A Shot at Justice

 

I heard the sound of dogs barking and peeked through the window. Chills ran down my spine as I saw a man with a gun standing over a body. He saw me and began to walk towards my house. I rushed over to the safe and pulled out my gun. I heard the front door open and rushed downstairs to find the killer already in my living room. I tried to shoot him, but my gun jammed. He shot me instead. I felt my life force leave me as I hit the ground, but right then, the alarm rang and I woke up.

I felt tired. I hadn't been able to sleep properly since that recurring nightmare started. That was the fifth day in a row I had it. I couldn't understand why it was happening, so I called my grandmother; she had an acquaintance called Samara who was a psychic, so I thought I could get her help.

I called Samara and scheduled an appointment with her for the following day. I took my gun with me as well; I didn’t feel safe travelling alone since the nightmares began. When I arrived there, she just stood there, staring at me as if I was a long-lost relative.

“Marissa?”

“No, my name’s Ananya.”

“I’m sorry... You’re just the spitting image of my late daughter.”

Samara showed me a photograph of her daughter; I was amazed to see how uncanny her resemblance to me was—she even had the same beauty spot as I did.

“This is weird, but can we get back to my nightmares, please?”

“Yeah, sure. Tell me what happens in order.”

Samara asked me if there had been any changes in the details of the nightmare, or if I had them when I was younger, too. After I answered no to both questions, she held my hand and chanted for a couple of minutes before opening her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think these nightmares are just bad dreams; they seem to be memories.”

“Memories? Of what?”

“Of your previous death.”

“What? How so?”

“What you’re seeing now is the same premonition I had twenty-five years ago, just before my daughter died. She was then the same age you are now—that is why you’re having these nightmares.”

“Okay, that’s just ridiculous.”

I got to my feet to leave her house when she said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“You have a blue birthmark on your stomach and another white one on your chest, don’t you?”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Because Marissa did, too.”

The air in the room felt eerie and cold. I didn’t know what to believe, but my instincts said I should hear her out.

“Okay, then, tell me more.”

“I had this vision when I was on vacation with my husband. I called Marissa to warn her, but there was no answer. I called my son right after and told him to check on her, but it was too late—Marissa was gone.”

“But there’s one issue with this story: my nightmare takes place in my current home.”

“I guess your memory isn’t completely there yet. Maybe hypnotism will help you remember.”

I agreed to her suggestion, and after a session of it, I recalled it all: I saw myself in my previous life, in my previous home. I not only saw the face of the man who killed me, but also learned his motives for doing so; he had spoken about it as I drew my last breath. I didn’t know who it was, but it was still a lead. Samara told me to tell her what he looked like so she could draw a sketch, and she recognised him. The man was Jim Stevens; a former colleague of mine, or rather, Marissa’s.

What we had wasn’t enough to send him to jail, so Samara said she’d call him over. Once he got there, he was stupefied.

“You… You’re dead.”

“Well, I’m back, no thanks to you.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Yeah, like you killing me over a promotion.”

“Okay, that’s it!”

Jim reached for his gun, but I drew mine faster. I shot him dead before he could pull the trigger. Justice was finally mine.