Loop Three: The Breaking Point
I woke up screaming.
Not gasping. Not jolting. Screaming—a raw, animal sound torn from the depths of my throat. My hands clawed at my chest, at my groin, expecting to find wounds that weren't there, pain that had vanished but still echoed through every nerve in my body.
"Clyde!" Olivia's voice, sharp with alarm. "Clyde, what's wrong?!"
But I couldn't answer. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but shake and sob and feel the phantom sensation of razor wire cutting through flesh, of antlers punching through my sternum, of her heart—her heart—tumbling out like a ball and beating on the ground in front of me.
The car. I was in the car. Driving. The steering wheel was in my hands and I was driving and—
The vehicle swerved violently to the right as my body convulsed, my hands jerking the wheel without conscious thought. Tires squealed against asphalt. Olivia screamed.
"CLYDE! HONEY, BE CAREFUL!"
She lunged across the center console, her hands grabbing the wheel, trying to straighten us out. But I couldn't help her. Couldn't control my own body. My foot pressed randomly on the accelerator, then the brake, then nothing, as sobs wracked through me in great, shuddering waves.
"Pull over! Clyde, pull over!" She was yelling now, panic rising in her voice as she fought to control the car with me. "CLYDE!"
Through the blur of tears, I saw it—a guardrail at the end of a straightaway. We were heading right for it.
Olivia yanked the wheel hard to the left. The car fishtailed, tires screaming, and for a terrible moment I thought we were going to flip. But then we were sliding sideways, momentum carrying us forward until we slammed against the guardrail with a sickening crunch of metal on metal.
The impact threw me against the door. My head cracked against the window, adding fresh, real pain to the phantom agony I was already experiencing. The airbags didn't deploy—we weren't going fast enough—but the collision was violent enough to knock the wind out of both of us.
For a moment, there was only silence except for the hissing of the radiator and my ragged, gasping sobs.
"Clyde... Clyde, what's happening? Are you hurt?" Olivia's hands were on my face, turning me toward her, checking for injuries. Her eyes were wide with fear—not for herself, but for me. "Baby, talk to me. Please. What's wrong?"
I tried. God, I tried to explain. Tried to tell her about the loops, the deaths, the horror that kept repeating. But all that came out were broken, incoherent sounds between sobs.
She's going to think I'm crazy, some distant part of my brain observed. She's going to think her husband has lost his mind.
Maybe I had.
"Okay, okay," Olivia said, her voice shifting into that calm, controlled tone she'd learned in the military. "It's okay. You're having a panic attack. That's all. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth."
But I couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but see her heart falling, over and over, that rhythmic thump-thump as it hit the ground, still beating, still trying to keep her alive even as the rest of her spilled out across the wasteland—
"I'm calling for help," Olivia said, already pulling out her phone. Her hands were shaking now too, her own fear breaking through the professional facade. "Just hold on, baby. Just hold on."
I heard her talking, heard the words "emergency" and "my husband" and "panic attack" and "we crashed." Heard her give our location—somewhere along the offroad path in the Yukon, mile marker God-knows-what.
Time became strange then. Stretching and compressing. I don't know if it was five minutes or fifty before I heard the siren.
A police cruiser pulled up behind us, lights flashing red and blue against the gathering dusk. Through my blurred vision, I saw a figure get out—a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer, his uniform crisp and official.
He approached the driver's side window, bending down to look in at us. Young guy, maybe late twenties, with a concerned expression that reminded me of my own rookie days on the force.
"Ma'am? Sir? I'm Officer Chen. Are either of you injured?"
"My husband," Olivia said, her voice cracking. "He's—I don't know what's wrong. He just started screaming and crying and we almost—" Her own tears were flowing now, the stress of the situation finally overwhelming her control.
"Okay, it's alright," Officer Chen said in that same calm voice I'd used a hundred times myself when dealing with traumatized civilians. "I'm going to call for an ambulance. Sir, can you hear me?"
I nodded, still unable to speak. My sobs had quieted to shuddering gasps, but the tears wouldn't stop. My whole body felt like it was vibrating at the wrong frequency, like I was slightly out of phase with reality.
Officer Chen stepped back, reaching for his radio. "Dispatch, this is Unit 47. I need an ambulance at—"
I checked my watch. The movement was automatic, compulsive.
6:35 PM.
No.
Two minutes. I had two minutes before—
"Officer," I managed to croak out, my voice raw and broken. "Officer, you need to... you need to get away from here. You need to leave. Right now."
He turned back to me, confused. "Sir, I understand you're distressed, but I can't leave until the ambulance—"
"PLEASE!" The word came out as a scream. "Please, just go! Get in your car and drive away! Both of you! We all need to—"
But it was too late.
6:37 PM.
The explosion came from the same direction it always did. Same distance. Same devastating force. The shockwave rolled across the landscape like an invisible tsunami, hitting us with enough power to rock both vehicles.
Officer Chen stumbled backward, his arms windmilling as he tried to keep his balance. His hand instinctively went to his hip, to his service weapon—training taking over in the moment of chaos.
But his finger caught on something. The safety strap, maybe, or his belt. I saw it happen in slow motion, saw him fumble, saw the gun slip from its holster.
It fell.
Hit the ground.
And fired.
The sound was sharp and wrong—not the distant boom of the explosion, but the intimate crack of a handgun discharging right next to us.
I saw the bullet's path before it happened. Saw where it was going to go. Saw the trajectory that would take it up, through the open driver's side window, directly at—
"NO!" I lunged across the console, reaching for Olivia, trying to pull her down, trying to get her out of the way.
My fingers brushed her shoulder.
The bullet entered through her left temple.
There was no drama to it. No slow-motion fall. Just a small hole appearing in the side of her head, and then a much larger hole erupting from the other side, spraying the passenger window with blood and brain matter and fragments of skull.
Her body jerked once, then went completely limp, slumping against the seat.
"Olivia? OLIVIA!" I grabbed her, pulled her toward me, my hands coming away red and wet. "No, no, no, not again, please not again—"
Officer Chen was screaming something, his face white with horror, scrambling to pick up his weapon. "Oh God, oh Jesus, I didn't—the gun just—"
But I wasn't listening. I was cradling Olivia's body, feeling her blood soak into my shirt, watching the light fade from her eyes for the third time.
The third time.
How many more times would I have to watch her die? How many different ways would the universe find to take her from me?
Officer Chen was on his radio, his voice high and panicked. "Officer down! No, civilian down! Accidental discharge! I need emergency medical right now!"
But there was no point. I could see it in her eyes—those beautiful brown eyes that were already going glassy and unfocused. The bullet had torn through her brain. She was gone before she even hit the seat.
I pressed my forehead against hers, feeling the warmth of her blood on my face, smelling the copper tang of it mixed with her shampoo.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I tried to save you. I tried to change it. I don't know how to stop this. I don't know what to do."
That's when I felt the pain in my own head.
Sharp. Sudden. On the right side, just above my ear.
I reached up, confused, and my fingers came away red. Had I been hit too? I didn't remember hearing a second shot.
Then I realized: when I'd lunged across the console, when I'd tried to pull Olivia down, my head had slammed into something. The gear shift? The door frame? It didn't matter. I could feel blood running down the side of my face now, warm and wet.
The world was starting to tilt. Starting to fade at the edges.
Officer Chen was at the window now, reaching in, his face a mask of guilt and horror. "Sir! Sir, stay with me! The ambulance is coming!"
But I was already falling. Already sinking into that familiar darkness that I'd come to know so well.
At least I tried, I thought as consciousness slipped away. At least I tried to warn them.
The last thing I heard was Officer Chen's voice, desperate and pleading, begging me to hold on.
But I didn't want to hold on.
The third wave came and this time everything fell.
I wanted to let go.
I wanted to end this nightmare.
Darkness.
Nothing.
An end that felt—
Light.