The Innocence Proved by a Ghost
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I refused, and Iris, having an asthma attack, was crushed to death by a large amplifier in the equipment room.
In my past life, I had delivered the medicine for Iris. But her family stormed into the room at once and beat me half to death.
“You killed Iris, you monster!”
Turns out Iris's death was a murder, and I was treated as the prime suspect because I was at the crime scene.
Then the band was called in for questioning. I thought they'd save me.
But the pianist, my childhood friend, stepped on my hand. “You left around 4 and went to the equipment room—that's when you did it!”
My fiancé tore my clothes. “There's blood on your clothes, you murderer!”
My cop dad slapped cuffs on me. “Your fingerprints are all over the equipment.”
I couldn't defend myself. Iris's enraged family stabbed me to death.
Until my last breath, I never understood why the people I loved most turned on me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back—on that very night.
“Luna, I've got terrible cramps. Can you bring Iris her medicine, please?”
My sister, Ingrid, shook my arm, pouting.
In front of me was a purple drum set. Behind it, an antique wall clock showed exactly 4 PM.
I had been reborn.
Ingrid saw I wasn't responding and pouted harder.
“Luna, you know how awful my period is. You would do me the favor, right?”
She shoved the inhaler into my hand, then flopped onto the bench like she was exhausted.
I flinched and shoved it right back. “We're about to perform. I'm not confident on the drums yet. I need to practice. You take it.”
Ingrid's eyes widened. She never expected me—always putting her first—to refuse.
“Luna, can't you see I'm in pain? It's just a quick trip. Why are you being so heartless?”
I shot back, “You said it yourself—it's just a quick trip. Why can't you do it?”
She rarely got contradicted. Her face flushed red. “But Iris's your best friend! She needs you! How can you be so cold?”
I fired back, “Iris always treated you like her own little sister. Now's your chance to pay her back. I know you're not ungrateful.”
Instantly, Ingrid threw a tantrum—crying, whining, slamming things around.
She always did this. Whenever someone said no, she'd melt down. Normally, I'd cave and comfort her.
But this time, I acted like I didn't notice. I focused on tuning my drums.
In my past life, not long after we started practicing, Ingrid asked me to bring Iris her medicine.
Seeing Ingrid in pain and thinking of Iris's asthma, I agreed right away.
But when I got near the equipment room, something felt off.
If Iris was organizing gear, why were the lights off?
I called her name a few times—no answer. She sometimes fell asleep when exhausted, so I left the medicine on the table by the door like we always did.
I returned and practiced drums for another half hour before Iris's family burst in, pinned me down, and beat me. Then the police took me away.
At the station, I learned a large stage amplifier had crushed Iris in the equipment room. The police said it wasn't an accident—it was murder, and I was their suspect.
I begged Ingrid to back me up.
Instead, she slapped me and said, “Luna, you've been complaining about Iris all week. I told you not to stay mad, but I never thought you'd actually kill her!”
I looked to my childhood friend, Eli, and my fiancé, Liam.
But Eli shoved me down and stomped on my hand.
“You left around 4—that's when you did it, you killer!”
Liam ripped my shirt open.
“There's blood on your clothes. The DNA is Iris's. You murdered her.”
Then my dad, the cop, slapped cuffs on me.
“Your prints are on the amplifier. You killed her.”
Motive, no alibi, and direct evidence—I had no way out.
Iris's heartbroken parents rushed in, and in a blind rage, her dad stabbed me in the heart. I died on the spot.
From start to finish, my sister, my best friend, my fiancé, and my own father just watched coldly.
The pain—physical and emotional—seared into my bones. I would never forget it.
Now that I'm back, I won't let it happen again!
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