(AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN…) ALL WE KNOW IS PAIN

Taylor knew two things about the sniper. They were watching her. More importantly, they were paying close enough attention to recognize when something about her behavior changed.

She had learned that much during the last attempt, and it left her with a problem she hadn’t encountered before. If the sniper was watching her closely enough to notice when she knew an attack was coming, then simply warning her dad would give them time to react. Taylor couldn’t afford to give them that time, which meant she needed to change the situation before they could understand what she was doing.

She reached for her dad’s hand.

“Dad, come on.”

He barely had time to look at her before she turned around and started running.

Her dad stumbled after her, caught off guard by the sudden change in direction, and for several seconds Taylor could hear his shoes striking the pavement behind her as he tried to keep up. He wasn’t exactly built for sprinting, and Taylor had spent enough time training that the difference between them had become rather embarrassing whenever they tried to move quickly together. 

“Taylor?”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw the confusion on his face. He looked worried, too, although he was trying not to show it.

Taylor kept running.

She didn’t know exactly where the sniper was positioned, but the buildings across the street offered plenty of places for someone with a rifle to hide. If the shooter had been watching them from one of the rooftops or upper floors, then staying out in the open was asking to be killed again.

She needed cover.

Her dad stumbled once more behind her, and Taylor slowed just enough for him to catch up before pulling him toward the nearest side street. He followed without arguing, which surprised her almost as much as the attack itself had.

He kept looking at her as they ran, clearly expecting an explanation, yet he didn’t demand one. That was probably for the best. Taylor didn’t have one she could give him while they were still exposed.

She spotted an alley ahead and changed direction again, searching as they entered for somewhere that would keep them out of sight of the buildings surrounding the street. An alcove recessed into one of the walls caught her attention, and she pulled her dad into it before pressing herself against the brick and looking back toward the street.

Nothing happened. No rifle shot came, and no one appeared as Taylor waited several seconds and watched the rooftops, trying to slow her breathing. They had made it into cover, at least for the moment, although she knew better than to assume that meant they were safe.

She turned toward her dad.

He was breathing hard, and his expression had gone from confusion to outright alarm. He looked at her as though he was trying to decide whether asking questions would make whatever was happening better or worse.

“Dad,” she said, and her voice came out faster than she intended. “There’s a sniper. They were sent to kill you. Us, actually.”

His mouth fell open, and for a moment he simply stared at her as the meaning of her words began to settle in.

“How…” His voice caught, and he swallowed before trying again. “No, has it already…?”

Taylor looked away.

“Yeah.”

She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She had watched him die twice now, even though neither death had happened in this version of the world. The first time, she had stood beside his body in the street, covered in his blood and surrounded by people screaming and running, and she had been so overwhelmed that she had thrown herself into traffic. The second time, she had known what was coming and tried to warn him, only for the sniper to shoot him anyway before turning the gun on her.

Now he was standing in front of her again, alive and terrified, trying to understand how his daughter could possibly know that someone was coming for him.

Taylor forced herself to look back at him.

His eyes moved over her face as though he were searching for some indication that she was wrong, but whatever he found there seemed to convince him that she wasn’t guessing. Fear remained in his expression, along with grief for something he hadn’t experienced himself, and yet there was something else beneath it that Taylor recognized.

Determination.

“What should we do?” he asked.

Taylor opened her mouth, but she had no answer. She had been trying to solve the problem one step at a time, and until that moment she had convinced herself that finding cover and telling him what was happening would at least give them a chance to think. She hadn’t expected him to look at her like that, as though she had already figured out what came next, and she had no idea what to tell him.

The wall beside them exploded inward.

Taylor barely had time to turn before a mass of metal and blades tore through the brick.

Something struck her across the chest and drove her backward, while another blade ripped through her side. The force carried her into the wall, and then more metal came crashing through the opening as the alcove filled with shrieking steel.

Her dad screamed, and Taylor tried to reach for him, but another blade caught her before she could move. Pain tore through her body so violently that her vision blurred, yet she could still hear him struggling beside her as the blades continued to tear through them both.

Taylor had died enough times that pain itself had become something she could endure. She had learned how to focus on what needed to be done while her body was being burned, broken, crushed, or torn apart, and if she had been alone, she might have been able to retreat into that familiar distance again. She had always been able to endure her own deaths because there had always been another attempt waiting for her.

Her dad didn’t have another attempt.

Taylor closed her eyes as his screams filled the space between them, and for once, she was grateful when the darkness came.