Flint and I read through the rest of the book to ensure there weren’t any other possible candidates. Nevertheless, we found that all the other claimed victims had no occupation related to an office job. Not wanting to rely on one conclusion, we looked through different books to learn more about Samuel Platt’s death. Interestingly in Cold cases: Brixton’s Dark History, we found a detailed description of Samuel Platt’s seemingly unusual death.

“What the hell?” Flint remarked in response to the grotesque page. Both of us were in mute shock at what we were looking at. On this page was a passage that went into deep detail about the death scene, which was associated with a grotesque on-site picture. The black and white image depicted a twisted, bloodied body at the bottom of concrete stairs. The dried stains on the walls implied an apparent struggle, showing that this was no accident. The neck was bent at the most unnatural angle, with a pool of blood pouring from an open wound on the head. This wound looked like a complete split through the skull, possibly due to the impact against the concrete wall. The rest of the body was sprawled out and contorted into a disgusting human pretzel. 

“Holy…” I shuddered. My stomach churned uncomfortably the more I looked at the image, so I turned away. “A psycho like Matthew Whitlock… there’s no way he didn’t do this.” Flint, too, turned away from the book.

“No doubt… even the book acknowledges how this shouldn’t really be a cold case…”.

“No, that’s full of shit.” I temporarily ignored my discomfort and went back to the page. Reading through parts of the page, I read the most critical details aloud. “Police found signs of another person in the building, even though neither should’ve been there in the first place. Unfortunately, investigators found little forensic evidence to narrow down to a proper suspect. Even more, Samuel Platt was found to have no animosities or distastes against any persons of interest who would reasonably murder him. Although, Brixton’s Ghost, ‘Matthew Whitlock’, claimed to have been the murderer….” I looked up from the book. “Then it goes on to say that his literal confession holds no substance and is therefore exempt from jail time… how in the hell does that work?”

“That’s why it’s considered a cold case I guess,” Flint blatantly stated. “When it comes to the law, I’m no expert, but I’m assuming that even confessions to crimes aren’t enough for jail time. There needs to be actual, definitive evidence.”

“What more do they need? There’s proof of a struggle with another individual AND a confession from a psycho, who, according to the other book, has actually killed someone before!” I was raising my voice too much, which caused the library lady to walk over to our table.

“Are you gentlemen having a problem?” she sweetly asked. “You are causing quite a ruckus at your table.”

“Sorry ma’am,” Flint apologized, picking up Matthew Whitlock, Brixton’s Very Own Ghost and Cold cases: Brixton’s Dark History. “We’ll like to check these out, though.” The woman nodded and gestured Flint over to the front desk. Meanwhile, I gathered all of the books we looked through and put them into two portable stacks. With great balance and carefulness, I carried the stacks back through the maze of shelves and put them back in their designated spot. Having already done so, I could track my footsteps back to the study section, finding Flint holding the two books and waiting by the entrance to the staircase.

“Anyways, like I was saying– he pled insanity, which is a loophole around the law to not get into jail.”  I opened the door for Flint and followed him down the stairs. “If he wants to, Whitlock can ‘show improvement’, leave that asylum, and then walk around a free man.”

“What about all the crimes he confessed to but didn’t commit?” Flint questioned as he rushed down the stairs. “He seems like an extreme schizophrenic who confuses between what’s real and imaginary. He’s probably legitimately mentally unhealthy.”

“For all we know, his schizophrenia could’ve been a ploy to excuse any actual crimes he did commit,” I retorted. We reached the bottom floor and exited the building into the sunfilled day. “And even if it’s not him, who else? Everyone was out for the weekend, so I should’ve been by myself in that building. I believe that Whitlock lured me to the office to kill me in a private space.”

“What’s the point of doing that if he’s gonna admit to killing you anyways?”

“You said it yourself; he’s a lunatic! He probably gets off from covering up crimes then admitting to have comitted them. Killing me was just one of his sick pleasures.”

“Okay, pause,” Flint stopped in his tracks. “So– this ‘Samuel Platt’– he is someone else, right?” I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

“I guess, yeah.”

“But you keep referring to him in the first person. ‘I this’ and ‘I that’... won’t that get a little confusing?” Flint made a good point. It was a subconscious choice to talk about him as if I was him… and in some way, I was. 

“Yeah, I guess it’ll be good to refer to him as ‘Sam’ or something. Somewhat should keep things clear.” Flint nodded. 

“Okay, I just needed to be sure.” We resumed walking, except he seemed to have picked up his pace. “Anyways, let’s get to the dorm and cool down; it is HOT today.”

The weekend passed by relatively smoothly. I was tempted to have more of my past-visions but decided it best to avoid doing anything too outrageous. In place of that, I read up more on Samuel Platt and his day-to-day life. It was essential to find as much information as possible since most in-book details focused primarily on the uniqueness of his death. Unfortunately, not even online websites were no help in finding out more about who he was. This probably means that my past-visions are the best bet to learn more about his life.

“Ughh, let’s just go back to doing nothing all day again,” Flint drawled from the confines of his bed. “I’m too tired to do anything for class today. I’ll just sleep in.”

“Just get up already you big tub of lard,” I insulted as I pulled a shirt over my head. “There was nothing we did that could’ve possibly made you so tired.”

“Yeah, there was– your talking yesterday made me tired of your shit,” he joked. After mumbling and groaning, he finally mustered up the motivation to roll out of his bed. Without waiting any longer, I walked out of the room as he changed into new clothes. It took until I was entirely out of the building when Flint finally jogged beside me. As usual, this little exercise was exhausting for him since he struggled to breathe.

“What’s the big hurry?” he panted.

“I messed up Friday; I should’ve been able to talk to Melissa at least a little bit, but I let my dad get out of the way. This time, I’m gonna talk to her about the study group.”

“Man, that confidence almost convinces me that you’re actually gonna do it.” I laughed at his brusque comment.

“I’m not asking her out… but I am gonna use this as a chance to get some time to talk to her finally. Plus, you’ll be there alongside me, being my wingman.”

“Yeah, sure, Romeo. I’ll help as much as I can.” He over-animatedly winked at me, to which I responded with a scoff.

“Look, you’ve been complaining about how I complain about being single. On top of that, I also have some sort of supernatural psychic ability to see into the past. I’d rather deal with just one issue for the rest of this year, so might as well start solving one now.” He opened his mouth to talk back but immediately shut it after seeing my point. Instead, he gave a slight “mhm”, and focused back on walking. 

Again, Dr. Fisher assigned some difficult homework due the next class. He also made some offhand comments about how Flint and I tend to be “lacking” during class sessions, despite our high grades. Nonetheless, I paid no attention to the strenuous lecture today. Throughout the class period, I stared into the void, thinking desperately of how to approach Melissa. 

“It’s no big deal… I’m just asking if she wants to do that study group… I’m overthinking it,” I concluded. Once the period ended, I knew there was no time to be wasted before I striked. As nonchalantly as possible, I left my backpack behind and walked up to her. Mirroring last week’s event, I stood in line to talk to the professor, but this time it was only her and me. No other student wanted to speak to the professor, and Flint was already waiting by the door.

“What do you need?” Dr. Fisher drably asked. He clearly wanted to leave the room, but luckily I had already prepped a simple question for him.

“For the homework due Wednesday, am I allowed to use chapters that we haven’t yet covered?” Dr. Fisher tends to search for things wrong in what I say, but this time he looked visibly annoyed since there were no problems with my question.

“Um… sure. Make sure not to use chapters five or seven since we’ll go over those next time.” He dismissed me with a rude wave, so I returned to my desk to pack up my things. If everything goes according to plan, I should take a while to pack up until Melissa leaves the classroom. Hopefully, I can catch her before she gets in the elevator. 

Before I could even put the first folder in my backpack, she had already begun walking out of the classroom. Flint mutely yelled, indicating I was about to lose a good chance. In sheer panic, I stuffed the rest of my items into the bag, not worrying about the state that they would result in. Dr. Fisher, too, was walking out of the class, so I hurriedly rushed past him. He shouted something I couldn’t quite hear, but I ignored it and turned around the hallway corner. This careless move resulted in me running into the back of someone.

“Oof– oops,” a small voice cried as I bumped into them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I apologized. Noticing some dropped items, I stooped down to help pick everything up. “That was completely my fault. I should’ve watched where I was going.” As I reached down to pick up a folder, I recognized the purple-themed supplies. Looking up, I found that the person I bumped into was none other than Melissa herself.

“Marcus! Why in such a rush?” she sweetly asked. Surprisingly unbothered, she, too, bent down to pick up her items. This was a diversion from the original plan, but it was a good diversion nonetheless. 

“Oh… hey Melissa! I didn’t recognize it was you.” I neatly gathered the rest of her items and handed them to her. “Um– I was actually trying to ask you something.” My heart was beating out of my ribcage, but this was no time to wuss out.

“Really? What’d you want to ask?” she resituated and looked up at me with glowing hazel eyes. I slowed my breathing and settled my mind. After all, the only thing I’m asking her about is studying.

“Well– Flint and I were gonna do a small study group with just the three of us.” Her face lit up.

“Oh yeah, Flint mentioned that on Friday! Were you thinking of having it soon?”

“Yeah,” I sighed in relief; she seemed comfortable with the idea. “I was thinking tomorrow around five?” 

“Ah, I actually have training until five-thirty…”. This comment somewhat brought my hopes down. For all I know, she could be lying for the benefit of not meeting me. “What about six? I can rush the training pretty quickly if you’d like.” Her offer raised my hope again.

“Uhh yeah, sure! That’d be great!” I smiled. She giggled at my enthusiasm.

“Awesome, where are we gonna meet at?”

“Oh, I was thinking of either my dorm or one of the library lounges. Flint gave you my number, right? I can call you beforehand.” She nodded optimistically.

“Sounds good! I need to start getting ready for my next class, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” As she went to the elevator, she gave a small wave, which I mirrored. Her pure buoyancy put me in a trance, making me imagine all types of beautiful scenarios in which I would be with her. Flint broke me out of this trance by roughly nudging my shoulder.

“Yo, watch your eyes. You’re looking like a creep.” He smirked, then reached out his hand. “Congratulations, sir, you have successfully scheduled an informal personal meeting with the love of your life,” he stated in a business-like tone. “I wish you good luck in your endeavors.” I took hold of his outstretched hand and shook it with exaggerated vigor.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ingram,” I responded similarly. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” We both walked to the elevator while maintaining the faux professional mood, giving each other stupid compliments. Eventually, we couldn’t stick to our composure and we both laughed at our dumb humor. “Jokes aside, thanks for sticking by me. Tomorrow when we all are studying together, I’ll do my best not to be awkward anymore.”

“Ay, don’t worry about that,” he patted my back. “I’m proud of you, Scarman. I’ll probably do the same if you're working on yourself. Hanging out with your girlfriend always will give me the advantage of going to the gym super often.” The elevator doors opened, and we entered the cold building atmosphere. The warm outside air contrasted with this temperature as we stepped into the sights of the beaming Sun.

“Damn! Wasn’t this morning in the low sixties? How the hell does the weather change that fast?” I exclaimed. Small pellets of sweat were already forming along the perimeter of my hairline. “The Sun’s really killing me today!”

“Yeah…” Flint agreed. “Ya know, speaking about killing and whatnot, what’s the plan for Samuel Platt?” 

“I’ve been thinking about that. I think the best bet is to have another past-vision, just to confirm with one hundred percent certainty that I really used to be Sam Platt.” 

“That makes sense, but I think you should take a break from this past-vision stuff.” He scanned me up and down with a worried expression. “I don’t know if I’m overthinking, but lately, you’ve been looking less– um– well.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

“Well… as I said, I don’t know if it’s just over–speculation… but you’ve been looking more exhausted. The other day, at the library, you looked drained. Like you haven’t eaten in days. I remember walking out of the bathroom, and you were lying down on a bench. Something about you just looked… dead.” I looked at Flint puzzled, but knew exactly what he was talking about. I was on that bench because of that weird deja vu, in which I felt to have drowned. 

“Yeah no. I’m completely fine. The night before was the Friday food truck thing, so I was just a bit exhausted from that.” He didn’t look convinced.

“I get that, but I still think you should avoid your dream visions–”

“Past-visions,” I corrected. “And look, I’ll do one quick past-vision tonight, then I’ll be done for the rest of the week, promise!” I looked at him gleefully, hoping to alleviate the tension. Flint still looked apprehensive, so we continued the rest of the route back to the dorms in silence. 

We finished the last of our classes and had the rest of the day to ourselves. Neither Flint nor I were particularly hungry, so we decided to go back to the library to finish homework and do extra research on Sam Platt. The private study section allowed me to finish the unnecessarily extensive anthropology work that Dr. Fisher assigned, so I could play on my phone and read up more on Flint’s The History of Conspiracy book. Meanwhile, Flint himself was focused on his English and Computer Science work.

“Don’t you wanna get that Anthro work out of the way?” I asked. “It’s alot of work to get through. I kinda bs’d half of it but it works out.” He typed a couple more sentences on his laptop before responding.

“Nah, neither of my classes are in session tomorrow; only need to watch a couple videos for them. Other than that, I have all the time to finish that later.” He went back to typing on his laptop.

“Man, if I were you I wouldn’t worry about any homework today. I’d use tonight to not worry about anything.”

“Yeah, but aren’t we meeting with Melissa that evening?” he asked, focusing on his laptop.  “And about that, where are we gonna study?” 

“Yeah, good point.” I pulled out my phone to text Melissa but paused before pressing on her number. “Should I finalize the location now? Or maybe I should wait until tomorrow, I did tell her that I’d send something later on after all. Actually, no. I should call her just to make sure. Wait, that would be even worse, huh? Maybe that’s not a good idea. Or I could actually–”

“Yo, shut up,” Flint interrupted. “I know you want to be considerate of not being annoying about her, but it’s not helping if you have some cheesy grade-A romcom panic attack. Just chill out and find out later.” he typed a couple more things, then paused. “Ya know what, I think I’m done! Did you find anything interesting?” I had almost forgotten that the conspiracy book was still in my hands.

“Nah, nothing noteworthy.” I shut it and handed it to Flint to put it in his backpack. “If you’re done, then we should head back now. It’s almost sundown. Plus, I still need to have that past-vision.”

“I don’t know if ‘need’ is the right terminology,” he commented, shutting his laptop and putting it in his bag. “You’re being too hasty on this… all I’m asking is to drop it for a few days.” I sighed in annoyance.

“Flint, I said this before and I’ll say it again. I’m fine! You don’t need to doctor me whenever I do something.” Rather than responding, he slightly rolled his eyes and scoffed. This slight movement pissed me off, but I immediately relinquished my sour mood by standing up and setting down the book. “Okay, well, I’ll be at the dorm if you need me. I’ll get the vision over with, and I’ll be back, good as new!” Not waiting for permission, I got up and walked to the stairwell.

“Yo, Marc. Hold up!” he called out from behind. Without wasting time, I burst through the stairwell doors and climbed down as fast as possible. I just need to know, that’s all! I’m looking for one tiny detail, and that’s it! As I stepped outside, Flint’s voice called out again, having just exited the elevator. “Marcus, I’m just saying that you don’t look well! Wait two days– a day at the very least.” The two of us speed-walked to the dorms, with Flint lagging slightly behind. He kept pleading for me to reconsider and take a break, but I have already made my decision.

 I didn’t have a past-vision yesterday, so I have already waited long enough. It was infuriating to hear Flint act as though I’m doing this too much. Doesn’t he understand the importance of this? Doesn’t he get that all my life, I had nothing interesting to do? Now that I have that chance, he’s taking it away from me and acting just like my dad. No matter what he says, I’m going to see into the past and learn more about who Samuel Platt was– who I was.

“Marcus. Marcus! Come on man, you’re fucking losing it!” He was having difficulty keeping up with my pace, yet persisted in catching up. Noticing this, I walked faster and faster, turning into a slight jog. I, too, was tired, but my mind was far too active to rest. After passing a few buildings, the dorm building finally came into view. At this point, I have left Flint far behind. Still, not wanting him to catch up, I ran to the building and rushed inside. 

I was about to climb the stairs but found myself to be far too tired. So, I ran to the elevators and pressed the button impatiently. Irritatingly enough, the elevator was at the top floor, indicated by the electric sign above the doors. The annoying thing about the dorms was that the elevators would usually take a while to move, even when it’s between two nearby floors. I watched the electronic sign change from floor five to four, as it beeped monotonously. After a few moments, it beeped again, changing the sign from four to three. As this happened, outside of the dorm’s glass doors, I saw Flint come into view. He looked so tired that he was practically dragging himself to the doors. It didn’t make it any better that he had to hold both the big conspiracy book and his backpack at the same time. 

“Come on… hurry…” I sighed. The sign beeped again, changing from three to two. “Almost here… almost here.” I looked out at Flint again, seeing that he was now opening the front doors, but very slowly.

“Y-you… asshole,” he panted. “Please… you’re not well…”. Finally, the sign beeped again, switching from two to one. Once the doors opened, I rushed in and immediately pushed the close button. Right before he could reach the buttons, the doors closed and the elevator began to rise. 

I leaned against the wall, trying my best to catch my breath. For some strange reason, I just felt so… tired. Has today really been that long of a day? I’ve jogged before, so how come there’s so much struggle now? The doors finally opened to my floor, allowing me to stumble out into the hall. Impressively, though, Flint also entered the floor, having just gone up the stairs. 

“You… bitch,” he wailed. His deep gasps for air and dripping face clearly indicated how tired he was. “You- you little…”. I disregarded his insults and rushed down the hall to our room. Weakly, yet enduringly, I reached into my pocket to grab the student card from my wallet. Flint followed slowly, but closely. It was an effort to fish out the card, but once I did, I stretched out my hand as I approached the room. In an exhausting, valiant effort, Flint grabbed at my shirt to pull me back.

“What the hell are you doing?” I fumed. “Why’re you acting like I’m destroying myself?”

“Be- because you are,” he faltered. 

His grip was losing strength, so I was able to wrestle out of his hold and get to our room. It took a couple of tired swipes, but the door finally unlocked after the fifth attempt, and I scrambled inside. With no hesitation, I jumped onto my bed and raised my hand. I strained myself to focus on Samuel Platt’s name, hoping to zero in on it and find evidence of his name in my vision. Before I could place my fingers on my birthmark, though, a pair of strong hands took hold of my forearm.

“Stop it! You’re being ridiculous Marcus!” Flint yelled, pulling me away from my bed. “Why are you so desperate? Why can’t you just wait?” I did my best to shove him away, but for some reason, it was hard to muster the strength. It was getting hard for me to breathe, and my arms began to ache from his grip. Eventually, his clasp wavered and I pushed him off of me. “Marc! Stop it! You’ll–,” he yelled. Unlucky for him, he was too late. I rubbed my fingers clockwise and succumbed to the black void. 

This time, there were no flashing lights. In fact, there was nothing at all. The subsequent stages of my past-vision weren’t taking place; there were no changing colors, no random noises, nothing. The black void was all that there was. This terrified me. Is this what death is? Is this what infinite suffering in the afterlife is like? Flint's aggressive attempts to stop me were probably enough to kill me. But I feel alive. Nevertheless, now, I’m doomed to live an eternity of black nothingness. I couldn’t scream or move. This unwarranted void was trapping me… holding me away… forever.

No. There is something. I couldn’t tell exactly what, but there was something. It seemed like… a noise? Was it music? Was it a song? No, that’s not what it is. It sounds familiar. In fact, it sounds close. It wasn’t a random noise nor was it music… it was a voice… calling out a name. My name. But this wasn’t my name… not my current name, at least. The voice… it’s calling Samuel Platt’s name. It’s just repeating his first name over and over again: Sam… Sam… Sam…

Who is the owner of this voice? I’ve heard them before. I’ve known them before. Was this someone important? Special? Who is calling me into their domain?