Chapter 2
Third time won’t be the charm. I know it. I’ve known it since I left the apartment—scrambling late. I’ve felt it percolating in my gut this entire drive. This sense of formidable, crushing, all-consuming dread.
Maybe I should have asked more questions at urgent care.
Maybe I should have gone to the emergency room instead.
Maybe if I wake up again tomorrow and it’s today, that’s what I’ll do.
But if it’s today four days in a row, then I think I’m for sure in a time loop, right?
And I doubt anyone at the ER can help me with that.
Who would I even go to? A physicist? Jeff from Medium?
There’s no logic to cling to. I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening.
My brain hurts. I’m sweating. I roll down the windows and inhale, anticipating fresh air.
Instead, I catch a whiff of rot. Roadkill.
I put the windows up and blast the AC.
I don’t need GPS to get me to the Lakeside at Wild Heart Acres.
I have the route memorized. I turn onto the dirt road, pull up the slight hill, take a right into the small gravel parking lot.
I don’t park next to Evan’s Civic because that spot is taken.
Last time, I thought the small deviations I made would save me from suffering the same fate.
Maybe they did, in a way, but only by dooming me to a worse one.
I park. Lean my head back against the seat and take a minute to compose myself. It’s hard to calm down in a place where you died. Horrifically. Twice.
I check my mirrors, anticipating the Eyeball Man waving from the edge of the woods, or a raven flying low. A small bird flitters past the windshield and I panic, accidentally hit the horn as I flail around in the driver’s seat, pull my knees in and shield my face with my hands.
“Fuck this,” I say, getting out of the car. I pop the trunk and by some miracle, I’m now strong enough to lift my suitcase out no problem. It’s either adrenaline or I forgot to pack some key items. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
I start up the path, dragging my suitcase behind me. I’m late. It’s almost four o’clock, so I’ll have about an hour to shower, dry my hair, get ready. Not enough time.
Guarantee this will be the one that sticks. The timeline I look the worst in. What greater nightmare is there than looking like shit in front of your ex?
“Willa!” It’s Steph. She steps out of her cabin onto the porch, all dressed up in her lavender gown, birdcage veil, her makeup perfect, glittering like a fairy princess. “I was just going to drop by the friend cabin to say hi.”
I abandon my suitcase and run up to hug her. “It’s probably chaos. Luke tossing around canned cocktails. Cassie griping. Evan helping Wyatt with his tie.”
Steph giggles. “Oh gosh. You’re right. I’m so happy you’re here!”
“Me, too,” I lie. I sit on the porch swing, pat the spot next to me.
She shakes her head. “Afraid my dress will snag. Do…do you like it?”
I’ve seen her in it before, fuck me, but she doesn’t know that. She must assume my lack of reaction is because I’m underwhelmed.
“You look amazing,” I tell her. “I knew you would.”
“I’m second-guessing the color now that it’s the day. White just felt a little…”
“Virginal?”
She laughs, scrunches her nose. “Traditional, is what I was going to say. You want some champagne?”
“Always.”
“Be right back.” She twirls into the cabin.
I scan the landscape for any hint of danger. For tonight’s villain.
All I see is beauty. Glorious foliage. The lake that shade of cobalt blue that shouldn’t be possible, that’s transcendentally stunning.
Steph opens the door, emerging with a tiny bottle of prosecco and two plastic flutes. She hands me the bottle. “A gift from my sister.”
“From Italy?” I ask, opening it. It’s a twist off, nothing exciting.
“Yes, actually. How’d you know? Olivia was just there.”
Italy. Her dress. This place. How did I know?
Ravi’s voice. It’s all in your head.
It’s all in my head it’s in my head it’s in my head it’s…
Déjà vu. Precognition. It’s…
Happening. In my head or not, it’s happening. Again. This day. Again.
“No kidding.” I pour us even, then we cheers. “To your wedding day.”
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says. She furrows her brow. “I said that already.”
She means she just repeated herself. Not because she knows this is my third go at today and I’ve heard it all before. A bird sings somewhere, and I flinch at the sound. Steph doesn’t notice. She’s oblivious—giddy and carefree. She’s clearly not stuck in the loop with me.
Is it really just me? No one gave any indication last time. But that was last time.
I open my throat and pour the prosecco straight down. It’s gone in one gulp. I don’t even taste it.
“You okay, doll?”
“I’m great.” I deflect. “The dress was the right choice, Steph. The color. It’s you.”
“That’s what Jace said.”
“Has he seen it?”
“Yes, but not me in it. Not that we’re superstitious or anything. Like, we’re thirteen years in.”
“Perfect dress, perfect couple.”
She snorts. “Oh my gosh.”
“It’s true!”
“I don’t think so. There’s no such thing as the perfect couple. I mean, maybe. In the same way that there might be Bigfoot or unicorns or the Loch Ness Monster or, I don’t know. Aliens.”
“You lost me,” I say, trying not to think about the existence of those things.
Putting them out of my mind so I don’t somehow summon them into this reality.
I don’t know what the deal is and I’m paranoid.
I clear my throat. Once. Twice. I’ve got this persistent tickle, and I hope I’m not getting sick.
That whatever virus I inevitably picked up at urgent care this morning hasn’t already taken hold.
“Like, they could be out there, but probably not. I don’t believe in perfect couples or soulmates.
Don’t get me wrong, Jace and I are good.
We’re really good together. But it hasn’t always been easy.
Everyone wants to buy into the fairy tale because the truth isn’t as simple or pretty.
” She sips her prosecco. “Did I mess up my lipstick?”
“Nope. You’re fine. Is there more bubbly?”
“I think so,” she says. “I can go check.”
“No, that’s all right.” I swing myself to stand. “On second thought, I should really go get ready.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” She throws her arms around me. “Once this wedding craziness is behind us, will you come visit? We can ditch Jace for some girl time and I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant. It’s just down the street, and they have the best wood-fired pizza. And mojitos!”
“Sounds perfect.” I pull away, smiling like I believe her, like I trust this will happen.
We’re always making these theoretical plans.
A college friend trip where we’ll rent a house in Maine and go hiking and eat lobster rolls.
A long weekend in NOLA for me, Cass, Evan, and Steph to explore the city, get drunk off hurricanes, and eat beignets.
But there’s always a wedding, a baby, a new house, a new job. Good ideas but never a good time.
We’re a phone call away, we always say. But a phone call isn’t the same.
I reach out for Steph’s lovely face, here, right in front of me. I don’t touch her. I can’t touch her. My hands are sweaty, and I’m covered in lingering urgent care germs. I can practically feel them crawling all over me, inside me. I clear my throat again.
I’m a mess and she’s together. I’m a mess, and she’s the bride.
“Love you,” I tell her.
“We’re going to have so much fun tonight. We…” She sniffs. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” I ask, instinctively playing dumb to spare her any wedding day stress.
“It smells like…meat? Like expired meat.”
It’s the same dead animal scent I caught out the window on my drive up. Doesn’t bode well that an entire stretch of the Hudson Valley reeks of carcass.
This is the moment. My opportunity. I should say something.
I should be warning her. It’s much easier to imagine yourself saving the day than it is to actually do it, especially when nothing has happened yet.
What if I speak too soon? What if nothing goes down this time?
What if I ruin the wedding for no reason?
Then everyone will think I’m crazy, gone off the deep end.
Because I am, because I have. Fuck. My heart pounds, the itch in my throat intensifies.
If I hold my tongue, is it for Steph’s sake or for mine?
I inhale. “No. I’m not getting anything.”
“Huh,” she says, putting a nail between her teeth.
“Don’t.”
“Right!” She pulls her hand out of her mouth. “Someday I’ll kick the habit.”
“Someday.” I start down the steps. “I have to book it. Can’t show up to your ceremony looking like this.”
“You look beautiful, as always, as ever,” she says, blowing me a kiss. I catch her kiss and smack it on my cheek, grab my suitcase, and head up the path toward the friend cabin.
Cass sits on the porch. She’s wedding-ready—dressed, hair done, eyeliner on. She’s got her vape in one hand, a canned margarita in the other. She shoots up when she sees me. “Willa! Jesus Christ. Why haven’t you responded to me? I thought you were dead.”
“I might be.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Why haven’t you called or texted me back? I was legit worried, Wills. You’re late.”
Apparently, my anxiety is contagious. I’m a worry super-spreader.
“It’s been a long day.” An understatement. “I’m sorry. I…I had a migraine.”
It’s not the whole truth but it’s not a lie. My head still throbs; it’s like I can feel my brain pulsing inside my skull.
“There she is.” Evan appears in the doorway. He’s also already dressed for the wedding. He gives me a hug. “Why do you smell like Hamburger Helper?”
“Is that me?” I ask, horrified.
“I don’t think so. I think…” Cassie leans over the banister and inhales. “I think it’s out there. Maybe food for the reception?”
“Something to look forward to,” Evan says.
I’d laugh if I weren’t so suspect that the rot smell is some indicator of what could be coming tonight. A bloodthirsty butcher wielding a hatchet. A forest-dwelling cannibal man who will for-fucking-sure love eating eyeballs. A killer in wait.
I check my phone to make sure I have service, then take the margarita from Cass and drink what’s left, leave the empty can on the banister.
“You’re welcome,” she says, as I push past Evan to get inside the cabin.
“Willa the Killa!” Luke says from the couch.
He shoots me with finger guns, and I hear the actual ruin of violence in my head.
The screaming of people afraid for their lives.
I can smell the blood-streaked night. I’m haunted and no one knows, and I can’t explain. I’m alone. I’m alone with all of it.
“No,” I say. “No thanks.”
He mimes holstering his finger guns. “You’re right. Violence is never the answer.”
I slip into my room and close the door behind me, face-plant into bed. I’m so tired I could fall asleep right now. The exhaustion is so heavy. I can’t carry it.
“She’s in a mood,” I hear Cassie say. These thin fucking walls.
“So are you,” Evan says. “To be fair.”
I roll off the bed and drag myself into the shower, try to scrub the day from my skin.
Urgent care. Anxiety. The meat smell. I rest my head against the tile and close my eyes.
It comes in flashes. Everything that’s happened, or might have happened, or could happen—it all bleeds together.
I can’t shut it off, can’t quiet my mind.
Something’s coming. Something bad. My brain is broken.
Or time is. What if I’ve slid out of reality?
Got snagged in the cogs of the universe?
What if I’m stuck in another dimension—trapped in the twilight zone?
What if I really am dead? What if this isn’t hell, but some other twisted version of the afterlife?
And I’m just standing here in this tiny shower with shitty water pressure doing nothing about any of it.
I’m doing the wrong thing. I’m being selfish.
Being a coward. I’m the villain. I’m the problem.
It’s me. I need to figure my shit out. I need to…
I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.
The water runs cold. I turn around and shut it off, grab a towel.
The only way out is through.