James sat on the small plastic chair in the living room, his tiny legs swinging slowly back and forth. At three years old, he looked like any other child, round face, big eyes, soft curls.
But behind those eyes lived a full-grown mind. A betrayed man. A murdered soul. A genius reborn. The morning sun slipped through the curtains as his mother, Mrs. Helen, folded laundry nearby.
James stared at her quietly. "Mom,"
he said. She smiled. "Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I ask something?"
"Of course."
James hesitated. "Why do some people smile… but not inside?"
Helen paused. "Where did you hear that?"
"I see it,"
he said softly. "On people's faces."
She came closer. "Honey, most people don't understand feelings the way you do. You're special."
"Yes," James murmured, "I know."
But that wasn't what he meant. He meant Tom's smile. He meant the smile of a man who betrayed him. Killed him. Destroyed his family. Helen ruffled his hair, unaware of the war behind her son's calm eyes.
Later That Afternoon, The house was quiet, warm, peaceful. Until the doorbell rang. Helen wiped her hands and went to the door. James followed on small feet. She opened it, and froze.
A tall man stood outside, wearing a black jacket and a fake smile. Tom. The man who slept with Maria. The man who forced her to poison him. The man who told him he was dying.
He looked older, richer, more confident, but those eyes were the same. Predatory. Cruel. Cold.
Helen blinked. "Can I help you?"
Tom flashed a charming grin. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm working with the community health foundation. We're checking in on families with little children."
Helen relaxed. "Oh! That's kind of you."
James stared at him, his tiny body rooted to the floor. Tom's gaze slid down. Their eyes met. Recognition struck James like a lightning bolt. He knows. Tom tilted his head slightly, as if studying the child's face. "Cute little guy,"
he said. Helen smiled. "This is James."
Tom crouched down. "Hello, James."
James didn't blink. "Do I know you?"
Tom asked, voice too smooth. James said nothing. Tom chuckled. "Quiet one, eh?"
Helen laughed. "He's shy."
"No,"
James whispered softly, "I'm thinking."
Tom paused. Helen didn't notice. But Tom did. "Thinking about what?" he asked.
James's eyes were dark, steady, careful. "Faces."
Tom raised a brow. "Faces?"
James nodded. "Some people have two."
Helen gasped. "James! Don't say strange things."
Tom's smile froze. "What do you mean… two faces?"
he asked slowly. James said nothing. He simply stared. And Tom suddenly felt cold.
Inside the Living Room Helen brought drinks. Tom sat on the couch, pretending to be friendly. James climbed onto a smaller couch, eyes never leaving Tom for more than a second.
"So,"
Helen said, "what exactly do you need from us?"
"Just information,"
Tom replied. "Health records, family background… little things."
Helen nodded. "Alright. I can get my documents."
As she left, Tom leaned closer to James. The air thickened. Tom whispered, "You're strange, kid."
James didn't move. "I've seen eyes like that once,"
Tom continued quietly. "A long time ago. The night a fool died thinking we were his friends."
James's tiny hand tightened on the cushion. Tom leaned even closer, voice sharp and low: "You remind me of him."
James whispered, "Why?"
Tom smirked. "Because you look like you want to kill me too."
A calm chill moved through James's spine. He whispered, "Not yet."
Tom froze. James's face was innocent, round cheeks, soft lips, bright eyes. But his voice… His voice wasn't a child's. Tom stared at him, uncertain. Then he chuckled lightly. "You're creepy," he said. "But kids say weird things."
James didn't respond. Helen Returned She handed Tom a folder. Tom smiled politely. "Thank you, ma'am."
James continued staring, silent, calculating, watching. Tom deliberately ignored him now. "Is the father around?"
he asked Helen. Her smile dimmed. "No. He travels… a lot."
James felt something twist in his chest. His new father was alive. A good man. But James still felt the sting of hearing the word "father."
Tom nodded. "Children need strong men around them."
He looked at James briefly, then at Helen again. "Especially boys like him."
Helen frowned. "What do you mean?"
Tom shrugged. "Some kids grow up… strange."
James finally spoke. "Some adults die… strange."
Helen's eyes widened. "James! What is wrong with you today?"
Tom blinked. James blinked. Silence. Tom coughed, uneasy. "Kids… kids talk nonsense."
Helen sighed. "He's usually very sweet."
Tom forced a smile. "I can tell."
But he kept glancing at James. As if the child made him deeply uncomfortable. As Tom Was Leaving
Helen walked him to the door. James followed silently. "Thank you again,"
Helen said, smiling politely. "My pleasure,"
Tom replied. He looked down at James again. "Goodbye… little man."
James looked up at him, expression unreadable.
And whispered: "Tell Maria I'm still watching."
Tom's breath caught. He froze completely. Helen frowned. "James? Who is Maria?"
James tilted his head innocently. "Just a name I heard."
Helen shook her head, confused. But Tom… Tom stared at the child with new terror creeping behind his eyes. He swallowed hard. "Ma'am… please lock your doors at night."
Helen blinked. "Why?"
Tom didn't answer. He walked away quickly. Too quickly. James watched through the doorway as Tom reached his car, hands shaking slightly. Good, James thought. Be afraid. Inside the House Helen lifted James into her arms.
"You frightened that man," she scolded softly. "Why would you say such strange things?"
James rested his head on her shoulder. "I don't like him."
Helen sighed. "You just met him."
James whispered, "No. I met him before."
Helen frowned. "Where?"
James closed his eyes. "In a life you won't believe."
Helen laughed softly. "You and your imagination."
But James wasn't imagining anything. He remembered the night he died. He remembered the poison. He remembered Tom's laugh. He remembered Maria's tears. He remembered the betrayal. And he remembered this:
He would return. And they would pay. Later That Night James couldn't sleep. He sat up in his small bed, staring at the moonlight on the wall. A whisper slipped out of his lips. "He knows something is wrong."
Someone knocked softly on his door. His father, Dr. Nelson, stepped inside. "You're awake," Nelson said, sitting beside him.
James nodded. "You seemed worried today,"
Nelson said gently. "Did something happen?"
James hesitated. "The man who came… he's dangerous."
Nelson frowned. "James, he's just a health worker."
"No,"
James said. "He's not."
Nelson touched his forehead. "Did he scare you?"
James looked down. "A little."
Nelson hugged him quickly. "I promise no one will hurt you."
James whispered, "They already did."
Nelson pulled back. "What do you mean?"
James looked into his father's eyes.
"Dad… what happens if someone has memories they shouldn't have?"
Nelson blinked. "Memories? Of what?"
"Another life," James whispered.
Nelson stared, unsure whether to laugh or worry. "James… you're too young to talk like this."
James lay back down slowly. But Nelson stayed beside him, thinking. After a long silence, Nelson said, "Whatever is bothering you, I'll protect you."
James whispered, "Just don't trust people with two faces."
Nelson shivered slightly. "Where did you hear that?"
"From experience."
Nelson rubbed his forehead. "You're scaring me, James."
James closed his eyes. "Good."
"Good?"
Nelson repeated. James sighed softly. "If you're scared, you'll be careful."
Nelson couldn't speak. He just watched the small boy lying in the dark, looking far older than he should.
Meanwhile, Outside the House
Tom sat in his car down the street, breathing rapidly, He wiped sweat from his forehead. "That child…" he whispered. He replayed the words:
"Tell Maria I'm still watching."
Impossible. Impossible.
But something in the boy's eyes, something old, something cold, something knowing—made his heart sprint. "Could it be…?
Tom shook his head violently. "No. No no no… James Wood is dead."
He gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands. Yet something deep inside him whispered: What if he isn't?
Tom drove off into the night, shaken, paranoid, afraid. And for the first time since the murder… He felt danger. Real danger.
Back in James's Room, James sat up again, staring into the darkness. "Tom will warn the others," he whispered. He needed to grow. He needed to learn.
He needed to wait. But he also needed to move carefully. Because now… They were afraid.
And frightened people are dangerous. James lay back, eyes open, filled with controlled fury. "This time,"
he whispered, "I will not die."
The darkness embraced him.