Jodi Arias Crime Scene

During my night shift, I refused to help my adopted sister administer fluids to her patient. After the wrong drug is given, I watch a seven-year-old boy die after he suffers an allergic reaction right before my eyes. In my previous life, the boy's family stormed the nurses' station after I'd just finished administering his IV medication. The next thing I knew, I was violently beaten up. "You poisoned my grandchild by giving him the wrong medicine!" But the fluid I introduced into his bloodstream was a simple glucose solution. It couldn't have led to such a disastrous outcome. When I was on the brink of passing out, someone called the police. I thought help had finally arrived, but I was sorely mistaken. The police officer—my brother—pinned me to the ground. "We found your prints on the drug vial. You're a murderer." Then, my childhood friend, a forensic pathologist, held up an autopsy report and accused me of the same crime. "The patient's time of death is around 5:00 am. That's the same time you administered drugs into his system." Unable to prove my innocence, I was ultimately beaten to death by the boy's enraged family members. My brother and my childhood friend had always loved me. Even on the brink of death, I couldn't understand why they would do this to me. Now, I open my eyes and find myself back on the night it all began.

A fierce storm erupts on a mountain peak at 25,561 feet, trapping me in the mountain camp under heavy snow. My husband, the leader of the mountain excursion squad, ignores my desperate pleas and hands the last oxygen tank to his beloved true love. "You're a professional climber—you won't die from missing a few breaths," he snaps. "Olivia has always been frail. Without oxygen, she's done for!" I watch as the two of them lean on each other, making their way down the cliffside, and I fall into complete despair. He's already forgotten that my body hasn't been able to survive without oxygen at high altitudes since saving him two years ago.

My sister, Gabriella Rutherfurd, is the richest female CEO in Brightshire. Her male secretary, Freddie Morgan, mentions that he wants to see a real-life version of the Squid Game, so she builds the venue and spends 100 million dollars to make it happen. The lure of a gigantic cash prize draws in countless desperate souls. Even the bodyguards responsible for protecting my brother-in-law, Cyril Harding, abandon their posts to participate. Cyril has no choice but to go to the hospital without the bodyguards for his medical appointment, but he is abducted halfway there. In my previous life, I found Gabriella and asked her to stop the game and send people to rescue Cyril. After hesitating, Gabriella agreed. She stopped the game and managed to save Cyril just in time. But the few players who had made it to the final round were furious that the game was canceled. To vent their rage, they took Freddie and beat him to death. Gabriella acted like it had nothing to do with me. Yet, on the day Freddie was buried, she ordered her men to beat me up. When I open my eyes again, I am back to the day that Cyril was abducted. This time, Gabriella gets what she wants, and the Squid Game is held as planned. By the final round, a masked man is dragged onto the high platform. Freddie announces that whoever slices the man's head off will win the 100-million-dollar prize. When Cyril's head rolls to Gabriella's feet, she finally snaps.

As my due date approaches, my husband's precious mistress falls into the water at a banquet. After being rescued, she immediately accuses me of pushing her. To "avenge" her, he throws me into a modified stainless steel water tank. I beg him, pleading for the sake of our unborn children. But he only sneers. "Don't try to use the babies to guilt me! You've still got a week before you're due. I know exactly how vicious you are—any child of yours would be just as rotten. Stay in there and reflect on your behavior. I'll let you out when you finally admit you're wrong!" Five days later, my husband returns home from a night out with his mistress, calling for me to come downstairs and serve them, as always. He doesn't know that my babies and I have already rotted beyond recognition.

As Zayla Scott, my husband's first love, pushes me down the stairs, he's in the kitchen, thoughtfully making her a warm drink. When she sees I survived, she hires someone to assault me and has me thrown into the bear enclosure at the zoo. It's only after the bears tore me apart that my husband finally remembers I exist. "All I did was refuse to take time off to pay my respects to your mother with you. How could you be so cruel, Joey? You're a zookeeper—it's your job! Why would you force Zayla, who's pregnant, to care for savage creatures? "Get over here and give Zayla a blood transfusion right now, or I'll dig up your mother's grave myself!" He doesn't know that all that's left of me is my broken body.

After lights-out, I make my roommates play with an Ouija board with me. Being the scaredy-cat she is, my roommate decides to ask something stupid, "Where did my earphones go?" I almost burst out laughing. I can't believe she's using it to find her earphones. To our surprise, the planchette starts to move. It spells out, "It's under your bed beside the eye." We exchange glances in confusion. What eye? I snort and get out of bed. Using my phone's flashlight, I check under the bed. Nothing is there. Before I can make fun of my roommate for being superstitious, the door slams open. The student who stays next door barges into our room, her face as pale as a sheet. Her voice trembles as she shouts, "Wake up! Everyone on campus is going wild! Someone found an eyeball in our dorm!"

At one in the morning, the neighbor upstairs suddenly knocked on my door. He said there was a leak in his apartment and asked if our place had been affected. I was just about to open the door when my vision was flooded with comments. [Open the door, and you're dead! That man outside is not your neighbor!] [Didn't the old man upstairs who lived alone go to Marcasia last week to find his new love interest? There shouldn't be anyone up there at all!] I immediately pulled away from the doorknob. At that moment, an emergency notice popped up in the residential property chat. [Unit 1307 has a burst pipe with severe leakage. Property management will inspect the building's water system.] [Is anyone home in 1207? We need to check whether your ceiling is leaking. Please open the door.] Unit 1207 was my place. The comments flooded my vision again. [What kind of property management does inspections at one in the morning? They're in on it together!] [Bea, stay hidden! Your destined man will descend from the heavens to save you!] I nodded solemnly, as if I was taking them very seriously. I turned around and grabbed my climbing rope. Amid the hysterical screaming of the comments, I leapt straight off the balcony. I'm someone who got a second life. Last time around, my entire life was ruined by listening to these brain-dead comments. This time, I'd rather die from the fall than end up as a breeding machine again.

Three years after I died, Stella, my wife, decided to divorce me and marry her dying ex. She stormed into my old house like she owned the place, forcing me to sign the divorce agreement. Mom told her the truth—I was already gone. Stella rolled her eyes. "Why's he still pretending? Harvey's dying. I just wanna be there for him. What's so wrong about that? If he won't come out, I'm done paying your medical bills." She thought threatening Mom would shake something loose. But what Stella didn't get? Mom had already stopped treatment. She was just hanging on to watch her crack.

Claire thought she was done with her husband. Claire Grace Channing left a life of violence and crime behind her when she took her son away from the Steel Claw Motorcycle Club, and away from her husband, the Vice President of the club and the love of her young life. But when Claire's father -- the president of the MC -- is grievously injured, she returns home and finds herself drawn back to the man she thought she left in her past.

When I was ten, I bugged my brother to come home for my birthday. He died in a plane crash that day. They never found his body. After that, my parents saw me as a total screw-up. They blamed me for his death. Every year on his memorial day, they forced me to kneel at the cemetery and repent my mistakes. I did that for eight years. I figured I'd spend my whole life paying for it. But on my 18th birthday, some creep stalked and murdered me. Right before I died, I tried calling for help. But my mom chewed me out. "I bet you're just dodging your duty to make up for James. You're full of crap. If you hadn't forced him to come back, he would have been alive. This is what you deserve." She hung up, leaving me staring at the dead screen. My last hope was dashed. She was right. Someone like me meant nothing but bad luck to those around me. I didn't deserve to exist. But then, eight years after his death, James showed up with his pregnant wife. When they heard I was gone, they fell apart.