Steven Gould
JUMPER
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublisher 2008
Copyright © Steven C. Gould 1992
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover art copyright © 2008 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007275991
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2009 ISBN: 9780007283514
Version: 2019-02-26
For James Gould, soldier, craftsman, sailor, father
and
Laura J. Mixon, engineer, teacher, writer, wife
Contents
Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Part 1: Beginnings Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Part 2: The Pursuit Of Happiness Chapter Five Chapter Six Part 3: Adjustments Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Part 4: Chinese Curse Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Part 5: Searching Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Part 6: Playing Tag Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Part 7: Olly, Olly, In Come Free Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Acknowledgments About the Author By Stephen Gould About the Publisher
The first time was like this.
I was reading when Dad got home. His voice echoed through the house and I cringed.
“Davy!”
I put the book down and sat up on the bed. “In here, Dad. I’m in my room.”
His footsteps on the hallway’s oak floor got louder and louder. I felt my head hunching between my shoulders; then Dad was at the door and raging.
“I thought I told you to mow the lawn today!” He came into the room and towered over me. “Well! Speak up when I ask you a question!”
“I’m gonna do it, Dad. I was just finishing a book.”
“You’ve been home from school for over two hours! I’m sick and tired of you lying around this house doing nothing!” He leaned close and the whiskey on his breath made my eyes water. I flinched back and he grabbed the back of my neck with fingers like a vise. He shook me. “You’re nothing but a lazy brat. I’m going to beat some industry into you if I have to kill you to do it!”
He pulled me to my feet, still gripping my neck. With his other hand he fumbled for the ornate rodeo buckle on his belt, then snaked the heavy Western strap out of his pants loops.
“No, Dad. I’ll mow the lawn right now. Honest!”
“Shut up,” he said. He pushed me into the wall. I barely got my hands up in time to keep my face from slamming nose-first into the plaster. He switched hands then, pressing me against the wall with his left while he took the belt in his right hand.
I twisted my head slightly, to keep my nose from grinding into the wall, and saw him switch his grip on the belt, so the heavy silver buckle hung on the end, away from his hand.
I yelled. “Not the buckle, Dad!