Here’s the second and final teaser for An Endless Loop, the third book in the Timelooper’s series, which hits shelves May 7!
It was odd the details Cory noticed first.
The matching satin lapels of their tuxedo jackets, the identical pleating of their shirts, the asshole-ish look of his face. In his drunken stupor, Cory’s first thought was that he’d actually run into a mirror right on the dance floor.
Because he was staring at himself.
The other him looked thinner, cheeks sallow, hair longer by an inch so it swept past the corner of his eyes. He wore the exact same tuxedo.
“Whoa,” Cory said, swaying a little now he wasn’t dancing with Pris. “It’s me. Hey everybody, it’s me.”
A few kids nearby had noticed, formed a circle around them. They jostled each other and muttered their amazement.
The image of his past self tilted and blurred as the room spun in circles. He couldn’t focus on the details.
But that was the alcohol, not the effects of time travel.
Speaking of time travel . . .
The other Cory didn’t flicker.
He just stood there, looking too terrified to speak.
“Are you from the future or past?” Cory slurred, trying to keep his balance. The room seemed to recede away from him as he spoke, like he was falling backward down a long tunnel.
How many drinks had he had?
Finally, his double spoke, his voice a strained whisper. “You didn’t see me . . . you’re not seeing me right now.” He backed away.
“No, no, no, stay for five minutes,” said Cory. “I’ve always wanted to talk to my past.”
“I’m not your past, dumbshit.”
“You sound like that annoying voice in my head,” said Cory. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re me. You have to listen to me. If you’re really from the future, why aren’t you getting feedback, huh?”
“Because I don’t remember any of this,” he said. “I blacked out the night of homecoming. You blacked out. You had like twenty drinks.”
Suddenly, Cory realized what seeing his double meant, and an icy chill pierced his buzz. It meant he had already gone back in time, he had already tried to save Iris . . . and failed.
He still remembered her climbing into the Chronos, vanishing before his eyes, the police interrogating him. He still remembered the heartbreak of seeing her empty seat in class.
He hadn’t changed anything.
“It doesn’t work,” he whispered. “You didn’t save her.”
Cory stared at him, his eyes wide. Slowly, he shook his head. “I . . . I need to go.”
“Why didn’t you save her?” Cory’s voice broke.
His double scanned the dance floor, eyes frantic, looking for something.
“What? . . . Wha’sss behind me?” Cory craned his neck to see.
In a flash, the other Cory grabbed his head and wrenched it toward the floor. “You stay . . . stay . . . do not follow, do not look up, do not look at me, do not look at anything . . . do not change anything.”
Cory shoved him off, and his double winced, as if burned.
“Why doesn’t it work?” he cried. “Why didn’t you save her? You were supposed to save her—”
“Don’t,” warned the other Cory, backing away. “Just don’t.” Then he vanished into the crowd, leaving him with a desperate, hollow feeling.
It didn’t work.
“Wait!” he called, staggering after his future self. “I need answers . . . what was her secret? Tell me, you selfish prick!” He bulldozed through the dance floor, slammed into a wall of bodies, and crashed to the floor. He dragged himself to his feet, head spinning, and stumbled after his double.
Around him, the world faded to black.
And then he didn’t remember what happened after that.