Rain drifted lazily across the windshield, the wipers swiping back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Headlights from the oncoming lane flashed like distant stars, briefly illuminating Mike's pale knuckles clenched around the steering wheel. The world outside was wet, gray, and silent, and for some reason, his heart wouldn't stop pounding.
When red and blue lights exploded in his rearview mirror, he looked at the speedometer and noticed it barely crawling past ten.
"Crap," he muttered, easing the car to the shoulder. The white Mercury Mountaineer gave a tired sigh as it rolled to a stop.
A familiar figure approached through the rain, broad shoulders, uniform damp from the drizzle, and a flashlight that cut through the dark like a blade. He easily recognized the mustache, Chief Charlie Swan, great, just what he needed…
Charlie leaned down to the window, rain dripping from the brim of his cap. "Evenin', Mike. You aware you were driving slower than a turtle on a Sunday stroll?"
Mike blinked, his brain lagging behind reality. "Uh… was I?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow, half-smirking. "Son, my late grandma could've beaten you to town and back on her wheelchair. You okay?"
For a beat, Mike just stared at the dash lights flickering over his hands. The engine's soft rumble felt distant, like he wasn't really here at all, like part of him was still back in another life, behind the wheel of another car, metal twisting, glass shattering…
He blinked hard, the memory snapped away like a rubber band.
"Sorry, Chief," he said quickly, forcing a weak grin. "Guess I'm just a little out of it. Think I might be coming down with something. Bit of a fever."
Charlie studied him for a moment, the easy humor fading from his face. The man had the kind of steady gaze that could see straight through excuses. "Fever, huh?"
Mike nodded, hoping his smile looked less fake than it felt.
"Well, in that case," Charlie said, straightening up, "I'll escort you home. Last thing I need tonight is paperwork about one of my townsfolk fainting behind the wheel."
"Oh, that's really not…"
"Not up for debate, Newton."
Mike shut his mouth. "Yes, sir."
The rest of the drive was quiet except for the patter of rain and the glow of Charlie's cruiser headlights in his mirror. For a moment, it almost felt… comforting. Having someone making sure he actually got home this time.
When they pulled into the driveway of the Newton house, Mike rolled down his window, the cool night air brushing against his skin. "Thanks, Chief. Really. Sorry for the trouble."
Charlie tipped his hat, his face softening just a bit. "No trouble, kid. Just get some rest. And maybe let your grandma drive next time."
Mike managed a laugh, small but real, as the cruiser backed out and disappeared down the road, its taillights swallowed by the rain.
He sat there for a moment longer, listening to the ticking of the engine cooling down, staring at the faint reflection of his own face in the window, alive, but not quite the same.
Maybe that's what dying does to you.
…
The rain had eased by the time I got out of the car. Just a light mist now, clinging to everything, the trees, the porch, my hair. The kind of drizzle that didn't soak you, but made the world feel heavy.
The porch light flickered as I stepped up to the door, the key cool between my fingers. Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Mom must be in her room, and Dad was probably closing up the store.
I kicked off my shoes, hung my jacket, and stood there for a long moment in the entryway, staring at the familiar carpet pattern like it might start making sense of things for me.
It didn't.
I made my way upstairs, the floorboards creaking under my feet. The room looked exactly like I'd left it this morning, clothes thrown haphazardly on the bed, rain tapping against the window, a faint smell of cardboard and detergent in the air.
I sank onto the bed, elbows on my knees, and finally exhaled.
It was strange. Since waking up here, in this body, in this world, I hadn't really stopped to think about it. Not really. Everything had happened too fast: the confusion, the faces from a story I used to know, the sudden realization that I was inside it.
But now, sitting here in the quiet, it finally hit me.
I died.
The words sounded hollow in my head, like an echo I'd ignored until now.
It hadn't been heroic, or dramatic, or even particularly cinematic. Just headlights, a screech of tires, and a sickening crunch. Then nothing.
I'd thought, in that last split second, that there'd be pain, but mostly there was surprise. The kind of surprise that came with realizing there wouldn't be a next moment.
And then, there was.
I rubbed my hands together slowly, feeling the faint heat that had startled Yorkie earlier. Warm. Too warm. Maybe that was the joke of it, I'd burned up once already, and somehow I'd come back running hot.
My reflection in the window looked back at me, same face, same eyes, but different. Like someone else was wearing my skin.
"Why me?" I muttered. "Why here?"
The rain outside gave no answer, just a steady whisper against the glass.
It was all too much to wrap my head around, dying, waking up in Forks, bumping shoulders with vampires who shouldn't even exist. Every instinct screamed that this world was fiction, a story I'd read once and forgotten about. But it wasn't, it was real.
And so was I, I mean, I have been living this life for the past seventeen years, it couldn't be fake, could it?. But these memories of a past life are really messing with my head.
For the first time since that crash, I felt the full weight of being alive again, and it scared the hell out of me.
I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the soft hiss of rain. The exhaustion hit all at once, like my body had been waiting for permission to shut down. My last thought before sleep took me was that maybe, just maybe, this second life wasn't a gift.
Maybe it was a test.
…
I woke up suddenly, heart hammering. For a moment, I was back in the crash, metal screaming, glass shattering, headlights slicing through smoke. Then it was gone, replaced by the soft ticking of rain against the window.
I sat up, chest damp with sweat. "Just a dream," I whispered. "Just a dream."
The clock glowed faintly on the nightstand. Five in the morning. The world outside was still wrapped in fog, but the rain had stopped. Maybe some fresh air would help clear my head.
I tugged on a pair of joggers, frowning when they stopped higher on my ankles than usual. "Guess Mom shrunk them in the wash," I muttered, grabbing a hoodie and stepping outside.
The air was crisp, tasting faintly of pine and wet soil, the kind of clean cold that bit at your throat in the best way. Mist coiled low across the ground as I jogged toward the tree line, sneakers thudding rhythmically against the earth.
At first, I expected the usual burn in my legs, the sharp tug of breath. But it never came. Each stride felt easier, lighter, as if the forest itself were feeding me energy. I ran for an hour, maybe more, without slowing once.
When I finally stopped near the back fence of the Newton property, my pulse was steady, my breathing calm. I checked, and barely a bead of sweat touched my forehead.
I looked down at my hands, then at the forest behind me. "Okay," I said softly, a wry, uncertain smile tugging at my lips. "That's… not normal."
Something was changing. Maybe it was the transmigration doing something strange to my body.
Was this my cheat? Was I becoming some sort of superhuman?
Or was it something else entirely?
I guess only time will tell.
…