Reborn To Hunt My Killer

Samantha's POV

"Samantha! Move those boxes to the back shelf!"

The store lights gave everything a sickly white glow. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and tasted salt and exhaustion.

"Yeah, I got it!"

My back was screaming from hauling energy drink cases around all night. But Tyler's graduation was tomorrow, and I needed every damn dollar.

Tyler.

Just thinking about him made my chest feel less tight. Tomorrow he'd walk across that stage at Princeton. Cap, gown, the whole thing. Finally getting what he deserved.

And I had the perfect gift.

That leather journal I'd been eyeing at the bookstore for three weeks. Real leather, not the cheap fake stuff. Dark blue with some compass thing on the cover. The kind of journal someone important might actually use.

"Alright, you're done here." Mr. Parker handed me an envelope. "You've been working doubles all week. What's the rush?"

"Just gotta buy something."

The envelope felt thin. Forty bucks for five hours on my feet. I shoved it in my pocket and tried not to do the math.

"You be careful walking home," Parker said, frowning. "Three got killed this week, all after dark. Cops are telling everyone to stick to main streets."

"I'll be fine."

Sure you will. You're gonna take that shortcut because you're dead on your feet and Tyler might still be up.

The night air slapped me in the face. After eight hours of stale store air, the cold felt sharp and clean. I pulled my jacket tighter and started walking.

The streets were dead. Even the usual drunks had found somewhere else to be.

Twenty-three years old, and this was my life. Serving overpriced coffee to assholes, stocking shelves, living in a studio apartment that smelled like mold. Not exactly where I thought I'd be at this age.

But then again, I'd only ever had one real chance to change everything. One shot at a different life. And like the coward I was, I'd thrown it away.

Six years ago, me and Tyler had both been seventeen, both holding acceptance letters with shaky hands. Him to Princeton, me to West Point.

I wanted to be someone. Someone who mattered. Someone people couldn't just ignore.

But Aunt Catherine started crying about money. Uncle Robert mumbled about being "realistic." And I bought it, because they'd taken me in after my parents died. I owed them that much.

I threw my letter in the trash that night. Told Tyler I didn't get in because I couldn't stand watching him feel guilty. Got a job at the convenience store the next week.

The truth hit me six months later when Catherine bought Tyler a motorcycle for Christmas. Thirty grand, paid in cash.

We had our first real fight that day. I moved out the next morning and didn't speak to them for two years.

Tyler tried to fix things. Found my crumpled letter in the trash can, smoothed it out like it was made of gold.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracked. "I would've given up Princeton. We could've worked something out - "

"Forget it. It's done."

But Tyler doesn't know when to quit. Started showing up at my work, helping me move furniture, slipping twenties into my tip jar when he thought I wasn't looking. Never said a word about what his parents did.

He's the only real family I've got.

The bookstore's neon sign flickered ahead. 11:18 PM. Twelve minutes before they closed.

The journal was even prettier up close. Real leather, hand-stitched binding, thick pages that would last forever. Sixty-five dollars.

I counted my money twice. Seventy-two total with tonight's pay. That left me seven bucks for food until my next shift.

Worth it.

"You want this wrapped?" the clerk asked.

"Yeah, please."

I held the package carefully as I left, already picturing Tyler's face when he opened it. He'd probably try to give it back, say it cost too much. But I'd make him keep it. For once, I'd be the one giving instead of taking.

The shortcut home went through a few alleys, past the old industrial area. It would cut twenty minutes off my walk, and the path by the lake was usually well-lit.

Tonight, half the streetlights were out.

Take the main roads, Parker's voice echoed in my head.

But I was exhausted. Bone deep tired. The shortcut it was.

The first two alleys were empty except for overflowing dumpsters and the occasional rat skittering around. The third one was where I saw him.

Some guy hunched against the brick wall, swaying like he was drunk. Hood up, face hidden.

Three dead this week.

I stopped about ten feet away. "Hey, you okay? You need help or something?"

Nothing. Just that weird swaying motion.

My grip tightened on the gift bag. Turn around. Walk away. Not your problem.

But what if he was hurt? What if he was dying and I just left him here?

Stupid. You're so stupid!

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

I took a step closer, then another. "I'm gonna call - "

He collapsed forward, hit the pavement hard.

"Shit." I ran over despite every instinct screaming at me to get the hell out. Put the gift down carefully, reached for his shoulder. "Hey, are you - "

Pain exploded through my stomach.

I looked down, confused. The knife was sticking out of me like it belonged there. Blood was already soaking through my work shirt.

The guy straightened up slowly. I still couldn't get his face - no light reached this far.

"Why?" The word came out as a whisper. "Why me?"

He didn't answer. Just pulled the knife out. I pressed both hands against the wound, but blood poured between my fingers.

No. Not like this. Not tonight.

My legs gave out. The pavement was freezing against my face.

The guy wiped his blade on his jeans, then he grabbed my ankles.

The lake. He was dragging me toward the goddamn lake.

"No!" I tried to kick, but my body wouldn't work right. "Please..."

Every bump sent fresh pain shooting through me. I clawed at the pavement, fingernails breaking, leaving bloody streaks. The gift bag was just within reach and I grabbed it, held on tight.

The guy sighed, then punched me, and everything exploded into stars.

"Don't blame me for this," he muttered, voice like sandpaper. He yanked the gift from my hands and tossed it aside like trash.

"No..." Blood bubbled up my throat. "That's... that's for..."

We were at the water's edge. I could see my aunt's house in the distance, porch light burning bright. The door was cracked open a little.

He's waiting for me.

I smiled, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

All those times you helped me, and I couldn't even give you this one stupid thing.

The guy lifted me like I weighed nothing. For a second, I was flying.

Then the water hit.

I tried to swim, but my arms wouldn't work. The wound in my stomach turned the water around me pink.

I'm so tired.

Twenty-three years of never being enough. Of taking scraps and saying thank you. Of letting other people decide what I was worth.

If I'd gone to West Point, would anything have been different?

The surface got farther away, moonlight breaking into pieces above me.

Mom? Dad? I missed you. I just wanted somewhere to belong.

The cold wasn't so bad anymore. Almost peaceful. Like falling asleep after the worst day of your life.

My last thought was about that journal lying in the alley somewhere, ribbon stained with my blood but the pages still clean and empty, waiting for stories that would never get written.

Then nothing.