Chapter 2

The screen displayed a scene not long after Wyatt and Margie had passed away.

Kneeling before their graves, I traced the cold surface of their headstones with trembling fingers.

A flicker of clarity returned to my eyes as I watched the playback, my heart feeling as if it were being shredded. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks.

In my dazed state, I momentarily forgot the searing pain coursing through my body. It was as if I could hear Margie's voice as she served warm soup, or see Wyatt leaning on his cane.

The surrounding onlookers murmured among themselves.

"Look at how heartbroken she is. Could it be that there's more going on than we know?"

"Killers often return to the scene of the crime. She must've gone back to admire her handiwork."

"I gotta hand it to her. She's still putting on an act even after they're gone. If she truly cared about Wyatt and Margine, why wouldn't she just tell us the truth?"

Roland stared at the memory playback, trembling violently. "Wendy, why? Why won't you just tell me the truth?"

Trisha gripped my chin mockingly, sneering, "Quite the performance you've put on. Who are you kneeling for, you murderess? Playing the dutiful daughter-in-law? I bet you're just afraid that someone might be watching! Well, not everyone is fooled by your act!"

I struggled desperately to break free from her grip when suddenly, the memory on the screen shifted.

A group of people approached the cemetery. I was shoved into a burlap sack, then blows rained down on me. The sickening crack of my ribs fractured the air between their snarled curses, and soon, blood began to seep through the sack.

They roared, "A life for a life!"

Agony consumed me as I curled into a bloodied heap on the ground.

"The family of a killer deserves to be left in the wild for stray dogs to feed on!"

"No!" I thrashed and roared, but their clubs came crashing down, shattering both my legs.

They tore open the soil of Wyatt and Margie's graves, kicking their urns to the ground.

My fingers bled as I clawed through the ashes, hands trembling as I scooped the remains back into the urns.

When Roland arrived and saw the desecrated graves, his eyes turned bloodshot. He seized me by the throat and slammed me against the headstone.

"You vile creature! You couldn't even let the dead rest? After all they did for you, how could you betray them like this?"

I tried to explain, but his rage cut me off again and again, until everything went black.

My body convulsed, my eyes burning crimson. A guttural scream tore from my throat as blood mingled with tears and streamed down my face.

The sight of Wyatt and Margie's graves being violated again sent pain through me like ten thousand ants gnawing at my marrow.

Roland's pupils dilated sharply, his face pale as sheets.

"How could this be? Could I have mistakenly blamed her?" he rasped.

Trembling, he tried to stop the Memory Decryptor. But Trisha swiftly blocked his hand.

"Roland, stay calm. If Wendy truly had some hidden reason, why wouldn't she have told us the truth? Besides, the Memory Decryptor cannot be stopped now. This has to be an act.

"For all we know, she ordered those grave robbers herself. After all, you and these criminals are on opposing sides."

Roland stood frozen, his entire body shaking.

The memory on the screen flickered, and the machine emitted a sharp, crackling noise.

I was pinned by several vagrants beside a fetid ditch, my clothes torn away. Their foul breath hissed against my neck, and grimy fingernails dug into my thrashing body.

"Boss, what if this cripple tells someone what we did to her?" one of the vagrants asked.

"Then we'll just cut out her tongue."

I convulsed in agony, blood gushing forth.

The victims' families, however, clapped and laughed. "Serves her right! Let her taste what it's like to suffer!

Staring at my long-severed tongue, Roland staggered backward, nearly collapsing.

"Wendy couldn't possibly be the killer. She was injured severely!"

Trisha grabbed Roland's arm, her gaze sharp. "Even if she isn't the killer, she knows the truth! These memories are irrelevant. We must intensify the pressure to force out the key information. Otherwise, the killings will never end!"

Gritting his teeth and trembling, Roland pushed the needles even deeper into my temples.