A Second Sight of Vengeance

e destined for university papers, now kneaded muscles as a Licensed Massage Therapist. It wa

dent from that last proctored exam, bragged. But it was the other voice, smooth and arrogant-Ethan Vance-that chilled me. He chimed in, "The real

ed over my mouth, a cold, sharp object pressed against my side. "You heard too much, Mr. Davis," Ethan' s voice whisper

ee. Fluorescent lights. Desks. Students. It was the exam hall. Ten years ago. I was back. My visio

y my life. He thought he' d silenced me, but now I was back. The clock on the wall showed 8:58 AM. Two minu