Dad Says Sorry to Me

After they worked for a few hours, my body was almost dissected, and the preliminary analysis was out.

The forensic doctor solemnly covered me with a white cloth, then slowly took off his gloves and said in a deep voice, "The deceased has nearly 300 wounds, and it is almost impossible to find a complete piece of skin. The method is so cruel that it is the first time in my 20-year career.

"This is almost like dismembering!"

After a pause, the forensic doctor continued, feeling distressed, "Not only that, before the deceased was tortured to death, her limbs were broken, and she was injected with a large amount of sedatives. Not a single one of these 300 cuts was fatal. The deceased died of pain before she was drained of blood! I can't imagine what she must have been through."

Listening to the forensic doctor's words, I couldn't help but tremble and hold myself tightly, feeling the overwhelming pain again.

Some of the people around me had lost control of their emotions.

Some were cursing, and some were sighing non-stop.

The police dispersed the surrounding crowd and then brought my body back to the station.

According to the process, a task force must be set up to investigate such vicious cases, and the police needed to use the bureau's monitoring system to investigate.

At the police station door, Chelsea looked around with a lunch box in hand.

She looked youthful and lively in her beige floral dress in the sunshine.

"Dad, I heard that you have a big case to deal with today. I'm worried that you will forget to eat, so I came to bring you food."

When she saw our father, she walked briskly and smiled as she brushed past me, covered in a white cloth and reeking of the corpse.

Dad stepped forward and carefully wanted to hold Chelsea in his arms. He said in a gentle and relieved tone, "Chelsea, you're so sweet. Let's go away. It's dirty and smelly here."

As he spoke, he gently covered Chelsea's eyes and said, "Don't look over there. I don't want to see you have nightmares at night."

I sneered. How could she have nightmares?

Someone who saw this scene sighed, "Chelsea is so sensible. How envious. I feel so bad for the victim. Perhaps like Chelsea, she used to be the apple of her parents' eyes, too."

"Indeed. Bob is so lucky to have two sweet daughters. I envy you so much, Bob."

Bob Wise was my father. He stopped smiling and said, "Not exactly. I only have one sensible daughter. The other one is here to collect debts."

I wanted to stay far away from Dad and Chelsea, and I was surprised that he suddenly mentioned me.

Looking at my father's serious expression as he explained, I instinctively covered my chest.

I didn't feel stuffy or painful.

That made sense. I was already dead.