Page 106 of Death and Do-Overs

I watched as the pair of them stood in an alley, beside a wall of vines, watching a cat. A sickening feeling spread through my chest as they stepped closer to each other.

He was going to kiss her.

It was evident from the way he looked at her.

She’d want him to kiss her. How could she not?

Imogen brushed against my shoulder as she inspected one of the other screens. Bernadette lingered behind us, her irritation palpable in the air.

Both of them began to feel distant as dread crept up my spine and down my limbs through every finger and toe. Each second stretched longer than the last as I watched, unable to tear my eyes away.

Finally, the inevitable happened.

A hollow pit formed in my stomach.

I wasn’t supposed to see this. It shouldn’t hurt. Mar and I were the same person.

Yet she hadn’t shared the memory with me.

And it didn’t feel like he was kissing me.

Watching them felt like a dagger dragged across my torso, shredding everything inside of me.

I had no right to feel like this, but it didn’t matter.

Bernadette waved her watch between me and the screen.

I tapped the button to change the feed to something unrelated, somewhere completely different.

But the kiss still seared itself across my vision, unwilling to fade.

Bernadette said, “Gah. I have to leave, which means you have to leave.”

Her voice sounded distant even though she was right next to me.

“We haven’t found Nie yet,” Imogen said.

“So if I make you go now, you’ll simply return later to harass me again.” Bernadette began to pace.

I could hardly think beyond the blood rushing in my head and the pounding of my heart.

I couldn’t find words. Fortunately for me, Imogen could.

With an apologetic tone, she said. “Pretty much.”

“Fine,” Bernadette said. Then again, deeper, “Fine. Stay. Lock the garage when you leave. If you screw anything up?—”

“We know,” Imogen said with a smile. “You’ll kill us.”

“In the most painful way possible,” she said.

And with that, she disappeared.

“Are you all right, Greta?” Imogen asked.

“Fine,” I lied, in my practiced flat affect.

“You look pale.”

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