Who Killed Leigh Leigh?

My wife, Christine Leigh, forced me to the brink of death all for her first love, Henry Carson. To give him a liver transplant, she sent me to the surgery table. I told her I had cancer and that the doctors had advised against the surgery. She just looked at me with an undisguised contempt, "Jason Lowe, stop with your petty tricks. Don't forget, you owe our family your life!" I lowered my head and smiled bitterly. I never left the surgery table.

Bertha Cobb's first love, Owen Rountree, made a mistake during his experiment, leading to an explosion occurring in the lab. Eight students died in this explosion as a result. However, Bertha insisted that I take on the responsibility of this accident and admit that the explosion occurred because of the error found in my data. "You're a professor here. Nothing will happen to you if you're the one taking on the responsibility. But Oewn, on the other hand, will get admonished by the victims' families." I got dismissed by the university afterward. In the end, the victims' families burned me to death. My daughter, Leah Callahan, got bullied as well. She was forced to drop out of school later on and died from depression. While Leah breathed her last on her bed, Bertha was in the middle of celebrating Owen's promotion as a professor. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that I was five minutes away from the explosion in the science lab.

The prettiest girl in our class, Mandy Smith, died unexpectedly in our dorm. When the police took statements, my two other roommates and I pleaded guilty. I took out Mandy’s love letter to my boyfriend. “I killed her because she was seducing my boyfriend.” Anna Anderson took out a purchase history for cyanide. “I killed her because she snatched my overseas studies spot from me.” Fiona Lee took out an expulsion letter. “I killed her because she reported me for cheating.” All three of us hated Mandy. However, the police found that all of us had alibis during Mandy’s time of death. The counselor also asked us to stop lying. However, the three of us sneered. “Whether you believe it or not, one of us is the murderer.”

My husband, David Wright, brought me and my three-month-old son, Leo Wright, to his parents' for the holidays. But while Leo was asleep, my niece, Lana Wright, and her classmates carried him upstairs and threw him down. My baby died right in front of me. I lost my mind. I scooped him up and tried to rush him to the hospital, but it was already too late. He was gone before we ever made it there. Because Lana was still a minor, she barely faced any consequences. The court ordered her family to pay eight hundred thousand dollars in compensation, but my sister-in-law, Ariel Whittaker, wailed and screamed, accusing me of trying to drive them to their deaths. I cried until I felt like my heart had been torn apart. All I wanted was justice. But David and my mother-in-law, Nancy Wright, only scolded me. “Lana is just a child too! Are you really going to destroy her life just because your son died?” I never got my revenge. In the end, grief and hatred hollowed me out. That winter, I died of a heart attack. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the holiday gathering. This time, I immediately called my parents and asked them to take my son away. But even then, my niece still threw a baby from upstairs.

I was the prime suspect in the notorious murder of my parents-in-law in Cardinal City. The one who arrested me was my wife—Linda Reese, the police chief. While the verdict was still pending, the killer struck again. The new victim was murdered with the same savage cruelty. Linda knelt before me, begging me to tell her the truth. I told her I didn’t know. The victims’ families screamed, demanding that I be carved into pieces. Three months later, Linda found me beside a garbage bin, bringing with her a memory-decoding device. Her hands trembled as she pressed two thin needles into my temples. “I’m sorry, Finn. I know you’re not the killer. I just want this slaughter to end. I don’t want anyone else to die. Let everyone see your memories—let them see what really happened back then.” But when she finished watching my memories, she collapsed to the ground, utterly broken, and fell to her knees.

My daughter was violated and killed, yet her death was ruled a suicide. After seven failed appeals, I kidnapped the chief prosecutor’s daughter. I tied the chief prosecutor’s daughter to an autopsy table and publicly addressed the prosecutor’s office in a live stream. “I performed the autopsy myself. My daughter didn’t kill herself. She was murdered. “I’ll give you seven chances. Release the actual evidence and name the murderer publicly. Each time a chance runs out, I’ll remove one of her body parts.” The chief prosecutor and his wife knelt on the floor. They begged me desperately to spare their daughter. “The evidence proves your daughter took her own life. Stop this madness now and let my daughter go. She’s innocent.” Viewers in the live stream called me insane. They said I had lost my mind with grief and was taking it out on an innocent person. I ignored their contempt. With a sneer, I picked up a scalpel and pressed it against the judge’s daughter’s abdomen. “The clock is ticking. Hurry up and reveal the true murderer now.” I knew perfectly well the real murderer was watching the stream at that very moment.