WEBVTT
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Caloroga Shark Media.
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Hello and welcome to Twelve Nights, a Christmas paranormal romance thriller.
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This is episode one, Loop one.
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The office Christmas party ended at eleven, which meant I
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had exactly fifty three minutes to drive home, change into pajamas,
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and pretend I wasn't spending another holiday alone, Not that
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I minded. Really, there's something peaceful about Christmas Eve when
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you're single. No obligations, no forced cheer, no arguments about
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whose family gets Christmas Morning, just me a bottle of
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wine that cost more than it should have. An anrah
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Efron marathon queued up on my laptop. I grabbed my
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coat from the back of my chair and checked my phone.
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Three texts from my mother asking if I'd changed my
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mind about flying to Phoenix, one from my sister with
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a photo of my niece in a Santa hat, and
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a calendar notification reminding me that tomorrow was December twenty fifth.
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As if I could somehow forget Sloane, you're not leaving already.
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Marcy from Accounting appeared at my elbow, cheeks flushed from
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the spiked eggnog that Dave from It had been a
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little too generous with She was wearing a sweater with
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actual blinking lights, which I respected on principle, even if
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it was giving me a headache. Early morning tomorrow, I lied,
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It's Christmas, what a morning family stuff, I said, which
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wasn't technically untrue. Avoiding my family required significant emotional preparation.
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Marcy hugged me anyway, wrapping me in a cloud of
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vanilla perfume and synthetic Christmas cheer. Merry Christmas, Sloane, you
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did an amazing job with the party. The ice sculpture
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was incredible, thanks. I'd spent three weeks coordinating that ice
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sculpture a Swan because the CEO's wife liked swan's. It
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was already melting, one wing, drooping sadly toward the shrimp
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cocktail Merry Christmas, Marsy. The parking garage was mostly empty.
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My heels echoed against the concrete, and I could hear
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the distant thump of base from the party three floors up.
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The elevator had taken forever, and now my car sat
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alone under the flickering fluorescent lights, like the last guest
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at a party that ended hours ago. December in Ohio
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meant the windshield was frosted over, so I sat with
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the engine running, watching my breath fog in the cold,
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while the defroster wheezed to life. The radio was playing
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Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, the slow, sad version
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that always made me think about things I'd rather not
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think about. I turned it off. The highway was nearly empty,
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a few trucks their lights cutting through the dark. A
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mini van with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof,
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which seemed like a last minute decision someone was going
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to regret. The snow had stopped earlier, but the road
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still had that slick, uncertain look that made me grip
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the steering wheel a little tighter. Eleven thirty four pm,
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the clock on my dashboard glowed green in the darkness.
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I should have stayed at the party, should have let
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Marcy convince me to do another round of karaoke. Should
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have pretended I didn't see the way markers from Legal
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kept looking at me across the room. But I was tired,
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not just to night tired, but the kind of tired
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that settles into your bones around the holidays, when everyone
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else seems to have somewhere to be and someone to
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be there with thirty one years old event coordinator, good
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at my job, bad at everything else? That was the summary?
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Wasn't it the bio that would run under my photo
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if my life was a TV show? Nobody was watching.
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The gas station appeared on my right, its lights too
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bright against the darkness. I wasn't low on fuel, but
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something made me signal anyway. Something made me pull off
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the highway ease into the parking lot, stop beside a
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pump I didn't need. I sat there for a moment,
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engine idling, trying to figure out why I'd stopped. That's
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when I saw him. He was standing near the entrance
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of the convenience store, just outside the circle of light
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from the windows, tall dark coat, watching me with an
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expression I couldn't read from this distance. Not threatening exactly,
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but intent, like he'd been waiting. I should have driven away.
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Every instinct I'd developed as a woman who'd spent her
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adult life navigating a world that wasn't always safe, said
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go now, don't look back. But my hand was already
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reaching for the door handle, and my legs were already
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carrying me across the frozen pavement, and some part of
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me that I didn't recognize was saying. Finally, he didn't move.
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As I approached up close, I could see his face,
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sharp features, dark eyes, a jawline that belonged on a
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magazine cover mid thirties. Maybe the kind of handsome that
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usually came with a catch, Sloane, he said. I stopped
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the cold bit at my cheeks, my ears, the back
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of my neck where my coat didn't quite cover. How
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do you know my name? He smiled, but it wasn't
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a happy expression, more like grief wearing a smile's clothing.
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I know a lot of things about you, Sloane Marchetti.
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I know you just left your company's Christmas party. I
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know you lied to a woman named Marcy about having
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family plans tomorrow. I know you're driving a silver Honda
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Accord with a dent in the rear bumper from when
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you backed into a mailbox last March. My heart was
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pounding now and I took a step back. Are you
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have you been following me? No, he said it simply
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no defensiveness. I've been waiting for you here at this
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gas station at exactly eleven forty seven pm on Christmas Eve.
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I glanced at the clock on my phone eleven forty seven.
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Why he was quiet for a long moment, his breath
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fogging in the cold. Behind him. Through the convenience store window,
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I could see a board clerk scrolling through her phone,
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completely unaware that something impossible was happening in her parking lot.
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Because in five minutes, you're going to get back on
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the highway, he said, You're going to take the curve
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near mile mark of forty seven just a little too fast.
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There's black ice. You won't see it until you're already spinning.
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Your car will hit the guardrail at approximately seventy three
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miles per hour. His voice was steady, clinical, like he
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was reading from a report. You're going to die Sloane
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at eleven fifty two pm on Christmas Eve, and there's
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nothing I can do to stop it. I laughed. It
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came out high and strange, the sound of someone who
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wasn't processing what she was hearing. Is this some kind
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of sick joke? Did Marcus put you up to this?
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I wish it were a joke. He took a step
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toward me and I should have run, but I didn't. Couldn't.
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I've watched you die three hundred and seventeen times, same curve,
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same ice, same moment. I've tried everything, warning you, blocking
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the road, slashing your tires. None of it works. The
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loop always closes the same way. You're insane, probably another
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sad smile. But in about four minutes you're going to
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find out I'm telling the truth. And then you're going
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to wake up at the beginning of this day and
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you won't remember any of this. You won't remember me,
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and tomorrow night we'll have this exact conversation again. The
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wind cut through my coat and I shivered. There was
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something in his eyes that made it hard to look away.
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Not threat, but loss, the kind of loss that accumulates
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over years, decades.
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Who are you?
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My name is Elias, and I'm the reason you're trapped here.
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I opened my mouth to respond to demand answers, to
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call him crazy again, to do something other than stand
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there in the freezing cold, believing him, But my phone
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buzzed in my pocket, a calendar notification. Eleven fifty pm,
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two minutes to Christmas. You should go, Elias said, softly.
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You always go, no matter what I say, you always
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get back in the car. He was right, Even as
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my mind screamed that this was wrong, that he was dangerous,
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that I should call the police. My feet were already
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carrying me backward toward the car, toward the highway, toward
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whatever was waiting at mile marker forty seven. Wait, I
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heard myself say, if this has happened before, if you've
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really done this hundreds of times, why don't you just
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stop me physically? Something flickered across his face, pain maybe
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or shame. I tried. In Loop forty three, I grabbed
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your arm, you pulled away, fell, hit your head on
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the pavement. Dead before midnight, anyway. In Loop one hundred
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and twelve, I stood in front of your car. You
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swerve to avoid me and went off the road early
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same result, he shook his head. The loop wants to close, Sloane,
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It needs you to die, And nothing I do change
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is that I was at my car now, hand on
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the door, heart racing. Then why are you even here?
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Why tell me any of this? Elias looked at me,
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and for just a moment, I saw something beneath the grief,
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something that looked almost like hope. Because you asked me
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that same question in Loop two hundred and ninety one,
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and I gave you the same answer I'm giving you now,
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he paused. I'm here because I can't stop hoping that
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this time will be different, that this time you'll find
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a way out, that this time you'll remember. The clock
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on my phone read eleven fifty one. I got in
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the car. I don't know why he'd told me what
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was coming, and I still turned the key, still pulled
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out of the parking lot, still merged onto the dark highway,
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like I was following a script I couldn't see. Maybe
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that's what fate feels like, not a choice taken away,
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but a choice you keep making without understanding why. The
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curve came up faster than I expected mile marker forty seven,
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just like he said, I saw the ice too late,
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a dark shimmer across the pavement that looked almost like water.
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And then the steering wheel was spinning uselessly in my hands,
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and the guardrail was rushing toward me. And my last
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thought was he knew my name, he knew the office
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Christmas party ended at eleven, which meant I had exactly
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fifty three minutes to drive home, change into pajamas, and
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pretend I wasn't spending another holiday alone. I blinked. I
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was standing by my desk, coat in hand, phone buzzing
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with texts from my mother. The ice sculpture was intact,
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both wings raised in frozen elegance. Marcy was across the room,
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laughing at something Dave said, and somewhere in the back
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of my mind, like a song I couldn't quite place,
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a voice was saying my name, Sloane. I looked at
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my phone eleven pm, December twenty fourth. Something was wrong,
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Something was very, very wrong.