Page 17 of Irreversible

Maybe nothing.

The world tilts, and I fall forward, face first. “I’m…gonna kill…” The words slur into the mud.

A pair of shoes comes into view. One pulls back. Connects with my stomach. My ribcage. Over and over. Something snaps.

Fuck. Oh…fuck.

Then another connects with my face.

A punch lands. A kick.

“Agghh.” That’s my voice, cracked, broken. Moaning like a dying animal.

I pant through it. Shallow breaths.

Can’t get air.

Darkness rushes for me like a tidal wave.

No. I can’t lose consciousness.

I can’t…

lose…

Afternoon light filters through the blinds, painting gold stripes over the file-strewn desk. I haven’t used this office since before I started undercover work, years ago.

How—

My attention catches on a flash of blue: a gauzy dress draped like a waterfall over a metal folding chair. Thick waves of espresso-brown hair frame the shocking crystal eyes of a girl I know better than anyone.

I wish I could remember her name.

Relief and dread spread through my chest in equal measure. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Hug her. “How did you get here?”

She has a smile that could make flowers wilt and angels fall from the sky, but today, it breaks my heart. And when her lips part, the words come out as a song. “Where were you?”

“Where wasI?” I shake my head. “Where areyou?”

She’s right here in front of me. And yet, I know that she isn’t.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, and out of nowhere, her face begins to age.

Slowly, the life vanishes from her eyes until they sink into her skull and dark holes stare back at me. Her skin sags…dissolves. A string of wordless notes float through the room, dark and dissonant. A funeral dirge.

“Where are you?” I repeat.

“It’s too late.” A single tear trickles over the edge of an empty eye socket. “It’s too late… It’s too late.”

Something buzzes in my ear. Lands on my face. Another comes, and another. Flies. I swat at them, but there are too many. The buzzing fills the office.

Blindly, I lunge across the desk to protect the girl.

No. You can’t have her. Not her?—

The scratch of a record cuts through the buzz. Time glitches. I’m standing behind my desk, where I started. It’s quiet as death.

I blink.

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