In my last life, a fire tore through my home, and my seven-year-old daughter was trapped inside. To get her out, I agreed to the locksmith’s sudden, exorbitant demand: ten thousand dollars. But he deliberately wasted time. My daughter burned to death. Before I could even process the grief, he went on social media to build a following, slandering me with a twisted lie. He claimed I’d refused to let him pry open the lock, all to save a fifty-dollar fee. “She just stood there and watched her own daughter burn to death!” he cried to his camera. “I bet she’s the one who started the fire in the first place!” The internet exploded with hate. A tidal wave of curses and threats crashed down on me. I was branded a monster, a murderer. On the night of my daughter’s memorial, a vigilante mob, fueled by online rage, set my new apartment on fire. They burned me alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the fire. 1 “Hey, Sarah! You better get down to the garage! Looks like someone just keyed your car!” The familiar voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked, my eyes focusing on Jenna’s face through the closing elevator doors. It hit me like a physical blow. I was back. In my last life, that message had sent me rushing to the parking garage. By the time I’d dealt with the scratched paint and gotten back upstairs, my apartment was already in flames. My daughter, Lily, was still inside. I’d sprinted up the stairs, fumbled with the key, and in my panic, twisted it so hard it snapped off in the lock. And right on cue, the locksmith, Rick Bauer, had appeared behind me. I’d begged him, pleaded with him to open the door and save my daughter. But the man I’d always known to be a friendly neighbor saw his opportunity. “Sure, I can open it,” he’d said, a greedy glint in his eye. “But we need to talk price. Ten thousand, not a penny less. I’m risking my life here, you know. Fire doesn’t pick favorites.” I agreed without a second of hesitation. But he took an entire hour to open the door. By then, the fire department had arrived, but it was too late. When we finally got inside, Lily was unconscious on the floor, her small body covered in burns. The paramedics did everything they could, but they couldn’t save her. After her death, I was an empty shell. But the soulless monster, Rick, used my tragedy for clicks. He spun a tale online about how I’d haggled over a fifty-dollar fee, how I’d refused his offer to open it for free, how I’d let my own daughter die. The video went viral. The internet judged me, condemned me, called me a disgrace to motherhood. The most zealous of them decided I didn’t deserve to live. They tracked me down and became my executioners. After I died, as a wandering spirit, I overheard a conversation between Jenna and Rick. It was them. She had lured me away. He had jammed my lock. They had set the fire. All to corner me, to force me to pay their blood money. They were the ones who killed my daughter. And this time, every ounce of suffering they put me through, I was going to give it right back to them. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I glanced at my watch. There was still time. I slammed the “door open” button and burst out of the elevator. I took the stairs, my hand trembling as I dialed Lily’s number. I told her to stay a little longer at her aunt’s house, that her dad would pick her up later. After hanging up, I sprinted all the way to the 15th floor. Seeing my apartment intact, I rushed inside and slammed the door shut. This time, there would be no fire. Ten minutes later, a knock came at the door. “Sarah? You back?” I peered through the peephole. It was Jenna. My face hardened. She was the mastermind. The one who started it all. Forcing down the inferno of rage in my chest, I kept my voice even. “I’m here. What’s up?” Jenna audibly sighed in relief, but her voice was laced with faux panic. “Hey, it looks like your lock is jammed. Rick is over here fixing a cabinet for me. Do you want him to take a look?” My heart clenched. I twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. It was already done. The sickening familiarity of it all sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could say anything, Rick’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Lock’s busted? Let me see.” A moment later, I heard him fiddling with it. “Yeah, this thing’s shot,” he said with a sigh of fake resignation. “It’s old, can’t be repaired. You’ll need a whole new lock. Five thousand, and I can replace it for you right now.” Watching him through the peephole, a hot fury shot through me. “Five thousand?! Are you insane? I’ll call someone else!” Rick’s mocking, confident voice drifted through the door. “Go ahead. But I should tell you, we locksmiths have a network. I’ve got this whole building covered. Nobody’s opening this door for you today but me.” The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He’d said the exact same thing in my past life. Hate consumed me. “Then I’ll call the police!” I snarled. I pulled out my phone to dial 911, but the screen was black. Dead. At the same moment, I realized the lights were off. They’d shut off the power at the breaker. Rick’s voice came again. “So? What’s it gonna be?” When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Look, lady, don’t be an idiot. I gave you a fair price. Now, if you don’t make it eight thousand, you’re not getting out of that apartment today!” But my daughter was safe. I didn’t have to play their game. “No thanks! I’ll just wait for my husband to get home!” The second the words left my mouth, I smelled it. The acrid, unmistakable scent of smoke. A horrifying thought clawed its way into my mind. I followed the smell to the bedroom and threw open the door. The room was already choked with thick, black smoke. Flames were writhing up the curtains. I didn’t have time to think. I grabbed buckets of water, but the fire was spreading too fast. In seconds, the entire window was a wall of flame. The searing heat on my skin was a stark reminder: I couldn’t fight this alone. If I didn’t get out, I would die. I stumbled back to the front door. Through the wood, I could hear them—Rick and Jenna—laughing at my pathetic attempts to fight the fire. A raw, primal rage erupted inside me. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “You monsters!” I screamed, pounding on the door. “You set my home on fire for money! Are you even human?!” Rick just laughed, his voice smug. “Now why would you say that? We haven’t even opened your door yet. How could we have possibly started a fire inside?” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern. “She’s right, Sarah. Just let Rick open the door. Money isn’t more important than your life!” Trapped. Extorted. The same nightmare, all over again. I started screaming for help, my fists hammering against the door. Mrs. Gable from the eighth floor was heading downstairs. She heard the commotion and paused. “What’s going on? Did I just hear someone screaming for help?” I tried to call out, but the smoke filled my lungs, and I collapsed into a fit of coughing, unable to speak. I heard Jenna’s smooth voice. “Oh, it’s just the poor girl in 1502. She’s locked herself in. Rick’s working on it now. It’ll be fine in a minute.” Mrs. Gable, satisfied, continued on her way. As soon as she was gone, Rick leaned close to the door. His voice was a low threat. “Twenty thousand dollars. Or your life. You decide which one is more important. Don’t be stupid enough to die for a bit of cash.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Twenty thousand? It was eight thousand a minute ago!” Rick’s coarse laugh was utterly deranged. “The price to open a lock is different from the price to save a life, isn’t it? Eight thousand was the service fee. Twenty thousand is what it costs for you to live.” I hated them with every fiber of my being, but I was powerless. Just as I was about to break, a small figure darted out from the kitchen. I grabbed her, spun her around, and my blood ran cold. “Maddie? What are you doing here?!” It was Maddie, Rick and Jenna’s daughter. The question that had haunted me for two lifetimes was finally answered. I had come home early, but the fire had started anyway. She was the one. She was their accomplice, hidden inside my apartment, waiting to set the blaze. Because I’d come back sooner than they’d expected, she hadn’t been able to escape. She was the same age as Lily, her sense of right and wrong not yet fully formed. The perfect pawn for her depraved parents. I forced myself to be calm. “Maddie,” I said, my voice steady. “You don’t want to burn in here with me, do you? Your dad is right outside. You need to tell him to open the door. Right now.” Maddie opened her mouth to speak but immediately started coughing, her face turning a frightening shade of red. I’d seen this before. It was an asthma attack. As she started to collapse, I caught her, holding her in my arms as I screamed at the door. “RICK, OPEN THE DOOR! YOUR DAUGHTER IS IN HERE! SHE’S HAVING AN ASTHMA ATTACK!”
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