Play It Again Sam Pt 03

Friday July 15

th

, 2016 Day 18

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

I don't know how long I stood in the doorway, watching Dr. Peters fuck my wife.

It felt like an eternity, but was more likely a couple minutes. My first instinct was to walk away. I'm a big guy who has never had to fight. The last time I threw a punch was in grade school. So my first thought is to avoid conflict, not because I'm frightened of it, but because it is the civilized thing to do.

If not for the time loop, I probably would have used my phone to make a short video, before walking away to decide how I was going to deal with my cheating wife.

But what did I need video evidence for? It would disappear the next morning.

I looked at the white walls of our bedroom and briefly considered turning them into a Jackson Pollock painting. Visions of arterial spray danced through my head.

I stood, paralyzed with indecision. I'd never even considered what I would do if Julie cheated on me. It was impossible. I trusted her fidelity far more than my own even.

I took a half step back in preparation to leave, but then...fuck it! Nothing I did would have any lasting effect, but that also meant that I could do whatever the hell I wanted!

I strode into the room and grabbed Dr. Peters by the hair at the back of his head and yanked him backwards off my wife. With my left hand I started give him shots to the kidneys (at least where I thought the kidneys were).

Two things happened in quick succession.

Julie screamed.

And Dr. Peters twisted in my grasp and sent an elbow into my cheekbone. I felt it crack.

"Oh my god no," screamed Julie. "Sam, no please, this can't be happening."

While Julie was trying to find something meaningful to say, Dr. Peters and I were otherwise occupied. I still had ahold of his hair. He couldn't turn around fully without ripping it out. But I wasn't able to press my advantage. I was throwing wild punches at him with my left hand, but his elbow had dazed me. My punches didn't have any power in them.

Peters leaned forward, pulling me off balance, then snapped back, leading with his elbow again. If my cheekbone was cracked by the first blow, the second shattered it. My face made a sound like a stomped watermelon. I saw stars.

It must have been all the adrenaline in my system that kept me from passing out. I let go of Peters and stumbled back. I even managed to raise my hands in my idea of a fighting stance.

And then...a naked man beat the shit out of me.

Dr. Peters was 20 years older, 5 inches shorter, and 40 pounds lighter than me. But he obviously knew how to fight, which was more than I could say. I'd like to think I could have made a better accounting of myself if my face didn't feel like a flesh bag full of broken glass.

He landed a series of rights and lefts to my face and body. There were no more blows to my left cheek, either because of consideration from Peters, or because my entire strategy in this fight had boiled down to not getting hit there again. Even if my cheek wasn't getting hit, every movement was sending stabbing pain through my face.

My shattered cheekbone was soon joined by a broken nose. Tears flooded my eyes. I tasted blood.

Through a watery haze I saw Dr. Peters wind up and throw and honest to god spin kick. I may have seen it coming, but there was fuck all I could do to stop it. His foot landed square in my ribs. I could feel and hear them break.

Ever since I had pulled Peters off her, Julie had been screaming. Most of it was incoherent wailing, but interspersed with that were pleas for us to stop fighting. I wouldn't have minded a truce, but Peters looked like he was just getting warmed up.

Dr. Peters was shuffling his feet in advance of throwing another kick, when Julie wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"STOP! STOP! Don't hurt him!"

Peters was distracted, trying to pry Julie's arm off him. I acted on instinct and more by luck than skill, finally managed to land a solid punch.

I threw my weight forward and punched him square across the jaw.

Dr. Peters may have been a champ at throwing punches, but he was a pussy when it came to taking them. He went out like a light. Peters, Julie, and myself all went down in a heap. I landed on top of Peters, then slowly rolled off.

My focus was all on Peters. I almost expected him to snap awake and lunge at me like a Hollywood axe murderer.

"OH MY GOD!" screamed my wife. "Your face! Babe, lie still, we need an ambulance."

Still with the "we" shit. I think we were past that. The sight of the woman I loved, still naked, nauseated me. I didn't want her help. I wouldn't accept it.

She ran out of the room. I could hear her pounding down the stairs. That confused me. Where was she going? Her clothes were here in the bedroom.

I stumbled to my feet. I carefully held myself upright on every stair. I seemed to have a balance problem. Finally I made it to our front entryway and discovered where Julie had run off to.

Her purse, with her cell phone in it, had been on a table by the door. She was mid-conversation as I staggered past her.

"555 Heathview Terrace. My husband needs an ambulance...He was in a fight, he has severe facial injuries. Please hurry!

"Sam? Sam, where are you going?! You need help, you're hurt."

She tried to stop me as I went out the door. Normally it would have been no contest, but the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off. The pain and dizziness were getting worse with each passing moment.

Julie tried to wrap me up with one arm, the other holding her phone. I could hear the 911 operator on the line.

"Ma'am, are you there? Are you in danger? What's happening?"

I muscled my way through and out the door. Julie gave up on the phone. She tossed it on the ground and dove, throwing both arms around one of my legs.

"STOP! STOOOOOPPPPP!"

I kept going, dragging her along with me. At this rate I'd never get to my car. Despite all the pain she had caused me, I still didn't want to hurt my wife. I placed my palm on her forehead and pushed her away from my leg. I think I was a little rougher than I had intended. She yelped and let go.

I could see her bracing to get up. I was struck that we were in the front lawn and she was still naked. The neighborhood biddies would probably never top this show.

I broke into a shambling run before she could gain her feet. I made it to my Taurus a few steps ahead of her and locked the doors. I saw her jump back, as I started the engine and peeled off. She even chased after me a few steps, waving her arms.

I drove out of our neighborhood and onto the main thoroughfare. I made it about two blocks before I was stopped at a light.

I heard a scream and looked at the car waiting in the lane next to me. A woman in a silver minivan was staring at me, one hand covering her mouth. I could see a wide eyed little boy with his face pressed against the glass behind her. What the hell?

I folded down my sun visor and looked at the mirror in it.

Holy shit.

My eyes were already bloodshot and turning black. My nose was pushed over to the side of my face, a fan of blood spread out below it, covering my mouth and shirt.

But the worst was my cheek. It looked like half my face had caved in. My left eye seemed to be sitting lower on my face. You could fit a baseball into the depression where my cheekbone had been.

I guess this explained why Julie was so frantic.

It was such a shock that my first thoughts were- 'Who is that guy? How is he still conscious?' It took a second to register that the face in the mirror was me.

I thought I had been in pain before. But now the agony was blinding, as if the gods had waited for a break in the action to drop Thor's hammer on me.

I literally couldn't see. White hot lightning was shooting through my face, radiating up my cheek and behind my eyes.

I know the light turned green, because the cars behind me were blasting their horns. I could hear a calming voice from beside my left. The woman in the minivan had come over and opened my car door. I could also hear a low keening moan that I realized was coming from me.

"It's okay sir," the woman said. "Help is on the way."

Almost immediately a police car was there, followed in short order by an ambulance. I wondered how they got there so fast. My question was soon answered.

"Mr. Watley, hold still. Your wife called us. You've sustained serious head trauma, try not to move."

I wanted to tell the officer to keep that bitch away from me, but I the words wouldn't come out of my broken face. Luckily she hadn't arrived on the scene yet, or I might have tried to drive away again.

The E.M.Ts put a neck brace on me and then gently worked me out of the car and strapped me onto a backboard. I watched the sky scroll through my watery vision. Then the inside of the ambulance. I felt a prick in my arm.

'What's tha-'

...

Friday July 15

th

, 2016 Day 19

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

I sat up in a flash. My hands reached for my face. It was fine of course. The pain was gone and my head was clear. I should have expected that the damage would vanish, but it was a relief. So far I had seen that the rest of the world reset every day. Now, here was proof that

I

did as well.

Still...I sat in bed, rubbing my face unconsciously for a solid ten minutes.

Soon, my thoughts turned back to my wife.

I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, watching Julie sleep. Who was this stranger in my wife's body? I would have bet my life on her fidelity.

And lost.

I turned and walked back to the guest room. Started dressing robotically.

How did it start? Why? For how long? I wanted answers. To understand why the woman I gave my heart to had thrown it on the ground and stomped on it.

I could have simply asked her. If there was one word to describe my wife, it was

honest

.

I don't mean that she 'told it like it is.' Saying someone 'tells it like it is,' is she just code for saying they're an asshole. "I've got no choice but to be a rude and obnoxious douchebag, because I tell it like it is."

No, Julie was honest in the truest sense. She never said anything she knew wasn't true, or didn't believe. She kept her promises and did her utmost to fulfill obligations. If a cashier gave her too much change, she would return it. If she found something, she would try diligently to return it to its owner.

I didn't know how she squared that with breaking her marriage vows.

But I could ask. I knew if I asked her direct questions, I would get answers. But that route seemed very...unsatisfying.

I didn't know all what questions I should be asking. Plus, while Julie may be honest, she wasn't always forthcoming. She could refuse to answer some things. Total silence wouldn't work. After all, if you can't

deny

you cheated... But she didn't have to tell me everything, and that's what I wanted to know-everything.

Given the nature of the time loop, I could question her endlessly. I could refine my interrogation methods, figure out what questions to ask by trial and error. As I learned more, I could use that info to pry more answers from her.

But that didn't appeal to me.

I was feeling raw, fragile. I didn't want to

see

her, let alone

talk

to her. The thought of sitting down with my wife, day after day, prying out the details of her affair, made me physically ill.

I wanted to find out for myself what Julie had been doing behind my back. So when I finally confronted her,

if

I confronted her, I would be armed with knowledge. I would know if she was trying to minimize or hind anything from me. I wanted full and opened honesty, which would normally be a given with Julie. But what might she be able to hide if I just depended on her willingness to talk and my own uninformed questions?

But how?

I couldn't go high tech and bug her phone or set up cameras in our house. It would be pointless. I would only get

one day

of evidence. Unless she decided to call up a friend and tell her life story, I was boned. I already knew that she would be fucking Dr. Peters, or Dr. Dick as I was starting to think of him at noon. What else could I learn?

On second thought...

Bugging the house would let me hear any conversation between Julie and Dr. Dick. That could be useful. Also, I could confront Julie with my knowledge of her affair and then leave. If I somehow tapped her phone I might be able to hear some telling phone calls to her family or friends.

I might do that, but still, only having one day to monitor my wife made surveillance a weak option at best.

Likewise, contacting a private detective would be a waste of time. What would they be able to detect in less than 24 hours, even if I could get one to drop everything and start immediately?

Eureka!

I remembered reading somewhere that the vast majority of detective work was now technology based. Gumshoes didn't pound the pavement, knocking on doors and searching back alleys anymore. The vast majority of what they needed to make a case was online. They searched databases, combed phone records, and scoured social media accounts.

I may not have the time to do an old fashioned stakeout on my wife, but maybe I could follow her cyber trail.

If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that Julie had not kept her illicit affair private. She had a best friend and a sister that she told

everything

. And a mother she told almost as much. I was momentarily blinded by rage at that thought, but I knew I was right. She often claimed that she had no secrets from Emma or Liz. I once asked, "What about secrets from me." And she replied, "A girls has to maintain some mystery."

So what I needed to do was get into her laptop or cellphone. The cell would be better, so I could get access to both text messages and email.

It was too late today. By the time I'd formulated a plan of action, Julie was at work. I'd driven to the same diner as the day before.

Tomorrow, I vowed. Tomorrow I'd start my search for answers.

...

Friday July 15

th

, 2016 Day 20

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

I crept into the bedroom and lifted Julie's phone from the bedside table. I quickly checked to see if the phone opened with a fingerprint...no dice. That would have been easiest. I could have swiped her finger across it while she slept. I went downstairs and grabbed the messenger bag where she kept her laptop on my way out the door.

I left my phone in place of my wife's. They were the same model. I figured it would take her a while to realize there had been a switch. She would probably oversleep without her alarm. Then her passcode wouldn't work. Sometime after that she would realize it was

my

phone, maybe when she saw her laptop was gone.

I got on the train to New York. My plan was to ride the subway around NYC all day. I expected Julie would just go to work. She may try to call her phone, but I wouldn't answer. If she got online at work and tried to use GPS to track her phone, it would be a couple hours away and constantly on the move.

I needed to guess my wife's PIN number to open the phone.

I tried birthdays first. Hers, mine, my parents...shit, I didn't know her best friend Liz's birthday, or the rest of her family. They were stored in my calendar...on

my

phone. Well, tomorrow I would skip the whole switching phones gambit. I realized it was pointless anyway. I had done it so Julie wouldn't find a way to contact our service provider and report her phone stolen. Even without my phone there in its place, I was sure she would know who had taken it. Would she report it if she thought her husband had it? I was betting no. She would wait to confront me at home.

I did hope she was chewing her nails out at the thought of me accessing her data.

Well, no more birthdays until tomorrow. In the meantime, I started on common number combinations. 1-2-3-4-5. 5-4-3-2-1. All the corners. An X across the number pad.

Soon I ran into a bigger problem. After 7 failed attempts the phone locked me out for 5 minutes. Each successive failure raise the lockout time. After my ninth attempt, I went and got something to eat, because I had an hour to kill before it would let me try again. Finally, after try number 10, it locked up for good. It directed me to the company website to reactivate the phone.

I figured I wasn't going to be able to satisfy whatever security measures were required to reactivate it. I tossed the phone in a garbage can in a subway station. I'd get back to it tomorrow.

Time to turn my attention to the laptop.

I booted it up. First, I swiped my finger across the fingerprint scanner, to see if she had that function enabled. It did absolutely nothing, not even an error message saying fingerprint not found. So that was out.

Of course it was password protected. Fortunately I could make as many guesses as I pleased and it never locked me out. I tried our names, names of friends and family, favorite movies, her car. I racked my brain for anything that held meaning to Julie and typed it in.

Nothing.

I spent all day guessing passwords, before giving up and checking into a hotel. Tomorrow.

...

I spent the next couple weeks trying to break into Julie's phone.

I gave up on the laptop after five days. I could get the emails from her phone anyway, and with a full keyboard there were infinitely more possible passwords.

I tried calling our cellular provider and bluffing them into unlocking Julie's phone, but they saw through me. Even talking in a high voice and pretending

to be

Julie didn't work. Go figure.

With only 10 attempts per day, I had a lot of time to kill. I decided to resume my dedication to living every day to the fullest.

Step one of that plan would be money. I was going to scratch off every item I had ever even

considered

putting on my bucket list. Most things I could just go do. Visit every museum, theme park, fair, and tourist attraction within a day's travel of Trenton, NJ. Sky dive, base-jump, hop in a bounce house, ride an ostrich.

But a lot of things on my personal to do list required money. Lots of it.

You would think that money wouldn't be a problem for me. I worked on Wall Street, making comfortably in the six figures. But I was in debt up to my eyeballs.

Before I found out my wife was a god forsaken whore, I would have said that her greatest fault was that she was spoiled. She enjoyed her comforts, and didn't like to be told no. Her parents were upper middle class, not rich. But Julie had bigger ambitions.

We both had student loans six years after graduating. With deferments we had taken, it would probably be at least another six before they were paid off.

I had a closet full of designer suits, which I considered a necessary business expense if I wanted to be taken seriously in the world of finance. Julie's clothes bill had mine beat by an order of magnitude. You could purchase my entire wardrobe for what she spent on shoes. She had a whole row of Jimmy Choo's. And the purses...oh my god. Coach, Prada, Gucci, Louis Vuitton.

Then there was our house. We made good money, but the gated community we lived in was really above our means.

The one item I had put my foot down on was our cars. I was happy with my old Taurus. I only drove it to the transit hub anyway. But Julie wanted a luxury vehicle. We had a few screaming matches about what we wanted as opposed to what we could afford. Finally, she gave in and said she would just get a Honda. Of course she bought a Pilot, the most expensive vehicle Honda makes, with every option they offer.