We Lived Lifetimes

Mark looked at his locker with a sigh of resignation. He toweled off his close-cropped blonde hair, the slight paunch around his middle, his pasty legs and his perpetually sunburnt arms. “Thirty-three,” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Luis was already donning his uniform. He was short and sturdy; sun-darkened, swarthy skin, black hair, large nose and bright brown eyes gave away his Mayan heritage.

“Oh, just talking to myself.”

“Not a problem, until you start answering back.”

Mark dressed in his uniform and paused, bulletproof vest in his hands. “You like science fiction stuff, right? I have a weird hypothetical for you.”

“Hit me.”

“Let’s say you’re trapped in a loop. Like, you keep coming back to the same moment, over and over. How do you get out of it?”

“Like Groundhog Day?”

“Kind of, except it doesn’t reset every day, just every time you die.”

“Seems like staying alive would do the trick, then.”

“Even if it’s months…or years, later, and you still come back?”

“Now we’re getting tricky.” Luis tugged at his vest. “You writing a book? That’s cool. I’ll help you figure it out. Now let’s get out of here before we’re late.”

Mark put on his vest and tightened the straps before strapping on his belt and holster. “Yeah, you caught me, thinking about a book.”

Luis was getting antsy, looking at his watch. Mark closed and locked his locker. “Relax, Luis. Cap’s going to be a few minutes late.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Tell you what,” he said, “bet you ten bucks Cap is late, and has Stephanie’s lip gloss on her neck.”

“Late, and the coffee-girl’s lipstick? That’s an easy ten; you’re on. Now let’s go.”

They walked into the briefing room, the only places left to sit front and center. There they waited. Mark watched the clock. At four minutes after the hour, he sat up straight and watched the second hand.

Nineteen seconds later the captain entered. Even with her rich, red-brown skin, the blush of her cheeks was evident. On the left side of her neck was a smear of bright pink lip gloss, threatening to stain the white collar just below it.

After getting their assignments, they stopped by the coffee cart on their way to the garage. Stephanie danced behind the cart, her perfectly coiffed blonde hair with blue stripes, hot pink lips, and overly made eyes, the epitome of Instagram culture. “Your usual today, guys?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Luis said. “You look pretty happy today.”

“It’s Junebug’s birthday. Did you get her a card?”

“So, you’re past first-name basis and on to nicknames, I see,” Mark said.

“Oh, stop. I’m allowed to call her whatever I want.”

“Isn’t she…a little…um…,” Luis hesitated.

Stephanie put her hands on her hips and gave an exaggerated scowl. “She’s not old. Twelve years isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, we love each other and don’t care what you think.”

Mark grinned. “So, you’re official now?”

“Yep! Since yesterday!” Stephanie continued to dance as she set their coffees down.

“Good for you, Steph.” Mark took his coffee and nudged Luis. “Let’s get at it.”

As they pulled out of the garage to the exit, Mark said, “Head out to West Hawthorne first; start from that end.”

“Why?”

“Gut feeling.”

They cruised the West Hawthorne district, moving from the outside of their beat toward to the center. Less than a minute after they reported 10-41, the radio cracked to life.

“All units in the Hawthorne district, reported man with a gun at 10^th and Evans QuickMart.”

“Swing left, that’s one block south.” Mark grabbed the mic. “1-David-9 responding, on scene. 10-52 for a code 5150.”

“Why the fuck are you calling for—”

“Trust me.” As soon as the car stopped in front of the convenience store, Mark jumped out and walked toward the small figure, covered in several layers of clothes, waving a black, pistol-like thing around. As he approached, he kept himself between the figure and the other officers.

“Stay back! I’ll shoot you!”

“Selina,” Mark said, walking toward the woman, “it doesn’t work out the way you want.”

She stopped. “How do you know my name?”

“We’ve been here before,” he said.

“Wait, I know you! You held my hand while I died. Right here!”

“That’s right. And we’ve been here a bunch of times.”

She held it out to him; a crudely carved wooden pistol painted black. “Why does this keep happening? I just want to die!”

“I know, Selina. Here, sit with me while we wait for the ambulance.”

After the ambulance had carried her off, Luis looked at Mark. “Wait, you knew about Cap, you pulled us out here first, you knew her name, and you knew she was 5150 before we got here. That loop you’re talking about…it’s real?”

“Yeah. Sergeant Kerry wins the football pool tonight, with the nine-eight square, sorry. Cap and Steph get married next year, and when Cap retires they move to Maine.”

“Shit, maybe you should memorize the horse races, take the day off and win big at the track.”

“Been there, done that. This isn’t the first time you’ve suggested it, either.”

“Well, what next?”

“Do you want to sit around and watch SWAT grab a bank robber when he steps out with an undercover as a hostage, give a reckless driving ticket to a douche in a brand new 400,000-dollar Ferrari, pick up a peeping Tom, or get a free pizza?”

“What happens when you don’t ticket the Ferrari?”

“He makes it another block and totals it. Minor injuries, no property damage beyond his fresh-off-the-lot ride.”

“And the peeping Tom?”

“Kerry and Knowles pick her up.”

“Her, huh?”

Mark nodded.

“Fuck it, let’s get free pizza.”

“Head over to Davino’s.”

“Zigzagging across the district, eh? Let’s do it.”

They pulled up to the restaurant and Mark said, “Let’s head inside. You’ll know what to do.”

They walked in and saw a heated exchange between two men. Luis stepped between them. “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

“Uh…no, no problem,” one of them said, “I’m leaving.”

The other waited until he was out the door. “Thanks, officers. My neighbor. He’s been causing trouble all week. Today he’s upset because he thinks my dog shit on his lawn. I don’t have a dog.”

Luis chuckled, shook his head, and held out a contact card. “If he keeps harassing you, don’t be afraid to call the non-emergency number.”

He took the card. “I appreciate it. Hey, since he left his order here, you guys can have it.”

“Did he pay for it?”

“No, but it’s on the house. I’d just have to throw it out.”

“I appreciate it,” Luis said. “Mind if we pay for a couple bottles of water to take with us?”

“Not at all. Dollar a bottle.”

Luis laid a five on the counter while Mark grabbed two bottles. “Keep the change. We’ll be back to check on you Monday.”

The weeks continued with Luis and Mark seeming to be in the right place at the right time more often than not. Luis read voraciously, ripping through his collection of pulp searching for any hint at a way out. Once that was exhausted, he turned to the used bookstore.

Mark made him provide a list of all the novels, shorts, and articles he’d read, and worked every night to commit it to memory. At each new loop, he’d write out the ever-expanding list on the ride to the West Hawthorne district. Once Luis was sufficiently convinced, again, he’d hand over the list to avoid duplicating efforts.

#

Mark’s phone rang, early on a Saturday morning. “Mark Dover.”

“Mark, it’s Luis. I thought of something.”

“What’ve you got?”

“In any of your…things…did you and the crazy lady both die?”

Mark grunted. “In a bunch of them.”

“At the same time?”

“No, never at the same time.”

“I think you should go talk to her. She’s still on psych hold until tomorrow, but she’s asking to see you.”

“How would you know that?”

“I went to check on her. She knows about your…thing. The doctors, of course, think she’s nuts, and want to commit her permanently.”

“I’ve never visited her in the past. In fact, I don’t think you have either. What gave you that idea?”

“An anonymous short story in an old magazine. I wanted to talk to her before I decided whether to bring it up.”

Mark shrugged. “It’s something at least.”

As the original responding officer, Mark had no trouble getting in to see Selina. Cleaned of the grime of the streets and freed from the multiple layers of loose clothes, she looked fragile and haunted.

She looked up when he entered. “It’s you. That’s new, too.”

“What else is new, Selina?”

“Your partner visited. Talking about some magazine article.”

“I’ve been having him research all his sci-fi. Every loop, I give him a list of the ones he’s already checked.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.

Mark sat next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. “I understand.”

“I’ve died so many times,” she said, “and others I’m doing something, then…I’m back.”

“I always die. I’ve made it as far as eighty-seven a couple times. Then I end up right back in front of my locker, yesterday morning. You say you don’t always die?”

“Most times. Doesn’t matter. I end up in front of the QuickMart, high on I don’t know what.” She sniffled and wiped at the tears that threatened to spill.

“Luis, my partner, mentioned that maybe we’re supposed to die at the same time.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “You’re young, you’ve got a career ahead of you. I’ve just got…the streets.”

“Every time? And come on, you’re younger than me.”

“I cleaned up a few times, had a job, an apartment, all that shit. But it never lasts more than a couple years.”

“Well, I’ve retired from the force four times, quit and moved to a cabin in the woods twice, died in the line of duty too many times, and even choked to death on a candy bar once.”

Selina chuckled through her tears. “Whoops.”

“I’ve been through the ‘golden years,’” Mark said, “and they aren’t. Not after a lifetime of physically abusing my body. The job’s hard on the joints, and the skin cancer sucks.”

“I don’t think it’s about dying,” Selena said. “I think we’re supposed to help each other, like right when we show back up.”

“There’s still an old payphone at the QuickMart, right?”

“Yeah.”

Mark wrote out a sentence and his number and handed it to her. “As long as you are alive, repeat this to yourself at least once a day. I find that makes it easier to remember things the next time around.”

#

Mark looked at his locker with a sigh of resignation. He toweled off his close-cropped blonde hair, the slight paunch around his middle, his pasty legs and his perpetually sunburnt arms. “Forty-two,” he muttered.

Luis started to say something when Mark’s phone buzzed with an unknown number, and he snatched it up. “Mark Dover.”

“It’s Selena, come pick me up at the QuickMart. Loop start, something…I can’t think…my head’s all fuzzy.”

“On my way.” Mark threw on his work-out clothes. “West Hawthorne QuickMart, 10^th and Evans,” he said, and rushed past a dumbfounded Luis to the parking lot. He made it to the QuickMart while his shift was still getting their assignments.

There she was: hair greasy and plastered down, layers of shabby clothes hiding her tiny frame, a black object in her hand. Mark ran from his car to her. “Selina, I’m here.”

She shook. “I don’t remember what I took, but I remember the note. I said it out loud three times every night for the whole time I was in the hospital, until I died.”

“Good job, Selina. I knew you could do it.” Mark led her toward his car. “How about we get you something to eat, some clean clothes, a bath, and a haircut. Would you like that?”

She nodded and handed him the crude pistol carving. “Why do I keep dying and living all over again?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

“But this is new,” she said.

“Yes, this is new.”

Sirens announced the arrival of a squad car. It skidded to a stop and the officers got into firing positions. Selina screamed and a jolt of icy fear ran up Mark’s spine. He stepped between her and the squad car, hands raised.

“Drop the weapon and step away from the bum!”

Another squad car barreled in, driven by Luis. He barely had time to shout, “Wait!” before a shot was fired.

Mark felt a hot pain in his chest, and everything below that went numb as he collapsed to the ground. Selina dropped beside him, holding his hand. It was just like the first time, but the roles were reversed. “No, Mark. No! You can’t…not yet.”

“I think I have to,” he said.

Luis was calling “officer down” on the radio as he ran to Mark’s side. “Hang in there, buddy, you’ll be all right.”

Mark felt the blood pooling in his right lung, but nothing below that. “I doubt it. I’ve lived enough lifetimes.”

Selina sobbed, still holding his hand, her tears making streaks down her dirty face. “I can’t do this again,” she said. “What if I forget?”

The morning light began to fade, and Mark felt it to his bones. “There won’t be another time, Selina. I can feel it; you’re free now. Promise me you’ll take care of Luis? He needs a lot of help.”

#

Selina was in front of the QuickMart again, this time by choice. She turned the five year-coin over in her fingers before putting it away in her pocket. She laid the bundle of flowers on the bench outside the store and ran her fingers over the plaque. “In Memory: Marcus Brian Dover — Officer and Friend.”

A fresh cup of coffee in hand, she began to walk the neighborhood, passing out flyers for the shelter and counseling center. Her job there allowed her to help others in the same position she’d been in so many times.

A familiar figure walked toward her, and she waved. He approached with a cup of coffee from the QuickMart like the one in her hand.

“Already been by the bench, I see,” she said.

“Yeah,” Luis said. “I see you beat me there this year.”

She looked him over. “You finally got your sergeant stripes. Is that why you haven’t been by the shelter in a while?”

“Yeah,” he said, “been on night shift, just got off. Who knew that more pay meant more work, too?”

“Speaking of work,” she said, handing him a stack of fliers, “let’s head over to the homeless camp in the empty lot on Oliver and 14^th.”

“You only knew Mark for a few minutes,” he said. “What was it that got you so determined to get clean?”

Selina smiled. “He held my hand while I died, I held his while he died. We lived lifetimes in that moment.”

“You know you’re weird, right? I still think you’re all right, just…weird.”

Selina laughed. “Come on. Let’s get to the encampment before they all head out to score.”