Whispers from a Forgotten Grave
Language: en
"Mrs. Davis, the man who murdered your daughter—can you really not remember his face?" I hovered near the ceiling, listening to the detective’s question as a familiar chill crept into my chest. I was ten years old when I died in that alleyway. Mom walked in just as the killer was leaving. The gruesome, bloody scene broke her completely. The trauma triggered acute stress disorder, locking the killer's face away in a dark corner of her mind. People told her not to push it. They said the memories would return in time. But five years slipped by in a blink. Now, facing the police again, she…