Chapter 2: Reborn at the Breaking Point

But now, I got to start over.

Reborn to the moment before the killers knocked.

It was as if the universe had hit rewind, dropping me back into my own life at the exact second I needed most. The weight of all those lost years pressed down on me, but under it, something sharp and determined started to grow. I wasn’t the same girl anymore.

On the edge of life and death, everything I’d bottled up for years turned into a cold calm—for myself, and for Grandma. A new resolve took root.

This time, I wouldn’t let fear paralyze me. I owed it to Grandma, and to myself, to fight with everything I had. I repeated it in my head: I can’t let her down again.

I had to fight with everything I had!

In 2008, I didn’t have a cell phone yet. All we had at home was an old landline. I lunged for it to call the police, but the receiver was dead—no dial tone, nothing. My stomach dropped.

The cord dangled uselessly, the dial tone gone. I slammed the receiver down, panic rising in my chest. The storm outside raged on, thunder shaking the windows. My mind raced.

The killers must've cut the power to the whole building before coming upstairs. No lights, no phones, no help coming. I gritted my teeth, furious at myself for not seeing it sooner.

It made sense—no lights, no phones, no way to call for help. I cursed myself for not realizing it sooner, for not being ready. I needed a plan, and fast.

To get Grandma alert as quickly as possible, I lied to her: "Remember Jamie from my class? Her dad's the chief of police. He just called and said two murderers are on the run and headed for our neighborhood! They're wearing uniforms, one big, one skinny—might pretend to be repairmen!"

I tried to sound calm, but my voice shook. My hands trembled as I looked at Grandma, desperate for her to believe me.

In the dark, Grandma's eyes were full of confusion. She searched my face, trying to make sense of what I was saying.

She was always quick to trust, always believed the best in people. I hated lying to her, but there was no time to explain. I squeezed her hand, hoping she’d understand.

No sooner had I finished speaking than heavy knocks pounded on the door. The sound rattled the frame.

"Open up, repairmen here to check the wiring!" The voice was rough, insistent—a demand, not a request.

Their voices were louder, more impatient this time. I could hear the threat lurking underneath. My skin prickled with fear.

My heart jumped, my throat tight with nerves. The killers were here! I tried to steady my breathing, but every cell screamed danger.

I grabbed Grandma’s arm, pulling her away from the door. My mind raced, searching for any way out. Every second felt like it could be the last.

The knocking grew rough and impatient: "Open up! Power's out and you don't want it fixed? You want to stay in the dark?" The words were sharp, more threat than offer.

The words echoed through the hallway. My ears rang. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to think, trying to stay calm.

Grandma clutched my hand, completely at a loss. "Ellie, could this be a misunderstanding?" Her voice was small, uncertain.

She wanted to believe the best, even now. I squeezed her hand tighter, forcing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t let her down.

I hid Grandma in the storage closet and whispered, "It's only been five minutes since the power went out. Have you ever seen repairmen show up that fast? The whole building's out—if they're fixing anything, they'd start at the main switch. Why would they come straight to our place?"

My voice was barely a whisper, but I could see the realization dawning in her eyes. She nodded, lips pressed tight, fear shining in her gaze. I felt a pang of guilt for not seeing it sooner last time.

How had I missed such an obvious flaw in my past life? I bit my lip, frustration simmering inside me.

The answer stung—because I’d wanted to believe help was coming, even when every instinct screamed danger. Hope blinded me. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I'd already drawn the curtains tight. The room was so quiet it was suffocating, just the ticking of the clock. I prayed desperately that the two would leave, but suddenly, I realized something was wrong. My mind raced, piecing together the clues.

I could hear my own heartbeat, loud as a drum. Every second felt like an hour. Then, a chill ran down my spine. Something didn’t add up.

What they said was off. My stomach twisted. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to panic.

I hadn't made a sound the whole time, but they kept shouting for me to open the door. Not once did they ask if anyone was home. It was like they already knew.

That meant this wasn't a random crime—they had targeted our home from the start! My breath caught. My hands shook.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Someone had sent them here, or they knew something about us. But what? Why us?

But why?

No time to think. The killers pried the door open and slipped inside, silent as ghosts. My pulse hammered in my ears. I held my breath.

The lock snapped with a sickening crunch. My whole body went rigid. I could feel the fear crawling up my spine.

Tap, tap, tap—

Their footsteps grew closer. Each step made the floor creak, the sound magnified in the silence.

I held my breath, trembling under the bed, hands clamped over my mouth, heart pounding like it would burst from my chest. Sweat trickled down my back. Every muscle ached with tension.

The dust under the bed tickled my nose, but I didn’t dare move. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying they’d pass by. Time slowed to a crawl.

Through the gap, I saw the two of them head for the bedroom, rummaging for valuables. At one point, Big Hank was less than two feet from me. I froze, barely daring to breathe.

His boots were caked with mud. I could see the scar on his ankle, the way he sniffed the air like a bloodhound. I thought I was dead for sure. My heart thudded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

After searching the place and finding no one, the skinny one spoke up: "Hank, let's check upstairs." His voice was thin, almost bored, like this was just another job.

His voice was thin, almost bored. The floorboards creaked as they moved away. Hope flickered, fragile and desperate.

I heard the door close faintly. After a long while, I finally dared to let go and crawl out from under the bed, moving as quietly as possible. My hands shook. Every sound made me flinch.

I barely breathed, inching my way across the carpet, praying the boards wouldn’t squeak. My whole body ached from holding still so long. I moved like a shadow.

Suddenly, a fat face appeared right in front of me. My heart lurched. My breath stopped.

My heart stopped. They'd never left! I froze, terror flooding every inch of me.

Big Hank—the face from my endless nightmares—grinned at me, eyes glinting in the dark. His teeth flashed, hungry and mean.

He smelled like sweat and cheap aftershave. The stench hit me hard, making my stomach churn. His grin widened, all malice.

"You think you can fool me with cheap tricks? The mugs are still warm—how could no one be here?" he sneered, his voice thick with contempt.

He tapped the table with a meaty finger, eyes narrowing. My heart hammered. I tried to crawl away, but it was too late.

That was my first death. The memory is burned into me—sharp, brutal, inescapable.

Everything that happened afterward played out almost the same as before. The pain, the fear, the helplessness—it all came rushing back.

It was like watching a movie you can’t pause, can’t rewind, can’t escape. No matter what I did, the ending never changed.

The only difference was, during the struggle, I stabbed Big Hank with a paring knife—and was hacked to death on the spot. My hands shook, blood everywhere, and then nothing.

The knife handle was slippery in my hand, the blade barely enough to scratch him. He roared, and everything went red. The world spun away.

As the blood sprayed, I saw Grandma's eyes go wide with terror. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

She was screaming, but it sounded far away, muffled by the rushing in my ears. I tried to reach her, but my body wouldn’t move.

Ray Marsh looped a rope around her neck. She was dazed, not even struggling. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

Her face was blank, as if she’d already left her body behind. The light in her eyes faded.

I wanted to call out to her, but with my throat slit, not a sound came out. My mouth opened, but all I tasted was blood.

I could only mouth her name, tears streaming down my face. My vision blurred. My heart broke.

After my parents died in a car accident, it was just Grandma and me. We clung to each other, the only family we had left.

We were a team, just the two of us against the world. After the funeral, she moved into my tiny bedroom, sleeping on the old pullout so I wouldn’t be alone at night. I never felt safer than when she was there.

She supported us by selling pancakes on Main Street, waking up at four in the morning and working late into the night. Nosy neighbors would gossip behind her back: "Old Mrs. Harper, what a hard life. If only you had more family to rely on." I hated hearing it.

The smell of her pancakes would fill the whole block by sunrise. She’d hum along to the radio, flipping pancakes with a practiced wrist. The neighbors would line up, pretending to be friendly, but I heard what they said when they thought I wasn’t listening.

Grandma had a good temper, never got angry. "My Ellie is smart and hardworking. You think she won't take care of me when she's grown? And who can beat her? Mrs. Simmons, your boy's in the same class—tell me, who's on top?" She’d say it with a wink, pride shining in her eyes.

She’d wink at me, proud as anything. I always blushed, but secretly, I loved it. Her faith in me made me feel invincible.

My name is Ellie Harper. Grandma loved pine trees best—said they were strong, unbreakable, always reaching for the sky.

She’d tell me stories about how pines never gave up, how they stayed green through the worst winters. “You be like a pine, Ellie. Stand tall, no matter what.”

No matter the storm, flood, or bitter cold, nothing can destroy a pine tree. It can grow from a cliff face, reach for the clouds, and strive to touch the sky. I wanted to be just like that.

I’d repeat those words to myself on hard days. They were my shield against the world. Whenever things got tough, I whispered them under my breath.

I swore to be like a wild pine—always reaching higher. To get into the best school, the best major, make lots of money. I wanted to make her proud.

I wanted to buy her a warm house, a soft bed, a life where she never had to work again. I wanted to be her pride. That dream kept me going.

So Grandma wouldn't have to get up before dawn, wouldn't have to breathe greasy smoke, wouldn't have to endure the gossip of nosy neighbors. I wanted her to have everything she deserved.

Wouldn’t have to cry herself sick over a counterfeit bill. I remember the tears in her eyes, the way her hands shook.

She once lost a whole day’s earnings to a fake twenty. I found her crying in the kitchen, her hands shaking. I promised her then I’d make enough money so that would never happen again. That promise still echoes in my mind.

But why—why couldn't I do it? The question gnawed at me, even now.

That question haunted me. Even now, it feels like a weight I can’t shake. It’s always there, just beneath the surface.