Chapter 1: The Splash and the Lie

It was Easter weekend, and the riverbank behind the park was a muddy mess from the last snowmelt. I was halfway through my patrol when I heard the splash.

That early spring day still clung to the chill of winter, the muddy earth sucking at my boots as I walked my usual route. When the sound of water breaking ripped through the air, I didn’t hesitate—I crashed through the brush, tore off my security jacket, and dove straight in. The shock of the icy water hit me hard, but adrenaline took over. My heart hammered as I fought the current, grabbing the girl's arm and hauling her, coughing and shivering, onto the mud-choked shore.

As soon as I pulled her out, she collapsed to her knees, voice trembling and desperate. “Please, my puppy—he’s still in there!” she pleaded, clutching my sleeve with ice-cold fingers. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks streaked with mud and tears. The smell of wet fur clung to her, mixing with the sour-sweet rot of the riverbank and a hint of powdery perfume.

Ignoring the cold that gnawed at my bones, I dove back in, searching the river for nearly half an hour. My fingers went numb, my muscles burned, but I couldn’t find the dog. Finally, exhausted and gasping, I pulled myself out—feeling helpless and spent.

My hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped the emergency blanket as I tried to wrap her up. My brain kept looping: You did good, you did good, but it felt hollow. The ache in my arms reminded me of every time I’d tried to fix something as a kid and still came up short. The sunset painted the river gold, mocking me with its beauty.

Unexpectedly, the girl spun on me, fury in her eyes. “You creep! When you pulled me out, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, but when it came to my dog, suddenly you were useless!”

Her words sliced through the air, echoing across the water. I stood there, stunned, her accusations pounding in my ears. Around us, park-goers stared, their curiosity turning sharp and suspicious.

She lashed out, her nails raking jagged lines down my cheek. Her shriek sent birds flying. Blood trickled down my face, but the sting of her words hit harder. At the police station, she twisted her story again, painting me as a predator. My hands shook as I tried to explain, jaw clenched against the humiliation.

My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—Reddit threads, Facebook groups, even TikTok videos tearing me apart. My name, address, and photo went viral. Strangers pounded on my door, and someone chucked a rock through my window. I double-checked every lock, closed every blind, but it didn’t matter. One night, I woke to smoke. Flames licked at the walls. I never made it to the door.

Her voice haunted me: “That was my only friend. Since you didn’t save it, I want you to pay with your life.” It echoed in my mind, twisted and final, even as the fire stole my breath.

Even as the flames swallowed me, I remember thinking, this is what I get for helping someone. It made no sense, but the world rarely does.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the girl fell into the river and called for help.

Everything snapped into place—same mud on my boots, same river chill, same faint line-dance music drifting from the park speakers.

This time, I turned away and walked toward the ladies line-dancing in the park, calling out, “Crank up the speakers, ladies! Let’s get hyped!”

I forced a grin, trying to drown out the memory with the thumping bass and the laughter of women twice my age.