Page 91 of Death and Do-Overs

“Imogen?”

She still wasn’t moving, not a single twitch. She didn’t even blink. Something was very wrong.

I reached a tentative finger out to poke her cheek. But halfway there, I caught movement from the corner of my eye.

I turned just in time to catch the glimmer of the long blade slicing through the air right at my head. A number of things occurred to me in that moment.

One—even if I was a clone, entitled to nothing, I really did not want to die.

Two—there were way more people intent on murdering me in the past week than in my entire forty-five years prior, including the man who’d entered my personal space without me noticing and was currently swinging what looked like a samurai sword at my skull.

Three—the shock bursting through my veins carried with it something more than fear. This was the fourth time I had felt this exact sensation, but only the first time recognizing it. Beneath the spike in emotion, there were bubbles floating around in my consciousness. Each time prior, I had reached out and grabbed them without realizing.

I could do the same thing now, but this time with purpose.

I was going to die.

But I was also going to live.

In a fraction of a second, inside my head, I latched on to this new realization and grabbed two bubbles.

Two Marnies appeared, one at each of my sides.

The Marnies shot their hands up in unison, as I thrust my leg straight at the apex of my attacker’s legs.

Grunts mingled in the air with a howl of pain.

The grunts belonged to the other two Marnies, whose full strength was required to slow the blade so it landed with a slice of my skin instead of a complete slice through my neck.

The howl belonged to my attacker, whose testicles I’d kicked straight back up into his body.

He had a thin black mustache, a wild mane of chestnut hair, and a set of rat eyes that were set an inch too close together. I didn’t recognize him.

His blade dropped from his hand. And the three of us were on him at once.

It turned out I wasn’t going to die today, which was a pleasant surprise. But I was most definitely going to save my friend.

“What did you do to Imogen?” I said between gritted teeth as the three of us pinned him to the ground.

He wrinkled his nose, adding to the rat-like effect of his beady eyes.

“I’ll never talk. I’m not afraid of you,” he said, as pee soaked through his jeans.

“You’re a pathetic liar,” the Marnie to my left said.

He pressed his lips together.

A warm droplet ran down my cheek. I touched it and found blood.

“Fix Imogen or die,” the Marnie to my right said.

He squeezed his eyes shut, flinching like he awaited death.

All three of us Marnies waited in hopes that our scowls were threatening enough to make him fix our friend. If not, what lengths would we go to?

The morning had left a sour taste in my mouth, but there was no way this guy was innocent.

I glanced to my right, then to my left, finding the other mes sharing the same uncertainty. This guy had tried to kill me, but I wasn’t sure that we had it in us to purposefully cause him serious injury in return.

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