After Rebirth, I Cleared My Name Through a Drunk Driving Incident Chapter 02

After Rebirth, I Cleared My Name Through a Drunk Driving Incident Chapter 02

I sat there in the driver’s seat, soaked in cold sweat. My hands and feet were freezing. I couldn’t stop shaking.

The fear from my last life still clung to me. The dark. The cold. The voices calling me a psycho, a freak, a murderer.

And I had done nothing.

I knew this wasn’t a dream. I had really come back.

And I knew one thing for sure. If I drove into that garage at 8:30, I’d pass out. When I woke up, Jessica’s body would be next to me. Every piece of evidence would point at me again. I’d still be convicted. I’d still die. And I’d still die without knowing who the real killer was.

No. Not this time. This time, I was not walking back into that death trap.

But what could I do? I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go into that garage. I couldn’t be alone.

The setup was too perfect. If I showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time, I was dead. My last life had already proved that. I did nothing, and I still ended up as the perfect murderer.

I took a deep breath. Somehow, the more terrified I got, the clearer my mind became.

I needed an alibi no one could tear apart. Something solid. Something impossible to fake.

There was only one answer. I had to be in police custody.

If law enforcement had me in their hands, on camera, on record, under watch, then no one could shove me back into that murder scene.

I looked up. Red and blue lights flashed ahead. A DUI checkpoint.

I stared at it, and a crazy idea formed in my head. I was going to drive drunk. I was going to get caught on purpose. I was going to make sure the police took me in.

That way, at 8:30, I’d be at the station instead of the parking garage waiting to be framed.

One lesser crime to dodge a death sentence. That was my only way out.

I reached into the glove box. There was a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniel’s inside. A friend had given it to me over the holidays, and I’d never touched it.

Now I yanked it out, twisted off the cap, and the sharp smell of whiskey hit me hard.

I didn’t hesitate. I tipped it back and took two huge swallows.

It burned all the way down—my throat, my chest, my stomach. I almost gagged. But inside, I felt nothing except cold resolve.

I started the engine and rolled toward the checkpoint. Every second felt like death grabbing at my back. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

An officer knocked on my window. “Pull over, turn off the engine, and show me your license and insurance.”

I did exactly that. Then I made myself look tired, annoyed, just irritated enough to seem difficult. I couldn’t act too cooperative. If I made this easy, they might process me too fast and let me go.

I needed them to remember me. I needed more records. More eyes on me. More proof.

The officer held out a breathalyzer. “Blow.”

I blew hard. A second later, the thing lit up red and screamed.

The officer’s face changed. “You’re over the limit. Step out of the vehicle.”

Inside me, something heavy dropped. Good. That was exactly what I needed.