Pillow Talk of Death

I jolted awake on March 7th, my eyes snapping open.

By my desk stood the student I sponsored, a scholarship kid. She held a bottle of pills, a sweet smile on her face.

Eleanor, your allergy meds are almost out. I put a new bottle in your drawer for you, she said.

I didn't call her out immediately.

Because I distinctly remembered that after my accidental death in my previous life, Id found a notebook hidden under her pillow.

It was filled with dates, each one checked off, and each checked date perfectly matched a time Id suffered an accident.

And on the very last page of that notebook, there was a line I still couldnt quite understand.

I looked at the bottle of pills in Veras hand.

A white, round bottle, almost identical to the imported loratadine I used.

But there was an extra line of small print on the label.

Vitamin C.

In my past life, I hadn't noticed such a small detail.

Id casually put it in my medicine cabinet and dutifully taken it for half a month when allergy season hit.

Then, my allergies had erupted, sending me straight to the hospital.

Eleanor, you look a little pale

Vera tilted her head, her eyes wet and innocent.

I took the bottle and placed it on my desk, not in the medicine cabinet.

You dont need to buy my medication anymore. And you dont need to organize anything on my desk.

Veras lips trembled.

Eleanor did I do something wrong? Please tell me, Ill change

Tears welled up instantly, her voice dropping lower and lower until it became a soft sob.

The door creaked open.

Nathan stood in the doorway. He saw Vera crying and his face immediately darkened.

Eleanor, whats going on? Are you picking on Vera again?

I looked at him.

In my previous life, I had been in love with him for two years.

Tall, handsome, student body president.

But every time something happened to me, he was always the first to defend Vera.

Nathan, were breaking up.

...What?

Were done. Effective immediately.

Vera quickly grabbed my arm.

Eleanor, dont be rash! You and Nathan have such a good thing going. Dont let me get in the way...

I looked down at the hand gripping my arm.

Her nails were neatly trimmed, spotless.

In my previous life, that hand had worn rubber gloves, using tweezers to painstakingly peel off and re-affix labels in the lab.

That wasn't the kind of meticulous work a timid liberal arts student would do.

Let go.

Vera recoiled.

I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the dorm room.

Nathan shouted after me, Eleanor Bennett, what the hell is your problem? If you walk out, dont bother coming back!

I didnt stop.

After leaving the dorm building, I sat on a garden bench for ten minutes, letting my heartbeat settle.

Then I went back to the dorm building and borrowed a spare key from my friend, Sarah, in the room next door.

While Vera was out, I re-entered the dorm.

I walked over to Veras bed.

She had very few belongings, and her bed was meticulously neat.

Under the pillow.

In my past life, at the very last moment before I died, I saw her holding a notebook.

I reached under her pillow.

My fingertips brushed against a hard cover.

I pulled it out.

It was an ordinary black notebook.

I opened it.

Page after page was crammed with dates.

She was planning to kill me.

From March to June, step by step, systematically.

I was about to close the notebook when I noticed a small asterisk next to the date May 18th.

After it, in tiny writing, were three words.

[She will come.]

She?

Who was she?

Was someone else involved in Veras plan?

I pulled out my phone and took pictures of every page in the notebook.

Then I put it back under the pillow exactly as I found it.

By the time I left the dorm, it was dark.

I stood by the window in the hallway, looking at the dates on my phone.

March 12th, five days from now.

In my previous life, that's when my pollen allergies had landed me in the hospital.

This time, I was eager to see what "surprise" Vera had in store for me.

For the next few days, I acted completely normal.

Classes, meals, lab work, back to the dorm.

I talked when I needed to, smiled when appropriate.

But I no longer let Vera touch any of my things.

Several times, she tried to help me organize my desk, bring me food, or collect my laundry, but I subtly refused each time.

Every time I refused, she'd look at me with those wet, innocent eyes, like a puppy abandoned by its owner.

My other roommates couldn't stand it.

Eleanor, Vera is so good to you. Why are you so cold lately?

Seriously, she genuinely cares about you. Dont hurt her feelings.

I just smiled, offering no explanation.

On the evening of March 11th.

Vera went to the library.

Ten minutes after she left, I locked the dorm door and began my inspection.

First, I checked my medicine cabinet.

The swapped allergy medication was still there; I had already sealed it away separately.

Then I checked my bed.

I pulled off the pillowcase and shook it out.

Nothing amiss.

I unzipped the pillow insert.

My hand froze.

Tucked inside the pillow inserts lining was a small bag.

It contained dried flowers.

Tiny petals and pollen, sealed in a clear plastic bag. The bag had a small tear at the opening, and the pollen was slowly seeping into the pillows stuffing.

Every night, Id lay my face on that pillow, breathing for an entire night.

Pollen would directly enter my respiratory system.

For someone with severe pollen allergies, this was like burying my face in an allergen.

In my previous life, on March 12th, my allergies flared up, sending me to the hospital.

The doctor had attributed it to seasonal changes.

Who would have thought someone had deliberately placed something in my pillow?

I carefully removed the bag of petals with tweezers and placed it in a sealed bag.

Then I replaced my pillow with a new one.

On March 12th, I was perfectly fine.

No allergies, no hospital, nothing happened.

That evening, Vera returned to the dorm and saw me sitting quietly at my desk, reading.

Her gaze lingered on my face for two seconds.

It was brief, but I caught it.

She was checking my skin for rashes, swelling, or signs of difficulty breathing.

There was nothing.

Her eyes flickered.

I closed my book and spoke casually.

Vera, those dried flowers you put in my pillow last time were quite fragrant. What kind were they?

The entire dorm went silent for a moment.

Vera turned, her face a mask of bewilderment.

Eleanor, what are you talking about? I never put anything in your pillow

Really?

I took the sealed bag from my drawer and held it up to the light.

This bag of petals fell out of my pillow insert. Want to take a look?

My roommates gathered around.

No way! Flowers in a pillow?

Who would put flowers in a pillow?

Veras lips parted, and her eyes began to redden.

Eleanor maybe when I was airing out your bedding, some petals accidentally got on it the school garden has so many flowers blooming lately

Petals that just got on wouldnt be in a plastic bag.

I flipped the sealed bag over.

The clear plastic bag still had the torn opening.

Clearly, someone had intentionally opened and placed it there.

Vera was speechless.

Tears streamed down her face, and her hands twisted together.

I really dont know maybe someone played a prank Eleanor, please dont accuse me

The other roommates exchanged glances, unsure whose side to take.

I didnt press further.

The time wasn't right.

I put the sealed bag away and smiled.

Never mind, I must have been mistaken.

Vera let out a sigh of relief, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

But I noticed that when she returned to her bed, her first action was to reach under her pillow.

Only after confirming the notebook was still there did her shoulders truly relax.

That night, I took the bag of petals to the schools biology lab and asked a senior student for help with identification.

The results came back the next day.

It wasn't ordinary flower petals.

It was ragweed pollen, mixed with a small amount of mugwort pollen.

These two are the most common and potent allergens for all pollen allergy sufferers.

Mixed with dried flower fragments, they were extremely subtle, almost impossible to discern with the naked eye.

I took photos of the identification report and saved them.

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a text message popped up on the screen.

An unknown number.

No sender name.

Just one line of text.

[She didnt buy the flowers herself. Check the old flower and bird market in Westside, March 5th.]

I didn't immediately pursue that anonymous text message.

Because the second date was approaching.

April 3rd.

In my previous life, on that day, I almost had an accident during my pharmaceutical chemistry lab class.

Two reagent bottles had their labels swapped.

I had followed the labels and taken ethanol for a dissolution experiment, but it was actually hydrochloric acid. It reacted violently with another reagent, and the beaker exploded.

My hand was badly burned.

At the time, everyone thought it was a lapse in lab management.

Vera cried hysterically, Eleanor, Im so sorry! I must have accidentally bumped something when I was helping you organize your lab bench Please let me pay for your medical bills

Nathan had said, Shes a liberal arts transfer; how would she know the difference between these chemicals? Its your fault for not checking, why blame her?

I hadn't blamed her.

My past self never blamed her.

But this time, I was going to film how "accidental" she was.

March 28th, six days before the lab class.

I went to see Mr. Miller, the lab administrator.

Mr. Miller, do we have security cameras in our lab?

Mr. Miller shook his head.

We used to, but they broke down six months ago. The university hasnt allocated funds to fix them.

Id expected that.

In my past life, there were no cameras in the lab, which is why Vera dared to act.

However

Mr. Miller pointed to a camera on the hallway ceiling. Theres one in the hallway outside the lab door. It can record who comes and goes.

Not enough.

I needed footage from inside the lab.

That afternoon, I bought a mini recording device online.

It was the size of a fingernail, magnetic, and could be attached to a metal shelf.

On the evening of March 31st, I entered the lab when no one was around.

I stuck the recording device to the top of the reagent shelf directly opposite my lab bench.

The angle perfectly covered my entire work area.

Then I waited.

April 2nd, 11:40 PM.

I was scrolling on my phone in the dorm when the recording devices app pushed a motion alert.

Movement detected in the lab.

I tapped to open the live feed.

In night vision mode, the screen was green.

A figure pushed open the lab door.

Walked to my lab bench.

Pulled a pair of rubber gloves from their pocket and put them on.

Then retrieved a small pair of tweezers from another pocket.

She crouched down, carefully peeling off the labels from two reagent bottles.

Using the tweezers, she gently lifted a corner of each label, peeling off the entire thing without a single wrinkle.

Then she swapped the two labels and stuck them back on.

The entire process took less than three minutes.

Her movements were clean, precise, and without any hesitation.

She stood up, removed the gloves, and stuffed them and the tweezers back into her pocket.

As she turned to leave, her face was perfectly aimed at the recording device.

Vera.

Her expression was calm, her eyes focused.

No nervousness, no fear.

I downloaded the video, encrypted it, and saved it to my cloud drive.

April 3rd.

Lab class.

I arrived at the lab ten minutes early. In front of the other students, I meticulously checked every reagent bottle.

Pretending to discover the swapped labels.

I raised my hand and called the professor over.

Professor, it looks like the labels on these two bottles are swapped.

The professor came over, saw they were indeed misplaced.

Who moved the reagents on this lab bench?

No one confessed.

Vera sat in the observation area nearby.

Liberal arts auditing students werent required to do experiments, but they could watch.

She tilted her head with an innocent expression.

Eleanor, whats wrong? Is there a problem with the reagents?

I looked at her.

Nothing, someone just swapped the labels. Luckily, I found it in time.

Veras expression remained unchanged.

The lab class concluded smoothly, with no fires, no burns.

After class, I went to the universitys academic affairs system to look up Veras admission file.

Id wanted to do this for a while.

The file showed:

Vera, female, twenty-one years old, a third-year student in the Chinese Literature department, applied to audit classes in the Pharmacy department in her second year.

From a remote mountainous area, financially disadvantaged, father bedridden due to an industrial accident.

I knew all of this.

But there was a line in the file I hadnt noticed before.

College entrance exam preferences.

First choice: Pharmacy.

Second choice: Pharmaceutical Chemistry.

Third choice: Chinese Literature.

Her first choice was Pharmacy.

Not Chinese Literature.

She had wanted to study pharmaceuticals from the start.

She had only been assigned to the Chinese Literature department because her exam scores werent high enough for her first two choices.

Would someone whose first choice was Pharmacy not know what causes pollen allergies?

Not know the importance of reagent labels in a lab?

Not know that an epinephrine auto-injector has an expiration date?

She knew everything.

She was just pretending not to understand.

I closed my laptop, and my phone vibrated.

It was that unknown number again.

[April 3rd, safe?]

I hesitated for a few seconds, then replied.

[Who are you?]

The other party quickly responded.

[Doesnt matter. May 18th, your epinephrine auto-injector. Be careful.]

When I tried to send another message, there was no reply.

This person knew Veras entire plan.

Every date, every move.

Even where the pollen was purchased.

Was he Veras accomplice?

Unlikely.

If he were an accomplice, why would he warn me?

Then he must be Veras enemy.

Or another victim.

The acacia trees on campus were blooming everywhere.

For someone with pollen allergies, this season was a nightmare.

I carried my epinephrine auto-injector everywhere C it was a lifeline for anyone with severe allergies.

During a severe allergic reaction, epinephrine must be injected within minutes, or it could lead to laryngeal edema and suffocation.

In my previous life, on May 18th, I suddenly had an allergic reaction outside the classroom.

Difficulty breathing, swollen throat, blurred vision.

Vera had frantically rummaged through my bag, found my epinephrine auto-injector, and tearfully injected me.

But it brought no relief.

Because that pen was expired.

Expired epinephrine degrades and becomes ineffective; injecting it was useless.

It was only when a passing school nurse gave me a new shot that I was pulled back from the brink.

I lay in the emergency room all day.

Vera knelt by my bed, crying, Eleanor, Im so sorry! I didnt know this pen could expire Its all my fault for not checking when I helped you organize your medicine cabinet

Nathan said, Its your life-saving medication; if you dont check it yourself, what good is blaming Vera?

This time, I was prepared.

On May 10th, I bought two brand new epinephrine auto-injectors.

One I placed in my medicine cabinet, openly visible, with a date three months old, almost expired.

The other I hid in the innermost secret pocket of my backpack, brand new.

Then I waited.

May 15th.

I returned to the dorm and noticed my medicine cabinet had been disturbed.

The epinephrine auto-injector Id placed in plain sight was still there.

But when I picked it up and turned it, there was an extremely fine scratch on the pen.

This wasnt the same pen Id put in there.

Someone had swapped my pen, replacing it with an identical-looking one.

I opened it to check the expiration date.

Expired by eight months.

This was even more ruthless than in my previous life.

Last time it was at least almost expired; this time, it was a completely useless pen, expired by eight months.

I put the expired pen back in the medicine cabinet, untouched.

Then I took a photo with my phone.

May 18th.

At 3 PM, a few classmates and I were discussing a project on the lawn outside the academic building.

The acacia pollen concentration was high.

My nose started to itch, and my eyes felt a bit puffy.

Vera appeared nearby, handing me a bottle of water.

Eleanor, are you feeling unwell? Should we go to the infirmary?

I took the water but didnt drink it.

Im fine.

After a while, I felt my throat starting to tighten.

My hand reached into the secret pocket of my backpack, gripping the new epinephrine auto-injector.

Then I made a decision.

I closed my eyes and slumped backward.

Feigning an allergic reaction.

Eleanor Bennett! Whats wrong with you?!

Quick, call an ambulance!

The scene erupted into chaos.

Vera was the first to rush over, falling to her knees beside me.

Eleanor! Eleanor, dont scare me!

Her movements were quick.

She flipped open the outer compartment of my backpack and pulled out the epinephrine auto-injector from the medicine cabinet.

Found it! Ill inject her!

A classmate nearby shouted, Do you know how to use it?

Yes! Ive seen the tutorials! Vera said, pulling off the cap and aiming it at my outer thigh.

I opened my eyes and grabbed her wrist.

No need.

I pulled out the new epinephrine auto-injector from my secret pocket and injected myself.

Within minutes, the allergic symptoms rapidly subsided.

I sat up, my breathing steady.

Vera stood frozen, still holding the expired, useless pen.

I looked at her.

Vera, is that the pen you took from my medicine cabinet?

Yes yes, it is

Then take a look. How many months expired is it?

Vera looked down at the date on the pen.

Her expression quickly shifted to one of panic.

What? Expired? How could this be Eleanor, I didnt know I didnt notice when I helped you organize your medicine cabinet before

Really.

I stood up, brushing grass from my skirt.

Then tell me, where did the unexpired pen in my medicine cabinet go? I replaced it with a new one two weeks ago. How did it become one thats eight months expired?

Veras mouth opened, but no words came out.

That evening, while Vera was in the shower, I once again opened her notebook.

Next to May 18th, two words had been added.

Failed.

I flipped to the next page.

A line of text, written with such force the paper was nearly torn.

[If all three attempts fail, initiate Plan B.]

Plan B?

I continued to flip.

The last page of the notebook.

It only had one line of text and an address.

[Find Sister Johnson. Westside Old Factory District, Building 17.]

Westside Old Factory District.

I opened my phone and searched the address.

The first news headline that popped up made my pupils contract sharply.

[Ten Years Ago, Westside Pharmaceutical Factory Safety Incident Led to Three Deaths; Factory Director Johnson Sentenced to Seven Years.]

Head of the accident investigation team: Eleanors mom, Martha Bennett.

Martha Bennett.

My mother.