Chapter 2: The Girl I Saved, The Girl Who Accused

I smiled bitterly and slit the girl’s throat, then set myself on fire.

There was no triumph, only emptiness. My hands moved on their own, the blade flashing. When it was done, I doused myself in gasoline and struck a match. Flames roared up, hungry and bright. I welcomed the pain. The last thing I saw was the camera light blinking red.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire was gone. My skin was whole. I sucked in a breath, expecting agony—but there was only cold air. The world was silent, the smell of smoke replaced by the faint scent of antiseptic. Was I dead? Was this hell?

The girl’s crying and banging on the clinic door for help echoed again.

It was the same night. The same desperate knocks, the same voice—Savannah, begging for help. It was as if time had looped back on itself, trapping me in this nightmare.

I had been reborn.

I stared at my hands, whole and unburned. My heart pounded. Was this a second chance, or some kind of cosmic punishment? The weight of everything I’d done and lost pressed down on me.

“Help, doctor, please—save me!”

Outside the door, the girl’s desperate voice pierced my ears.

She sounded so young, so scared. The memory of her accusation twisted in my gut. I squeezed my eyes shut, but her cries only grew louder, rattling the windows.

My whole body froze, and I instinctively took several steps back.

I felt the edge of the desk dig into my back. My legs trembled. Every muscle screamed to run, but I was trapped—by the past, by fate, by my own fear.

I only stopped when I backed into the corner of the desk.

The familiar shape of the desk, the worn wood beneath my fingers, grounded me. I glanced around, searching for proof that this was real.

Looking around, I found my room was clean, and the goldfish in the tank by the window were swimming lazily.

The clinic looked untouched, peaceful. The goldfish glided in lazy circles, oblivious to my panic. Their world was simple, untroubled by human cruelty.

I couldn’t believe it. I raised my arm and bit it gently.

The pain was sharp and real. I stared at the red mark, half-laughing, half-sobbing. This wasn't a dream.

There was pain!

I let out a shaky breath, relief and terror mixing in my chest. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst.

This is—rebirth!

I whispered the word, as if saying it would make it true. I wondered if this was a gift or a curse. Maybe both.

“Doctor, please, open the door—save me.”

The girl’s voice grew weaker and weaker.

Her pleas faded, like a radio losing signal. I pressed my palms to my ears, trying to block her out. But her desperation seeped through the walls.

But my teeth clenched together.

I ground my molars until my jaw ached. My mind raced, torn between compassion and self-preservation.

My hand, without thinking, reached for the scalpel.

The cool metal felt familiar, comforting. My fingers curled around it, remembering every surgery, every life saved. But tonight, it felt heavier, burdened with memory.

But in horror, I immediately put it down.

My breath caught. I jerked my hand away as if burned, the scalpel clattering from my grasp.

Clang—!

The scalpel fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

The sharp ring of metal on tile snapped me out of my daze. I stared at the instrument, chest heaving.

That sound quickly pulled my thoughts back to my previous life.