Lucas Selby

Dead in the Water

The blood blooms around him, forming some sort of disjointed, abstract heart in the water. I know I scream. A few others do, maybe—I have a hard time paying attention. There’s a dead body floating in the pool, after all.

Then everything turns, grainy? It’s kind of like those old film reels, if that’s a good way to describe it. I’ve never actually seen an old film reel, but that’s how grainy things are usually described. The colors blur together more and more until the pool pops back into focus, a little brighter, a bit bluer, and much more body-less. I wonder the usual things in this situation: What the hell? Where did the body go? Did I just have a stroke? Stuff like that. I even blink a few times to see if anything is real. I cover all the basics in terms of catching up with reality. Nothing seems out of place except for the lack of a dead body in the pool.

My first thought is definitely premonition. Who doesn’t believe they have superpowers after they experience something that weird? But then that guy who spilled his drink on me, like, an hour ago, spills his drink on me again, and I realize I’m back in my beer-drenched day clothes. He apologizes the exact same as last time and tries to wipe it off before I swat his hand away.

“Oh man, let’s get these wet clothes off you,” he says with a wink. Like, who even winks anymore?

Last time I rolled my eyes and got changed—without his help, I might add. This time I stand there like a moron, eyes and mouth agape, seriously considering if I have superpowers. He must get pretty weirded out, because he leaves without trying to hit on me again. At this point, I have to figure out if I’ve gone back in time, so I maneuver through the crowd into the house where I locate the same dresser in the same bedroom and—there it is. There is the same ugly-ass tie-dye shirt.

Jordyn pokes her head into the room. “Oh, yeah, you can just have that.”

I hold the shirt up and, yep, still my size. Time to test my theory.

“Did you already say that to me? Like, an hour ago?”

She’s giving the shirt the unflattering eye it deserves when I interrupt her. She thinks, then cough-burps into her hand a little and laughs. “Maybe? I can’t remember.” After one final distasteful eye-over, she says, “Don’t even bother getting changed. Let’s get in the pool!”

I laugh too, now realizing I’m a little too drunk to focus properly. “I told you already, I forgot my swimsuit.”

She replies, “You did?” She thinks to herself, then continues, “Maybe you did. Who knows? Anyway, there’s a spare in the bottom drawer. It’s got—”

“—yellow stripes,” I say with her. She gives me a smirk and ducks out as I open the bottom drawer to, lo and behold, the yellow-striped bikini. Jesus, am I lucky to be Jordyn’s size. I should be getting back to the whole premonition thing, but I’m a little preoccupied by how the bikini highlights my curves.

Stepping outside again allows me the briefest breath before screams tear through the crowd. No way. I dash over to the pool and, sure enough, a young man has a knife in his chest. This time the blood spreads in opposite directions from his torso in straight lines. What changed?

Everything turns grainy. No, wait, that was not an hour. Jesus, how drunk am I? The colors blur together. That was maybe ten minutes, tops. Then everything is back. Looking down reveals that, sure enough, I’m wearing my day clothes. Breathing into my hand and sniffing reveals that, sure enough, I’m still a little drunk. The guy stumbling into me and spilling his beer reveals that, sure enough, I’m back to the beginning.

“Oh man, let’s get these wet—” He sees my face and takes a step back. “Jesus, okay, sorry.”

As he drifts off, I attempt to reshape my face into a normal expression. “Attempt” is the operative word. Here I stand, drenched in cheap beer and horrified at my reality while the party mills around me. Jordyn spots me and elbows her way over.

“Christ, Hannah, let’s get you into something.” She pauses. “Less soaked in beer.”

She leads me back through her house, to her bedroom, where she pulls the ugly-ass tie-dye shirt out of her dresser. “Wow,” she laughs, holding it up to me, evidently unaware of my face, “this is such an ugly-ass shirt. You can just have this.”

When I don’t take the shirt, she turns back to her dresser and opens the bottom drawer. “Actually, why don’t you try this on?” She returns holding up a bikini with—

“Yellow stripes,” I say.

She holds it out to me and says, “Oh yeah, this will totally fit you. We have, like, the same body type. And it would totally highlight your curves.” Laying the clothes out on the bed for me, she winks and says, “See you in the pool in five!”

After she closes the door, I plop down next to the clothes. I am unable to move. None of it is processing. How did one boy die twice? How can I be back in the same time and place for the third time? Why am I just sitting here and not doing anything to help this boy?

It’s this last thought that moves me. As I burst out the back door, screams break out from the party. That was not ten minutes.

Yet there he is, bathing in a pool of his own blood, and also pool water, knife in his chest. That was less than ten minutes. How can I have that little time? He turns grainy. I can’t waste time wondering what’s going on. The colors blur together. I am going to save this boy.

Everything snaps into focus. Time to figure out what to do. I’ve heard of Groundhog Day. How is this so different? Find the boy, warn him. Keep him away from the pool and keep him safe from knives. Maybe even find out who the attacker is. Stop them.

A small wave of beer breaks through my thought process. I’m too surprised and distracted to fully pay attention to the drunk idiot who says, “Oh man, let’s get these wet clothes off you.”

“Fuck off.”

When he fucks off, Jordyn finds me. Before I can stop her, she eyes me over. “Christ, Hannah, let’s get you into something—”

“Sorry Jordyn, no time!”

I try to outmaneuver her, but she grabs my arm. “No time to look cute? Bullshit. Come on.”

I can’t deny her when she is this drunk and insistent. I also can’t deny her when I’m this drunk, so maybe that’s partly on me. Plowing through the crowd takes extra long with my vain struggles, and she all but pushes me into her room before she starts rummaging through the dresser. The instant her back is turned and her hands are full of ugly shirts, I break free and half sprint, half collide into people on my way outside. I burst through the door and make it two feet before the screams start. Fuck, not again!

Yet there he is. The look of surprise on his face is frozen as the light goes out of his eyes. One curved tail of blood branches out from his hair while another flits out from his feet in the opposite direction.

He turns grainy. Damnit there is so little time. Colors blend. Okay, next loop I’ll get it right. Everything’s back. Let’s move.

Hoping to avoid beer guy, I step to the side right away, crashing into someone else who spills beer all over me.

“Fuck!”

Jordyn looks over and sees me dripping with alcohol. She elbows her way over and grabs the edge of my shirt before saying, “Christ, Hannah, let’s get you into something—”

“—less soaked in beer,” I groan. “Listen Jordyn, I don’t have time for this. I have something I need to do right now.”

Jordyn grabs my arm. “No time to look cute? Bullshit. Come on.”

I jerk my arm out of her grasp before she can get a good hold. “Please Jordyn, I—”

I’m interrupted by another alcoholic shower. I whirl around to see the same boy who’s thrown beer on me in previous loops.

“Oh man, let’s get these wet—” I punch him in the face.

“Damn, ow! Bitch!” he yells at me, stumbling away while cupping his nose. I take my chance to slip away and find myself on the other side of the yard near a table adorned with red cups and a cake for the birthday party, whoever the fuck’s it is. There’s one girl in a skimpy orange bikini cutting herself a piece. Cutting herself a piece. Cutting.

I make my way over, readying my nonchalant, “Can I get a piece? Here, I’ll just take the knife,” when I run into him. He looks the exact same, just without a knife in his chest. He has brown hair. He has green eyes. He has hella abs. He’s distracting me from checking on the knife. I essentially push him out of the way to look at the drinks table. The cake is still there, one piece smaller. The knife is gone.

Whirling back around, I see that he’s gone too. So much for either of those plans. But time certainly hasn’t run out yet. I can still figure this out.

Screams. This is so not happening. I rush to the side of the pool and actually notice Jordyn is the one screaming, right up against the pool’s edge, staring down at the darkening water, water darkening from the boy with the knife in his chest. He was right next to me and now he’s in the water. That was not enough time. I need more time. No way had it taken that long for me to walk across the yard and find the victim and the weapon.

The shape has changed again. The weird heart shape is back, but this one has no tip. Blood looks to be streaming from the two humps, cascading their way further down the pool, stretching to encompass more and more before everything turns grainy, the colors blend, and I’m back where I started.

I close my eyes and count to six before I’m splashed with beer. Jordyn takes me to her room and I put on her bikini. This time I just walk to the edge of the pool and see the body already floating there, hear the screams already resonating throughout the party. One long tail of blood from head to toe, one crooked arm flowing directly from the knife wound. Grainy. Blurry. Back.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I duck out of the way and a splash of cheap beer just misses me. The boy looks up at me and says, “Oh man, let’s get these wet clothes off you,” before winking.

“Dude, my clothes aren’t even wet,” I reply.

He looks me up and down and shrugs, “So?”

So I punch him in the face and move to the drinks table. Time to choose: save the knife or save the boy? The boy seems like the more indirect approach, so I start with him.

“Hey cutie, what’s your name?” I call out to him. He turns and looks around as if I must be talking to someone else. With as much pompous sass as I can muster, I strut (strut?) over to him and give him a small, one-handed push as I repeat myself, “What’s your name, cutie?”

He glances around nervously and says, “Um, I have a girlfriend.” With that, he backs away a little, looking for an opportunity to rejoin the party, so I grab him.

“Don’t. Please, just talk to me for, like, five minutes. I promise I’ll leave you alone after that.”

My words fall on soon-to-be permanently deaf ears as he nearly jumps back into the crowd. I’m sure there was a more tactful way to do that, but at this point, it might be better to just ditch the less direct approach and get rid of the knife instead.

I turn around to the sound of screams. That’s not even fair. He’s dead in the water within seconds of me flirting with him. Rolling my eyes, I shuffle to the pool’s edge. The knife is definitely the cake knife. Now that I’m paying attention, I can see bits of frosting dissolving in the blood and water. It mixes with the shape that’s forming: the same crooked arm as before with the curved tail opposite of it. Grainy. Blurry. Back.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. This time I just bump right past him, eliciting some response I lack the shits to give. On my way to the cake table, I do manage to cross dead-man-walking. “Hey, what’s your name again?” “Caspian.” “Cool. Bye.” Orange bikini girl is cutting herself a piece.

“Can I get a piece?” I ask. She nods and attempts to cut another with a full slice taking up one hand.

“Here, I’ll just take the knife,” I say. She nods again and hands it over. Score. I glance around to see if anyone’s watching before tossing it into the trash can. Mission accomplished. One life saved, Groundhog Day style.

I turn around and someone screams. Wait, what? I rush to the edge of the pool and, sure enough, there he is, floating the dead man’s float, knife smeared with frosting embedded in his chest. The curved tail reappears with a more circular pool of blood on the opposite side.

This makes zero sense. Everything turns grainy. How did the knife move from the trash can to his chest so quickly? Colors blur together. What did I do wrong?

One, two, three, four, five, dodge, move, orange bikini, knife. This time I take it to the other end of the yard and stick it in the dirt, pushing it all the way until the handle is covered. I turn around. No screams.

I did it.

I walk my way through the party with ease, even smiling at the boy who spilled beer on me half a dozen times. Everyone lives. Finally, a happy ending.

Jordyn screams. I guess I scream too, but more so out of frustration. There he fucking is. In the fucking pool. Oh but this time, the knife in his chest is caked in fucking dirt. How. Grainy. The fuck. Blurry. Did he die. Back.

I hide the knife by burying it in the side yard. Dead in the water.

I hide the knife by throwing it onto the roof. Dead in the water.

I hide the knife by throwing it over the fence. Dead in the water.

I hide the knife by throwing it in the pool. Dead.

I hide the knife by giving it to Jordyn for safekeeping. In.

I hide the knife by placing it in the tank of the toilet. The.

I hide the knife by keeping it in my pocket. Water.

That last one irks me. I kept a hand on that thing the entire time and some drunk idiot bumps into me and I instantly check and it’s not there. No, it’s already somehow in his chest. In the water. Dead in the water.

By my count, I’m on try number fifteen. This time, I just stand to the side and watch the party. I even find a decorative bench to stand on and search for Caspian. I keep an eye on orange bikini girl too, because she’s definitely a suspect. This time, nothing blocks my line of sight. Nobody in the crowd gets in the way, nobody splashes beer on me, nobody even says my name. I merely blink. In the space it takes me to close my eyes and open them, the knife is out of the cake and in Caspian’s chest. Jordyn’s screaming. The pool water darkens with some shapes and everything resets as usual. This time, I’m prepared.

I dance through the motions, counting the steps with ever-quickening heartbeats. This time, I grab dead boy’s hand and say, “Caspian, we need to talk. Please.”

He’s no match for my sheer willpower to keep him alive. Even with his stupid “I have a girlfriend,” I manage to pull him behind me as far away from the pool as possible. When I turn around, the boy in my hand is not Caspian.

Someone screams. I don’t even bother to check the body. So much for try sixteen.

I try endlessly. Some loops I confront Caspian. Some loops I deal with the knife. Some loops I question strangers with my allotted time. Even after I try every conversation with him, every hiding place with it, and every person with that, I find no way to stop the murder. I try combinations of events, talking to Caspian and someone else. Hiding the knife before spilling something on Caspian. Distracting someone while throwing the knife in the pool. Dead in the water. Dead in the water. Dead in the water.

Grainy, blurry, back.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Move. Cake. Orange bikini. Knife.

Caspian is next to the pool, talking with his supposed girlfriend whose birthday she is celebrating. Jordyn’s sister? Irrelevant. I approach her first.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you!” she beams back at me. I turn to Caspian.

“115.”

“Excuse me?” he replies.

“115. That’s how many times I’ve tried to save you. And you know what? I deserve a bit of stress relief. So fuck you. It’s my turn.” I whip out the knife and stab him in the chest.

People scream. What once was an alarm bell is now a chorus of angels. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and wait. Grainy, blurry, back. When I open my eyes—

He’s still there. Caspian is still floating in the water, a cake knife buried in his chest. He isn’t moving, but everyone else is. And everyone else is crystal clear. Not grainy at all. Nothing is resetting. Everything is back to normal, time is moving on.

I did it.

I stare back at Caspian’s body and watch the blood pool out in all directions.