Daniel’s hands trembled as he reached for the sheet. When he pulled it back, he was met with a gruesome sight. My face had been butchered, my features obliterated by deep, jagged slashes. My ears were missing, my eye sockets hollow, and my skin had been peeled away in places, exposing raw muscle and bone.
He staggered back in horror. His mind raced as he recalled the photos sent to him from my phone by the killer. He had dismissed them as a sick joke, a cry for attention. But now, face-to-face with the truth, he couldn’t process it.
"No... This isn’t her. This can’t be Amelia," he whispered, clutching his phone like a lifeline. Desperately, he dialed my number again. "She’s still alive! This isn’t her!"
The phone rang, and this time, it connected. His heart leaped, a glimmer of hope sparking in his chest. "Amelia! Answer me! Tell me you’re okay!"
But the voice on the other end wasn’t mine. It was a nurse, holding up a phone that had been taken from my body. "Dr. Carter," she said softly, "this was found with the deceased."
"No!" Daniel screamed, shaking his head in denial. "You’re all lying!"