Chapter 2/8
Loops 2 and 3
It was a dream. No, a nightmare—one so vivid that sent her heart racing and her pulse pounding.
Chloe stood in front of the mirror and pulled up her pajama top to reveal unblemished skin. Other than her nearly decade-old stretch marks, her stomach was as smooth and unmarred as she remembered. No scars or other signs of injuries, unlike the puckered, knotted skin commemorating the time Jimmy almost took her life.
At least it wasn't a repeat of the other nightmares that plagued her lately. The ones featuring Marcus' cloying embrace or Hellfire burning through a familiar pair of chocolate brown eyes. Yeah, she could work with a pedestrian nightmare about dying on the job.
-x-x-x-
While sipping from her Starbucks cup, she strolled out of the elevator and onto the mezzanine. As she passed Ella and Officer Engles, she muttered a quiet "good morning," which Ella returned with her usual enthusiasm. Officer Engles nodded in acknowledgment. Dan appeared soon after she settled with her current case file, Jane Doe, spread across her desk. They made conversation about their respective cases for another few minutes. As she focused on work, the tension unfurled in her shoulders.
BANG!
Chloe sprung from her seat, arms jolting up and upending her coffee over her front.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Ella exclaimed. At the other end of the bullpen, she flew down the stairs to retrieve her box and its contents now strewn across the floor.
Hands shaking, Chloe lowered her coffee cup onto her desk and took several steadying breaths. "Excuse me," she said to Dan. "I'm going to clean this up."
In the ladies' restroom, she wrenched the cold water faucet on and pulled a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. She pushed all other thoughts out of her head and focused on dabbing the coffee from her work slacks.
Thank God she chose black today. The stains shouldn't be too noticeable once they dried. Her blouse was a lost cause though. She did her best with the tools at hand, finishing by buttoning up her blazer to hide the remaining stain.
She gripped the porcelain sides of the sink. Even now, her hands trembled. "Pull it together, Decker."
No time to fall to pieces. She may be a nobody in the grand scheme of the universe, but there were people that depended on her.
She forced herself to leave the restroom and return to her desk. But time and time again, an inescapable sense of déjà vu seized her by the shoulders and shook her composure loose. Sometimes it was triggered by an overly familiar report detail. Once it was Karen, the floor's administrator, announcing her engagement/pregnancy. Each time, Chloe talked herself back from the metaphorical edge.
A lot of missing person reports read the same; the details and names compiled according to procedure. As for Karen, she had been putting on weight for several weeks now. Chloe must have picked up on the signs and incorporated it into last night's dream. And as for Karen's new fiancé, everyone in the bullpen knew Officer Lee was head-over-heels in love with her.
Everything had a reasonable explanation.
She jumped when a ham and Swiss sandwich and a cup of coffee appeared at her elbow. Lifting her head, she directed her deer-in-the-headlights look at Dan.
"Why?" she demanded.
"Why what?"
She gritted her teeth, then snapped, "Why ham and cheese?"
Dan looked at her with a furrowed brow. "That's your favorite. Did you want something else?"
She felt ridiculous. Dan was right. She always got the ham and Swiss sandwich from the break room vending machine. Dan, being both her ex and her colleague, had noted of her tastes and chosen accordingly. No great mystery. Just common sense. Feeling appropriately chagrined, she muttered her thanks and busied herself with lunch.
For several moments, Dan didn't move, studying her with a concerned look in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she shot him a finely-edged glower that shut him down. To her relief, he wandered away, shaking his head.
As soon as he was out of sight, Chloe dropped the sandwich and pulled her keyboard close. Navigating to the police search database, she typed in her badge number and password. In the search fields for first and last names, she entered "Robin" and "Yeats" respectively. The database kicked back a dozen results. She perused every one, staring long and hard at the attached DMV or arrest photos.
None of them were her Jane Doe.
Was she relieved or disappointed by the lack of results?
-x-x-x-
Her stomach dropped as soon as Dan approached, waving a sheaf of papers.
"Chloe, I got something that might be related to your case." Oblivious to her dread, he continued, "This came out of the South Bureau, Topanga Division, an hour ago."
Chloe knew the details of the report before reading it: a young girl missing her mother abandoned at the Starlight Inn outside Topanga State Park. From the station to the motel, she spent 45 minutes on the road, having nearly the same conversation with Carnahan, the lead detective on the case. She parked in the open spot by the office. Through the window with its "No Vacancy" sign, Chloe spotted the bored clerk flipping through her copy of People.
She killed the engine and bent forward to rest her head against the steering wheel. This had gone far beyond déjà vu. It was... It was... She didn't know what was happening except it wasn't natural.
Her hands dropped to her stomach, where her buttoned-up blazer covered her coffee-stained blouse. In her dream, the stain was her blood.
Did she have a premonition? A prophetic dream? Was it a warning?
After climbing out of the driver's seat, she left behind her case files and went straight to her trunk. If her dream was a warning, she'd be a fool to go in unprepared. Shedding her blazer, she donned her bullet-proof vest before checking her sidearm. Afterward, she buttoned her jacket as high as possible, but her vest still peeked out between the vee of her lapel.
Chloe turned away from the check-in desk and headed straight toward the room. She knocked firmly twice.
A familiar face opened the door. "Detective Decker, I'm—"
"Officer Rollins," she cut him off, pulse pounding in her ears. She flashed her badge in afterthought.
Rollins blinked in surprise before stepping back to allow her into the room. "Uh, yeah. Detective Carnahan told me to expect you."
Her gaze went straight to the red-headed child sitting on top of the bed. Wide green eyes stared back, but she didn't recognize Chloe any more than Rollins.
Rollins sidled up to her. "Hadn't heard a peep out of her all afternoon. Won't tell me her name or anything."
By now, the hairs on the back of Chloe's neck stood on end. Her déjà vu had morphed into a full-blown dread. She couldn't shake the feeling, nor could she take her eyes off the child when she addressed Rollins. "I'm taking her back to the Hollywood station. I've confirmed that her mother's related to my case."
"Are we sure? What if someone else comes looking for her?"
Then with her back to the child, she lowered her voice. "The best thing we can do is to locate other family members. There's no point waiting here any longer."
"Poor girl," Rollins sighed, glancing over Chloe's shoulder. "What about their belongings? Detective Carnahan already looked through their suitcases earlier. Found nothing of interest though."
Sure enough, two roller suitcases stood in the far corner behind the bed.
"I'll take them with." Just because Carnahan found nothing of interest didn't mean Chloe won't. At a minimum, the girl needed a change of clothes.
"I can load—"
"I can't leave." The child's quiet words startled both Chloe and Rollins, who shared an incredulous glance.
"Why's that?" Chloe asked. When she got no reply, she added, "Did your mom tell you that?"
The girl remained silent, staring at the motel room door with naked dread. Chloe thought of her phantom gunman. Was he Robin's murderer? Was he also targeting the daughter? Had both mother and daughter known their lives were in danger? If so, they were sitting ducks here.
"We're going to a police station. You'll be safe there," cajoled Chloe.
But the girl appeared unconvinced.
"Officer Rollins, can you move the suitcases out to my cruiser? It's the Dodge Charger by check-in." She tossed her car keys to the officer.
"Uh, sure thing."
Chloe waited until he left before approaching the girl. "Sweetie, we have to go. It's not safe here."
The girl shook her head vigorously, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "No, I have to wait for Mommy to get me. She told me to wait for her."
Chloe's heart broke at the sight. "Your mother's not coming to pick you up. Please believe me. The sooner we leave this place, the safer you'll be."
"No!"
As she opened her mouth to retort, ready to bodily haul the girl out of the room if need be, several loud bangs sounded from the parking lot. Chloe grabbed the girl around her shoulders, dragged her off the bed, and pressed them flat against the carpet.
Those were gunshots. Multiple gunshots.
"Stay here," she ordered. "Don't move."
The girl sobbed in response.
Crawling across the floor, Chloe made her way to the windows overlooking the motel parking lot. She pulled out her cellphone, turned on the front-facing camera, hit record, and poked it out over the ledge and under the marigold curtains. With the help of her phone, she saw the prone body, clad in an officer's uniform with sandy blond hair, lying facedown on the asphalt. Two roller suitcases had fallen over the body. Rollins didn't stir.
Another darkly clothed figure peeled away from the SUV parked across the lot, carrying a firearm she couldn't see clearly from this angle. Baseball cap. Blue surgical mask. Dark clothes. It was her dream/phantom gunman.
She wasted no time dialing dispatch. "This is Detective Chloe Decker, badge number 26435. 10-71 at the Starlight Inn, uh, 1101 Topanga Canyon Blvd. Officer down. Urgently requesting a bus and backup."
"How many suspects?"
"One."
"10-4. Relaying nearby units to your location—" The sound of shattering glass and more gunfire soon drowned out the rest of dispatch's response.
She dropped her phone and crawled back to the girl. "Sweetie, go into the bathroom, lock the door, and get in the bathtub. Can you do that?"
The door wouldn't hold indefinitely even when locked, but it would buy more time. She just needed to buy enough time for backup.
"I can't!" the girl sobbed, clinging to Chloe.
She scooped up the girl and made a run for the ensuite bathroom. She pried the girl's hands from around her neck and set her down on the tile floor. As she tried to push her further into the bathroom, a loud thud came from behind her.
The gunman was trying to kick in the front door. Crunch—that was the wood splintering and giving way.
Chloe was out of time. She knew that for a fact, even as she fumbled for her gun. Both she and the girl were far too exposed. As she freed her firearm from its holster, the first shot slammed into the base of her spine, knocking the wind out of her. She staggered, grabbing the doorframe with her free hand for support.
She needed to stay on her feet. She had a vest. The poor girl did not.
The second bullet hit her in her right shoulder, inches off where Jimmy shot her. Dark spots danced across her vision. Each impact forced the air from her lungs in a raspy gasp, making it impossible to breathe.
With one final burst of strength, she shoved the girl back into the bathroom and slammed the door. "Stay away from the door!" she bellowed and prayed the girl would do as instructed.
She pushed off from the doorframe, and the third bullet winged Chloe in the arm. The sudden shock and pain caused her to lose grip on her weapon and her knees to buckle. Her bones rattled when her knees hit the floor.
She didn't want to die. Her vest was nearly useless at this stage. Backup wouldn't arrive in time. The heavy footsteps behind her advanced with the inevitability of Death itself.
"Please, you don't have to do this," she begged, eyes and throat squeezed shut.
An unseen force slammed into the back of her skull.
Her eyes snapped open to the familiar sight of her own bedroom ceiling as a marching band trampled across her brain matter. She blinked for several long moments before the black spots dancing in her vision cleared. With hands fisted in her sheets, she stared up at the ceiling, too terrified of the blackness lurking behind closed eyelids, and swallowed the scream lodged in her throat.
-x-x-x-
Despite the duvet wrapped around her shoulders, she shivered uncontrollably while groping around for tissues. She barely paid attention as the last chords of the song on the radio faded.
"That was Delilah's 'Time Will Tell', also the title track for the 2014 movie of the same name," the DJ said, full of undeserved cheer. "Today marks the third anniversary of her untimely passing."
A second DJ cut in. "I passed Lux the other day, where fans have been leaving memorial offerings all week."
"It just goes to show how loyal her fans are even to this day. On a related note, there'll be a gathering at Plummer Park later this evening to celebrate Delilah's life and music. Here on 102.7 KIISFM, we'll be playing more of her music on the hour so stay tuned."
Chloe switched off the radio, then pulled her blankets tighter. Three years. It'd been three years to the day since Delilah was gunned down in front of a Hollywood nightclub. It was three years to the day that Chloe Decker first met Lucifer Morningstar.
She powered on her phone screen to double, then triple-check the date. Her phone slipped from her numb hands, bouncing twice on the mattress before falling onto the floor. She didn't even notice.
March 20th. Again.
For the third time.
She wasn't dreaming. Did she really die twice? What was happening? Why was the day repeating?
Why?
Why?
Why?!
She pulled the covers over her head and curled into a ball. She struggled to breathe already. What difference did suffocating under her duvet make? None. Because she'd die again. Would she wake up in bed afterward? During one moment caught between clarity and hysteria, she thought to test her theory.
Her shivering never subsided, but her body grew hot until beads of sweat dripped down her jaw. Too much! Too hot!
She threw off the blanket and raced into her bathroom. Every breath she took was a stab in her chest—jabbed needles in her throat like a pincushion. Her blood pounded in her ears, loud enough to drown out every thought except for one: It's happening again. I'm dying.
Chloe never made it to the shower, her head spinning so much that she couldn't stand straight. She slowly sank to the floor. The cool tile was both a shock and a relief against her flushed skin. When stars danced across her vision, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sob.
This wasn't a nightmare. She was awake and trapped in what can only be described as "Hell on earth."
Trixie pounding on her bedroom door finally brought Chloe back to herself. She didn't know how long she had been lying on the bathroom floor. Pushing back the damp locks plastered against her forehead, she cringed at how her pajamas stuck to her skin.
"I'll be down in a sec, monkey," she croaked.
"Okay, Mommy," responded Trixie after a pregnant pause, but she didn't sound reassured.
Chloe's limbs dragged as she climbed to her feet with the aid of the bathroom vanity. Her muscles quivered like jelly, and she doubted she'd muster enough strength to even get dressed. But the thought of Trixie waiting and worrying downstairs forced her through the grueling routine, even as her arms burned from the strain and her head pounded. Unable to give it any extra thought, she donned the same outfit worn in previous loops.
By the time she went downstairs, Trixie was fully dressed and eating a bowl of milk and cereal at the kitchen island. Her feet thumped against the side of the island. Chloe should scold her... Trixie's gaze tracked her as she crossed the kitchen and dug through the fridge. Thanks to Chloe's meltdown, they needed to be out the door in ten minutes. She'll drop Trixie off at her school and then... And then...
"Mommy?"
Chloe jumped and released the fridge door, which almost swung fully shut under its own weight. She pressed one hand to the door and her other hand to her racing heart. Swallowing the bile gathering in the back of her throat, she breathed deeply before turning to address her daughter with a watery smile, "What is it, monkey?"
Trixie peered up at her. Suspicion was the most dominant expression on her face. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?" Then with widening eyes and a voice that began to tremble, she asked, "Did something happen to Daddy?"
Helpless in the face of her daughter's fear and her own guilt, Chloe swept her little girl into a tight hug. "Daddy's fine. I'm... I'm feeling a little sick is all."
"Oh." Trixie's tiny voice was almost lost in the folds of Chloe's jacket. But she wound her growing arms around Chloe's neck and returned the hug.
Chloe's breath hitched as the memory of another little girl cradled in her arms hit her with the force of an eighteen-wheeler. Robin's daughter may be a year older than Trixie, but she was nearly the same height and weight as Chloe's daughter. Chloe held Trixie for a while longer, running her fingers through her daughter's dark, loose curls. Trixie didn't smell like wildflowers. She didn't cry and wail, fists wrinkling Chloe's blazer and shaking in abject terror. No, that little girl was alone in a motel room and just as worried about her mother.
Though Chloe's limbs lacked their usual surety, she had to keep going. Chloe had another chance to save her. She refused to fail.
-x-x-x-
Chloe upgraded to a triple-shot espresso, which she drank in its entirety on the drive to the station. She power-walked past Ella and Officer Engels on the mezzanine. But when she took the first step down, she made a sharp u-turn and doubled back.
"Hey, Ella," she butted into the conversation with a polite smile that strained her facial muscles. "Want me to take that for you?"
"Thanks, Decker, but I got it," Ella replied with a spring in both her voice and her ponytail.
"Really, it's no trouble," she insisted, already reaching past the two of them to grab the other end of the box. "Leave it in the lab?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks."
Chloe hefted the box and swiftly exited the conversation. Without looking back, she strolled past the lieutenant's office, past Dan's desk, then her own until she reached the forensics lab. She set the box of files on the center table cleared of the evidence and test equipment Chloe was used to seeing. While leaning against the table, she took several deep breaths.
"Hey, Decker? You okay?"
She jumped several inches off the ground. With one hand clutched to her chest, she spun to face Ella. "I'm fine," she lied.
A frown spread across Ella's face like clouds blocking out the sun. "Dude, you totally spaced there. I called you like three times. You sure you're okay?"
No, Chloe wasn't fine. She wasn't okay by any definition of the word. She was losing her mind or stuck repeating the same day over and over. Because if Ella or anyone had noticed that March 20th never seemed to end, they'd say something. Right?
Fighting off the same panic she became acquainted with earlier this morning, Chloe proceeded cautiously. "Do you ever feel trapped solving a problem?"
"Sure, doesn't everyone?" Ella shrugged. "Is that what's eating at you? You're stuck on the case? I can try and help."
"No, like literally trapped. And when you fail, you have to start over from the beginning and all the progress you've made…" Chloe trailed off, unsure how to elaborate without sounding completely insane.
Ella's face brightened. "Oh! You mean a time loop! Like in Cause and Effect!"
"Cause and effect?"
"It's this TNG episode, you know, Star Trek. So get this, the Enterprise crew end up stuck in a time loop because their ship collides with another ship near a spatial anomaly they're investigating. Every time their ship was destroyed, they restarted the day."
That...sounded a lot like Chloe's current predicament. "How did they escape?"
"It took a while. None of the crew knew they were repeating the same day at first. Nobody directly remembered anything between the loops. But eventually, they realized they were stuck and Data realized he could send a message to himself in the next loop. Because of that, they're able to save the ship and escape!"
Ella's explanation helped Chloe work through her own conclusions. Every time she died, she reset. And each time she died trying to rescue the girl from the motel. But what if this wasn't her third time? What if this had happened many, many times, and she hadn't realized it until much later like the characters in Ella's story?
"So why the sudden interest?" Ella hovered closer, peering curiously into Chloe's face.
Chloe tried to step back but collided with the edge of the lab table. She racked her brain for an excuse. "It's nothing," she flashed a weak smile. "Trixie's working on a short story for school. I thought I'd ask you since you have an interest in that kinda thing. Thanks."
"No prob! Let her know she can hit me up if she's got other questions!" chirped Ella.
Chloe's conscience twinged. Lying was preferable to getting committed though. With a final thanks, she excused herself from Ella's lab.
Ella hadn't dropped her files from the mezzanine overhead. It was small, but Chloe could effect change. If she could do that, she could still help Robin's daughter and bring Robin's killer to justice. Maybe then she would stop repeating the day. She squared her shoulders, straightened, and marched back to her desk to begin the day's work.
First, Chloe called in a favor with her contact in Missing Persons, asking to be notified ASAP on any new reports that might fit her victim. Hopefully, she'd be able to catch it as soon as the call from the motel staff came in, without needing Dan to alert her to it an hour later. That should give her a head-start.
If the gunman had arrived before her, he should have made his move long before Chloe arrived. So as soon as she arrived at the motel, she'd take the girl, put her straight into the cruiser, and leave.
With a plan in mind, she turned her attention to investigating the gunman. She had neither physical evidence nor facts to build upon. Right now, he'd yet to kill Chloe or the girl. But there was a non-negligible possibility that the gunman was connected to Robin Yeats' death. Whether he was her killer, an accomplice, or something else remained to be seen.
By the time she got the call about the Starlight Inn, she had made little progress in identifying the gunman. She didn't wait for the report before getting into her car. With her sirens blaring, she roared down long stretches of road at speeds Lucifer might approve of. She arrived nearly an hour and a half earlier than she'd ever arrived. Clad in her bullet-proof vest and with her weapon drawn, she did a meticulous sweep of the parking lot, searching for any suspicious figures. No black SUVs so far and every other vehicle was devoid of occupants.
She had beaten the gunman here.
After holstering her sidearm, she jogged over to the motel room and bulldozed through her introduction to both Officer Rollins and the little girl. When the little girl objected to leaving as she did last time, Chloe swept her off her feet and marched her out of the room while ignoring her screaming protests. After depositing the girl in the backseat, buckling her in, and locking the doors, she returned for the mother/daughter's luggage and to warn Rollins about the possibility of a gunman headed their way.
Although bewildered by the warning, Rollins promised to rendezvous with his patrol partner and to monitor the motel just in case.
Despite her continued agitation and desire to get as far away from the motel as possible, she forced herself to drive slower. There were a few tricky curves on this part of Topanga Canyon Blvd. Chloe took one look at the frightened child in the back and forewent the sirens. The noise might scare her and cause her to retreat further into herself. The girl no longer screamed, reverting to her silent state with an added note of sulking. Chloe tried engaging the child as they made their way down the empty highway. The girl remained mute, resistant to all cajoling and bribery.
Eventually, Chloe gave up. Silence reigned inside the car. She considered the radio but experienced a moment of queasiness when lyrics popped into her head unaided: "I can't turn back the currents of time, every day keeps rushing forward." Instead, she focused on the road ahead and the safety that waited at the end.
As they approached a stretch of highway cutting through the southern end of the state park, a black SUV rounded the bend behind her and crept ever closer. Alarm bells sounded inside Chloe's head. With a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, she kept one eye on her rearview mirror as she addressed the girl, "Sweetie, I'm going to speed up. Hold on tight."
She dropped her foot on the accelerator, ignoring the speedometer as she tried to put distance between them and the SUV. But the SUV didn't relent. As she sped up, its engines roared to match her speed.
Shit, she wasn't just being paranoid, was she?
She called dispatch after momentarily fumbling with her console. "Detective Chloe Decker, badge number 26435. I need a run on a California license plate number Nine-Ida-Young-Mary-Six—Shit!"
So intent on reading off the license number, Chloe missed a sharp curve in the road ahead of them. She slammed the brakes and wrenched the wheel to avoid a head-on collision with the railing. The wheels spun out under them as they skidded to a stop, now perpendicular to the road. Before she could catch her breath, the black SUV rammed into the tail-end of her cruiser.
The force pitched her cruiser onto its side. The girl screamed. They teetered precariously for a second before momentum won out. They lurched. She screamed again. Then they rolled and rolled and rolled until Chloe lost track of how many times. As she began to black out, she feared she would wake up in her bed again. But her body hurt far too much, dust clouded her lungs, and the silence from her backseat rang louder than the tinnitus in her ears. It took several moments, if not minutes, to get her bearings, disoriented by the crash. Beyond the cracked windshield, she saw only the sandy face of a hillside, dotted with stubby clumps of grass and patchy bushes. The car had landed upside-down.
"Sweetie?" she coughed.
Her answer came in the form of a cut-off sob. Still alive. Thank God.
"Can you undo your seatbelt?" she asked.
Once again, the girl only cried.
She thrust one hand down against the roof of the car, wincing when she cut her palm on shattered glass. She reached up with her other hand to grope for the seatbelt release. But her fingers slid uselessly across the release button, slick and wet with must be more blood. Her head spun as she struggled to catch her breath, and her vision narrowed and darkened along the edges. Okay, she was definitely bleeding more than she'd hoped.
Phone. Her phone. She'd call for help on her phone.
She gave up on the seatbelt in the meantime. But when she craned her neck, she bit back a scream as a pain lanced down her back. She couldn't see the console around the deployed airbag now pinning her in place. Groping blindly, her fingers came into contact with an empty phone mount. It wasn't there. The collision must have knocked it loose. She had been on a call with dispatch before they crashed. They'd use GPS to locate them and send help.
"It'll be okay," Chloe muttered to no one in particular.
Something snapped to her left. Footsteps crunched against the soil and gravel. Even before a cursed pair of sneakers came into view, Chloe knew it wasn't help. The gunman who ran them off the road rounded the upturned cruiser, past Chloe toward the rear of the car. Metal screeched as he tried to open one of the rear doors. No. Not this time too.
"Hey! You leave her alone!" she screamed.
Outside the car, the gunman stopped tugging on the door.
Chloe continued; every razor-sharp word cut across her raw throat, "You're a coward! Targeting a child like this!"
More crunching followed as he moved around to the front of the cruiser, then he stopped right next to Chloe.
"No, you're worse than a coward. You're the lowest scum to have ever crawled across this earth. There's a special place in Hell for child killers like you," Chloe said the last part with near 100% confidence. If the Devil was real, so was Hell. And if there was any cosmic justice left in this universe, this man will burn for an eternity.
A flash of a muzzle and sunlight glinting off gunmetal were her only warnings.
-x-x-x-
"I can't turn back the currents of time,
Every day keeps rushing forward."
She jackknifed out of bed, grabbed her clock radio, ripping the cord from its socket. Then she flung it with all her strength, smashing the device to pieces against her bedroom wall. In the wake of its destruction, the only sound that prevailed was Chloe's panting breaths.
