flogged for this, he spat at Dagomar, who gazed back, unperturbed. My father will have the skin stripped from your back for making me the fool.

Will he now? Dagomar enquired gently. Well, young ser, perhaps I should earn those stripes properly then. He tossed the practice sword away behind him. Come lad, strike at me again. I am unarmed and you are the lord, have at me. He tucked his hands behind his back, appearing completely non-threatening.

Benjamin hesitated, realizing that the other guardsmen had stopped their tasks and were watching from the side of the practice area. But he knew he could not be seen to be slighted and, with an oath, he sprang at Dagomar, whipping his practice sword around to bring it crashing onto the man’s head. He knew if properly done, it could kill a man, but his temper put him beyond caring.

The wooden sword swept around, using all of Benjamin’s strength. Mightily, he thought, but somehow Dagomar was no longer in front of him, and the sword swung down to smack against the ground. The strength of his blow jarred the wooden handle from Benjamin’s grasp.

His fingers went numb, and he looked up just in time to see a heavy fist smash into his face, rebreaking his nose with a sickening crunch and a flood of sudden pain. He squealed in agony as blood gushed from his face onto his tabard, a coarse jerkin covering his armor. Benjamin backpedaled quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. Dagomar simply stood there, watching.

Then, the big man spoke. I am to train you, young ser. I have watched you in this past year and it is my opinion that being a true knight may well be beyond your grasp. You are greedy and needlessly cruel, and you treat those below your rank with contempt, although you have done nothing to earn respect from them except by being born. He punctuated his words with a swift kick to Benjamin’s gut that took his breath away. He sank to his knees, gasping and blowing red bubbles that spattered onto the ground.

You are weak. A slap rocked his head. A knight must be strong and proud but also deserving of respect. Another slap and Benjamin started to cry...ugly, fat tears that rolled from his eyes. Dagomar leaned in and spoke quietly. And a knight does not molest women, ever. Another slap, this time much harder, rocked him onto his side. Benjamin curled up in a ball, crying piteously.

Stand up. The command was harsh, but Benjamin did not move.

Dagomar leaned in and spoke with quiet menace, I told you to stand up. If you do not, I will tell your father everything. How you abuse the staff and how you disrespect me and the men. Everything. He will whip you to pieces and send you to the church, where you can profitably spend your time fellating priests and cleaning chamber pots. Get. Up. Now.

Benjamin struggled to his feet. He glowered at Dagomar, who still stood in front of him.

The master-at-arms spoke again, this time a bit more gently. "You have a lot of growing up to do, lad. Go and clean yourself. Then go to the chapel and pray. You can use the time to decide who and what you want to be.

"Tomorrow, if you still wish to be a knight, as your father hopes, be here at dawn and we will continue your training. I have no doubt you can be a good knight, if only you are willing to be humble and learn.

Or, he paused, don’t show up, and I will tell your father you cannot be taught and he will find an alternative path for you where you can be venal and corrupt, instead of being an honorable man.

He walked away from the boy, who swayed on his feet, blood and tears dripping down his face. Dagomar left his final words floating behind him.

Choose wisely.

Benjamin smiled to himself at the memory of Dagomar beating him soundly only a few months previously. His nose was even more crooked now, but Benjamin no longer cared. In fact, he never noticed it at all anymore. He swung his practice sword up in a cross-body parry, sweeping Dagomar’s stave away and to the side. Benjamin did not try to recover from the parry, instead letting it glide along his weapon, completing the move. However, he lowered his shoulder and drove it solidly into Dagomar’s midriff, surprising the bigger man and pushing him backward, almost tipping the master-at-arms onto his backside.

But Dagomar was too seasoned a warrior to lose his feet like that, and Benjamin was still too young to have enough strength to do it.

He watched as Dagomar stepped back and narrowed his eyes at him. Benjamin knew he had surprised the man. What Dagomar was unaware of, was that, in the few moments of spare time he had, Benjamin had spied on the men while they trained, trying to pick up useful tricks. He had heard Dagomar (the men called him Dag) say often enough that a knight had to be above reproach in all things, but using terrain, sunlight and shadows, and his own body in a fight, as well as his weapons, made for a better soldier.

He had taken those lessons to heart and he knew the big man had underestimated him this time.

Benjamin had a few ideas for the next time as well...

Jerome snapped awake in a panic, immediately feeling his nose to ensure it had not really been broken. The dream had been so vivid that he could still feel the pain of it. He could remember the internal shame of the boy too, knowing that he was acting in a horrible, terrible way, yet helpless to stop himself until the big man had forced Benjamin to make a conscious choice about his behavior.

Oddly, Jerome could also remember the movement of the practice sword in his hand and the ingrained training his dream-self had possessed to make it sing. He sleepily thought it would be more useful if dream-him knew how to talk to girls, since he felt clueless about that himself and could use some pointers.

He twisted in his bed, which squeaked underneath him as it always did. It was cheaply made, like everything else they owned. What he wouldn’t give to be rich, to live in a castle like the young man in his dream, to never worry about money or school or anything beyond swinging a sword... Wouldn’t it be nice to not have to worry about the important things in life anymore?

He smiled to himself, knowing a rich boy in any time-period had a much better life than he was ever going to have in this one. It was just the way it was, and nothing was going to change that.

With that, he rolled over and let his fantasies about being a wealthy knight-in-training draw him back into sleep. 

Scary Sarah

Edward Simpson pulled his new car into the driveway of his expensive and slightly ostentatious house. Like his younger brother, he was a doer, someone who succeeded at everything he did. He was also a bachelor, having never found that perfect woman to complete his life. His brother teased him about it, but Ed knew his uptight sibling was a little jealous of his freedom. There were other reasons why an adult woman was not wanted in his sanctuary, but those he kept to himself.

He locked his car behind him and entered his house, punching in his alarm code to disable the panel. It beeped at him, and he saw that he had inadvertently re-armed it instead of turning it off. Maybe he forgot to turn it on that morning when he left. No matter, it was a safe neighborhood. He turned it off again and tossed his keys into a bowl in the foyer and then headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, turned off the light, and wandered down to the basement where he had a den and entertainment center.

He placed the beer on a side table and sat back in his huge recliner. Grabbing the remote from a pocket built into the side of the chair, he turned on the TV and extended the footrest. Taking a swig, he pressed some buttons and the screen lit up in front of him. Ed fiddled with some more buttons and suddenly his little niece came up on the screen. She had died in a car wreck some months previously and he was a little sad about that, even though he had stopped having an interest in her before then. She had gotten too old to appeal to him.

He watched her play in the video. It must be her birthday party of about five years ago, since she looked maybe seven or eight years old. She was splashing around in a kiddy pool he had bought for her as a present. She was so cute and innocent and... Ed reclined the chair even further and started undoing his belt.

That was when he heard a noise.

He pressed pause on the TV and listened. Nothing. But Ed remembered the alarm was off and that was something he did not usually forget. He got up and tried to silently make his way back upstairs.

He stepped out of the stairway and heard another noise. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Ed had never really been a coward and he was used to throwing his weight around at work, so it did not occur to him that he should be scared. He had been in a couple of fights in high school and, as a younger man, in bars. He knew, or thought, he could take care of himself.

Ed padded almost silently through the hallway to the kitchen, which had the lights on again. He paused for a second to gather his courage and then sprang out from around the doorway, determined to frighten whoever had the nerve to break into his home. He bounced into the room and pulled up short. There was a red-headed kid sitting at the kitchen table. A girl. She looked like she was twelve or thirteen or so which made her slightly less attractive to Ed. But her eyes were hypnotic and, somehow, they were familiar?

Kid, who the fuck are you and how did you get into my house? he snarled. Ed was cocky and belligerent. Young girls were something he understood, and they never failed to be intimidated by him when he chose to give them forceful instruction.

The girl was not shaken by his swearing or his snarling, which threw him off a little. She just stared at him like Ed was some strange kind of bug. He did not like that, not one bit. I said... He started to repeat himself.

I heard you. Her voice was quiet and young sounding. But it resonated through his kitchen. I am a friend of Kim’s. A good friend. And before she died, she told me all about... Her green eyes changed as she stood up, lit with a seething, implacable anger.

You.

Thank you, Toby, for disabling the alarm for me, Sarah said as she slid into the nondescript car parked a block down the street from Ed’s house.

Not a problem, Sarah. Do I want to know what you did to him? Toby put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

She was quiet for a few blocks while she decided on what to say. Then she perked up when an ambulance and a police car passed them, lights and sirens going full tilt.

Ed had a secret ‘playroom’ in the basement complete with lights, toys, a bed, and video camera. She grimaced. And his video collection is now sitting in front of him on the kitchen table for the police to see once they get there. She smiled.

Toby stared out the windshield. I am guessing he won’t be able to get rid of the evidence in the time he has, eh?

Sarah turned and looked at the ex-cop. No. And he will never be able to hurt another kid again. Even if he doesn’t end up in prison. She thought about the wailing man she had left lying on his kitchen floor. Very few people knew just how delicate the spinal column really was. One good well-placed strike, and Ed would be lucky to be able to eat without help in the future, let alone molest another kid, Sarah judged.

She looked over at Toby again and tried to shake off the horrors of her kidnapping last Christmas, when she watched her friend Kim get murdered.

It was Toby who helped her escape the warehouse where she had been held captive by K.L. Boone, along with her grandmother, Meaghan. He helped them cover their tracks and protect themselves against the