I put the gun to the officer’s head who was still pinning me to the wall.

  “Let me go. Now. And don’t try to be smart. I will kill you.”

  The officer unwrapped his arms from my midriff, and I immediately pushed him away and backed up from the wall.

  “Hands.”

  He put them up. The other officer was on the ground but wasn’t dead, groaning as he writhed on the floor, a hand to his chest. I wasn’t sure what I had been trying to do. I was just aiming for the biggest part of his frame – the torso, and it seems I was more accurate than I’d wanted to be. The bullet had hit him near where the heart would be. Or maybe the lungs.

  “Kneel down,” I said, as the officer who started this had stepped back alongside his dying friend. He was lucky I could fix this, otherwise he’d stay dead. I’d reset death more times than I ever should have. It was taking its toll. I was already becoming desensitised to the thought of it.

  I stepped closer to the two of them, getting them within the range of my reset ability but like all nosy neighbours, who else but fucking Delroy should appear? I saw him pop his head out of the corner unit and I yelled at him before he had the chance to un-appear.

  “Not so fucking fast, Delroy. You need to come out here, or I’m going to come in there once I’ve dealt with these two.” I hoped I sounded threatening enough.

  The old man hobbled outside, closing his door behind him, a look of terror in his eyes. What had he been through in his life, I wondered. He was in his twilight years, enjoying that well-earned rest. Maybe he had a wife – or at least, had had one. Maybe he had kids and grandkids that would miss him when he was gone.

  “Over here,” I said, softer this time. I made him kneel beside the officers as I glanced around. No more nosy neighbours.

  “You guys don’t need to worry,” I said. “You won’t remember a thing.”

  I lifted the revolver, and the officer and Delroy cowered a little, but they really didn’t need to worry. I put the gun to my mouth and pulled the trigger.

  I was staring down at the dirtiest bathroom floor I’d ever seen, and it became dirtier when I hurled vomit. Forceful volumes of fiery liquid burned the sides of my throat as the donor kebab that I’d had the previous night made a disgusting pool on the floor. That wasn’t the only thing to come out of my stomach. Blood. A fair amount of it gave the vomit a bright tinge, which only caused me to gag more and lose more of the contents of yesterday’s meal.

  I was on my hands and knees, but my arms looked thinner, barely there. They were struggling to keep me upright. My knees felt like they were missing. After a few moments of gagging and vomiting, my breathing shallow and hard, I put a hand to the edge of the bath. I pulled myself up slowly. Carefully. Painfully. Somehow, someway, with a lot of effort and grit and time, I managed to struggle to my feet, though my knees really did not want to cooperate. My legs were wobbly, my hips were hurting as I used my hands to push myself from the bath to the washbasin and looked in the mirror.

  There was no mistaking it this time. What I’d thought were figments of my imagination from the stress and the events of the day were anything but. This was no mirage. No illusion. I had aged. I didn’t just look like it. I had. My skin was gaunt, stretched, wrinkled like the skeleton beneath was trying to get out. Here and there, skin hung loose in a way that would have been unthinkable for a young man. The bags under my eyes weren’t just darker but were folded a couple of times over into my drooping, puffy cheeks. Even the glint in my brown eyes was missing, as if they’d really seen a lifetime and were ready for the long sleep.

  And then I noticed the gem. The bright, shiny, turquoise gem. Except it was no longer bright, nor shiny, nor turquoise. It was almost clear though a thin strand of colour remained at the bottom. It wasn’t too far from looking as it had when it had first ripped free of the decapitated head last night. Was it a visual representation of my life? How had I not noticed it before? Or did it only happen when I was almost dead?

  Here I was, thinking I had this exceptional power, and all the while it was killing me anyway.

  Actions first. Consequences later.

  Well, now it was later.

  My body was barely able to support me, and I felt like I hadn’t slept since forever. I wanted to rest. Lie down and fall asleep. Don’t worry – not to die. It didn’t feel like that, though it didn’t seem far off either. I could feel little niggles in my bones, in my muscles, across my flesh. I felt a sudden urge to use the toilet.

  I did what I had to do and as I sat there relieving myself of what remained of last night’s meal – correctly, this time – I texted Kian. I told him what had happened and that there was no way I would be able to make it to Primrose Hill. I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to the car park again, but that I had to do. No choice, if I wanted to get somewhere safe and work out just what the hell I was meant to do now. Kian just needed to be there to pick me up. He texted me back quickly and asked if he should let Carmen know the full extent of what I was telling him. I said yes. I didn’t want to tell her myself. Not because she’d be upset at me. It’s because she’d be upset for me. And sometimes, that’s worse.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  After I was done, I cleaned myself as well as I could with my newfound weakness, grabbed the cigs and lighter like before and made my way around Darren’s house, getting the same things as I had earlier, except about five times slower. The gun, the clothes, the trainers, discarding the bandage. When I checked the time on my phone, it was close to half past eight. A good forty-five minutes since the reset. I text Kian to let him know I was coming down.

  I made my way out of their home, hood up, revolver in pocket. As expected, no police officers were guarding my door this time. I wondered how long it would take them to notice and send more officers. Whatever. Not my problem at all. My problem was getting to the lifts about twenty metres away. I used the walls to support me as I slowly made my way on wobbly legs, too thin and frail to carry the rest of me. I thought back to grandpa in the lift earlier. He was on the fifteenth floor. Maybe he’d lend me his Zimmer frame?

  Once I struggled to the lift, waiting an ungodly amount of time for it to arrive, I shuffled inside as slowly as old people do. The irony was not lost on me. The lift was empty and I pressed the ground floor button.

  At this time in the evening, not many people seemed to have need of it as it made its way down. I guess it depended on how many had gone about their normal lives. Not many people would be out looking for me either hopefully. At least there was a pleasant side-effect of my current state. One look at me and most people would move on if they didn’t see the gem. I pulled my hood forward a little more.

  As the lift arrived on the ground floor, I got out of it as best as I could on my wobbly legs and rested against the wall to the side. It was like I’d got back from the gym having done leg day for the first time. My kneecaps jiggled with every step. My hips felt like they were being stabbed by sharp instruments. The legs themselves felt like the bones just weren’t there. Earlier, Darren’s clothes really accentuated my chest and calves. Now, you wouldn’t know I had either.

  I looked across to the front door and could see there were two officers there standing guard, looking out, not in. They weren’t expecting me to walk out of the front door – they were there to stop me walking in. Hopefully, they’d just see an old man stumbling out for an evening walk, definitely not carrying a revolver in his pocket. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it – the bigger problem right now was how I was going to walk across the ten or so metres without assistance. There were no walls or railings to hold onto.

  I wondered if this is how it felt to be old or was it just because of the speed of the transition for me. Had I aged naturally, would I have gotten used to the lack of mobility that I’d so taken for granted? I probably could have nabbed myself a mobility scooter though. That would have come in handy. I could understand now what my mother meant when she said being old is like being a kid. Except grumpier.

  Anyway. Mother didn’t raise a quitter.

  I never in my life thought I would have to focus on something as easy as walking. It was like breathing. Or making life-changing blunders. It should come naturally. But here I was, focused, trying to will my legs into the solid state they should be instead of the water that they felt like. I put my right foot forwards, pain shooting through my knees and hips. Then I put the other foot forwards. I held my arms by my sides, as I did my best to tense what muscle I had.

  With every step, I truly wondered whether it would be my last. Every stab in my hips, every crush of my knees made me feel like I would die just from the effort. But I persevered. Right foot. Left foot. One in front of the other. Slow. Steady. Stab. Slow. Steady. Crush. I gritted my teeth with every shock and made it to the front door, my frail arms struggling to push the door open. One of the officers noticed, and pulled it open for me, offering his arm for support.

  I must have looked an odd fella, an old man in baggy bottoms and oversized hoodie with the hood up, but I gave a tiny nod of my head as I took the offered arm and stepped outside. There was a delicious irony in them helping me to escape, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet – I still had the car park to navigate. Let’s hope I could manage it without falling over from exhaustion. And pain. Gosh, so much pain.

  “Gramps,” a familiar voice said. Kian. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to have his babies. “I told you to stay upstairs, old man. I was coming to get you.”

  He was as tall as I was – well, younger me – but slimmer and not broad-shouldered. Where I was like a boxer, he had the build of an MMA fighter, with black spiky hair and a strong, chiselled jaw. He was a handsome man in a way that made other men jealous. Not the toxic kind of jealousy. More in that playful way, where you just have to accept defeat.

  “I’ve got him,” he said, as he put my arm over his shoulder. I let go of the officer. Kian glanced over his shoulder. “You know how the old folk are. Always trying to do more than they should. Thanks for helping him out.”

  “It’s alright. You have a good evening.”

  “Thank you, officers,” Kian said, as he half supported, half dragged me away. When he was sure we were out of earshot, he spoke.

  “You look fucking terrible.”

  “Think how I feel,” I replied.

  “How didn’t you notice what was happening?”

  “Too much going on. Didn’t Carmen tell you?”

  “Yeah, but still, man. You really need to think things through.”

  “You didn’t seriously just tell me that I’m the one who needs to think things through?” I raised an eyebrow at him and he shot back a slight smile. One that hinted at the regret he felt. He knew what I was talking about.

  “That’s why I’m telling you, you need to think things through.”

  He’d spent a couple of years in prison because he hadn’t thought things through. It had been a decade ago, when he had barely turned eighteen. Caused a death of a father in a road accident from dangerous driving, and lost three years of his own life because of it. Some had thought that wasn’t long enough. I had thought it was too long. Two sides of the same coin.

  He had been young. Made a mistake. One that would stay with him for the rest of his life, but he and I had a similar outlook in life. You couldn’t change the past. Only use it to make the future better.

  “By the way,” Kian said as we approached his car, an SUV. He’d parked all the way to the right, almost out of view of the police at the front door.

  “Your friend’s awake.”