Everything looked as if it were from a different time. Whomever's point of view I was watching this in stood in the corner. No, I seemed too close to the ground, so I was more than likely kneeling. Words were echoing all around me, angry shouts. I began to crawl, even standing up and running. I saw a man running at me, worry and concern on his face before everything went black. 

I opened my eyes, the headache gone. Though I was in the exact same place I had been in when the headache started, I felt the sensation of running in my legs, as if they were remembering the feeling. Still beside me was Ian, and when I looked at hi, I recognized the guy I had just seen before darkness took over. The guy wasn't Ian, but Ian was the guy; it had been Jackson Levesque.

Pushing myself away from him, I stood up and ran. He caught up with me quickly because of his vampire speed, and then he used his strength to stop me.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I have to go," I answered. I struggled against his hold and he let me go, a little reluctantly, I noticed. 

I got away from the cemetery and ran a hand through my hair. What the hell had I just seen? There was no way it had been a memory because Levesque had been there, but why had my legs been tingling with the sensation of finishing a run? Rubbing my hands together because of the cold, I felt something. I looked at the palm of my right hand and gasped. There was a mark that looked like an eye, and when I ran the tips of my fingers over it, it felt like it was raised, like a scar.

The building I had stopped in front of had a large window, and the blinds were bent and broken at one spot, so I was able to peer in and see the clock on the opposite wall. It was eleven o'clock. I cursed under my breath. The Witch Shop closed at eleven, so there wasn't any way I could ask them what was happening to me until tomorrow. With nothing else to do, I began walking again. I wrapped my arms around my torso, kicking myself mentally for not bringing a jacket.

"Hey!" someone shouted. Then someone literally materialized in front of me. I hadn't expected her, so I didn't have enough time to stop. Then again, I didn't need to, I passed right through her.

"Can I help you?" I asked, creeped out by the waterfall of chills that had showered over me when I'd walked through her. "Wait a sec, aren't you Brooksia Vider?"

"Yeah, but that's not why I'm here. Why did you yell at Ian? He's a nice guy and you did cast a harmful spell at him."

"Are you his ghost bodyguard or something? Are you even aware that you're dead?"

Brooksia crossed her arms over his chest in anger, putting her weight on one leg and jutting her hip out in annoyance. "I do. Ian informed me."

"And you haven't gone to get revenge on him yet?"

"Ian? Of course not. 

"No, not Ian. The one who killed you."

Her arms dropped and her stance relaxed in surprise. "You know? Who killed me? How did I die?"

I was about to answer, my mouth open and the words ready to fall from my lips, but another headache came. This scene was from a different time than the last, but Jackson was there again. We were walking together at what looked like a festival. The sun beat down on us, covering us in it's warmth. I felt my lips pull back in a gentle smile before I was looking at Brooksia once more. My skin tingled as felt as if I were laying out in the sun. I couldn't help the shake that ripped through me as I ran my hands across my arms. 

I had to be seeing glimpses of the past because Jackson had been there, but why was I seeing them in the first place? Whose eyes were I looking though when these scenes played in my head? And why, after my vision cleared, did my body feel like it was experiencing the sensations from what I saw? I hadn't moved an inch when that first glimpse played, and yet my muscles had felt like I had just gone on a run. And here it was a cold night, cold enough for a jacket, and yet I had the sensation of the warm rays of the sun crawling over my skin. 

The desire to get answers was strong, almost overwhelming, but with the shop closed, where else could I go? Anyone I talked to would think I had gone crazy if I start rambling about seeing things that weren't real, things that made my body remember certain feelings even though it hadn't happened. 

"Whatever your name is, can you answer me now?" asked Brooksia. "Or do you want to continue to just stand there?"

My eyes snapped up to look at her, anger in me again. "The name is January. I was in all but one of your classes last year, and we've been going to school together since second grade. But apparently you couldn't find it in yourself to condescend to a lower level to merely remember my name. No wonder there weren't too many people torn up about your death and Logan started sleeping with Cathy just three days later!"

I had been advancing on her as I spoke, watching her take frightened steps back. Lightning appeared in the sky and struck down as the words escaped me. I'm not totally sure why I had said all of that, though it was all true. I guess because I had been suppressing all my anger at everyone who acted just like her all my life and I had just now finally had enough and cracked.

The ground was scorched and smoking from where the lightning had hit it. I wondered if it was me who had caused it all, and knew I was when I looked up at the sky and saw that it was completely clear. 

"Now, if you can help me, then I will tell you what you want to know," I said. 

"What in the world could I help you with? I'm a ghost, remember?"

"I do. Can you go find Madame Boitti and ask her what is going on with me? My name is January Lancaster."

With a sigh, she vanished. There was a slight, barely existent pain forming in the back of my head and I willed the vision forward before the full headache arrived. Fortunately, it worked. This one was in a house, just like the first, but the time period seemed to be closer to the present. Some was standing in front of me, arms back as if protecting me. My protector and another man were talking, well, arguing really. I leaned to one side to get a look at the other man. That wasn't a good idea. 

With me leaned over, this other man could now see part of me and took aim with the gun in his hands. My protector had blinding fast reflexes and moved to catch the bullet. Jackson Levesque fell to the ground with a thud. No, he couldn't be dead, bullets couldn't kill a vampire. That's when I noticed the stake protruding from his chest. The attacker must have thrown it at the last second.

I felt tears run down my cheeks, and then I shrieked at the killer. Stupidly, I ran at him, rage taking me over. I grabbed the gun and managed to wrestle it away from him. Holding it in trembling hands, I pointed it right at him. At the last second, he pulled out another gun and we shot at the same moment. We both fell to the ground. Then the vision cleared.

Part of me knew, though I don't know how, that those three visions were from different time periods, different lives. 

"So, I talked to her," Brooksia said, appearing on a bench nearby. "She didn't seem surprised to see me, and had answer ready. She said a witch needs to know where she comes from."

I walked over and sat down on the bench as well, chewing over what she said. "What does that mean?'

Brooksia shrugged. "I asked her to elaborate and she said something else that just sounded like a riddle. Upon inquiring if she could speak English, I think she started getting annoyed with me and nearly screamed that you're seeing visions of your past lives. Apparently each one of them had been cut short, you were killed before you reached eighteen. All of your killers were caught expect the last one, who also killed Jackson Levesque, who apparently was a vampire."

"So, what? Am I supposed to figure out who killed my last self?"

She shrugged again. "Have you had a vision of him? Maybe he lives here in town."

"Impossible, we killed each other."

We both sighed. Then Brooksia shifted the way she was sitting so she was facing me, and I knew what she wanted.

"You died because you were hit by a car," I told her. "No one knows why you were alone, or where you were going. You didn't make it, survive the hit, because Logan Moore had been drunk, driving and and going at an incredibly high speed. In fact, I am kind of surprised you look so nice in your ghost form because he had been going so fast that you were nearly ripped in two."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing the images of finding her that night out of my head.

She gave a vicious sounding growl and a patch of grass caught fire before she disappeared.