Page 105 of Dark Ugly Places

Then let’s go again.

The vision slows. Details emerge, as if the film reel of my life is playing at half speed. Sunshine. The cool, tepid air of winter in California, the crisp scent of distant fireplaces alight. We’re walking—the three of us—hand in hand toward Beverly Boulevard. Overhead, the trees are bare, their branches, like curled fingers, hold on to a smattering of brown leaves.

Ben is up ahead on his phone, head bowed in concentration as he follows the GPS to the swanky Beverly Hills breakfast spot just ten minutes from where we parked the car.

Behind him, Emmy holds his hand, a smile plastered on her face as she glances back at me, hair bouncing in long, silky black braids. They were beautiful in that moment, flowing and whipping around her as she trotted after Ben, a lift in her step. Everything was beautiful for just a moment.

Ben makes a joke that I can’t quite hear, and Emmy laughs. Ben turns, the curb just steps from us now, the empty road waiting.

Overhead, a dark shadow flutters, and I glance up. The dark wings of a crow catch my eyes, its flight path veering into the bare-branched trees. It lands, quivers, and gazes down at me, its eyes two empty pools wherein I swear I can see myself reflected.

The pull of Emmy’s hand in mine breaks the chain, and I see Ben stepping off the curb now, the road still clear. The crow releases a long, lilting caw in my direction, and then Emmy turns to glance at me over her shoulder. I hurry after them as a bright flash of white emerges from nowhere. Brakes squeal. Emmy screams long and loud as the front of the Rolls-Royce screeches toward her, the speed unfathomable, the hit slow yet unavoidable, the drag of uncanny inevitability. First, Ben, and then Emmy. I pull back, but it is too late.

Before I can stop, I’m in front of the front grill. It careens into my left leg and sends me up into the air, tumbling, tumbling. All sound stops, a silent pause as I land—asphalt, numbness, blood. Paralysis takes over; my left side disappears. I turn my head at the sound of Emmy’s scream, her sobs cutting through the silence. “Mom!” she screams. “I’m hit! I’m hit.”

My focus shifts past her to Ben, collapsing as blood sputters from his lips, his final breath unleashed.

Everything blackens. The loop reverses, and I’m still there on the ground, but my body is smaller, and the tears being cried are mine, not Emmy’s. A hand is above me, a short distance away, hitting, hitting. Every time I resist, every time I try to scream, to tell him to stop, I can’t do it. I have no voice. My mouth freezes open, and no sound escapes. Then my jaw unhinges, and the crow’s lilting cry escapes through my lips, thin and birdlike, without any words.

I’m counting sixty-seven loops now of this sequence. Like traipsing over the same muddy road, each time sinking further and further, I return to that day. The details become no less unbearable. The darkness pulls in at the corners, focusing my attention on the little things now, the things I might have missed before.

The shoelace of Emmy’s left sneaker, fraying at the edges.

Ben’s pants pocket, missing a button at the rear.

The small fragments of broken glass in the road that wink and glitter when I land, like shells on hot sand.

The roundness of the crow’s eye overhead, a perfect vacant little bead.

Loop sixty-eight, and I realize something. I don’t have to look at the crow. Looking at the crow is just a choice.

Loop sixty-nine. I feel it coming. The great black wings are overhead now. The long caw emerges, pulling me toward the inevitable ending.

“Don’t look up,” I hear my own voice say in the darkness. “Ignore it. It isn’t there.”

Not looking up at that crow feels unnatural, like resisting the urge to breathe. It’s wrong, but after a second, it feels like survival. If I look up, I drown. So, I focus my attention on the thing I want to save this time. Emmy.

She tugs my hand toward the curb, and the pressure of the great black wings above bears down on me, but I resist. Emmy turns around, her voice a soft echo forming new words that weren’t there before. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

I point toward the street and tighten my grip on her hand, stopping her. She resists because she doesn’t see it yet, but I know it is coming. The car swerves as I yank her back from the road to pull her toward me. Her left arm pulls on Ben’s, but it isn’t fast enough to stop him. He takes my place, the car hitting him head-on, landing in the middle of the road. I stand still, holding Emmy while she pants at my side. She breaks free and runs into the street. Ben sits up and turns, rubbing his head like nothing happened. My chest tightens, and I try to move, to go to him, but I can’t. The darkness holds me back. In a single instance, everything collapses, and I’m alone again.

“Ben? Emmy?”

They aren’t here, Nicola. You know that. It’s just you and us.

“Why did you show me that?”

You created the loop, Nicola. You have something you need to work out. So, how did you do?

“I didn’t work anything out. I’m still trapped in here with you!”

Yes, but it’s better this way, isn’t it? You get to think about things while Martha handles the other side.

“The other side?”

Yes, Nicola. The other side of your lives. You’ve made a mess of things there.

“None of this is my fault!”