Over and Over

On the fifth loop, Emilian realized he wasn’t in a dream: Marc died. Or rather, he was in the process of dying, many times over.

It was Thursday, a typical day in March. The two headed to the movies since it was spring break, and there was nothing else to do in their small Missouri neighborhood except to leave. The outer city held a mall the two frequented.

Looking back, the roads were too slick, late winter ice still clinging to the asphalt. Emilian realized the third go around.

“Turn the heat up.” Marc reached to adjust the knobs on the dash with practiced ease. A rush of warm air blew from the vents. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “I shouldn’t have come back for break, should have stayed in Cali.”

Emilian gripped the steering wheel. Don’t even blink. Flurries of snow danced in the air, not enough to warrant wipers just yet, but a part of his mind was queued in on them anyway. The car was going to stay on the road this time. No amount of ice or snow or universal tampering would change that.

“Dude, are you good?” Marc nudged his shoulder.

Emilian forced himself to stay vigilant. Still, the car jolted forward as his foot twitched. “Can’t you see I’m driving?” He spat out.

Marc let out a low whistle. “Damn, alright then.” He fiddled with the radio; channels switched rapidly from a top forties station to daytime news to country.

“Quit that.” Emilian tore a hand from the steering wheel to beat away Marc’s. He couldn’t have any distractions. They were going to make it to the mall, then they were going to watch whatever stupid movie Marc bought tickets for. The car wasn’t going to crash.

Marc sank lower in his seat as silence filled the car.

Pouting, that’s what he was doing, but Emilian didn’t let it phase him. Last time the other fiddled with the radio and landed on some global news that stole Emilian’s attention away for a moment too long, a split second. He missed the sight of a truck barreling towards them as he crossed an intersection. It was the truck’s fault – it ran a red – but Emilian could have reacted faster, should have reacted faster.

Marc died on impact, that’s what the doctors said after Emilian paced around the hospital waiting room for an hour. They didn’t tell him sooner because he wasn’t family. That was complete bullshit.

Marc was alive again though, and Emilian wasn’t going to let another crash rip him away. There were four loops so far. Four was too many. He tapped the steering wheel as the mall parking lot came into view, a decrepit place littered with potholes. Not taking a chance by staying in the car any longer than necessary, Emilian parked at the back of the lot.

His breath slowed as he opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

“What the hell’s with the distance?” Marc, still buckled in his seat, threw up a hand.

“Walking’s good for the soul.” Emilian slammed the door shut and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. The wind picked up and burned his cheeks. Maybe he should have stayed home and found something to watch on his laptop. Next time he’d do that.

No. There wasn’t going to be a next time. He and Marc were going to watch this movie and move on with their lives. Friday would come. Marc would stay alive.

Emilian kept his hands in his pockets as the two walked to the doors, less he caught frostbite. “What are we even seeing?”

“Project Hail Mary.” Marc’s face lit up like the SoCal sun. “I swear if they change too much from the book I’ll walk right out.” He skipped forward, rambling off a load of his favorite plot points from the original source material.

Emilian rolled his eyes and was about to tell the other not to spoil the whole thing when Marc’s body went sideways.

The mans’ legs were swept from beneath him. Emilian watched in slow motion as Marc tumbled to the ground. His head hit the pavement first.

“Marc!” Emilian rushed forward. He dropped to his knees to access the damage. Crimson coated his fingers as he patted Marc’s head to find the injury. “Oh fuck.” He fished through his pockets to get his phone. Emilian was acquainted with dialling 9-1-1 by this point; his fingers found the buttons without looking.

“Emil…” Marc groaned and raised a hand to his head. A hiss escaped his lips.

“You’re fine. It’s fine.” The phone rang twice before anyone picked up. Panic rose in his stomach. Car crashes were one thing – tripping in a dingy parking lot was another. Emilian squeezed his eyes shut as the operator began to ask questions.

∞

Emilian texted Marc to come over. Screw the movie. They could see it next week – the next day even – once the two of them got through Thursday. There was a bit of bickering about the change of plans, but Marc relented.

The fear in Emilian’s gut subsided. He pulled his laptop from his desk, sat on his bed, and tried to find something to watch. There was that YouTube series neither of them finished, or he could hunt down his Netflix login and watch something there.

Minutes passed in a blur as he scrolled. His phone was silent beside him. Marc’s tardiness wasn’t anything to worry over – the man preened himself like a show horse no matter the occasion. Emilian pulled his duvet further up, fabric under his chin. Despite thousands of videos uploaded a day, nothing stole his interest.

More time slipped away. Emilian’s eyes wandered to the time on his screen. A little past six. He chewed his lip. Forty minutes was a stretch. Marc lived three blocks away, even if he walked he could make it in just under fifteen.

Emillian patted the bed to find his phone. When he switched it on, his blank lockscreen greeted him. No notifications, texts or otherwise. He let it fade to black. He’s probably just doing his hair or something. The thought didn’t comfort him.

He gave it another ten minutes before he texted. When that brought nothing, he called. Voicemail. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He swung his legs over his bed and trotted down the hall. Emilian pulled his shoes on and nabbed his coat from the rack. Three blocks, that’s all there was. How much could happen over three blocks?

He trekked towards Marc’s house, down the route both of them took dozens of times before. The streets were empty. No doubt people passed the time indoors, cozied up in their beds and on their couches like Emilian wanted for himself. First, he had to find Marc.

Two blocks from Emilian’s house, a dark mass in the sidewalk brought him to a halt. At first, he rationalized it. An abandoned trashbag, an old chair sat out for collectors. As he drew closer the human elements grabbed his heart and crushed it. “Marc?” He called out and prayed for a response.

There was nothing.

∞

Stabbing. Carbon monoxide. Another car crash. Poisoning – somehow.

Emilian’s condition worsened day by day. Marc continued to die no matter what actions he took to prevent the outcome. It didn’t matter if Marc stayed home, if they went out driving, if Emilian invited the other over: every single time Marc died.

Emilian stood in Marc’s room, the twenty-sixth loop. He lived through almost a month of the same day.

Marc lounged on his bed. “Alright.” He dropped his phone to his chest. “What the hell’s going on? You’ve been twitching the moment you came here.”

Emilian swallowed down his fear. To tell or not to tell, that was the question that haunted every loop. How could you tell someone they were going to die but couldn’t say how? Hey, I know it’s just a random Thursday, and you’re a perfectly healthy guy, but by the end of the day you’ll be dead. Have fun! His skin crawled.

“Em, really, what is it?” The springs in Marc’s mattress squeaked.

Emilian glanced at him. Marc’s face held a faint blush, blood pumping through his veins. He radiated warmth. Emilian knew what cold skin felt like beneath his finger tips, knew how a face looked as blood drained from it. He begged he wouldn’t see Marc’s light dim in a matter of hours.

Was telling Marc the path the universe pushed him towards, the choice he needed to make?

He inched forward. “How much do you trust me?” A chill set over the room.

Marc gave him a confused grin. “Are you gonna drop some major news on me or something?” He held a hand to his heart. “I accept you for who you are.”

“Can you be serious, man?” Emilian’s legs trembled. “I-” His eyes burned. “I’m going to tell you something pretty terrible, and I need you to know it’s not a joke.”

Marc leaned back. “Alright, real shit mode then.”

“Marc.”

“I’m being serious. Lay it on me.”

The smile on Marc’s face made Emilian choke up. Marc was happy, unaware of the doom to come. You’re about to ruin that.

Emilian bit his tongue and turned. He sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re going to die today, and I can’t stop it.”

A laugh snapped him out of his head. Marc hunched over, hand over his mouth which didn’t cover the cackles. “Dude.” He slapped his knee. “How long have you been cooking up that one?”

“It’s not a joke.” Emilian rushed forward. What if Marc laughed too much and didn’t get enough oxygen? What if he popped a lung? He gripped the other’s shoulders. “Stop laughing, this is real.”

Marc flung his head back. His mouth opened, about to say something stupid again no doubt, but he stopped short. “Emilian.” The joy fled his voice. Reality slammed both of them. Marc’s smile fell, his eyes twinged red. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

Emilian scrunched his nose. “I’ve really been trying.” He would have pulled Marc closer, tugged the man to his chest, but he feared the action would shatter something in the other. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes. Emilian’s head dropped.

Marc’s hands rested in his lap. A minute passed until he spoke again. “Tell me everything.”

Emilian did. When Marc begged for details, he poured them out. Emilian spoke. Marc listened. The two laid on Marc’s bed together, side by side for too much time. It was a waste; they didn’t make any progress in finding a solution.

The alarm clock on Marc’s bedside table glowed three in crimson. The man huffed. “So this is it then.”

Emilian sat up. “No, it’s not. We’re going to figure out how to fix this.”

Marc put his hands behind his head. He sunk into the bed. “You haven’t done it yet.”

“I will.” Emilian wanted to pinch Marc. Resignation laced the man’s voice, alongside a calm ease that made Emilian’s stomach lurch. “Don’t talk like you’re already dead.”

“Aren’t I?” Marc shrugged. “It seems to me like there’s nothing you can do. Might as well accept it.”

Emilian traced Marc’s face with his eyes and tried to find any indication that the man was sarcastic. He only found a boyish grin, a face that would stay wrinkle free, trapped in youth. “I don’t want to lose you.” He muttered the words like the universe would kill Marc right then and there. “Why are you giving up?”

“Why are you fighting something that won’t change?” Marc pushed himself up.

Emilian’s brows screwed together. “Don’t act like you’re happy to die.”

Marc raised his hands in surrender. “Trust me, I’m not, dude.” The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Just give me a good last day, and we can call it even.”

“You’re insane.” Emilian couldn’t look at him.

“Maybe.” Marc wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “But you’ll finally live Friday, and I’ll go out with a blast.” He rested his head on Emilian’s shoulder.

Emilian soaked in Marc’s heat. “You’ll get the best last day.” He swore it.