Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

Slumped in the interrogation chair, I watched Robin meticulously sort through his notes with a feeling of defeat.

“It’s not true…” My voice was hoarse as I tried to explain, clinging to the last shreds of hope that seemed ready to dissolve into nothing.

I desperately wanted the police to see the real Melody, to clear my name, so that I could rest easy even in death.

But now, it seemed the truth would forever remain hidden. And my body would likely never be found.

*Officer Robin, she’s a con artist, a liar,” I murmured, my voice rough with desperation.

Why wouldn’t they believe me?

Why did no one want to believe me?

Why did everyone choose to believe Melody’s words?

“Robin, we’ve talked to a lot of folks, all who knew Phoebe, and not a single one had a good word to say about her. Seems this lady was really not well–liked,” a young cop entered the room, clearly siding with Melody. “But Melody, she seems kind–hearted. She didn’t report or press charges even after nearly dying from being pushed down the stairs. She even gave her a chance.”

Robin was still sorting through the paperwork, his pen pausing for a moment, “What we hear, what we see, it isn’t always the truth.”

“So what is the truth?” Cory asked, puzzled.

“Evidence.” Robin pointed to the paperwork. “I only trust evidence.”

Human nature could be so fickle; only evidence was conclusive.

I looked at Robin, feeling increasingly hopeless.

Without a body, no one would believe my story.

A policewoman walked in with a grim look on her face, “Robin, Colin’s medical report is in… There are scars from electrocution, all old wounds. Clearly, he’s been abused for a long time since his childhood.”

Robin’s brow furrowed as he took the report and glanced at it.

From where I sat, I could see the photo in the report: the scars from electrocution, burn marks, and the savage wounds from a whip that had healed over time were crisscrossing his body.

“He’s a pretty boy even if he’s lunatic. He’s covered in scars except for his face. Maybe some sicko at the orphanage did something because he is good–looking and a bit slow.” The

13-16

Chacter 21

policewoman empathized angrily. “These sick bastards.”

Robin didn’t say a word, just looked at the medical report in silence for a while before speaking. “This case isn’t related to him, and he has a history of mental illness, so he’s not legally responsible. Plus, he doesn’t have a guardian, so he’s not our problem.” NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

The policewoman understood Robin’s intent; they were going to release him.

“But Robin. He can be aggressive due to his mental disease. If he hurts someone out there… Cory worried.

“He’s a murderer! He’s a murderer!” I shouted at Robin. Why released him just because he’s mentally ill? Did that mean he could kill without facing the law?

He’s a murderer!

Even if he’s been through so much unfairness, he’s still a murderer! That’s not an excuse for hist crimes. He had killed so many innocent women.

“Did he ever lose control and harm someone before he attacked Kyle?” Robin asked.

Cory shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Those guys drove themselves to the old orphanage and provoked him first,” Robin defended Colin.

It was clear that Robin didn’t think Colin had done anything wrong.

I left the interrogation room in frustration, feeling powerless.

That Robin was such a fool by letting a murderer walk free right before his eyes. Because of his kindness, more innocent girls might suffer.

Outside the police station.

I could actually feel the coldness when I stood in the wind.

It was a bone–chilling sensation.

Colin was released. He was shivering slightly in the cold air, clearly affected by the temperature drop.

The weather had turned; the difference between day and night was stark. Colin was only wearing a worn hoodie, ill–fitting pants, and tattered shoes.

“Colin, someone’s come to bail you out, just wait here,” Robin called out, lighting up a cigarette. He must have been surprised that someone would bail out a mentally ill orphan.

Fearfully, I kept my distance from Colin, watching him from the doorway.

Colin kept his head down, then suddenly looked up, his gaze sweeping in my direction with a hint of shock.

I flinched, almost forgetting I was dead and invisible to the living.

13:16 m

But Colin’s glance felt as though he truly saw me.

Quickly, he averted his gaze, then lowered his eyes with resignation.

A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the station, and a middle–aged man stepped out, looking Kindly at Colin, “Young master, you’ve been hiding long enough. It’s time to come home.”

Colin eyed the man warily, clearly wanting to flee.

Two bodyguards emerged from the car, forcing Colin inside despite his struggle and flanking him on either side before driving away.

The glow of Robin’s cigarette brightened and dimmed in his hand, his thoughts inscrutable.

I wonder if he was as shocked as I was; he stood still for a long time without reacting like I did.

Young master?

A lunatic vagrant grown up in an orphanage turned out to be a ‘young master“?