Chapter 14: The Past That Refused to Stay Buried
The dreams began quietly.
A flicker of a voice. A glimpse of white lace. The weight of a hand she used to trust, pulling her gently—then shoving her hard.
Evelyn woke with her heart hammering and her breath caught in her throat, the scream still lodged somewhere deep inside her.
For a moment, she didn’t know where—or when—she was.
But the posters on her walls, the messy stack of schoolbooks, and the faint sound of her mom humming in the kitchen grounded her.
She was sixteen.
Again.
Alive.
Again.
But the memories? They were coming back like waves, each stronger and sharper than the last.
The first flashback came in the hallway.
She was walking to class, Liam just ahead of her, when the smell of Logan’s cologne hit her—clean, crisp, and laced with that subtle citrus twist.
Her knees buckled.
In an instant, she was back in the bridal suite—lace gloves in her lap, Mia brushing her hair, and Logan standing behind her, whispering in her ear.
“You’re perfect,” he had said.
But his eyes had been on Mia in the mirror.
Evelyn staggered against the locker, her palms clammy.
“Evie?” Liam turned, concern in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just dizzy.”
But inside, something had cracked open.
The next memory struck in the shower.
Hot water cascading down her back, eyes closed, she saw herself again—only older. A bride. Smiling too wide. Holding a bouquet too tight.
She heard Mia’s voice, laughing over champagne, saying, “You were always too trusting, Evie.”
Then—darkness.
A shove. A scream. A fall.
Evelyn gasped, slipping on the tiles as the water turned scalding. She shut it off with shaking hands and pressed her forehead to the cool wall.
It wasn’t just déjà vu anymore.
It was remembering.
The real kind.
The kind that brought pain with it.
She started writing the flashes down.
Each night, she sat by her window with a pen and journal, sketching pieces of her past like puzzle fragments:
A phone left on the counter. Logan’s voice. “She’s getting suspicious.”
Mia crying—fake tears. “You always make me the bad guy.”
Logan’s father handing him a sealed envelope. “Make sure she signs before the ceremony.”
What had been in that envelope?
A prenup? A confession?
Something told Evelyn that marriage had never been about love—it had been a transaction.
And she was the pawn.
Clara noticed the change first.
“You’re jumpy,” she said during lunch. “And you’re barely sleeping. You keep zoning out.”
Evelyn forced a smile. “Just tired.”
“From what—your memories?”
Evelyn looked up sharply.
Clara sighed. “You think I can’t tell when you’re spiraling?”
“It’s not spiraling,” Evelyn whispered. “It’s remembering.”
She told her about the flashes, the pieces coming back, how each one made her question everything she once believed.
Clara frowned. “Evie… what if it wasn’t just betrayal? What if it was bigger?”
Evelyn nodded. “I think it was.”
She hesitated.
“I think I was murdered.”
Clara didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then she said, “Okay. Then let’s prove it.”
Evelyn blinked. “You believe me?”
“You remembered your death, Evelyn,” Clara said, gripping her hand. “That’s not nothing.”
A tear slipped down Evelyn’s cheek. “I thought I was crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” Clara said fiercely. “You’re awake.”
Later that week, Evelyn found another clue—tucked in the back of an old photo album.
A pressed flower.
Her bridal bouquet.
Except… it was never meant to be there. She’d never saved it.
And scribbled in pencil on the back of the page was one word:
"RUN."
Her breath caught.
She remembered the bouquet now. How it was replaced last minute. How she never picked the flowers herself. Mia had insisted on lilies, even though Evelyn was allergic.
Lilies. Funeral flowers.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “They weren’t planning a wedding. They were planning a burial.”
That night, the dream returned.
Only this time, she didn’t wake up gasping.
She watched.
She watched as her older self walked down the aisle, alone, the guests a blur of smiles hiding secrets.
She saw Logan at the altar, face unreadable.
She saw Mia standing too close, holding the rings, smirking.
She heard the priest’s voice.
Then—
The whisper.
A voice behind her.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She turned.
But there was no one there.
Just the veil falling.
And the push.
Evelyn sat up in bed, her hands shaking.
“They killed me,” she whispered. “Together.”
And the worst part?
She’d loved them both.