Part 1

This time, I have the blues.

It's Friday the 13th, an unlucky day to begin with. It's also February, which means tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

Again.

You saw that Bill Murray Movie? Groundhog Day? Kinda cute. The only problem is, they got it wrong by eleven days. It's Friday the 13th. Forever.

And Murray-he had it lucky. He got a chance at redemption. He got the girl. He got to do the rewind while he was asleep.

The rewind still gets me. One minute I'll be doing something-talking, eating, walking, even fucking. Things get fuzzy. I feel like I'm going to fall. And then I'm here. Sitting at the bar, cold beer in my hand, the band breaking into another cover of a Willie Dixon tune.

Fuck.

A few minutes later, Randi pushes by me to order a drink. She'll spill it on me, apologize, and introduce herself for the first time. At least the first time for her. Some rewinds, I'll blow her off. Other times, we've spent a mellow evening talking. Some times she takes me back to her place-amazed at how much chemistry she has with a guy she's just met. We've fucked and sucked all over town-alleys, restaurants, even the courthouse steps. I've had her just about every way a man can. Enough that I'm bored with the sex. I mean, I can do anything with her and a few hours later, she can't remember a thing. Because for her it hasn't happened. Hell, I could rape her and the rewind would mean it never happened.

Except I could never do that. Even in my boredom and my despair, there are some things I really couldn't do. I can too easily hear a soprano voice in my head saying "Please! Please don't!" and I fall apart inside.

Like I'm doing now.

My arm's wet. Randi's spilled her drink. She's apologizing profusely and I realize this is one of the times I'm going to blow her off. I accept her apologies and tell her I'm going to rinse my sleeve off in the men's room. I slip out the side door.

It's never quite as cold as I expect. It can be pretty chilly after dark, but there's some inversion this year that's keeping it warmer.

This year. I have no idea what this year would be. I've had more than a year of Friday the 13th's. Maybe more than a decade. Is it the same year as when I started?

I trudge forward, letting my path unfold at random. It doesn't matter where I go. It doesn't matter what I do. Hell, it doesn't matter if I live or die. At midnight I'll rewind-back to seven p.m. That's another way Murray was lucky-he got a full day. I get five hours.

And I never get to see Valentine's Day.

I can still remember Valentine's Day. How long ago? Cassie and I had been happy. At least until I got scared and ran away. I'd even tried to escape into drunken oblivion when I heard of her engagement a year later. It seems I always used to end up in a bar when I was afraid. Courage, be it physical or emotional, hadn't been my strong point.

Of course, that is one thing that has changed in all these rewinds. Death isn't scary once you've died a handful of times. Neither is pain. Neither is failure.

I have tried to put my newfound spine to use, but in five hours there isn't much to do. The streets are pretty deserted and I never find anyone in a bar or a restaurant that needs help. I had gone to the hospital for a couple of rewinds, but found that the staff is exceptionally competent and tonight is always a slow night. Courage alone does not seem to bring redemption.

Lost in my thoughts, I take a turn somewhere I don't remember. I'm surrounded by some old warehouses I also don't remember. Which means it's been a long long time since I've wandered this way. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there's the memory of running. Away... when it should have been... toward... something. Something I was supposed to do. The burden of all the Friday the 13ths makes it hard to remember.

Too many Friday the 13ths. Just too many. Valentine's Day is always tomorrow.

I hear the scream. High pitched but cut off. Fuck the self pity. I start to jog towards the source of the sound.

There are three of them. One is kneeling near her head, holding a knife to her throat. He's wrapped some sort of gold cord around her neck. It seems redundant, though it glows in the darkness. The second is using his knife to cut away her dress, exposing her legs and belly. The third is standing to the side, holding a young blond boy-a gold cord looped around him as well. The boy is ashen-faced-terrified. He merely trembles in the brute's grasp, watching the other two continue to strip his mother.

She is exquisitely beautiful. Pale smooth skin with no hint of blemish. Perfectly proportioned breasts, tight belly, muscular legs. No wonder they want her.

The one cutting her clothes finishes and pushes her legs apart. He kneels between her thighs and lowers his pants.

"Please! Please don't!", she cries.

My knees buckle at the sound of her voice. I almost fall. I'm sweating suddenly and my gut churns.

Fuck this.

I race out of the shadows. So intent on their prey, they don't hear me until I'm upon them. I tackle the kneeling one, pushing him over the woman's legs before he has a chance to use his pecker. His head slams against the pavement and he is still. The guy at her head is so surprised he actually starts to get up, as if to come at me. In doing so, he lifts the gold loop from around her neck. She takes advantage of his distraction and slams a fist into his balls. He collapses, dropping the knife, which she scoops up and holds on him.

The third man is also down, also clutching his groin. The kid, who can't be more than two or three, is holding a knife expertly against the perp's jugular. The gold loop lies cut at his feet, no longer glowing. I dismiss my confusion at the sight and pull myself up, catching my breath. It helps to steady my nerves.

"You okay?" I ask. She turns and flashes a smile at me that could launch ships.

"We're fine, Jake. Though I was beginning to worry that you were never coming back."

Back? And she knows my name?

"Let's get out of here," the boy says. Never taking an eye off the now crippled thug, she gathers her dress around her and improvises a sash from some cut fabric. She looks now as if she'd just stepped out of the bath into a silk robe. No smudges, no dirt, not even mussed hair. I look closer at the boy. He too looks angelic, his white clothes unwrinkled and clean. His eyes betray maturity well beyond his apparent age. The three of us retreat towards the better lit street.

I've regained my composure but my mind is reeling. We stop at a corner and she takes my hand.

"Thank you, Jake," she says. "I know how hard it has been for you to keep trying to come back. It took a lot of stubbornness and a lot of courage. Thank you."

Then she kisses me.

It is the most hot, incredible, passionate, thrilling kiss I have ever had. My breath wooshes out of me and my body goes limp. When she lets me go, I realize I've come in my pants. I don't care. The afterglow of the kiss is too divine to not wallow in.

"Now Jacob, if you go to the Mercury Café a few blocks from here, there will be a dark haired woman wearing a black sweater. Her name is Helen. Ask her about the book she's reading and if you can buy her a cup of coffee. Can you remember that?"

I nod, still dazed. Then thoughts form.

"Why?"

The boy chirps up. "Because it will be Valentine's Day tomorrow and you deserve a good one." He's found some wood somewhere and seems to be attaching a string to it, as if creating a makeshift bow. He smiles at us.

His mom just smiles in return. I close my eyes, inhaling her scent. When I open them, they are gone.

I don't know what happened this time, but tomorrow now seems close. I start to walk towards the café, whistling Willie Dixon tunes.

Part 2: The Trouble with Helen

The Mercury Café. I stare at the sign a moment longer and then check my watch.

12:02 am. Valentine's Day.

This is good. I take a deep breath and walked inside.

I spot her immediately. It is hard not to. She is beautiful.

I am vaguely aware of other patrons. A boisterous party in the corner, a couple speaking quietly with heads close together, an older woman reading at a different table, two young men arguing animatedly to one side.

But really, I only have eyes for her.

She is still immersed in her book when I arrive at her table. I clear my throat.

"Good book?"

She looks up, intending to be annoyed, but her eyes meet mine. In that moment, her body jerks, as if she's suddenly been hit in the chest. She recovers and smiles at me.

A dazzling blinding smile. My pulse quickens.

"I'm enjoying it, but the movie was better." She tilts the cover so I can see. O Brother Where Art Thou? I smile in recognition.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" I ask.

"I would be delighted," she answers, then indicates the chair to her right. My stomach flutters as I join her, motioning to the waitress for a refill.

We talk. The conversation ranges over literature, movies, philosophy, European culture and the history of the ancient world. There is much laughter and a fair amount of flirting. Hours pass before she reaches out and takes my hand.

"Jake," she says, looking deep in my eyes. "Take me somewhere else."

"Where else would you like to go?"

"Hotel Constantinople." she says. I sense that she is serious. I also sense that this suggestion is both completely out of character for her to make and also completely right.

"Hotel Constantinople it is," I reply. She stands and we are on our way.

Arriving at the room, I open the door and gesture for Helen to precede me. She strolls into the center of the room and surveys it. Then she pulls a ring off her left hand and sets it on the nightstand. I give it only a quick glance as I approach her. She turns to me, and I take her into my arms and kiss her. The heat of the kiss builds and she pulls back.

"Please undress me, Jacob," she asks. I oblige, slowly revealing her exquisite flesh in small slow steps, punctuated by long pauses of sensual caresses and kisses. Along the way, my own clothes get scattered across the floor. Both fully nude, I lower her to the bed, molding our bodies together, skin to skin. I begin to kiss my way south. Helen stops me.

"No, Jake. No foreplay. I want you now."

I smile and position myself per her request. In a mere moment we are coupled and the heat begins to flow. I realize that I am in no danger of an orgasm soon. Helen, in contrast, seems to be in pleasure's continuous throes. It lasts for hours-laughing, moaning, kissing, loving. We switch positions regularly, delighting in the different sensations so evoked. Eventually, she lies beneath me and I sense the finale is near. She senses it as well and strives to join me. With shouts and gasps, we climax together and then collapse. We lie still, just cuddling and breathing deep. Then she speaks.

"Oh Jake! That was incredible! I can't believe how good you make me feel!" She snuggles in and then grows quiet.

"There's one problem," she says, then stops for a deep breath.

"I'm married."

"Well, that's certainly a small problem," I reply, propping myself up onto my elbow.

She rolls onto her side, facing me. I once again admire her breasts-perfectly shaped with nipples surprisingly still erect. I have only seen one pair more perfect and I don't want to think about those circumstances.

"I don't love him," she continues, running her fingers through my chest hair. "It was an arranged marriage."

"I didn't know that was still done."

"It is, in some parts of Europe. It was the same with his parents. His father is both a noble and a captain of industry. His mother was on the Olympic team."

"So leave him."

"I can't."

Before I can say anything, there's a ferocious pounding at the door. I leap out of bed just as the door crashes open. A wild-eyed dark haired man rushes in. He's holding a knife. He sees Helen and screams in rage. I move between them too quickly to feel fear. He rushes at me and I grapple for the knife. Quick blows are thrown as we wrestle, too fast for me to track. Then I successfully shove him to the side. He slams to the floor and lies still. He's turning pale, looking at the knife that somehow ended up in his gut instead of mine. The blood is spurting out-I somehow hit an artery.

Helen screams. "Jake! Your side!"

I look down. There is blood pouring out of a wound just below my ribs. I realize the knife did find my gut, albeit temporarily. I begin to feel the pain as the adrenaline recedes.

Things get fuzzy. I feel like I'm about to fall. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes. I'm standing outside.

The Mercury Café. I stare at the sign a moment longer and then check my watch.

12:02 am.

Fuck!!! God Damn Mother Fucking Rewind!!!

I take a deep breath and walk inside. I see Helen immediately, immersed in her book. I approach and clear my throat.

"Good book?"

She looks up, intending to be annoyed, but her eyes meet mine. In that moment, her body jerks, as if she's suddenly been hit in the chest. She recovers and smiles at me.

A dazzling blinding smile. My pulse quickens.

"I'm enjoying it, but the movie was better."

And so it begins again. This time I suggest a different hotel. I check constantly over my shoulder, but see no one following. It is another night of incredible sex. It ends the same as well. He bursts in and we end up fighting. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, somehow in the fight I stab him. As he lies dying, I rewind.

It takes me five rewinds to convince myself that I can't hide us from him. No matter the hotel, abandoned back room, or city park I choose for our tryst, he finds us.

I begin carefully checking the Café before greeting Helen, to see if he is lurking in wait. It takes me three rewinds to convince myself that he's not around. The clientele is just what I saw the first time. A boisterous party in the corner, a couple speaking quietly with heads close together, an older woman reading at a different table, two young men arguing animatedly to one side. The staff is engaged in their duties and paying little attention to Helen as she reads.

The twelfth rewind, I spot something. The older woman is holding her cup with her left hand. It has always been in her right. I approach her table instead of Helen's this time.

"You. You're different. You're outside of the loop."

She sets her cup down and gives me an acknowledging nod.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"Call me June." She replies coolly.

"What's going on? Are you doing this?" I feel my anger building.

She remains silent.

"Why?!?!" I spit out.

"Do you really think I am going to let you kill my son?" Her voice drips with disdain.

"I don't want to kill him. I just want to get Helen away from him!"

"Her life is intertwined with his, no matter what that bitch and her boy might think. You cannot separate them as long as they both live. And I will not let you kill him."

"So you want me to give up on Helen," I state.

"Yes."

"Why should I?" I'm feeling argumentative. She senses my tone and snorts.

"Don't argue with me, little man. You have no Chorda Aurea and you wouldn't be able to get them in time even if you knew where to look. So you will keep doing this again and again until you do it my way." Her gaze is full of disgust as she stares me down.

"I rewound too many times to walk away empty-handed!" I fume. She snorts again.

"You will rewind until you do what's right!" She nearly spits her words at me. I spin on my heels and storm off.

I walk innumerable blocks until I calm down, the red tinge fading from my eyes. I am still angry, her words ringing in my ears, when I see a familiar face approaching.

Randi.

I've fucked this woman literally a thousand times and seen her in every mood from ecstatic to furious. But never like this.

So forlorn. The tipsiness of a night of alcohol cannot cover the haunted sadness in the back of her eyes. It is a wan smile when she finally notices me.

"Hello Randi," I say, stopping my stride. She stops too.

"Who are you?" she asks. Ah yes, I blew her off in the final rewind of the 13th. She doesn't remember me.

"An old friend," I reassure her. She's not quite tracking mentally, and decides to accept my words. Then her eyes water up and her lower lip begins to tremble, but she does not cry.

"Really?" she asks, "I don't have many friends."

"Really," I reassure her. "And right now, it looks like you need a friend."

With that, the tears start and I pull her into my arms as she begins to sob. I rub her back as she pours her sadness across my shoulder. Eventually she calms and starts to talk.

"Last week," she begins, catching her breath between sobs, "Last week I went out with a guy. Funny. Smart. Attractive. Good in bed. We were supposed to meet in a bar tonight. He never showed!" She begins wailing again and I hold her a little tighter. I'm struck by how true this sounds compared to the other stories she has told in other timelines, before I stopped asking why she had come to that bar. Her sobs wind down and she pulls back.

"I should find my car," she says. I grimace, as her breath betrays her incapacity to drive.

"Randi, you can't drive like this. Let me take care of you." She pauses and then nods her head. I turn her around and we begin walking.

I know she lives nowhere near here. Where can I take her? Before my mind can decide, my feet have led me to the front steps of Hotel Constantinople.

Randi doesn't ask any questions as I get a room. Once inside, she dashes for the toilet and I sit quietly until the sounds of vomiting fade. She comes out of the bathroom looking more haggard than sad. She sits on the side of the bed.