Broken Loop

Chapter Twenty-Two: Loop #10 - Carbon Monoxide

He brushed dust from his jeans, pulse drumming. He watched as they strapped Jade to a stretcher, zipped her into a blanket of uniforms and sirens. One paramedic took his hand. "You okay?" she asked, eyes kind.

He nodded, voice raw. "Yeah." He squeezed Jade's hand as they wheeled her out. She met his gaze and gave a shaky nod. He mouthed: I love you. She didn't answer, but her eyes glistened.

They loaded her into the ambulance. He climbed inside, cradling her head on his lap. They connected oxygen; the world steadied. The doors shut, lights spun, and the ambulance raced into the night.

He stared at the locket dangling from Jade's neck—its gold dulled by soot. His grandmother's watch sat cold in his pocket. The night's events pressed down, and he exhaled through clenched teeth: not again. Not another loop.

He thumbed the watch. The cracked crystal glinted faintly—temptation, promise, warning. He exhaled. He couldn't risk more memory theft. She'd lost too much already. He had to rewrite this moment—without loops.

They arrived at the hospital. He stayed by her side as they wheeled her into the ER. He held the locket in his hand while they took her inside. He refused to leave.

Inside the fluorescent corridor, he shivered. He grasped the locket, and its surface warmed under his palm—soft heartbeat. His thumb brushed the clasp; the watch pulsed in his pocket, eager.

He shut his eyes. He saw the garage door shuttered in his mind, the engine's glow, Jade's pale face. He saw the moment he cracked the window to reach her. And he saw that moment repeat under a different light—his hand on her shoulder before she even slipped behind the wheel.

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding—long enough to fill every hollow space in him. He pressed the crystal.

The world rippled.

• • •

A wild snap, a gasp. Aiden found himself back in the hallway—feet planted on cool tile, heart racing. The time read 11:07 PM, one hour before he'd fractured the night into carnage.

He bolted down the stairs, silent now, urgency unbroken. He slid into the garage—door half–open. His breath caught: Jade's car sat as before, engine on.

But now he had a plan beyond loops. He bypassed the keys in the ignition: he unscrewed the fuse panel manually, yanked the carbon monoxide catalyst from beneath the hood. He rigged the exhaust pipe with a clamp so that if the engine ran, the fumes would vent outside.

He found Jade's purse on a shelf—phone tucked inside. He tossed it to her seat. She'd have a lifeline.

Satisfied, he left the fuse pulled, the engine silent even if she turned the key. He raced up the stairs, skidded through the door into the apartment—keys in hand waiting.

He found her in the living room, sleeping on the sofa, curled in the blankets. She stirred when he appeared.

He knelt beside her and brushed her hair from her face. "Hey," he whispered. "I got everything sorted."

She yawned, voice groggy. "I... want to go for a drive." Her eyes were heavy but clear.

He offered the keys. "Let's go outside—fresh air."

She nodded and climbed to her feet. He followed with the printed fuse, the clamp, the locket—and the map they'd drawn. He led her to the car and handed her the keys. "I've made it safe."

She slid behind the wheel. He closed the garage door himself, watching it rattle closed. Then he sat in the passenger seat, buckled in.

She turned the key—nothing. She turned again—engine wouldn't catch. She frowned at the dash. He handed her her purse.

She caught Buttercup, his hamster guinea pig—her springtime pick-me-up gift.

He held out the locket. "And a reminder. You're never alone."

She took it, glancing at the gold surface. "Always."

They eased out of the garage—no hiss of gas, no threat of carbon monoxide's silent lullaby. Instead, the hum of suburban streetlights, the distant pulse of night traffic, and two siblings pausing at the curb.

Jade parked and turned off the car. She slipped the fuse into her pocket. "I'll get it checked tomorrow."

He nodded. "And I'll be here to remind you."

She exhaled. "Promise?"

He smiled. "Promise."

They stepped into the quiet street—raindrops beginning to fall, each one a clear reminder of life's fragile grace. Jade looped her arm through his. He leaned into her warmth and let the night wash over them, free of carbon monoxide's ghostly whisper, free of loops.