My Fiancé, My Murderer

The Greyhound bus hummed, a low rumble promising a new life at the Boeing apprenticeship program, far from this dead-end town.

My fiancé, Jake, stood blocking the bus depot doorway, radiating control, scanning the street for Brittany Smith.

But this wasn't the first time I'd lived this moment; in my last life, Jake's hands had closed around my throat on our wedding night, his eyes blazing, blaming me for Brittany's tragic end.

Now, I was back at the same bus stop, and he was once again holding everyone's acceptance letters and bus tickets hostage, waiting for her, wielding a Zippo as a silent threat.

He reveled in his power, convinced his County Commissioner father's influence was an impenetrable shield, openly mocking our desperate hope to escape this town.

The chilling truth hit me like a physical blow: Jake was reborn too, seemingly to ensure Brittany's success this time, but embodying a far more calculated cruelty.

Why was fate so twisted, bringing me back to this precise, suffocating moment of manipulation, when the memory of my horrific death still burned?

This time, I let my hand fall from his arm, a silent promise to myself that my feigned compliance was a trap he'd never see coming.

Because this time, I was playing a different game, armed with the precise knowledge to expose his family's corruption and Brittany's lies, ensuring their carefully constructed dreams would spectacularly collapse.

The Greyhound bus idled, its engine a low rumble in the humid morning air.

This was it.

The express to the Boeing apprenticeship program in Washington State.

A one-way ticket out of this town.

My fiancé, Jake Miller, stood blocking the narrow doorway of the bus depot.

He scanned the street, a frown on his face.

He was waiting for Brittany Smith.

She was probably still at the convenience store, agonizing over which shade of lipstick to buy.

If we missed this bus, our chance was gone.

Last time, I'd dragged him onto the bus.

I'd argued, pleaded, finally wrestled him aboard just as the doors hissed shut.

We'd made it. We became apprentices, got good jobs.

Brittany, left behind, had spiraled.

She'd latched onto a string of bad men, ended up pregnant and alone, died from complications during a desperate, late-term abortion.

Jake never forgave me.

On our wedding night, his hands, the same hands that had held mine, tightened around my throat.

His eyes were red, full of a chilling hatred.

"You did this, Emily," he'd choked out. "You killed her. She deserved that chance, not you. Why should you be happy?"

Then darkness.

Now, I was back.

The same bus stop, the same impatient sigh from the driver.

Jake's back was to me, still looking for Brittany.

I let my hand, which had been about to grab his arm, fall to my side.

This time, he could wait.

Let him reap what he sowed.

"What's the hold-up, Jake?" Mike Johnson asked, his voice tight. "Bus is gonna leave."

Mike's dad was a firefighter, died in the line of duty. This apprenticeship was everything to him.

Jake didn't even turn around.

"Relax, Mike. Brittany's almost here."

"Relax? We're gonna miss our shot!" another guy, Tom, chimed in.

The small group of us, all clutching our acceptance letters, shifted nervously.

Jake finally faced us.

He held up a thick manila envelope. "I've got all the letters right here. And the bus tickets Mr. Henderson gave me to pass out. Nobody gets on without me."

A cold dread washed over me. My father, Army Sergeant Hayes, Medal of Honor recipient, posthumously. His legacy was supposed to protect me, open doors. Instead, after his death, I'd been taken in by Jake's father, County Commissioner Miller.

A kindness, everyone said.

I knew better, especially after dying once. They wanted Dad's survivor benefits, his reputation. My apprenticeship slot was likely due to my father's name, a fact Commissioner Miller probably leveraged.

Jake smirked, enjoying the power. "Anyone tries to rush me, well, accidents happen." He patted the envelope.

"You wouldn't," Mike breathed, his face pale.

Jake's eyes, the same eyes that had stared down at me as I died, glinted. He pulled a Zippo from his pocket, flicked it open.

The flame danced.

"Try me."

Everyone froze.

This apprenticeship, working for a major defense contractor, was a dream. A way out of dead-end jobs and small-town limitations.

"Jake, man, what the hell?" Tom pleaded. "You want to wait for Brittany, fine. But give us our stuff."

"We're all from the same town, practically family," Jake said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "We don't leave people behind. Brittany's letter is in here too. If we go, she gets left out. Is that what you want?"

He knew. He had to know. This calm, this calculated cruelty.

He was reborn too.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Emily, talk to him," Sarah, another girl, whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "He's your fiancé."

I looked at Jake. He met my gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Contempt? Triumph?

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "He's right. We shouldn't leave anyone behind."

The others stared at me, aghast.

"Emily, are you crazy?" Mike exploded. "He's bluffing!"

"If we miss this because of them, I swear..." Tom trailed off, clenching his fists.

Jake's smile widened. "See? Emily gets it. She's not selfish like the rest of you."

He actually believed it. Or wanted to.

The bus driver leaned out. "Folks, I'm on a schedule. Last call!"

Just then, a cheery voice called out, "Sorry I'm late, guys!"

Brittany Smith sauntered up, a large soda in one hand, reapplying lip gloss with the other. She was wearing a new, too-bright pink top.

"What's everyone looking so glum about?" she asked, oblivious. "The bus isn't going to leave without us, silly."

Jake snapped his Zippo shut, his smile genuine now as he looked at her. "Told you they'd wait."

He handed the manila envelope to Brittany with a flourish. "Here you go. All our tickets to a new life."

Brittany giggled, her fingers brushing his as she took it.

The bus door hissed, starting to close.

"No!" Mike yelled, lunging for the envelope.

Brittany shrieked and stumbled back, right into Jake.

The envelope flew from her grasp, papers scattering across the dusty ground.

The bus gave a final pneumatic sigh, its doors sealing shut.

It pulled away from the curb, a cloud of diesel smoke in its wake.

Gone.

Silence descended, thick and heavy.

My voice cut through it, calm, almost detached.

"Well, that's that. I guess we're not going today."

I turned to Jake. "Don't worry, Jake. I heard there's a National Guard convoy heading up to Fort Lewis in a few days. Your father, the County Commissioner, he must know the commander, right? I'm sure he can pull some strings for his son. And for Brittany, of course. She's practically your father's goddaughter, isn't she?"

Jake stared at me, his jaw tight. The confidence in his eyes wavered, replaced by a dawning suspicion.

He knew I knew.

Jake's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Emily?"

Brittany, still flustered, was trying to gather the scattered papers. "My acceptance letter! It's all dirty!"

Mike Johnson just stared at the spot where the bus had been, his shoulders slumped. The others looked equally devastated.

"Your father is a very influential man, Jake," I continued, my voice even. "Commissioner Miller. He helps people. He helped me, after my father... He helped Brittany too, didn't he? Claiming she was Dad's goddaughter to get her that spot."

A lie. My father had never mentioned a goddaughter named Brittany.

"He just wanted to help a local girl get ahead," Jake said, a little too quickly. "Dad's got a big heart."

"Of course," I said. "So, this convoy. It's a perfect solution. We just have to wait a few more days."

The others looked at me, a flicker of hope in their eyes, quickly overshadowed by distrust of Jake.

"A military convoy?" Mike asked. "Will they even take civilians?"

"My dad knows Colonel Harrison, the guy in charge of the 81st Brigade," Jake said, puffing his chest out slightly. He was recovering his composure. "He'll make a call. It's practically a done deal."

He was lying. Or at least, grossly exaggerating. But he was also reborn. He knew about this convoy from our previous life. He'd probably planned this, a way to ensure Brittany came along without the rush, and to make himself look like a hero.

"So, we just wait?" Tom asked, still skeptical.

"What choice do we have?" Sarah sighed, kicking at a loose pebble.

Jake shot me a sharp look. He knew I was deliberately playing along, but he couldn't figure out my angle. In the last life, I would have been frantic, blaming him, trying to find another way. This calm compliance unnerved him.

Good.

"Everyone, listen up!" Jake announced, taking charge. "My dad will sort this. We'll meet back here, say, Wednesday morning? I'll have all the details by then."

He put an arm around Brittany. "Come on, Brit. Let's go get some breakfast. My treat."

Brittany, easily placated now that a new plan was in place, beamed at him. "Ooh, can we go to Denny's?"

As they walked away, Brittany cast a smug glance back at me.

The others started to disperse, grumbling.

"Emily, why did you just let him do that?" Mike asked, his voice low and angry. "You know he's full of it."

"Maybe," I said. "But what if he's not? It's a few more days. What else can we do?"

"We could have gotten on that bus if you hadn't backed him up about Brittany!"

"He had the letters, Mike. And the lighter."

Mike's face was a mask of frustration. "This was my one shot, Emily. My mom... she's counting on this."

"I know, Mike."

He shook his head. "No, you don't. You've always had it easy, with the Commissioner looking out for you."

Easy? If he only knew. The constant reminders of my "debt" to the Millers. The way they controlled my father's pension, doling it out in carefully measured allowances. The way Jake treated me, like a possession he was entitled to.

"I'm going to head home," I said, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah, whatever." He walked off, kicking a discarded soda can with vicious force.

I watched him go, a pang of guilt mixing with my resolve.

This time, it wasn't just about getting to that apprenticeship. It was about exposing the Millers for who they truly were. And Jake, and Brittany.

They thought they were playing me. They had no idea.

I walked to the small post office a block away.

Inside, I bought a stamped envelope and a single sheet of paper.

My father, Sergeant David Hayes, had served under General Marcus Davis. They'd been close, more like brothers than commander and soldier. General Davis had retired a few years ago, but he was on the board of several large corporations, including, I recalled from a news article, a subsidiary of the defense contractor we were supposed to be heading to.

I began to write.

*Dear General Davis,*

*I hope this letter finds you well. It's Emily Hayes, David Hayes's daughter. I'm writing to you because I'm in a difficult situation, and I don't know who else to turn to...*

I detailed everything. Commissioner Miller's "guardianship." The misappropriation of my father's benefits. Jake's manipulation. And Brittany Smith, falsely claiming to be my father's goddaughter to secure an apprenticeship spot that should have gone to someone deserving.

I mentioned the convoy Jake was planning for us to take.

I didn't ask for much. Just for him to look into Brittany's claim. The rest, I hoped, would unravel on its own.

I folded the letter, sealed it, and dropped it in the mail slot.

As I walked out of the post office, the sun felt a little warmer on my skin.

Jake thought he was in control. He thought he was so clever, with his second chance.

He had no idea I had one too. And I had a much longer memory.