Chapter 5
1977words
My life—or rather my damned endlessly-looping life—was now worth only ten characters. This realization chilled me more deeply than Jason's blade ever could. Fear clutched at my heart with invisible fingers, but I forced my focus away from that shrinking number. Panic wouldn't save me; it would only rush me toward my next death.
This time, I didn't bother with the kitchen and that useless cleaver. Last loop's lesson was crystal clear: Jason wasn't just some muscle-bound psycho—he was calculating, analytical. He anticipated my moves like a chess grandmaster reading an amateur. I couldn't use the same playbook. I needed to think deeper, move faster.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
The knocking arrived right on schedule, death's punctual reminder.
I remained perfectly still on the sofa, sinking into the cushions as if they might swallow me whole. I forced my breathing to steady, my mind racing at lightning speed. Instead of dwelling on my failures, I analyzed the patterns connecting both killers.
Mark from the movie. Jason in my reality. What connected them?
Mark weaponized Sarah's trust, disguising his murderous intent as a lovers' prank. He hid in the closet—an "inside joke" between them, a private ritual that made her lower her guard completely.
And Jason? What weakness had he found in me?
My loneliness.
The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. Of course—my loneliness. Parents perpetually absent on business trips. Empty house. My entire social life lived through screens, with barely any real-world friends. Jason, my "boyfriend," was one of the only people who seemed to actually see me. He filled the void, made me feel wanted, visible.
I replayed our relationship in my mind—all those seemingly sweet moments now tainted with sinister undertones. How he always messaged exactly when I felt lowest. How he always knew precisely what to say when I was down. Coincidence? Or had he been... watching me all along?
They both targeted their victims' most vulnerable points. Mark exploited love's blindness; Jason preyed on the epidemic of loneliness that plagues modern life—that shameful emptiness we all feel but rarely admit. They were predators, and trust and loneliness were their bait.
My eyes returned to my phone. On screen, Sarah was texting "Mark," her face lit with that dopey, love-drunk smile. She had no idea the sweet nothings on her screen were breadcrumbs leading to her slaughter. Just as she had no idea that across dimensions, a girl named Emily was burning through her remaining lives to give Sarah one chance at survival.
I had to act. Ten characters—how could I make them count?
The direct approach—"he's a killer"—had already proven insufficient. I needed something more targeted, more devastating—something that would shatter her walls of trust in an instant.
I scanned the screen frantically for clues. Sarah's cozy dorm room, books stacked on her desk. The camera zoomed in, and I caught the title on top—"In Cold Blood." Truman Capote's true crime masterpiece about the Clutter family murders.
A lightbulb moment. Sarah reading true crime suggested an interest in criminal psychology. Maybe that was my angle.
Just then, Sarah set down her phone and picked up "In Cold Blood," flipping through the pages. She paused at one section, her brow furrowing as something caught her attention.
The camera zoomed in, revealing not printed text but a handwritten note tucked between the pages. My stomach dropped—I recognized that handwriting. Jason's. He'd once written me a note in that exact same script.
The note read: "I know you love these stories, but reality is far crueler than fiction. For instance, I know you sit by the window on the library's third floor every day at 4 PM. I know you take your lattes with two sugars. I even know you check your door locks three times before going to bed."
My blood turned to ice.
This wasn't part of the movie! Jason had written those exact words to me! Mark and Sarah shouldn't know anything about Jason's existence!
What the hell was happening? Could it be... this movie, "The Last Night," was somehow adapting to my reality? Jason wasn't just controlling my world—he was bleeding into Sarah's fictional universe too?
The realization chilled me to my core. My opponent was far more powerful than I'd imagined—almost godlike, able to manipulate the very narrative I was using to survive.
But terror quickly gave way to rage. That sick bastard—how long had he been watching me? He knew my every habit, my every routine, like some twisted voyeur, while I'd been treating him like someone I could trust.
The violation made me physically ill. I'd been played for a fool.
But in that violation, I'd found my weapon.
I had to get this information to Sarah. Nothing would wake her up faster than learning she'd been under surveillance all along.
I snatched up my phone, forcing my hands to steady as I typed exactly ten characters. No hesitation this time.
"Note in book from boyfriend. Stalking you."
Send!
The instant my comment appeared, Sarah visibly flinched. Her eyes darted between the "loving" note and my stark warning below the screen. The color drained from her face in a single heartbeat.
"Who... are you?" Sarah mouthed silently, her eyes wide with fear. She was talking to me.
She finally understood—these weren't random comments. They were warnings from beyond her reality.
My pulse quickened. We were connected! Across dimensions, across screens—a tenuous but real link had formed!
"Stay quiet and listen," I mouthed, knowing she couldn't hear me but hoping somehow she'd understand.
How could I guide her with just ten characters? No room for explanations or context.
*BANG! BANG! BANG!* Jason's patience was clearly evaporating. "EMILY! OPEN UP! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
I needed to hurry!
On screen, Sarah stared at her dorm room door in terror, as if sensing Mark would burst through any moment.
I had to think fast. Running hadn't worked last time—in that small space, she couldn't outpace or overpower him. She needed a weapon, something close at hand.
"Break lamp. Use glass. Hide."
Ten characters. Direct and clear.
Sarah read my comment and acted instantly. She grabbed her desk lamp and smashed it against the floor with all her strength.
*CRASH!*
The lightbulb exploded in a shower of glass. She snatched up the largest shard, gripping it white-knuckled in her fist, her body coiled like a cornered wildcat.
It worked! She trusted me completely!
Something extraordinary formed between us—a battlefield bond between strangers. I was her strategist; she was my soldier. This feeling... was unlike anything I'd known. In my deepest isolation, I'd found a connection.
"Emily! Last chance before I get angry!" Outside my door, Jason's voice had turned to ice.
I ignored him completely, my entire focus locked on the phone screen.
Sarah positioned herself behind her door, the glass shard trembling slightly in her grip.
The closet door burst open. Mark lunged out, white mask gleaming, knife raised.
"Surprise, baby!"
He didn't spot Sarah behind the door as he charged toward the empty bed.
NOW!
I didn't need to type anything—just thought it. As if reading my mind, the moment I mentally screamed "NOW!" Sarah exploded from her hiding spot and drove the glass shard deep into the back of Mark's neck!
"AAARGH!"
Mark's scream was guttural as he stumbled forward, crashing face-first onto the bed.
Sarah showed no mercy. She leapt onto his back and stabbed him again and again, each thrust fueled by terror and rage.
Blood fountained across the pristine white sheets.
I watched in stunned silence, barely breathing. Sarah—that sweet, innocent freshman—had transformed into a merciless avenging fury.
She'd done it. She'd killed her attacker.
With my help, she'd survived.
A wild, fierce joy surged through me, bringing tears to my eyes. I wasn't powerless. I could change fate!
Just then, a violent crash shook my apartment door.
*WHAM!*
Jason was breaking in.
Reality crashed back. My heart leapt into my throat. Sarah was safe—I wasn't.
I frantically scanned the room for weapons. Sofa cushions? Coffee table? TV remote? Nothing that would stop a determined killer.
My eyes locked onto the window. Second floor—a jump might break my legs, but that beat having my throat cut.
I lunged for the window and shoved with all my strength. The frame didn't budge—stuck solid, like it hadn't been opened in years.
*CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!*
The door splintered under Jason's assault, hairline fractures spreading across the wood.
Panic-sweat poured down my face as I slammed my shoulder against the window again and again. Nothing. Not even a creak.
"Save your energy." Jason's voice floated through the door with terrifying calm. "That window latch? When I 'fixed' it for you last week, I sealed it with industrial adhesive."
I froze mid-motion, staring in horror at the buckling door.
"You love horror movies, don't you, Emily?" Jason's voice slithered through the cracks. "Then you know every locked-room scenario needs a carefully designed escape route. Unfortunately for you, your room has none."
He knew! He'd known my every move before I made it! He'd anticipated the window escape and blocked it days ago!
The sick bastard had been planning this from the beginning. From our very first conversation, he'd been setting the stage for my murder.
"You know what drew me to you?" he continued, his voice thick with twisted admiration. "Your loneliness. Lonely people are so desperate for connection. Look at you now—bonding with a fictional character through a screen, feeling like you've found a kindred spirit, like you're not alone anymore. Isn't that feeling... intoxicating?"
My body shook uncontrollably. He hadn't just predicted my actions—he'd seen straight into my soul!
He was right. That rush of fighting alongside Sarah, that wordless bond we'd formed—it had given me a sense of belonging I'd never known. I thought I'd found an escape from my isolation, but now I realized this connection itself was Jason's most ingenious trap.
He'd exploited my deepest hunger, dangled hope before me, only to snuff it out personally.
This was true torture.
*CRASH!*
With a tremendous crash, the door lock was completely smashed open, wood splinters flying everywhere.
Jason appeared in the doorway, his face wearing the smile of a victor. He wasn't carrying a knife, just walking toward me with bare hands.
"Game over, Emily," he said. "You're clever, even more clever than I imagined. But you have one fatal weakness."
I closed my eyes in despair.
I knew what my weakness was. Not naivety, not stupidity, but that craving for the internet rooted deep in my soul.
This was my original sin.
I felt a hand grip my throat, lifting me up. A sense of suffocation instantly enveloped me.
In the final moment before my consciousness faded, I seemed to hear that familiar voice again.
"Oh, Mark, stop fooling around, I really thought you were in the closet."
……
……
I was back again.
Third death. Third reset.
I lay numb on the bed, like a puppet whose soul had been extracted. Everything in the room was exactly as I remembered it, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains onto the floor, and the air was filled with the familiar scent that belonged to me.
Everything felt like an endless nightmare.
I couldn't even be bothered to feel the lingering pain of suffocation in my neck, just mechanically raised my phone to look at that corner that determined my fate.
When my gaze focused, the last spark of hope was completely extinguished.
On the screen, the cold gray numbers clearly displayed:
5/5。
This time, only five characters remained.
Outside the door, that rhythmic knocking sound, which seemed like it would never stop, began again.
"Knock, knock, knock."
I knew this would likely be the last time I heard that sound.
Next time, I might not even have a chance to start over.
``
