Casey Vs. The Déjà Vu
Chapter 21: Was it You?
Chuck Bartowski was sure to die at any moment. No one had any idea where he was or knew the situation he'd stupidly gotten himself into. His captor destroyed his cell phone, and Chuck never saw his whole face.
Promptly at 8:00 am, Chuck had stood outside the courtyard with the X-Box, and a dusty pickup truck waited for him. The man inside concealed himself with a black ski-mask that covered half his face. Chuck barely had a chance to call for help as a dart hit him, and he fainted. When he finally awoke, he bounced around the backseat with a burlap sack tied over his head and his hands bound behind him. He had no idea where they were headed and could only hope this person wanted a hostage, not a murder victim. That would give time for Casey or Sarah to come. Preferably both for a quicker rescue.
"What am I thinking? They don't even know I'm gone! Work! I'm supposed to be at work! Someone's bound to question … oh, schnibbits! I'm always late! Nobody's gonna care. Wait! Ellie's steaks! She's gonna call to remind me and … grrr! My phone's mutilated!"
The kidnapper was a lunatic. Wherever he'd taken him was sweltering hot and dry. Sand invaded his sneakers as the kidnapper dragged from the vehicle. He seemed strong and unnervingly quiet. His palms sweat, and he reeked of stale body odor and motor oil.
"The details! Remember the details! He doesn't want me to see him or hear him … but I can smell him. Oh, man! He probably knows about the Intersect! I'm finished! My family knows where I live!"
The captor pushed him onto a hard wooden chair. Chuck thrashed around.
"Please! Please! What do you want? Don't kill me! I don't have money! I work at the Buy More! I live from check to check, Okay, okay! Okay! I'll give you the X-Box free! If you let me go, all the games with it! I'll even give you my new one."
The man never answered him, and his cell phone went off. Leaving Chuck inside, he ran to the porch. Chuck strained to listen, but the voice muffled as he paced in the front of the house. Chuck had to think fast. He maneuvered his wrists under the ropes. The man had done a rush job, and they weren't tightly wound.
Chuck managed to free his right hand. The screen door slammed, and the man's presence hung over Chuck like a grim reaper. Through the frayed threading, Chuck made out faint shadows and movement. The captor's arm raised, and Chuck heard the ominous click was, unfortunately, now accustomed to hearing.
"NO! NO!"
Chuck sprung forward, he tried to grab the captor's gun with his free hand, but he missed. His nails dug into his face, ripping the skin off his cheek. The man let out a howl of pain and blood poured from deep scratches. The man bowled into Chuck and knocked him on the floor. He ran to the corner of the room and picked up a large, red container. Chuck attempted to crawl away, and the back of his shirt was soaked with a pungent liquid.
The kidnapper angrily soaked him in gasoline.
"Augh! Stop it! Please! Get away from me!" He pleaded and curled into a fetal position.
The man tossed the red container aside. He glared at Chuck's hand, dripping with his blood and tissue under his fingernails. He grunted and rushed back to the corner. He pulled out a giant hedge trimmer. The man seized Chuck's arm and jerked it forward.
"What … what are you doing?" Chuck bawled, hearing him edge closer with the clippers.
"Removing evidence." The killer rasped.
When Chuck felt the cold steel of the blades skim across his wrist, he let out the loudest scream of his life. Without warning, a horn and sirens wailed as a large ambulance plunged through the center of the house. Chuck threw himself on the floor and tumbled out of the way of fallen beams and debris. He still couldn't see a thing but kept down from the barrage of gunfire. Whoever attempted his rescue him may have been hit. Waves of intense heat abruptly surrounded him, and flames tried to lick at his body. His captor had fled and left him to burn alive.
Chuck coughed violently under the sack; he reached out for anyone still in the house.
"Please help me! Get me out of here! Help!"
Strong hands seized his arms and dragged him up.
"Run!" His rescuer shouted.
They raced out the doorway, hurtled over the porch, and rolled in the weeds. The house burst into more flames and collapsed. Chuck shouted and tried to escape, but his body betrayed him, and he fell on the grass. The rescuer held him up and removed his binds. Chuck lashed out and pounded on him.
"No! Get off me! Get away from me! Stop!" He gasped.
The sack tore off his head, and he stared into Major John Casey's bruised face.
"Chuck! Chuck, calm down, it's me! It's Casey! You're out! I got you out!"
Chuck's chest heaved with a mixture of anger and intense relief.
"Who did this? Was it you, NSA ASSASSIN! Did you put him up to this, or did you do it yourself!" He spat at him. "You couldn't just shoot me in the head while I watched TV, you had to drag me out to the desert, try to slice off my hand and set me on fire! And shoot me on top of it! Huh!"
Chuck beat on him; Casey fell backward and grabbed his right shoulder, where Lane's bullet made its impact. Casey blocked Chuck's punches and rolled away. He slithered closer, gripped Chuck's collar, and slapped him hard in the face. Chuck dropped to his hands and knees. He pulled at the dirt and weeds and cried like a wounded boy.
"Get a grip on yourself, Chuck! Now!"
"Why? What have I done to deserve this? What have I done to you? Why, Casey?"
Casey didn't let anger get the better of him again. He put his arm across Chuck's shoulder and pulled him closer.
"Chuck! I didn't do this, I swear to you. I came in a stolen ambulance to rescue you and stop all this! Look at me! You scratched the killer's face! Is my face scratched? Is it?"
Chuck stared at him, knowing deep down, Casey wasn't his abductor. It couldn't be Casey. He didn't operate that way.
"I know who did this, and they are blowing up the Buy More at 11:00 am, and everyone will die! Sarah! Julia and my baby. Even Morgan, all of them! Please believe me!"
Chuck looked at the broken Agent in shock. He'd never imagined that Casey possessed tear ducts, but there they were, streaming down his face. Casey doubled over from the throbbing in his shoulder. In his deep anguish, he banged the ground and tried not to throw up. He still felt out of his head from the time travel.
"Dammit, Chuck! I don't want you to die! I don't want to kill you! I care what happens to you and your family and friends! I'm not a monster! If you only knew what I've done for you … if you only knew!" He wailed.
Chuck regretted his outburst. He stood Casey up and resisted the urge to give him a manly hug. He slung Casey's arm over his shoulder to support him.
"You saved my life. You always do. Thank you, Casey. How did you know?"
The wounded men hobbled away from the burning house, and Casey kept a firm hand on his shoulder to control the bleeding. He saw Lane's abandoned pickup truck parked alongside the front of the house. The entire scene looked familiar.
"The goggle helmet! I've seen this!"
"What? What's a goggle? I know google, but … "
"Never mind. Chuck, we have to get back to Burbank, your apartment. I need to clean this shoulder fast and get to the Buy More and stop a man named Costa from planting a bomb. He must've come for Lane Stephens, your kidnapper. Get in that car over there. I'll hotwire it … go!"
"Okay! I'll drive!"
"That goes without saying, Chuck, wait, wait."
Casey scooted down and miraculously started the car within two minutes. Chuck helped him into the passenger seat and gripped the wheel. He drove as fast as he could while Casey sunk into the seat and winced. Chuck eyed him curiously.
"Casey, what was the bomber's name again?"
"Victor Costa."
Chuck's Intersect turned on, and Casey clutched the wheel to keep them from hitting oncoming traffic.
"Agent Victor Costa, specializing in Top-Secret Government Communications. He has ties with the most powerful armed forces of the world, Iraq, Russia, North Korea, China, Japan, and a bunch of other countries I can't pronounce. He's experimented with clandestine satellite technology for twelve years and has seven stealth satellites presently orbiting the earth. WOAH! This is the first time I think I ever flashed on just a name!"
Chuck took a deep breath and glared at Casey. "He helped to orchestrate September 11th. Why has he downgraded to blowing up superstores?"
"It wasn't about the Buy More, Chuck. It was about you. He knew about the Intersect and wanted to get rid of it. There was no need for it with his technology, and he didn't want you stumbling on his secrets! But, it was also that same satellite technology that brought me here."
Chuck looked at him oddly. "I don't understand, Casey. Why are you talking like he'd already done it?"
"I'm about to tell you something you might find hard to believe, but just try to anyway. I'll find a way to prove it."
Chuck nodded slowly and kept his eyes on the road. "I'm open-minded. Okay. Tell me."
"I came here from four days in the future to rescue you, Chuck. Originally, he murdered you at this time and blew up the Buy More. I was home on vacation when it happened. I wanted answers, and this organization found me, the same organization that controls the satellites. It's a long story, but they needed me to help them with the investigation by using their technology. They were good people and didn't trust Costa. I joined them and discovered the secret."
Chuck gulped loud. "Time-travel?"
"Exactly. I watched you, and everyone else on the monitors through streaming satellite like it was filmed live but it streamed from the past."
"Casey, how did you know it was a time-machine?" Chuck asked, immensely intrigued.
Casey managed a small laugh. "Remember that floating red dot in your room Thursday night?"
"Yeah! I called you about it, and you came over."
"Right. That Casey came over. But I was the one who used the penlight. I penetrated the satellite feed computer from four days in the future."
Chuck's mind swam with curiosity and doubts. However, Major John Casey wasn't one to make jokes, especially when it involved threats to Government security and his family. Chuck gave him a crooked smile. He noticed his arm and quickly tore at the lower half of his Buy More shirt to help staunch the bleeding. Casey had weakened and his grip over the wound slipped.
"Okay, Casey, I guess I have to believe you," Chuck grunted as he made him a tourniquet. "The important thing now is stopping that explosion."
"Right, Chuck, stop before 11:00 am." Casey closed his eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep.