The Dead Loop 2: Dark Times

By Jason Tipple

What would you do if you died every single day?
Would you turn to crime?
Would you try to help people?

The Dead Loop is an intense psychological thriller exploring the unique life of Ewan Charles who experiences his own death every single day.

Each death leads him along a journey of ever changing emotional states and takes him deeper into the mysterious and unending 'Dead Loop.'

Whilst trapped in this endless cycle he becomes embroiled in a struggle against the influence of a mysterious and sinister stalker...

Why does Ewan die every day and then immediately 'awaken' on a different day?
Who can he trust?
Should he turn to doctors, the police or religion for help?
What should he do with the knowledge that he will die today and every day?
How can Ewan hold onto his family when he loses his life every day?

Can he break the perpetual daily cycle of his own death?

"The DEAD LOOP trilogy is set to go viral."
"innovative, emotive and well crafted."
"thoroughly original and expertly written."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Tipple
• Release date: Dec 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301511945

Jason Tipple

Jason Tipple was born quite near the coast in sunny Norwich in the Summer of 1973. He moved inland to the new city of Milton Keynes at the age of the 8. His love of writing began at school where he wrote fun stories about zany characters and letting his imagination run almost as wild as his hair. At the age of 13 he wrote in an essay about Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet's marriage could only be saved by a novelty 'His and Hers' towel set. Suffice to say this didn't go down too well with the English teacher but it set him on a path towards an interest in expressive writing. Four years later, his 5000 word A-level analytical essay studying the literary structure of the Conan the Barbarian novels by Robert E Howard was heavily frowned on by his teacher for not being about an 'author of suitable literary merit.' That moment convinced Jason only to ever write about subjects that he enjoyed applying his creative mind to. Jason soon began to write humorous tales, sci-fi and fantasy purely for his own enjoyment. The birth of his daughter in 2006 introduced him to children's books for the first time in 20 years. Inspired by the likes of 'the Gruffalo' and 'Mr. Gum', Jason ventured into writing children's books as well as an epic psychological thriller of 120,000 words.

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The DEAD LOOP Book 2: Dark Times

Jason Tipple

Copyright 2012 Jason Tipple

Front cover photo copyright 2012 alan-perlman.com

Dead-Loop.com

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.

Dedicated to the victims of the Chernobyl disaster.

What the first US reviewer said about the Dead Loop:

The Dead Loop is one of the most unique and original story plots that I have read in quite a long time! While it is dark and even kind of depressing to get through some sections, there is just something about the idea and the writing combined that from the very first few pages grabs you by the hand and tugs you along to see what comes next and fires your imagination to begin trying to figure out why it is happening...

BOOK 2

DARK TIMES

Chapter 1: Mercy

The singing is raucous and out of tune but it takes me a few seconds to realise that I’m the only one who isn’t joining in. I quickly find my voice and sing along.

‘Happy Birthday dear Jenny... Happy Birthday to you.’ Everyone starts cheering and applauding but at least this time I’m involved from the outset. As the applause fades I recognise the ‘Happy Steakhouse’ restaurant as the one that’s near our apartment. It’s one of Jenny’s favourite places to eat and we appear to have a long private table for around twenty people. Jenny loves steaks almost as much as I do although she eats hers rare which is something I couldn’t do.

Helen is sat on my left, smiling and toasting the birthday girl but Jenny is sat at the opposite end of the table. I recognise her three best friends Kirsty, Annabelle and Shelley, but not the two young men sitting beside them. Most of the guests are familiar to me but I’m surprised to see Helen’s brother Bill here and his two sons Dale and Albert. Helen only vaguely keeps in touch with her brother, exchanging birthday cards and the occasional phone call so it’s a real surprise to see them. Bill is maybe fifteen years older than his sister Helen but his wife is unsurprisingly absent. If I remember correctly I think Helen told me they had separated. His son Albert has bought his wife with him though. I’m pretty sure that Dale was single when I last saw him and he still appears to be on his own. Jenny can’t have seen her uncle and cousins for at least five years so I assume her eighteenth birthday must have inspired them to make the effort.

Our neighbour Ali is here with an attractive Asian girl and together they sip champagne while toasting Jenny. For a moment a flash of anger rises inside me as I see Ali, but he raises his glass to me and nods. I automatically raise my own glass back to him and the Asian girl smiles. My flash of anger subsides as quickly as it had arisen.

The majority of the other guests are probably Jenny’s work colleagues and their partners. At least that’s what I assume from their colourful urban clothes. She only works part time in what she says is the trendiest shop in Carnaby Street and these look like just the kind of young Londoners I would expect to find working there.

Our table has an elegant arrangement of flowers in the centre of it with the number eighteen formed from pink and white petals. I don’t know what kind of flowers they are but they look and smell nice enough. There are also a dozen tacky foil birthday balloons with ‘18’ printed on them, haplessly spread around our table while Jenny has a pile of open cards and ripped envelopes stacked up in front of her.

Our table takes up almost one entire side wall and the remainder of the restaurant looks fully booked too. The other diners who aren’t in our party have stopped eating their meals to applaud Jenny. It gives me an overriding feeling of satisfaction quite unlike anything I have experienced before to see a roomful of strangers suddenly participate in our celebration. I feel warm inside to see my daughter so vibrant and surrounded by her friends on such a special day.

Although I find myself smiling, I also feel a growing sense of confusion at the party because I already have memories of Jenny’s eighteenth birthday. We paid for her to go on a Mediterranean cruise and she took one of her best friends Annabelle with her. As far as I recall, on the day of her birthday we didn’t arrange a big gathering like this, Helen and I took her out for a quiet family lunch in Knightsbridge. That evening Jenny had gone into Central London with her college friends. She didn’t come home until 3:00 AM and I found it hard to sleep until she was back. I’m baffled as to whether today should supersede my previous memories or merge them all together into one event.

One of the young men sitting next to Jenny sets off a party popper and the bang disturbs my thoughts. I glance at Jenny who is laughing as the paper contents land in her hair and she starts to pick them out with Kirsty’s help. Before they finish, the other man and two girls unload their poppers too and all six of them are laughing now as the streamers rain down on her, some even landing in her wine glass.

There is a window behind them and I notice that it’s daytime but I realise that we have already eaten lunch because I can still taste the steak in my mouth. I feel a twang of disappointment that ironically I hadn’t ‘awakened’ thirty minutes earlier and am already full.

The thought of awakening from death reminds me of Virgil, the old man in the hospital and his wheezing and coughing. And then there was his laughing too, his near toothless grin and the staring of those hollow but piercing eyes. I shudder involuntarily at the memory but I’m unsure whether it’s his frightening appearance or my day of suffering that causes my discomfort. I decide it’s probably both and try to forget about it because it’s time that I focused on what’s important now, on how I’m going to die today and who I can help before it happens.

Everyone is smiling and enjoying the last of their meal so there is nobody here in any danger. In fact there appears to be no immediate danger to me either but at least one of us must be in jeopardy - me. I drain the last mouthful of wine from my glass and stand up.

‘I’m just nipping to the toilet,’ I tell Helen.

‘Alright,’ she replies before turning back to the conversation with her brother.

As I leave the table I hear her mention something to Bill about catching up more often but it’s drowned out by the noise of the restaurant. One of the waitresses smiles as I stand aside to let her pass me with a tray full of desserts bound for our table. I wonder if Helen and I are paying for the whole meal, and what the bill might be but however much it is it’ll be worth it for Jenny’s birthday. Not to mention the fact that the money won’t even matter to me tomorrow.

Once inside the men’s washroom, I splash some cold water on my face. The bright blue and orange tiles around the sink remind me of a beach, and as my reflection stares back at me from the mirror I run my damp fingers through my short dark hair. I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m clean shaven and there is no trace of the terrible illness that reduced me to a dishevelled wraith only moments ago.

‘See what a steak can do for you?’ I ask my reflection.

I hear a flush behind me and the sound of a cubicle lock being opened. A young man wearing an un-tucked bright yellow shirt appears from the toilet cubicle. He glances at me for a second and then immediately looks away. The man runs his fingers under a tap without even stopping walking in a meagre display of personal cleanliness and then leaves the washroom. I watch him depart while still drying his hands on the back of his jeans and I shake my head.

My reflection looks back at me as I smile to see if my teeth have any steak stuck between them. They don’t but I take a handful of water from the tap and swish it round my mouth like mouthwash just in case. After spitting it out and drying my hands on the warm air dryer, I give my reflection a wink and return to the restaurant. I look good.

Helen and everyone else are already tucking into their desserts, making the table strangely silent. A thick wedge of chocolate gateau is parked in my place setting and I sit down and begin eating it. Helen has the same but is already halfway through hers.

‘This is lovely,’ she mumbles with her mouth full.

She isn’t wrong and I almost manage to catch up before she finishes her gateau. Helen dabs away at the sides of her mouth, removing the chocolate from her pink lips and puffing out her cheeks. Most of the other guests have finished their desserts too and begin chatting loudly again.

As soon as everyone has finished, I tap my empty wine glass with a spoon and silence gradually falls over the table. The effect is greater than I anticipate though and the waitresses around the restaurant freeze in their tracks as silence falls over all the other tables in the room too. When I stand up Jenny puts her head in her hands in what I presume is mock horror.

‘Sorry for interrupting everyone,’ I begin, directing my words mainly to the diners around the room who aren’t even in our party. ‘I’ll be very brief I promise.’

Helen tugs gently at my arm to encourage me to sit down. ‘Oh God Dad, no speech please!’ says Jenny from behind her hands, ‘how embarrassing.’

But I’m quite sober and I realise that I’ve never had the chance to do this properly. Now that I have a second chance, I won’t waste the opportunity to say something special about someone I love.

‘I just wanted to thank you all for coming,’ I say, gesturing to the people at our table, ‘and for making our daughter Jenny’s eighteenth birthday so special. It only seems like yesterday that she was starting to walk.’

The whole room breaks into applause and a few people cheer. Jenny smiles but stares down at the table and shakes her head as her friend Shelley whispers something to her.

Ali looks over at me. ‘Go on Ewan,’ he says encouragingly.

‘I just want to take this opportunity to congratulate Jenny for being such a wonderful daughter,’ I continue, ‘a beautiful person and a credit to Helen and me.’

Helen stops tugging at my arm and is smiling now.

‘A credit to her exceptional parents of course,’ I joke and gratefully receive a ripple of laughter, along with a shout of ‘Yeah right!’ from one of Jenny’s work friends.

‘I’m watching you,’ I say, pointing at him with the pretence of threat. ‘But most importantly to say how proud Helen and I are of you.’

Helen squeezes my hand and nods in agreement as Jenny smiles at us from the other end of the table.

‘Now if you have anything left in your glass then I want you to join me in a toast to Jenny,’ I ask everyone. ‘And if you haven’t got a drink, then steal one from the person next to you.’

I wait a moment for everyone to raise their glasses. ‘To Jenny!’ I say.

Everyone repeats her name including the guests at the other tables and even the waitresses pretend to toast her with their invisible glasses.

‘I’m grateful for the opportunity to do that,’ I say closing my speech. ‘We love you sweetheart.’

I retake my seat to the sound of ‘Ahhhh’ from the room and a couple of people from other tables come over and clap me on the shoulder and congratulate me. The room quickly erupts back into noise, driving away the temporary silence as if it had never happened.

Two waitresses begin to clear away the dessert dishes as another distributes pre-cut slices of birthday cake to everyone.

‘That was sweet,’ Helen whispers in my ear but still loud enough for her brother Bill to overhear.

‘Yeah, well done Ewan,’ he says. ‘I never spoke at my two’s eighteenth, but good on you. Nice words.’

‘Thanks Helen,’ I reply and nod politely in Bill’s direction.

Helen kisses my cheek. She then starts talking to Ali’s girlfriend who is sat opposite her and asking what she does for a living. I don’t pay much attention to their conversation once I hear something about tax accountancy and soon I’m lost in my own thoughts, wondering how my day might end. But I soon find myself going over the speech again in my head, analysing it, deciding what worked and which parts I didn’t like. But I realise that the audience’s positive reaction should be the ultimate assessment of how it went down, even if they were a little biased due to the occasion. Being self critical was just human nature for me, but on this occasion I felt I performed well.

‘Dad?’ says Jenny, appearing suddenly beside me and interrupting my thoughts.

‘Yes Jen?’ I reply.

She crouches down and hugs me tightly. ‘Thank you for lunch and for what you said,’ she says. ‘It sounds like you meant it, and it meant a lot to me.’

‘Of course I meant it sweetheart,’ I say a little guiltily. ‘Perhaps I should have said something like that before.’

Jenny smiles and squeezes my arm affectionately. ‘Don’t get all sentimental,’ she says. ‘This is a party, remember? I know what you and Mum think of me so you don’t need to say it.’

She