three minutes to midnight

by SZ

 

“…So this is it,” said Rory, brushing the back of his hand against Isaiah’s cheek. “Final two.”

It was three minutes until midnight at the bustling airport, but in a dim corner of the VIP lounge they didn’t technically have permission to stay in, two figures sat facing each other, ignoring all the announcements about premium memberships and lost children.

Isaiah leaned into the touch; it was as far as they’d ever gotten, and ever would, at this point. He savored it with every fiber of his being, carefully etching the sensation into his memory. It was a pitiful echo of what could have been under different circumstances, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Which one of us do you think is going to be next?” he asked, because he couldn’t help but kill the mood after such a sappy thought.

Rory laughed bitterly but didn’t withdraw his hand. “Flip a coin, dude. One of us is going to wake up with a broken heart. I don’t even know if I’d rather it be you or me.”

“Sorry,” said Isaiah. “Bad note to end a relationship on.”

January first, read his phone screen, which had blinked awake with a notification of a text. One minute until midnight. Businesspeople chattered away on their headsets and a preschool-aged kid skipped around a nearby table, rolling a neon green suitcase behind her. No one was watching. No one cared. No one knew what was coming.

Rory shook his head. “It’s not over until it’s over. C’mere. One for the road.”

He slung his arm around Isaiah’s shoulders and slowly, slowly leaned in.

“Happy new year,” Rory whispered.

Heart plummeting, Isaiah met him halfway.

 

–

 

At midnight on New Year’s Day, Isaiah opened his eyes just in time to watch his phone die in his hands. He had a crick in his neck, but that was no surprise. The ghost of Rory’s lips on his—well, he’d be lying if he said his mouth still tingled, because as far as the universe was concerned, it had never happened. None of it had ever happened.

A second later, the screen on the wall updated to say the next flight was cancelled due to inclement weather. All over the airport, screen after screen displayed the same dismal but old news: everyone was snowed in.

Isaiah sighed and stretched his arms, readying himself for the next part of the sequence. The shock had worn off after, what, the third time?

Right on cue, Rory careened around the corner with a white-knuckled grip on a snowflake-patterned cup of coffee, moving so fast that a spray of liquid splashed onto his button-down. Isaiah was already out of his seat with a napkin.

“Here,” he said, wishing the tremor in his voice weren’t so obvious. He remembered, which meant Rory had forgotten, but maybe this time would be different. Just them against the world, forever.

But the universe had never been so kind.

“Thanks, Collier,” Rory said suspiciously. “Any reason you’re bribing me with goodwill at this hour? Don’t tell me—” He massaged his temple with his free hand. “You lost the Friedman documents, didn’t you?”

“No!” Isaiah yelped a little too loudly. He coughed. “I mean. No, they’re still in my bag. You can check if you want.”

“Never mind,” said Rory. “As long as you didn’t lose them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He pushed past Isaiah, dabbing at his shirt gingerly, and that was that. Forget the kiss—all the time they’d spent working out their differences and getting closer were gone like the breeze.

Isaiah was alone.

He abandoned his luggage and wandered around the airport aimlessly until he found himself at the VIP lounge again. Months ago, everyone had agreed that it would be the meeting place for anyone trying to figure out how to break out of the time loop, and they’d all flocked there with hope burning bright in their hearts. It was easy to get excited about a challenge when everyone was in it together. A lot of things were easy.

It started getting hard when they found people were starting to forget the past loops.

It started getting tense when they figured out one more person lost their memories each time the clock struck midnight.

It started becoming hopeless when the crowd of those who still remembered dwindled into a cult-sized phenomenon, then a crazy minority, then a handful of lunatics. There’d been hundreds of people sharing a life-changing crisis, and then, faster than anyone realized, there weren’t.

Isaiah had long since given up looking for a way out. He wasn’t like the STEM geniuses, who drafted hypothesis after hypothesis about the situation; or the religious ones, who prayed for salvation every day; or even like Rory, who had been determined to stick it out to the bitter end, whatever the outcome.

“Membership card?” the security guard asked.

Her name was Melinda. Six weeks ago, they’d been friends. Five weeks ago, Melinda had forgotten everything.

“Sorry, I was just passing by.”

Isaiah left in search of food. It was no use dwelling on the past.

Like this, Isaiah whiled away his last day of free will on Earth. He wove in and out of souvenir shops, tried every restaurant menu item he hadn’t tried yet, and kept to himself. He didn’t look for Rory or any of the other interns.

Three minutes to midnight found Isaiah scrawling a nursery rhyme on a bathroom stall in permanent marker—it wasn’t like it would still be here after the airport reset itself. Two minutes to midnight, Isaiah allowed himself to contemplate what the last reset might mean. One minute to midnight, and Isaiah thought to himself, I’ll finally be free. I won’t be lonely anymore.

He breathed in the sharp scent of Sharpie and closed his eyes.

 

–

 

At midnight on New Year’s Day, Isaiah opened his eyes just in time to watch his phone die in his hands. He had a crick in his neck, but just as he mentally cursed his misfortune for dozing off at such a bad angle, it got worse: his company’s flight was cancelled.

Great, he thought. Wait ’til Rory hears about this.