The Curse of Death
Abductors bind me in a basement, subjecting me to the torment of dozens. Meanwhile, my husband, Evan Foster, dines by candlelight with his lover, Carmen Locke.
My abductors grant me one chance to call for help, and I dial Evan's number. I'm certain he will come for me. I believe Evan would give his life for me, as he once vowed that his future held no meaning without me.
Clinging to hope, I call the number etched in my heart. However, Evan scolds me for interrupting their date. "You think I'll come get you? Dream on. Maybe I'll bother to collect your body if you die out there."
His words crush me, and I do die.
Five days later, Evan stands before the autopsy table, grimacing at the mangled remains before him.
Even as the police department's finest forensic expert, having dissected thousands of bodies, he condemns the killer's brutality.
Yet, despite his cold dismissal of my desperate plea over the phone, he now wears a look of pity.
Evan, if you knew these fragments belonged to me, would you still find me worthy of your compassion?