AN: Thanks so much for the reviews...Surprise! Posting two days in a row :)


Chapter 4

As my alarm goes off, I immediately realize a few things. I'm in my bed. My Charley horse is galloping painfully in my hamstring. My comforter is suffocating me. My head is aching like I'd attempted to out-drink a bunch of rowdy frat boys.

It's obviously October ninth. It's happening again. This time, I'm not even flinching.

I start carefully unraveling myself from my blankets, ignoring the searing pain from my head and leg. Although I desperately want to halt reliving the same day, I do want to keep living. I move slowly, hoping not to upset the apple cart of my futile existence with any rash movements.

A thought crosses my mind, one that lacks logic or reason: maybe I should switch things up? Being safe and reasonable killed me in my own home and at work doing what I always do. Maybe I really need to cut loose, be daring and adventurous? If I die saving someone or having done something spectacular, perhaps I can at least have some peace with what is happening.

No one wants "killed by a bagel" in their eulogy.

"Sometimes you have to be bold, Reid," Emily had said. "Grab life by both hands and hold on tight..."

Em loved to tease me about my tendencies to sit back and observe instead of participate. She thought I was too timid, but that wasn't really true. I'm a scholar; I study whenever possible. I'm not a coward. Even for a naturally submissive man, I do stand my ground when I need to. Fighting for the underdog, or for someone I care about, I do whatever it takes.

Hmm. Maybe right now, I need to fight for me?

That fight was going to start with telling someone about this. Someone wise who's had a lot of life experiences and a small amount of belief in mysticism, unexplainable things, like the evil eye and karma.

David Rossi.

Jumping out of bed—and bumping my shin against the nightstand—I divest of my pajamas and tug on my jeans and a Dr. Who T-shirt I had on top of my laundry pile. I grab the first pair of socks that I can find—I'm rather relieved they're mismatched—and pull them on.

Quickly, I make it to the bathroom and reach for my aspirin. Before I leave the bathroom, I say, "Hi, Herman."

That's the dead bug in my glass. He's almost family now.

I grab the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and take it with me out my front door, gulping the down the pills and then tossing the remainder of the juice in the receptacle outside my complex door. I rush to my car and head to work as quickly as I legally can.

Maybe even a touch illegally...


"Son, you look like hell."

Rossi's greeting isn't unexpected, and I'm not offended. He calls things the way he sees them, and I'm pretty sure I do look like hell.

"Thanks," I answer. "I feel like hell."

Dave's dark, omnipresent eyes are staring me down, and I can understand why many an unsub has given up their secrets to that look. There's something about his look that says he sees more I know, and it's rather terrifying and relieving at the same time for me.

A moment later, Dave gives a low whistle. "Whatever happened must've been a doozy." He gestures to one of the leather seats in his office, fine Italian leather he'd paid for with his own funds. "Sit down, Reid. Tell me what's going on."

I take a deep breath, dig my fingers into the buttery leather of Rossi's chair, and brace myself to come clean...be bold.

"Rossi, do you believe in deja vu?"

He nods. "Absolutely."

"Reincarnation?" I test...gently.

He shrugs. "The prospect of reincarnation has been around since before ancient Egypt. I don't exactly subscribe to the notion, but I'm not one to buck the thoughts of civilization that have been around far longer than I have." He pauses and narrows his eyes at me. "No age cracks, kid."

I smile slightly, and tell a fib, "The thought hadn't even crossed my mind."

Dave grunts in reply, which tells me I hadn't fooled him for a second.

"How about reliving the same day over and over?" I blurt out. Stress sweat begins to coat my palms as I nervously sit waiting for his response. I'm pretty certain he will be calling for the medics for me by the time this conversation is finished. I don't think it's going to be favorable in the slightest.

What he says makes no sense to me at all.

"Oh, like Groundhog's Day?"

I frown. What does a rodent who "detects" weather patterns have to do with this? "Groundhog's Day?"

Rossi smiles. "Yes. That movie with Bill Murray years ago...and Sigourney Weaver, I think?" He pauses for a second, stroking his goatee in thought, and then he grins. "No, it was Andie MacDowell."

"A movie?" I whisper, unable to shake my shock.

"Yes," he says. "Bill Murray kept reliving the same day over and over, until finally he did something right, made amends for his life, and proceeded on in a cheesy happy ending."

A chill runs down my spine. What amends do I have to make? I can't think of anyone I had wronged. Lately, the only one who has been wronged is me.

Will I get my own happy ending?

Rossi is continuing to talk about the movie, but I'm not listening. My heart is pounding too loud to concentrate.

"And then...haha," Dave says, chuckling loudly. He wipes tears from his eyes. "Anyway, I won't give it all away. Funny movie. You should see it."

"No, thank you. I'm living it," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?" Rossi asks.

"Nothing," I answer.

"Reid, what did you have to ask me?" Rossi questions, still smiling.

"Oh, never mind," I say, rushing to my feet.

The corner of his mouth quirks. "Okay. But my door is always open."

"Thanks." As I head toward that open door, I stop and turn. "Rossi?"

Rossi looks up from his paperwork. "Yes, son?"

Might as well start somewhere. "If I've ever done anything to offend you, I'm sorry."

Rossi's smile is sincere and warm. "Believe me, kid... If you offended me, you'd know."

I smile, too, the first time I'd really smiled in what feels like days. "Thanks."

Heading down the hallway, that overwhelming urge to leave, to reach the outdoors, hits me again. I'm not going to outsisde, but I head down to the lobby, find a secluded area away from everyone else, and remove my cell phone.

I dial my mother.

"Hi, Mom," I begin, my throat feeling constricted, but this time, it's with tears.

"Spencer," she says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing, calling during school? Your teachers will not be pleased."

Mom's medicines must not be working correctly. She reverts time when that happens. "It's okay, Mom. I...got a pass."

"Good, good," she says. "I don't want to keep you from your studies, so I should go."

Panic rushes through me. "No, wait!"

"Spencer, what is wrong?" she asks, the care in her voice bringing tears to my eyes.

"Nothing," I murmur, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "I...just wanted to hear your voice, and...and..."

I can't do it. I can't say the words that need to be said. That I'm sorry I can't care for her, sorry I can't visit as often as I need to, sorry—

"Spencer."

Her tone is firm, calm, clear, and it demands to be answered.

"Yes, Mom."

"You're a good boy, son. You do the best with what you've been dealt, and in a town like Las Vegas, the hand isn't always fair," she says softly. "Just know that I'm proud of you and I love you."

I don't stop the tears that fall. "Thanks, Mom. I love you, too."

"Now get to class before there's trouble," she says. "I have my own classes to teach now."

"Yes, Mom."

She clears her throat, and I know what's coming. "Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow."

I don't hear a hang up. I know she'd expect the next line before she exits the call. With a smile and a heart filled with love, I continue the line from Romeo and Juliet.

"Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest."

After I hear the click from her ending the call, I close the phone and check the time. It's thirty seconds away from my time. I haven't made true amends, I haven't made changes, I haven't done anything from Rossi's stupid movie, but I do feel somewhat better—

"Watch out!" someone calls out.

I look upward, and a large chandelier is careening toward me. I try to dive away, but my foot is stuck.

I hadn't noticed a wet floor/construction sign.

Just before the chandelier makes contact, I wonder if Emily saw that movie, too...