If You Didn't Kill Your In-laws, Who Did?

My body convulsed violently, blood and tears mingling as I watched my parents struggle in the inferno.

Pain and despair crashed over me like tidal waves, drowning the last remnants of reason.

I trembled uncontrollably, broken sobs spilling from my throat.

The onlookers pointed at me, sneering.

“He suffered, so he wants others to suffer even more!”

“He’s already twisted into a monster!”

The electric current hissed, and the images on the screen shattered abruptly.

Gregory moved to Linda’s side, his gaze icy.

“Not enough! He has to relive the pain of that day to break the memory block! Otherwise, the truth will never be revealed!”

Linda’s eyes reddened. Her trembling hand hovered in midair. She looked at me—shriveled, slumped in the chair, a husk of my former self—her eyes a tangle of pain and conflict.

Her quivering fingers couldn’t even grasp the silver needles.

A subordinate grabbed her clothing, shouting urgently, “Chief, if you push any further, the needles will pierce his brain! He’ll be a vegetable!”

Linda stared at my rotting temples, unable to push the needles forward.

Gregory gripped her wrist tightly.

“Linda, we’ve come this far. Hesitation now will ruin everything! Do you want your parents to have died in vain?”

Her knuckles went white; bloodshot veins crawled beneath her eyes.

“Finn… can I… trust you?”

The victims’ families clutched blood-stained portraits, kneeling and crying out, “Chief, reveal the truth! Publish all his memories! Our family cannot have died in vain!”

I stared at Linda, my pupils unfocused—just as they had been when my parents dragged me from the burning house all those years ago.

Gregory slammed her wrist down; the needle pierced my brain. The last flicker of light in my eyes vanished.

The memory screen flared to life.

I was a child, cradled by my mother as she fed me medicine.

In school, I buried my head in books.

A great fire had stolen my parents’ lives, leaving me alone.

Linda's father carried me through torrential rain on the way home from school.

On my wedding day, Linda placed a diamond ring on my finger.

After the ceremony, her parents secretly slipped money into my bag.

Linda’s body trembled violently as she stared at the memories, her fingers white from gripping so hard.

Gregory’s phone buzzed with a new murder alert. He strode to Linda and pressed a knife into her hand.

“Another one is dead! We can’t delay any longer! Every minute we wait, there’s another corpse!”

He pushed Linda, knife in hand, toward me.

“Recreate the scene! Make him relive the crime that killed your parents!”

A subordinate blocked her, yelling, “If you push him any further, his body will collapse! The memory may be lost forever!”

Gregory’s voice cut sharply, “Stopping now will bury the truth forever!”

Linda’s hand trembled violently as the blade cut into my rotting flesh.

Hot tears fell from her blood-red eyes.

“Finn… why… why are you forcing me? Who… who is it? Who is making you hide the truth?”

I slumped in the metal chair, my vision unfocused, yet the pain continued to convulse me relentlessly.

Linda's parents had endured this very same agony in life.

The memory froze the moment I carried the basket of groceries through the door.

The blood-soaked room blinded me. My father’s scream pierced the air.

The basket fell from my hands. The scream lodged in my throat.

In the scene, a figure holding a knife trembled before me.

The crowd stared in horror, eyes wide with fear.

“How is this possible? The killer… the killer is…”