The scene replayed over and over. Damien wondered if he was in hell. Was he to watch his own murder for eternity?

He tried to stop his death.

He waved his arms, shouted soundlessly, rushed towards himself; everything he could think of to get the real him to duck, to turn. To run.

Nothing worked. Each time the real Damien twisted and fell to the ground, the car drove off, and the scene faded to black.

He lost track of the number of replays. At some point, he became numb to the killing. It was then that he began to wonder about the shooter. As the scene reset, he stepped towards the approaching car. He was still cautious. He had not yet fully realized the advantages of being incorporeal.

He was not close enough. Gunshots exploded from the car window. The victim fell. The car drove off. Fade to black.

This reset was different. He was not standing on the sidewalk as the car approached. He was standing in the road. Stunned, he let the scene play out as he thought about the ramifications.

The next time, he was ready. As the car drew near, he walked directly to the window and peered in. He saw the gun come up. He saw the flash of flame from the muzzle. But he could not see who was behind the gun. It was too dark. An acrid bouquet of spent gunpowder enveloped him as the car drove off.

He thought about what happened as he waited for the reset. It seemed as though he was allowed to approach the car, but to what end? He could not stop the killing. He could not identify the driver. Maybe he was supposed to get the license plate number.

He used the next iteration to position himself where he would see the back of the car as it passed.

He had no luck with the number. The plate was black, like the rest of the car. He watched the shooting from this new perspective and noticed something that he had missed before. After the second gunshot, there was a small glint of something arcing out of the window.

He stood there, waiting for the next replay. This time he was able to follow the arc as it fell to the ground, bounced once and disappeared in the dark shadows of the curb.

As the car drove off, he walked to the curb and dropped to his knees. He tried sweeping his hand over the area but could feel nothing. Leaning forward, he looked closely at the base of the curb and found a small grate.

Damien sat back against the curb to consider his next move. He was sure that he was supposed to find whatever fell into the grate. But what then? He could not pick it up.He could not even see it in the dark.

As he sat there, he realized that the murder scene had not reset. His physical self was still just eight feet away, dead on the sidewalk. The car was gone. The weight of all that had happened settled over him and he lowered his head and sobbed.