A Second Sight of Vengeance

Ten years. That' s how long I' d navigated a world painted by touch and sound. My hands, once destined for university papers, now kneaded muscles as a Licensed Massage Therapist. It wasn' t the life I planned after the mysterious incident that stole my sight, but it was a life.

Until today. The afternoon rush ended, and the clinic settled. Then, loud, careless voices drifted from the waiting area. Kevin Miller, an old student from that last proctored exam, bragged. But it was the other voice, smooth and arrogant-Ethan Vance-that chilled me. He chimed in, "The real reason that TA went dark? The culprit was right there in the exam room with him. I' d know." My breath caught. They were talking about my blindness.

A chilling certainty settled in my gut. Barely had I finished my last client when Ethan Vance ambushed me. A hand clamped over my mouth, a cold, sharp object pressed against my side. "You heard too much, Mr. Davis," Ethan' s voice whispered, colder, devoid of smoothness. A searing pain. Then, darkness, deeper than any blindness I had known. He murdered me.

But then, a gasp tore from my throat. My eyes flew open. Light. Blinding, painful light. I could see. Fluorescent lights. Desks. Students. It was the exam hall. Ten years ago. I was back. My vision, crystal clear, a painful paradox after a decade of blindness and the fresh memory of my murder.

Ethan Vance. He was here, in this room. The killer. The "culprit" who, in mere minutes, was about to destroy my life. He thought he' d silenced me, but now I was back. The clock on the wall showed 8:58 AM. Two minutes until my world went black in my first life. I had to stop it. This time, everything would be different.

Ten years.

Ten years I' d been blind, my world a canvas of touch and sound.

My hands, once meant for grading papers as a TA at Northwood University, now kneaded muscles as a Licensed Massage Therapist.

It wasn' t the life I' d planned, but it was a life.

Until today.

The afternoon rush was over, and the massage clinic was quiet.

My last client was on the table, a new guy, quiet.

Then, voices drifted from the waiting area, loud and careless.

"Man, that internship was a lock once I aced that final," one voice bragged, a reedy, familiar tone.

Kevin Miller.

I knew that voice, even after a decade.

A student from that last exam I ever proctored.

"Professor Hayes was sharp, but the TA, Davis, that guy going blind mid-exam? Best damn luck I ever had," Kevin continued, laughing.

My breath caught.

He was talking about me.

My blindness.

The incident.

"Some say it was a stress thing, but I heard whispers," a second voice, deeper, smoother, laced with arrogance, chimed in.

"The real reason that TA went dark? The culprit was right there in the exam room with him. I' d know."

My heart hammered.

This second voice... I didn't recognize it from the past, but it sent a chill through me.

The client on my table shifted slightly.

I finished the massage, my mind racing.

Who was this second man?

As I cleaned up, the two men from the waiting room walked past my open door.

Kevin Miller, looking pleased with himself.

And the other one, tall, well-dressed, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ethan Vance.

The name hit me like a physical blow, a memory from old campus news, a wealthy, connected family.

He glanced at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, then followed Kevin out.

I stood there, my hands trembling.

The culprit was in the room.

Ethan Vance knew.

Later, closing up, I felt a presence behind me.

Before I could react, a hand clamped over my mouth.

Something cold and sharp pressed against my side.

"You heard too much, Mr. Davis," a voice whispered, Ethan Vance' s voice, but colder now, devoid of its earlier smoothness.

A searing pain shot through me.

My hands scrabbled uselessly.

I felt a small, distinct mole on the skin of his neck under my fingers as I thrashed.

Then, darkness, deeper than any blindness I had known.

A gasp tore from my throat.

My eyes flew open.

Light.

Blinding, painful light.

I could see.

Fluorescent lights on a ceiling, the pale green walls of a large hall.

Desks. Students.

The low murmur of anxiety before a final exam.

My final exam.

Ten years ago.

My heart pounded, a wild drum against my ribs.

I was back.

Somehow, I was back.

The air was thick with the smell of old paper and floor wax.

My vision was crystal clear, sharp, almost painfully so after a decade of nothing.

I looked down at my hands, my own hands, younger, unmarred by a decade of kneading oil into skin.

I was wearing my old TA blazer.

I could see the slight fraying on the cuff.

It was real.

My eyes scanned the room, frantically.

Students hunched over their desks, waiting.

Where was he?

Ethan Vance.

He had to be here.

"The culprit was right there in the exam room," his future self had said.

Or his past self, now.

My mind reeled.

He was here, a student, about to destroy my life, Olivia' s life.

And he'd killed me.

He would kill me again.

The weight of what I knew, what I' d lived, pressed down on me.

Ethan Vance.

Here.

A student.

And Sam Carter, the brilliant scholarship kid, he'd be here too.

Dr. Olivia Hayes, my co-proctor, she' d be arriving any minute.

The clock on the wall ticked, each second a hammer blow.

The invigilator' s sheet in my hand listed the exam start time, just minutes away.

The blindness.

It was coming.

"The culprit was in the exam room."

Who? Ethan? How?

Why Olivia too?

My past life knowledge was a jumbled mess of overheard words and a decade of darkness.

The only clear thing was the impending doom.

The invigilator' s briefing sheet trembled in my hand.

The official university clock on the wall showed 8:58 AM.

Two minutes.

Two minutes until my world went black in my first life.

I had to stop it.

But how?

Accuse a student based on a future murder?

They' d think I was insane.

But I couldn't just let it happen.

Not to me.

Not to Olivia.

The memory of her vacant stare in the eye clinic, years later in my first life, flashed before me.

No.

I had to do something.

Anything.

The main doors at the back of the hall opened.

Dr. Hayes walked in, carrying a stack of exam papers.

She smiled at me.

"Ready, Michael?"

Her voice, so full of life.

It would be gone soon.

No.

I made a decision.

A crazy, desperate decision.

"Everyone listen!" I yelled, my voice cracking, way too loud in the tense silence.

Every head snapped up.

Dr. Hayes froze, her smile vanishing.

"There' s a threat! A student might try to harm a proctor! Someone might get hurt!"

Chaos erupted.

Students gasped, murmured, a few stood up.

Dr. Hayes rushed towards me. "Michael, what are you talking about?"

Two campus security officers, always posted for finals, were already striding down the aisle.

"Sir, what' s the problem here?" one of them asked, his hand near his belt.

I pointed vaguely at the sea of faces.

"I overheard something. A plot. Someone wants to hurt one of us."

It was a lie, a twisted version of the truth, but it was all I had.

The officers exchanged a look.

"Sir, you need to come with us," the first one said, his voice firm.

They took my arms.

Dr. Hayes looked bewildered, concerned. "Michael?"

"It' s okay, Olivia," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "Just be careful."

As they escorted me out, a wave of relief washed over me.

It was a crazy, humiliating exit.

But I wasn't in that room.

The blindness wouldn't happen to me.

I' d changed it.

I hoped.

The campus security office was small and stuffy.

Chief Miller, no relation to Kevin, I hoped, stared at me from behind his desk.

"Mr. Davis, care to explain why you disrupted a final exam for three hundred students?"

His tone was not friendly.

"I told your officers. I heard a threat. A student planning to harm a proctor."

"A specific student? A specific threat?"

I shook my head. "It was vague, but it sounded serious. I couldn't risk it."

It was the best I could do without sounding like I' d lost my mind.

Chief Miller sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Mr. Davis, we have no record of any such threat. You caused a significant disturbance. The Dean is not happy."

He leaned forward. "Are you under some kind of stress, son? Exam pressure can get to anyone, even TAs."

I insisted my story was true.

He wasn't buying it.

"Look, we' ll have a quiet word with Dr. Hayes, make sure she' s aware. But as for you, consider this a formal warning. Any more outbursts like this, and you' ll be facing more than just a talking-to from the Dean. You could lose your position."

I nodded, feigning contrition.

Losing my TA job was a small price to pay for my sight.

"I understand, Chief. I apologize for the disruption. I was just... concerned."

He dismissed me with a wave. "Go home, Mr. Davis. Get some rest."

One last thing. "Chief, please, just make sure Dr. Hayes is okay. Tell her to be extra vigilant."

He just grunted. "We' ll handle it."

I left, the threat of losing my job hanging over me.

But I could see.

The sunlight outside felt glorious.

I walked away from the security building, a lightness in my step.

I' d done it.

I' d saved myself.