1 They called me the Crimson River Killer. I was the prime suspect in the city’s most notorious string of murders, arrested by my own husband, Police Chief Marcus Thorne, and sentenced to death by lethal injection. Three years after my execution, the killings started again. The methods were identical, the cruelty just as profound. In Marcus’s new home, strange things began to happen. His new wife, haunted by spectral whispers and phantom touches, suffered a miscarriage, her mind unraveling. I thought, finally, they would reopen the case. Finally, my name would be cleared. Instead, the city whispered a different story. They said I was a plague that refused to die. “The killer’s methods are exactly the same as Victoria Livingston’s. It has to be her ghost, back for revenge!” “She went after a seventy-year-old woman and a three-month-old baby. She’s a monster!” “They should dig up her body and burn the bones to ash! Stop her from hurting anyone else!” Bowing to public pressure, Marcus himself brought a renowned spiritualist to my grave to perform an exorcism, to bind my restless soul. The old master, a Taoist priest named Master Wu, stood before my tombstone, his eyes closed. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice heavy. “There will be another victim today. We must find out how Miss Livingston truly died, and quickly.” … Marcus’s brow furrowed. He had been the one to witness my execution. The priest’s words made no sense. “What do you mean, truly died? Victoria Livingston was executed by lethal injection three years ago.” His voice was tight with impatience. “Master Wu, just bind her spirit. Then there will be no more victims.” The priest flicked the horsetail whisk in his hand. “The resentment here is suffocating. Miss Livingston’s death was not so simple. If you do not trust my judgment, Chief Thorne, then perhaps you should find someone else.” Marcus’s face darkened. Master Wu of the Azure Cloud Temple was eccentric, but his reputation was legendary. His unique ability to read memories from bone had helped police departments across the country solve countless cold cases. He was the only one who could quell the rising tide of public hysteria. The orders from above were clear: if Marcus couldn’t calm the city’s fears, his career as police chief was over. He had moved heaven and earth to get the old master here. He had no choice. With a deep, respectful bow, he said, “I would not dare. I implore you, Master, help me solve this case and bring peace back to our city.” The priest’s expression softened slightly. “Even you, the man who shared her bed, do not know the truth of her death. It seems a bone-reading is our only option. We must find the truth in Miss Livingston’s memories.” Marcus nodded and signaled for his men to begin, but a sharp cry stopped them. “Don’t dig!” It was his new wife—and my half-sister—Valerie. “Valerie, what are you doing here?” She was frantic. “No matter what Victoria did, she was my sister! I can’t stand here and watch you desecrate her grave!” Still weak from her miscarriage, she swayed on her feet. Marcus rushed to her side, his face etched with concern. “You’re too kind, my love,” he murmured, pulling her into an embrace. “Victoria’s ghost has been tormenting you every night, and still you defend her?” He stroked her hair. “I’ll have someone drive you home. You need to rest. Leave this to me.” Valerie shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Marcus, you’re so invested in this. Is it because… you still have feelings for her?” He gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “How could I?” he said, his voice soft but firm. “She’s a serial killer who continues her evil even in death. In my dreams, I execute her a thousand times over.” He held her tighter. “Don’t worry. Once we have the truth, I’m sure Master Wu will ensure her malevolent spirit never finds peace.” I floated beside them, each word a dagger in my spectral heart. Valerie fell silent, finally conceding. “Alright. Then I’ll stay and watch the master work.” But I saw the sheen of cold sweat on her forehead, the flicker of panic in her eyes. Marcus waved his hand, and the two men resumed their digging. Soon, my coffin was unearthed, its heavy lid pried open. Inside, there was nothing but my clean, white bones. Master Wu reached in, his expression solemn as his fingers brushed against my skull. “Everyone, please close your eyes,” he instructed. “I am about to begin the reading. I will search Miss Livingston’s memories. No matter what you see or hear, do not make a sound. Any interruption will shatter the vision.” The small crowd obeyed without question. I felt the gentle pull on my memories, and my spirit sighed. The first image that bloomed in their minds was from high school. Marcus and I were freshmen. A boy in our class was teasing me about my single mother, yanking on my braids. Marcus, who sat next to me, kicked the boy’s chair out from under him, and the two of them exploded into a fight. Marcus won. He stood over the other boy and warned him that every insult would earn him another beating. In that moment, watching his fierce profile, my heart had skipped a beat. When he sat back down, I silently took a bandage from my bag and gently pressed it to a cut on his forehead. Our fingers brushed, and a blush crept up my neck. I noticed then that the tips of his ears were also red. After school, as I was about to leave, he grabbed my arm. I turned, surprised, and he looked at me with an earnest intensity. “Victoria, don’t be afraid. I’m here now. No one will ever bully you again.” I just nodded, a small smile playing on my lips, not pulling my hand away. The memory was sweet, innocent. No one could connect the shy girl in the vision with the monster she supposedly became. Even Marcus seemed lost in the past, a nostalgic softness in his eyes. It was Valerie who broke the silence. “We’re supposed to be looking for the cause of her death, aren’t we? This seems… irrelevant.” Her voice was laced with a subtle bitterness. “Marcus was so good to her, but she didn’t appreciate it. She chose to be a killer instead…” The vision shattered. When Marcus opened his eyes, the warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, hard mask. He turned to the priest. “Valerie is right. This memory has nothing to do with the case. Please, Master, search for another time.” Master Wu shot them a disapproving glance but complied, his fingers moving in a new, intricate pattern. The next memory was our wedding day. As we were about to exchange rings, gasps and screams erupted from our guests. We turned. On the large screen behind us, where a slideshow of our life together was supposed to be playing, was a video. It was me, holding a knife, plunging it into a victim. I stood frozen as plates and curses rained down on me. A shard of ceramic cut my forehead, and blood trickled into my eye. “So you’re the Crimson River Killer! The one who’s been terrorizing the city for a decade!” “Call the police! Arrest her! She deserves to die!” “Wait, isn’t her husband a cop?” “What a joke! A killer marrying a police chief…” In ten minutes, my life was destroyed. Our beautiful wedding reception was a scene of chaos. Marcus, my Marcus, snapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists and led me away. My mother, watching from the front row, collapsed from a sudden brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the ICU. A pang of anguish shot through my soul. She had raised me alone, and this was supposed to be the day she finally saw me happy. In the back of the police car, Marcus wouldn’t look at me. His face was a stone mask. When we arrived at the station, a mob was already waiting. The Crimson River case had haunted the city for ten years. Now that they had a face to blame, their rage was boundless. They surged forward, kicking and punching me. The officers with us couldn’t hold them back. Marcus, his eyes red-rimmed, threw himself in front of me, trying to reason with them. “She’s only a suspect right now! We need to verify the authenticity of that video! Please, calm down! Trust us, we will get you justice!” A woman sobbed, her face contorted in grief. “My mother was seventy-seven years old! She worked her whole life, and I finally convinced her to retire. And then this bitch killed her!” Another man screamed, his voice raw with pain. “My son was three months old! He couldn’t even say ‘dada’ yet! She stabbed him twenty-two times! Victoria, are you even human?!” The accusations, the physical pain—it was too much. A roaring filled my ears, and the world went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Marcus was there to cuff me again and take me back to the station. This time, his face was a mask of agony. “Victoria, the experts have authenticated the video. The evidence is conclusive. Even if you don’t confess, you’ll get the death penalty.” His voice broke. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do!” Before they led me into the interrogation room, I met his eyes. “I am not a serial killer, Marcus,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t you believe me?” He looked away, his own eyes filled with tears. “You promised,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You promised no one would ever bully me again.” Another voice cut through the memory, shattering it. “I was there! I saw the video! It was her face!” “The psycho started killing when she was fifteen! She filmed every single one! She’s pure evil!” “Did you hear what she just said? Was she trying to emotionally manipulate Chief Thorne into faking evidence for her?” “Thank God he chose justice over his wife and put that monster down himself!” My spirit let out a bitter, silent laugh. No. That wasn’t it. I just wanted him to find the truth. Having been interrupted twice, Master Wu finally lost his temper. “I told you at the beginning to remain silent!” he thundered. “There are only three chances to read the bones. We have one left. If you break the connection again, the resentment will not be appeased. Can any of you guarantee that you won’t be the next victim?” The crowd fell silent, their mouths clamped shut in fear. The master placed his hand on my skull for the final time. My image appeared once more. I was a teenager again, my face young and unlined. But this time, my eyes were cold, dead—a chilling contrast to the shy girl from the first memory. It was a sunlit afternoon. I was following an elderly woman with silver hair down a winding alleyway. She finally noticed me and turned, her face creasing into a kind smile. “Are you lost, dear? Why don’t you come inside for a bit? After we eat, Grandma will help you find your family.” I nodded meekly and followed her into her small, tidy home. The moment the door clicked shut, I pulled a fruit knife from my sleeve and drove it into her heart. Again and again. Twenty-two times. She collapsed in a pool of blood, her eyes wide with a question she would never get to ask. How could a child be capable of such brutality? Someone in the crowd made a choked sound but quickly stifled it. The priest’s warning had been effective. Even Valerie, watching this, didn’t look as horrified as the others. Instead, a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped her lips. The scene shifted. I was climbing through a window, hiding under a bed. I waited until the couple had left and the grandmother was in the kitchen, then I crept out. I approached the crib, a terrifying smile spreading across my face as I looked down at the sleeping infant. I pressed a cloth soaked in ether over his small mouth and nose. And then, just as before, I stabbed him in the heart. Twenty-two times. Afterward, I covered his small body with a blanket, hiding the bloodstains. The women in the crowd wept silently. The memories flashed by, one after another—a decade of murder. Men, women, children, the elderly. The scenes were always the same: no surveillance, no physical evidence left behind. But the face of the killer in every memory, in every frame of the horrific videos shown at my wedding, was undeniably mine. It was Victoria Livingston.
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