Chapter 8: This Time I Called for Help

In my previous life, I would have gone home.

I would have locked the door, pulled the curtains, and convinced myself I was overreacting.

That was how fear had worked on me.

It isolated me before anyone else needed to.

This time, I walked straight into the pharmacy.

I stayed beside the checkout counter where three employees and a security camera could see me.

The police arrived twelve minutes later.

My mother arrived four minutes after them.

She looked ready to fight someone with her bare hands.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

She pulled me into her arms anyway.

My incision protested.

“Mom—surgery.”

She immediately released me.

“Sorry.”

I almost laughed.

An officer named Ramirez asked to see the messages.

I showed him everything.

The anonymous threats.

The photograph taken minutes earlier.

Greer's earlier message saying I'd regret what I was doing.

I was careful.

“I don't know who sent the anonymous messages.”

Officer Ramirez nodded.

“Good. Don't make assumptions publicly.”

That sentence mattered.

Last time, everyone had made assumptions about me.

I wasn't going to become them.

The pharmacy manager agreed to preserve exterior footage.

Officer Ramirez also contacted the school because the threats appeared connected to an ongoing student harassment dispute.

By evening, Principal Warren called my mother personally.

Security would meet us at the entrance the next morning.

The school was suddenly taking everything very seriously.

Funny what happened when there was a police report number.

The next morning, I entered through the same gate where boys had cornered me in my previous life.

Mason was standing near the basketball crowd.

He looked away when he saw the security officer beside me.

I went to class.

My vandalized desk had been replaced.

Mrs. Hart stopped me before the bell.

“Imogen, can we talk?”

I kept my phone visible.

Her eyes flicked toward it.

“Sure.”

“I want you to know I didn't realize how serious this was.”

I stared at her.

Last time, after my death, several teachers had told my mother the same thing.

We didn't know.

We didn't realize.

She seemed fine.

“I reported it,” I said.

Mrs. Hart's face fell.

“I know.”

“Then you knew it was serious enough for me to report.”

She had no response.

I went inside.

At lunch, Greer finally returned.

She looked exhausted.

No makeup.

Hair tied carelessly.

Her friends weren't surrounding her anymore.

Talia sat two seats away.

Sienna wasn't there at all.

Greer saw me.

For a moment, rage crossed her face.

Then she looked toward the security officer near the cafeteria entrance.

She lowered her eyes.

My phone buzzed.

A new forum post.

Anonymous.

“Stop blaming Greer for everything. Imogen has always been unstable. Ask people from her old school.”

I stared at it.

This was new.

Then another post appeared.

Screenshots supposedly showing messages I'd sent to a boy the previous year.

They were sexual.

Explicit.

Fake.

My stomach twisted.

Not because I believed anyone.

Because I recognized the strategy.

When the first rumor failed, they created another.

Comments started appearing.

“Are these real?”

“Who is the guy?”

“This whole thing is insane.”

I downloaded every image.

Then I noticed something.

The fake screenshots used an old profile picture of mine.

One I had changed six months ago.

Very few people still had screenshots from that period.

But Greer's clique did.

Last time, Sienna had once posted that exact profile picture while mocking my clothes.

I looked across the cafeteria.

Talia was already staring at the anonymous post.

Her face had gone pale.

Then she looked at Greer.

Greer didn't look back.

Five minutes later, Talia stood up.

She walked directly toward me.

“I need to tell you something.”

I put my phone down.

“I'm listening.”

She swallowed.

“Greer has a private group chat.”

My heartbeat slowed.

“And?”

Talia looked terrified.

“I think those screenshots came from it.”