Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

I fitted a glass with water and carried it into the bedroom, only to find Colin burning up with

fever.

He was curled up on the bed, the blanket untouched beside him.

A pang of concern hit me. How had he managed all these years with such poor self–care skills?

“Phoebe…”

Freached for the thermometer, but Colin caught my wrist and pulled me down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me.

Even sick, he had the strength of an ox.

“I’m scared,” he murmured with a muffled groan, pulling me closer, Now he thought to cover us both with the blanket, his long legs circling mine as if he feared I’d escape.

“What are you afraid of?” I asked, puzzled,

“I’m afraid of sleeping alone…” He feared waking up to find his dreams shattered.

“Phoebe, tell me, which do you think is the real world – dreams or reality?” Colin whispered.

“Who knows?” I was just as lost.

“Do you know why we see our memories from a bird’s–eye view?” he continued in a soft voice.

His question stumped me. Indeed, my childhood memories seemed to play out from that very perspective.

“Is it possible that when we return to those moments in time, we’re no longer ourselves?” Colin’s voice deepened, his grip on my hand tightening.

1 pondered his words for a long time without understanding.

This probably was the thinking of a madman or a genius, beyond the grasp of ordinary folks like

1. me.

“Want some water?” I coaxed softly, turning to look at him. He had fallen asleep.

He always seemed to drift off so easily when I was with him.

His eyelashes were long, his skin flawless, not a pore in sight. It was almost infuriating he’d been wandering for so long, wearing ill–fitting clothes, and yet his skin was better than those who spent fortunes on skincare.

The room was filled with a clean scent reminiscent of sandalwood, indescribably soothing and sleep– inducing.

I don’t remember drifting off; I just simply did in Colin’s arms.

10:09

When I woke up, it was ten o’clock, and the night had fallen completely. Colin was gone.

A sense of dread filled me. I grabbed my phone, but there were no calls from Melody.

Upon checking, I found my phone had been set to Do Not Disturb.

Colin’s doing…

“Where’s Colin?”

The spacious villa was dim and eerily quiet. There was no maid, only an old butler still weeding

in the yard.

“Hello, have you seen Caleb?” I asked, anxiety creeping into my voice.

The butler, perhaps hard of hearing or suffering from some impairment, just glanced at me and

continued his work. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

It was ten at night, and he was still weeding.

A large dog emerged from the bushes and lay obediently at my feet. It looked gentle; ears perked like a wolf’s, big eyes brimming with innocence and a pitiful charm.

For some reason, it reminded me of Colin.

“Sir, where’s Caleb?” I asked again.

The old man set down his hoe and used sign language to convey he didn’t know.

Not understanding sign language, I had no choice but to call Eric.

Today, Melody had promised the police she’d help draw out a murderer, and I hoped Colin wouldn’t show up.

Eric didn’t pick up my call, so I tried Robin next.

Robin also didn’t answer; he must be watching over Melody.

They had to make sure she was safe.

As long as Melody was alive, it meant the murderer hadn’t made another move. The murderer must be desperate, eager for Melody’s death.

“Foebe Larson, why didn’t you come?” I dialed Melody’s number, and her voice sounded panicked on the other end. “Foebe, where are you? He’s after me. Save me, please, I don’t want

to die!”

I stared at the phone, a bitter laugh escaping me.

Was this Melody’s game?

Was she tasting the despair I felt before my death?