Just Once

It's a policy of mine to trust crazy strangers.

If some unholy truth about the world was revealed to me and I got brushed off, I'd feel pretty shitty; on the off chance someone really has uncovered something bigger than all of us I wanna make their life a little easier.

So when a total stranger breaks into my apartment with my spare key and starts rambling about knowing me and not calling the police please, I set him down on the couch and let him take a deep breath.

The guy looks like hell, with a scraggly half-beard and unwashed hoodie, not to mention his untameable mop of brown hair. His bright eyes are set on the exit, so I ready myself to run at a moment's notice. I've got letters to my family and friends in the drawer of my nightstand and I can pack in five minutes, three if we've got company.

"So," I prompt, because despite my preparedness the stranger seems fine to silently wring his fingers. "What's going on?"

"I- It's- I don't know if you'll believe me," he says. "I know I-"

"I believe you," I say. The stranger's mouth twists, an unmistakable guilt in his eyes. He shudders and slumps down into my small couch, covering his face.

"…My name's Andrew," he says. "Sorry to- God, I'm really sorry."

"It's whatever," I say. My normal life was forfeit the second we made eye contact. "I don't need to introduce myself to you, right?"

"No." Andrew sighs, resigned. "I know you pretty well at this point, Kay."

"Cool." I cycle through all the possibilities in my head. Aliens seems mismatched for what we're dealing with, government coverup is possible but unlikely given my previous humdrum existence, underground experimentation doesn't feel right either, so… "Time travel?"

Andrew lets out a strangled, anguished scream into his hands.

"It's been Tuesday for two fucking weeks!"

"Ah." I nod. "Time loop." That's objectively worse.

I'm not as well versed in time loops as I should be. Frankly, I always figured that if I was stuck in one I'd have enough time to figure it out. Shortsighted- I should have considered this as a possibility too. Unlike Andrew, I don't have the spare time to research them now that I'm participating in one.

"What caused the time loop?" I ask, cobbling together a battery of calibration questions. It's likely that Andrew's answered them before but I still need the information if I'm going to help him.

"I don't know," Andrew says. I open my mouth, but he beats me to it. "I don't know what I need to do to get out of it. I found you on the first loop because you were almost shot in front of me. It was at the park you go to every lunch to feed the ducks even though you're not supposed to."

"Well, there's not-" "-a sign, you still shouldn't do it."

I purse my lips and wait for Andrew to answer my next question.

"I don't know who the shooter is- I tried tracking them down last time but I died. No, I haven't died every day, just most of them. I've never been able to stop the shooter completely."

I lean my head back and close my eyes. Andrew seems to be trying to become a stain on my couch, black on gray. Fourteen loops and he's got some good information to show for it. I mutter to myself, an old habit no one's ever gotten me to break.

"No direct cause, doesn't seem to be some moral lesson either, so maybe it's something the universe wants you to prevent?" I ponder. "If so, what makes you the best candidate to stop or cause whatever event happens today?"

"You think I have to make something happen?" he asks, perking up.

"It's a possibility." I get up, slipping into my jacket and boots. "C'mon, let's gather infor-"

"Yeah, got it." Andrew leaps up and follows me out the door to walk me through his one-day routine.

It's unseasonably chilly out, but Andrew hardly blinks. We walk purposefully down the busy street, weaving through pedestrians and holding back an elderly lady at the crosswalk moments before a car speeds by. She thanks us kindly, and Andrew gives her a weary smile.

"Has she ever died before?" I ask as we pass through the gate of the all important park. Andrew shakes his head.

"No one dies except me, sometimes. But Judith gets startled and drops all her stuff. It's- I'm just trying to help her out a little bit."

"That's nice of you. I think I'd get bored of doing little stuff like that," I say. Andrew laughs, shaky.

"I'm trying."

When we get to the pond, I pull out a pack of sandwich bread and start tearing it up. Andrew sighs- I pity him if he's tried to stop me before.

My beautiful ducks flock to me instantly. It's earlier than I usually feed them, but we've got a shootout scheduled for twelve and I can't let my babies starve. I don't bother explaining this to Andrew- there's no chance I haven't told him.

"Let's call the police at eleven-forty-five," I say. A big crusty chunk goes straight down Mildred's gullet.

"Not eleven-fifty?" Andrew asks, a little stunned. I turn away from my ducks to him, tilting my head.

"Did I say eleven-fifty before?" I ask.

"Yes."

"But it was too late."

"…The shooter was early because of some stuff I did earlier in the day. We didn't get the chance to…"

"Let's still make it forty-five to be safe," I say. That should let us estimate the police's speed as well for future loops in case of a confrontation elsewhere. "Do you want to feed the ducks?"

"We're not supposed to," Andrew insists.

"There's no sign. No one will stop you."

"I- I'm still not going to."

I shrug and go back to my babies. They're especially cute today with their oily feathers and beady eyes. Worst comes to worst maybe I could sic these angels on our mystery shooter and melt their heart with cuteness. It's unlikely to work but if we get close to fifty loops I think it'll be worth trying.

We idle the time away until I make the call to the police (apparently Andrew's phone broke the day before he started looping). In the rough fifteen minutes left until the probably-important shooter arrives, I pick Andrew's brain.

"So, what was your thing before you started looping?"

"I, uh- I worked in IT."

"Thrilling," I say. "I used to be an engineer."

Andrew sighs, pouting at me and I snicker.

"You already used that one," he says.

"How many times have we had this conversation?" I ask with a grin. He frowns, counting on his fingers.

"Engineer, stay-at-home parent, volunteer work, video game designer… four."

"So even if I told you the truth now, you wouldn't believe me," I conclude.

"You like messing with me way too much," Andrew says.

"I just don't really like it when people know too much about me," I say. "It's nice that you can answer questions before I ask them, but… I don't know, I don't want you to know my middle name or anything."

"You don't have a middle name," Andrew says, squinting at me.

"I actually do," I say. "It's Jean."

Andrew's mouth pinches in palpable disappointment.

"Damn, really? I just came up with that one," I say. "Guess it's not so convincing after I say I don't want to tell you, huh?"

"Yeah." Andrew closes his eyes and slumps back against a nearby tree. I wonder if he picked that up from me.

Noon inches closer and closer. Police sirens do too, until there's a perimeter around the entire park. Given the location of the nearest police station and the time it took for them to arrive, their speed to respond to an emergency of this severity and urgency is-

"One-hundred-twenty kilometers an hour," I whisper to Andrew. He stiffens, but nods. "We still waiting on our shooter?"

"Normally, it's about forty-six seconds after twelve, and I haven't done anything to mess with that this time." I check the time on my phone.

"Forty-five. Forty-four," I say. Andrew's anxiety seems to grow by the second and he grips my wrist so tight it'll bruise. At the same time, he leads us away, presumably out of the shooter's line of sight.

My internal clock's only so-so, and as the "six" leaves my mouth a gunshot goes off too close for comfort. Despite myself, I squeak and Andrew's grip tightens.

"We should be okay here. The police can take care of it," he mutters against my ear. "They can- they can take care of it."

"Yeah, they can." I squeeze his shoulder and he eases up on my poor wrist.

Another gunshot goes off. No one dies, except Andrew sometimes. My train of thought catches on that, spinning it around and around. It seems so unlikely, given the situation. If the universe has intention, then what is it about today?

"Andrew?" I whisper. "I almost got shot right? The first time?"

"Yes? Keep your voice down!" he responds. I keep a vice grip on him- we probably have matching bruises.

"It is down," I mutter. "Why didn't I?"

"I pushed you out of the way and got shot instead."

"Oh. Thanks." My mind is turning around and around and around, spiraling. I swallow. Another gunshot goes off. I grip Andrew tighter.

The police are confronting the shooter; their shouts can be heard all the way across the park. I pull us closer to the confrontation.

From this angle the shooter can't see us, and all we get is the back of their black jacket and ski mask. It looks like they're holding a shotgun but I'm about as well-versed in firearms as I am in time loops. A police officer with a megaphone is trying to get them to stand down, but it's exactly then that the shooter pulls the trigger.

It misses.

Another gun goes off from one of the officers- maybe it's a misfire, maybe they've decided the situation is bad enough that they need to- either way, it goes wide of the mark and goes straight toward-

Andrew's in front of me, bleeding. I can feel it soak through his worn-out hoodie. There's shouting and screaming, but he's looking at me with perfect clarity. I hold his gaze and hand. This is a setback, not an ending.

I pull him down to the ground and lay him out. The wound is definitely a lost cause, but someone's screaming for an ambulance anyway. It's fine. We have time before they get here.

"Andrew, I have an idea," I say quietly. His eyes go wide.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, try letting me die," I say. "Ah- but don't tell me that's your plan, I'll probably freak out."

"Kay, I couldn't…"

"I guess it doesn't have to be tomorrow," I say. "But eventually. When you're ready, try letting me die." I smile at him as his blood stains my jeans. Andrew's grip is weakening, but he frowns with impressive fervor.

"I…" He sighs, brows knitting together. "If it works, you'll be dead forever." I keep myself relaxed for his sake.

"Yeah. So what?" I say, steady. "Just give it a try. If it doesn't work I'll be back the next day."

"If it does…"

"If it does," I falter. Why is it always the things I never prepare for? "Then it would make me very happy if you kept feeding the ducks."

"Of course it's the ducks." Andrew sighs again, sharp, and he winces. Dying must hurt a lot. I don't envy myself.

"Please?" I ask. "The big one is named Mildred and the little one is Mahogany. The rest are hard to distinguish, but you can ask me about them tomorrow."

Andrew nods. He's fading. I can hear the ambulance sirens approaching, but they won't make it in time .

"Okay." He closes his eyes, breathing slow. "I'll ask you for their names. And if you don't come back, I'll feed them."

"Every day," I insist.

"Every day. You really…" He exhales, hand leaving mine with a small smile. I smile back.

I wonder, sometimes, if Andrew was just genuinely delusional. Maybe he had schizophrenia like the shooter they ended up arresting. Maybe I'm the delusional one for thinking any of that really happened, and the stain on my jeans is from ice cream or something.

More often, I wonder if Andrew went to my funeral like I went to his. If he had, he would have learned that my middle name is Monet and I'm a maintenance technician at a nearby aquarium. If he did go to my funeral I feel like he'd apologize even though me dying wasn't his fault. He seemed like that kind of guy, for the day that I knew him.

Either way, it doesn't change much for me. My life is the same humdrum existence it always has been.

Every day at noon I feed the ducks in my local park. Apparently, you're not supposed to, but there's no sign and only one person has ever tried to stop me. Even as spring becomes summer, autumn, and winter, I stand by that pond.

On the day that went on for (at least) two weeks, there's breadcrumbs by the edge when I get there.