Déjà Vu

CW: mentions of a firearm

“Don’t try to sweet talk me. I have a gun to your head,” I snap.

The pressure in my skull rapidly transforms from an annoying throb to a stabbing pain that matches my tachycardic heart. 

They say the darkest hour of the night is right before dawn. I think it’s also the quietest. I know it’s quiet because I can sense the contrast between the emptiness during my sleep and the raw screams that escaped my throat when I awoke to a figure standing next to my bed. I had gone to bed alone in my apartment that night.

I grab my gun from underneath my pillow, and in a few swift movements, kick the stranger down to their knees and get out of bed to stand behind them. I cock the gun and point it at their right temple.

“Move and I shoot,” I say. 

I feel sweat dripping down my hairline, but when I bring my fingers to my forehead to wipe the sweat away, the drops can be traced to my eyes and I realize they are tears. 

For a blissful moment, I am confused. My body has allowed me the serenity of not understanding the pounding in my head, the soreness of my throat, and the source of my tears. And then I am brought back to reality and the thousand different scenarios running through my mind.

The stranger in front of me raises their hands in a peaceful gesture. Their voice shakes when they start to speak again. “Emma, I know this sounds insane, but you know me. Just turn on the light and we can talk over some tea… please. I know you, so I know that you’re terrified, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”  

“Don’t try to sweet talk me. I have a gun to your head,” I snap. My mind races through every voice I have ever encountered but I can’t place hers. I switch my gun to my left hand so I can wipe the sweat off the other hand that was holding it.

What do I do? 

Without removing the gun from the stranger’s temple, I shift my body slightly so I can turn on the bedside lamp. I don’t think running through any possible scenario could have prepared me for what was in front of me. 

My hand yielding the gun goes limp for half a second from the surprise, and almost as if in slow motion, it hits the ground with a piercing boom that cuts through the roaring in my ears from the adrenaline.

Kneeling in front of me is no thief, convict, or villain. In front of me was something much scarier. It’s me.

But she’s no longer kneeling. She’s doubled over in pain. And then there’s blood… so much blood. I realize that it is coming out of her torso. Her chest heaves and her lips quiver as she whispers a subtle, “Ouch.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I kick the gun under my bed and frantically try to figure out what to do next. My mind is a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief. I take a step back, staring at my wounded doppelganger writhing in pain on the floor. It's an unsettling sight—a mirror image of myself, but broken and bleeding.

"What the hell is going on? Who are you?" I demand, my voice shaky and filled with a mixture of anger and terror.

She struggles to compose herself, clutching her stomach where the blood seeps through her fingers. "Emma, please, I don't have much time. I need you to listen."

I glance around the room, searching for something—anything—that might help. My eyes land on the phone on the bedside table. I grab it and dial 911, keeping my eyes on the injured stranger.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" the operator's voice crackles through the phone.

"I—I have someone here... someone who looks exactly like me, and she's bleeding. I don't know what to do," I stammer, my heart racing.

My doppelganger tries to sit up, but a pained groan escapes her lips, and she slumps back to the floor. "Emma, hang up now. You need to listen to me, you have to believe me. I'm you from a different time. I'm stuck in a loop, and I came to warn you."

I'm torn between the urgency of her words and the surreal nature of the situation. "Warn me about what?"

She winces, the pain evident in her eyes. "There's an accident—an accident that's going to happen to you. I've been trying to prevent it, but every time, I end up back here. You need to be careful, Emma."

"Look, just stay with me. Help is on the way," I tell her, trying to make sense of the bizarre revelation.

As we wait for the paramedics, my doppelganger weakly reaches out, gripping my hand. "You have to break the loop. You have to change something, anything. It's the only way to stop the accident.”

In a surge of Déjà vu, all memories of her crash into me all at once. Every corner of my mind is ambushed by her smell, her hair, her smile, her laugh. Her death. I remember this happening already, not once, but hundreds of times. And I remember being on her side of it. Her memories are me, they’re our memories. 

“You remember,” she says. Her breathing sounds more labored by the second, and I can see the color draining her face in real-time. 

I nod. “Tell me what to do.” Sobs rip their way out of my throat. When I hold her hands in mine they’re bitterly cold… so cold. 

She manages a weak smile, the pain etched across her face. "Break the pattern, Emma. Change something significant. It doesn't matter what, just don't let it play out the same way. The accident, our death, it's all connected to a specific sequence of events."

The sirens grow louder outside, indicating the imminent arrival of the paramedics. I clutch her hand tighter, desperate for more guidance. She keeps saying to change something, but it’s not helping clear up any confusion. "What accident? How do I break the pattern? 

She gasps for breath, her words strained. "I have the same information you do. Trust your instincts. You'll know when the moment comes. Now go before they get here. Fix this. I trust you."

“No, I’m staying with you until the paramedics get here.” I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m glued to her side. I don’t want to leave her… me? I hear some shuffling and feel my doppelganger move. When I look up, she’s pointing my gun at me. 

“Emma. You need to leave,” she says sternly. “This is the only way. They cannot know about this. No one can know, do you hear me? I’ll be okay. Leave now, or I’ll make you leave.” 

I had never seen myself from an outsider’s perspective. Is my gaze always so intense? 

I let go of her freezing hand and exit through the firescape. Left alone in the quiet aftermath, I wipe away tears and collect myself. The weight of the situation sinks in, and I realize the gravity of the responsibility now resting on my shoulders. I need to change something, break the pattern, and prevent “the accident”.

Over the next few days, I meticulously analyze every aspect of my life, trying to identify any pivotal moments that might lead to what happened the other night. I alter routines, make different choices, and even distance myself from certain people. Each night, I go to bed with bated breath, hoping that the changes will have an impact. 

Hoping that I never have to see myself at the foot of my bed again.

I am anxiety-ridden every time I go back to my apartment each night, standing in silence, debating about what to do next. 

Tonight, my room is dimly lit, and I find what I’ve been dreading all these days. My sleeping form lies peacefully on the bed. My doppelganger's warning echoes in my mind, urging me to break free from the loop. It didn’t work. I didn’t break it. We’re somehow back here.

Should I wake myself up? Turn on the light? Wait until daytime?

An ear-splitting scream startles me, and in a split second I’m on my knees doubled over in pain. Something cold meets my right temple.

The sound of a gun cocking.

“Move and I shoot.”