"The police only recovered two body parts. Initial estimation: victim between 18–25. Cause and time of death still unclear."
My brother asked, "Surveillance?"
"Old Henry's neighborhood is full of outdated cameras—none were working when it happened."

My brother skimmed the report and walked toward the remains.
Incomplete—already examined thoroughly.
"They've been sent for testing. With the body this fragmented, identifying the victim hinges on the test results first."
I stared at those mutilated parts, nauseated and trembling.
Mike added, "The captain wants us to cross-reference all recently reported missing persons cases."
"Call Lily. Tell her to warn her friends to be careful."

My brother said coldly, "She's fine—just yesterday she prank-called me with a fake SOS. Nothing's wrong."
Mike's voice sharpened, "Lily wouldn't joke about this. Did you even call her back?"
My brother paused. "I did," he said, his voice dropping. "No one answered."
He silently pulled out his phone.

I moved closer.
He was about to text my best friend, but then a message from Anna popped up:
"John, I saw on social media—Lily's out traveling with friends. Send her some money so she doesn't rough it too much."
Instantly, his tension eased.
He told Mike, "See? She's off on a trip, and she sent that text just to mess with me, to make me worry!"
"Still pulling the same disappearing acts she did as a kid!"
Mike frowned, "Anna hates your mom and Lily—why would she have Lily's contact?"
My brother's face darkened.
"Anna's gracious and doesn't hold grudges. Don't assume the worst."
"If we're still friends, don't say things like that again."
He walked off.
Mike shook his head in disappointment, and tried calling me. No answer.
My spirit followed my brother home.
Anna was there.
The moment he saw her, concern flooded his face.
"Anna! You shouldn't be up! You just had major surgery—where's your nurse?!"
Anna turned, tears streaming artistically down her face.
"John, the storm's so loud... I was scared."
"Don't be afraid, I'm here."
He carried her gently to the bedroom.
The room was fully equipped for her recovery.
My heart ached.
I was kidnapped during a storm as a child. I've been terrified of rainy nights ever since.
My brother used to hold me, tell me stories, and stay by my side all night.
The night Anna killed me was stormy too.
Why would she be afraid?
I saw the smirk she hid.
Cold, twisted, thrilled by her revenge.
I shook with rage.
I remembered I kept begging him over and over that night, then she grew annoyed and tore out my tongue to silence me.
I scratched her face struggling.
She blinded me with an awl, then smashed my face repeatedly.
Until I was unrecognizable.
After I died, she moved me into my brother's private operating room and had a accomplice to pose as family and sign the organ donation forms.
I died.
And my own brother soothingly tucked in my murderer.
His phone rang abruptly.
Anna flinched.
Annoyed, he stepped out to answer.
"Who is it?!"
"Hi, is this Lily's guardian? I'm her classmate. I haven't been able to reach her..."
"Wrong number. Don't call again!"
He hung up angrily.
Then he texted me, each word dripping with reproach and condemnation.
"You are such an adult! Stop with the disappearance games! If you really end up dead somewhere, it's your own fault!"
"I already apologized! However angry you are, it's enough. I'm giving you three days to come back!"
Mom died because of him, yet he thought I shouldn't be angry.
The caller tried again, insistently.
It was our class president.
We'd just graduated high school—I promised I'd attend the class reunion.
My brother yelled, "Why care about someone who cries wolf? Let her disappear! She can die wherever!"
His words shocked her as she shot back, "What's wrong with you? You don't even care about your own sister!"