“What’s this?” I ask, indicating the playback. “Not very funny.”
“I was going to ask you that,” Rebecca says, turning from the laptop. “Why would you make such a sick video?”
The playback’s looping, showing me where I am now, standing above Rebecca, who’s sitting in the office chair. The “me” in the video grabs a glass paperweight from the desk and begins bashing his wife’s head in.
“I didn’t make this,” I insist. “Wait. Look at the timestamp.”
We both note the time. Just a few seconds in the future.
She reaches for the paperweight.
I get there first.
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