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I forced my lips into a razor-sharp smile. "Kill me? Honey, death and I are old friends. But you?" I let out a low laugh that ached my lungs. "You don't want to dance with the devil yet. So why don't you let the girl go, and we'll settle this like civilized psychopaths."
The man bristled and conflict twisted across his features. For a second, I thought he might loosen his grip. But then his hand snaked towards his waistband.
Shit. No more talking.
As his fingers closed around the gun, I moved. Three limping steps was all it took to reach him. I grabbed his wrist and twisted until he screamed and the gun clattered to the ground.
"Run!" I yelled at the girl. She scrambled away just as the man's fist connected with my jaw. Pain detonated through my face but I barely felt it through the haze of desperation.
This fucker was going down.
We crashed to the floor, a tangled knot of limbs and fury. I dug my nails into his eyes, kicked him in the dick, anything to get the upper hand. I even bit him once. He screamed in pain as my teeth sank into his arm. It tasted like blood, and grime, and regret-but I didn't care. I was desperate, determined to give the girl more time to get away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her slip through a crack in the boxes and disappear into the shadows. At least she was out of his reach now. I just had to keep him occupied.
With a roar, the man heaved upwards and I lost my grip. He scrambled for the fallen gun and before I could process what had happened a deafening bang sliced through the stale basement air. My body jerked like it had been electrocuted, the room spun, and I found myself staring at the ceiling.
Blood, slick and warm, oozed between my fingers—useless dams against the relentless tide that flowed from the bullet wound in my side. I pressed harder, gritting my teeth as a bolt of pain shot through me, igniting every nerve with white-hot fire. The edges of my vision blurred, each heartbeat thudding in my ears like a drumbeat signaling the end.
"Shit," I gasped, the word bubbling up through the coppery taste pooling in my mouth. "This is... inconvenient."
The basement swam before my eyes, concrete walls merging with shadows, the water's incessant drip-drip-drip a mocking soundtrack to my downfall.
As my body hit the ground, my tattoos lit up in a familiar blue hue, just like they always did every time I died.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips, only to dissolve into a wet cough.Then that familiar lurch hit me—the one that defied all logic—a sensation like falling backward through time itself.
Here we go again.
Time travel isn't exactly something you major in at school, and mine sure as hell didn't come with a manual.
My body convulsed as the basement faded away, replaced by the vertigo-inducing rush of days rewinding. Wind whipped through my hair and then, the pull—like hooks in my skin, yanked me back to a time when things were slightly less fucked up.
Emphasis on slightly.
I slowly opened my eyes and the familiar sight of my run-down apartment greeted me. Immediately my stomach rolled and heaved as the images of the basement, the girl, the man, all flashed through my mind. The time-travel sickness never failed to remind me that the fucked up things were finally over.
I dropped to my knees and retched violently, my body convulsing like I was still in that hellish basement, that blurred, water-stained world of screams and blood. My fingers scratched at the worn linoleum floor, desperate for something, anything, to hold onto—to anchor me in the present timeline.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and yanked up the thin fabric of my tank top. There, scattered among the random tattoos splashed across my abdomen stood a fresh work of art- a simple black tattoo in the shape of a gun that now found a home in the exact spot where the bullet in my side had brought my demise.
Because that's just what I need, another reminder of another death I wish I could forget. I rolled my eyes.
The faded black and white fur of my pet skunk, Smudge, stood out sharply against the frayed fabric of the couch and caught my eye. "Hey there, stinker," I grumbled, my throat still hoarse from the stomach acid. His tiny nose twitched happily in response.
The room had a musty smell, a lingering reminder of the damp and dreary city outside. Despite its shabbiness, this place was our sanctuary, a safe haven from the harsh reality of the world outside-in this timeline or any other one. And I'd take it over bleeding out in some sick bastard's basement any day.
My eyes landed on the calendar beside my bed that read four days in the past- the same day the little girls mom initially reported her missing.
"Okay, let's get to work," I pulled myself up to sit at the rickety old desk that doubled as my dinner table. My fingers already danced across the paper, almost before I could shove the old takeout boxes out of the way, scribbling details that threatened to slip through the strainer of my mind.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the bastard had eyes like a storm about to break – too damn memorable.
Smudge must have sensed the urgency; he waddled over and nudged my hand with his cool nose. "Not now, buddy. I need to focus."
"Motherfucker had a scar, right here." I mimicked a line down my left cheek, before I continued sketching with frantic strokes. "And his voice... what was it?" I closed my eyes and listened to the echo in my head. "Gravelly, like he'd gargled glass or some shit." I muttered, the description growing clearer with each word etched onto paper. Height, build, eyes that saw too much and gave away nothing. "You're not getting away from me, asshole. Not this time. Right, Smudge?"
I glanced at Smudge, who was perched on the armrest of my battered couch, looking like he owned the damn place.
