“You know who the murderer is, don’t you?” I asked, gripping Colin’s hand tighter, a wave of agitation
rising in my voice. “Tell me who he is.”
Panic flickered in Colin’s eyes like a deer caught in headlights, and he turned away from me. “I don’t
know.”
“You do know!” I pressed, my own frustration mounting. Why wouldn’t he just say it?
Colin kept walking ahead, evasive, refusing to reveal the identity of the murderer.
I trailed behind him, firing question after question. But no matter how much I prodded, he wouldn’t budo
I thought about calling the cops, about spilling everything to Robin and Ste, but as far as anyone was
concerned, I was Foebe now, not Phoebe. My words wouldn’t carry any weight.
Besides, the little interaction I had with the murderer suggested some kind of past dealings between
him and Foebe.
Without rity, a hasty move on my part could spook the murderer, and I’d find myself entangled in
dangers untold.
I rubbed my temples, feeling irritable.
Things were getting more convoluted by the minute.
Tooplex for me to stay calm and think straight.
If I were just an outsider, it would be one thing, but with ‘Foebe‘ tied to the murderer, diving in headfirst
could jeopardize the whole investigation.
“Phoebe… let’s go home.” Colin suddenly came over to my side, taking my hand, his voice a soothing
balm amid my inner turmoil.
Instinctively, I jerked my hand away. “You’re calling for Phoebe, aren’t you? You’re not even talking to
me, I’m Foebe, with an F.”
I couldn’t admit to being Phoebe. And I sure as hell didn’t believe Colin was delusional enough. to think
a soul could swap bodies.
“You are Phoebe! You have to be Phoebe!” His voice suddenly spiked, hands gripping my shoulders
with a desperate strength.
I winced in pain, a flicker of fear passing through me. It was as if… as if he was molding me into
Phoebe against my will. It wasn’t that he recognized me as Phoebe; it was more like… deep down, he
wanted to rece Foebe with Phoebe.
He, like Dexter, was using Foebe as a puppet, a stand–in to avoid facing Phoebe’s death.
No wonder he had been sopliant, so rxed recently. To him, the current Foebe wasn’t a
person but a persona he crafted.
Madman, he was definitely out of his mind.
“You have to be Phoebe; you can only be Phoebe… if you’re not, I’ll kill you.” He was still raving.
“Alright, calm down.” I soothed, my shoulder throbbing, trying to shift the focus. “When did you meet
Phoebe?”
“So many years ago.” Colin’s grip loosened, his voice turned bitter.
“Where?” I pressed on.
“At an orphanage,” he answered.
I was taken aback, staring at him in shock.
An orphanage?
What did he mean by that?
Which orphanage?
A headache suddenly gripped me, and I brought a hand to my temple, the pain making me crouch on
the ground.
The orphanage, those little girls in red dresses, the red dresses…
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Why did they seem so familiar from the start?
I remembered, as a child, I had a red dress just like those. But when did Colin and I meet? Why
couldn’t I remember anything?
Years ago, my dad was into phnthropy, supporting many orphanages and donating supplies, and I
apanied him to charity events.
Was that when I met Colin?
Why was there no trace of that memory left?
“Phoebe…” Colin’s tone was edged with panic as he knelt in front of me, his frenzy fading into
confusion. “Let’s go home.”
I nodded, reaching out to touch his forehead, which had cooled down.
“Carry me back.” I whispered, struggling to keep fear from seeping into my voice.
Colin’s eyes lit up; he nodded and turned his back to me, gesturing for me to climb on.
I hesitated for a moment but then got up andy across his back.
He was strong and tall, and when he stood up, the sudden shift made me cling tightly to him out of fear.