The man was clearly insane

     Not because he walked up to her and bet that he could jump over a moving car.

     Not even because he insisted, even after she told him to go away.

     The man was insane because he attempted it. He smirked, shrugged, ran towards the busy street, and jumped...

     Of course he wasn't able to jump over the car. He was hit, dead on, his body spinning into the air only to smash into the trunk, then roll to the pavement with a wet thud.

     She screamed and jumped, spilling coffee all over her blouse as she knocked the small cafe table over. Cups and dishes shattered on the ground, skittering like glass roaches in sudden light. Horns blared, voices rose, and behind her several more shatter-roaches hid underneath tables. Cursing, she pulled at her shirt in pain. Her morbid focus swiveled back to the body on the pavement, laying at odd angles. She caught glimpses of other people, hearing other gasps and screams. Someone pushed past her and ran for the crumpled man. An elderly woman stumbled out of the car, staring wide-eyed through thick-rimmed glasses. 

     What the hell, she thought, barely registering the fact that the spilled coffee had burned her skin to redness.

     The driver leaned against her car, the tears glistening in her eyes magnified by her glasses. People from across the street were wandering over to see what the commotion was. More gasps were heard, a voice calling out for an ambulance. Another saying to not move the body. Still another told someone not to look.

     What the hell, she thought again.

     Something in the back of her mind bothered her.

     She looked around. Gasps, yells, all noise, noise...

     There.

     Right there.

     Her focus centered on a man sitting across the street, at another cafe quite like where she was. He was reading a newspaper, sipping coffee, altogether very normal.

     Which is exactly why he wasn't.

     He was not reacting. To anything.

     He was smiling.

     She stared at him for a long time, unblinking, then squeezed her eyes shut.

     When she opened them, the man was staring at her.

     His lips moved, but she couldn't make out the words. The itch in the back of her head became unbearable, and if she could, she would open her skull and scratch.

     Until...

     Everything stopped.

     The first thing she noticed was the sudden quiet. No shouts, no cries, not even the slightest bit of whistling wind.

     Then, all movement ceased. The woman leaning against her car didn't move. The people around the body didn't move.

     No matter how much her brain told it to, her body would not move either. 

     The man across the street stood and placed the newspaper next to his coffee cup. He then turned and began walking towards her.

     Nothing but that man moved.

     The panic rose in her throat. This was not shock, she thought. Watching the man moving, but nothing else, that much became clear.

     He stopped a few feet from her. His dark brown eyes locked onto hers as he leaned forward. He reached into the pocket of his shabby jacket and produced a small notepad and pen. Flipping it open, he scanned the area with his unsettling eyes, then scribbled something.

     “Twenty-five points. Not bad. The little bastard.” He said with a smirk.

     He spun on his heel and began walking over to the crumpled man on the pavement, leaving her in her panic. He crouched down next to him and for a long moment he didn't move. She thought he, too, had frozen, until he lifted his hand. With two fingers, he touched the dead man on the forehead.

     The dead man moved.

     Her heart dropped into her guts as the man sat up, corrected the wrong angle of his limbs, then pushed himself to his feet.

     “How was I?”

     His voice was nonchalant yet had a slight sneer to it.

     The jacketed man tossed the pad to the dead man, who opened it and let out a low whistle.

     “Twenty-five, eh? Ten better than you. What gave me the bonus?”

     The jacketed man's head nodded back over his shoulder.

     The sick feeling in her stomach crashed and rolled like an angry ocean. If she could move, she knew she would vomit.

     The dead man walked over to her, brushing dirt off his tattered sweatshirt, and stared at her hard. Eyes widening, he grinned.

     “My dear, you are fully aware, aren't you?” He clapped his hands together. “Well this is quite exciting! This has never happened. I think I deserve more points for this! To shock someone so completely that even our incantation couldn't shut them off.”

     The jacketed man stepped up next to him, a sideways smile on his face.

     “Still. Ten points. That puts you ahead, Demetrius. Seems fair. And since we have to use the Eraser on her, we may have to take a break before our next round. It does take a lot out of me to Timestop such a wide area.”

     The dead man's smile faltered a bit, but he nodded.

     “Alright, Oryn.” He rolled his shoulders back in a stretch, then shook his whole body as if shaking off the very death he avoided. “Until the next. But we shall remember you, dear.”

     His hand rose, palm forward. As it came closer, her mind began screaming again.

     No! No! No no no...

     “You want a refill?”

     She opened her eyes and looked up into the kind face of the waitress, who held a steaming pot of coffee.

     She blinked at the waitress, then looked down at her cup.

     “Yes. Sorry.” She smiled, sliding the cup towards her.

     The waitress filled the cup and walked away.

     “Ten points.” The woman muttered absently. She paused with the coffee cup touching her lip as the last figment of memory flickered out.