"It's okay... You're okay," a familiar male voice whispered repeatedly into her ear.

Dorothy struggled to open her eyes, gasping for breath. Her gaze landed on her blood-soaked hand, and she nearly lost consciousness again.

"It's not your blood," the person whispered.

"Then whose is it?" The moment she asked, her eyes caught sight of a lifeless, familiar man in front of her. She wanted to scream—badly—but the words wouldn’t come out.

Slowly, the memories started to return. He had told her he loved her, that he would kill her because she didn’t love him too. He had confessed to killing her parents. He had pointed a gun at her...