Chapter 3

"Dad!" Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

"How did you end up like this?!"

The man on the bed had his eyes tightly shut, emaciated to just skin and bones, with sunken cheeks and a sallow complexion.

His throat had been cut open.

His body was full of tubes.

The nurse took out a device and skillfully lifted a section of the tube in my father's throat, inserting a thin tube to suction out the congested phlegm with a scratching sound.

After finishing the procedure, the nurse looked at me sympathetically, seeing my panicked face.

"If you need anything, press the call button."

Then she left.

All the muscles in my body felt frozen, numb and cold, as if I had lost all sensation.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

How could this be possible?

This year was supposed to be 2025. I was doing an internship, about to become a full-time employee, realizing my long-held dream of becoming a forensic pathologist!

The office was on holiday, and I was busy sorting through files on my phone.

My dad and mom were in the living room, laughing and making dumplings.

Fireworks were going off outside, and the TV in the living room was blasting music. A robot was doing a traditional dance, tossing a handkerchief.

My parents laughed, joking that instead of having the robot toss a handkerchief, they might as well have it throw grenades.

How did it suddenly...

Is this really not just a nightmare?

I reached out my hand, and the moment I touched my father's withered, cold body,

Countless memories forcefully flooded into my brain.

On New Year's Eve in 2005, my mom, returning home from her night shift, encountered the infamous serial killer.

He brutally murdered her and dumped her body in the neighborhood garbage bin.

After that, the killer went dormant and never struck again.

My mom became his last victim.

My warm and loving home collapsed completely that night.

The killer not only took my mom's life but also took away my dad and ruined my life.

My dad, holding my mom's corpse, suffered a severe mental breakdown.

From then on, he fell into depression, smoking and drinking heavily.

He couldn't get over the pain of losing my mom.

He started to neglect me.

As a result, I had to start working right after finishing middle school to support myself and my dad.

To survive, I did all kinds of hard and menial jobs.

I've broken dishes, assembled screws, carried cement.

I watched as my once close classmates drifted away, no longer able to relate to each other.

One by one, they entered university, striving for their life's ideals.

Some even went abroad.

While I could only hide in the distance.

Enviously watching their backs.

I thought my life would forever be under a dark cloud.

Until I met my wife, the love of my life.

I had my own little family, and I thought the hard days were finally over.

But then we found out my dad had late-stage lung cancer.

What followed was a long and grueling process of chemotherapy and surgery, draining our savings and leaving us in debt.

Yet his life was still coming to an end.

I took out my phone, and the date really was January 30, 2014.

With trembling hands, I searched for information about that serial killing case.

The murderer was still at large.

Online, you could see some photos of the victims taken after they were killed. Even though they were blurred, they were still unbearable to look at.

The name and picture of the last victim.

Instead of Lily Thompson, it was now my mom.

Sarah Johnson...