A Death Too Cruel, a Mother Unbound

When the power meter in the house trips, Mom's foster daughter, Juniper Hawthorne, is trapped in the dark for five minutes.

Even though I have claustrophobia, Mom locks me in an empty, pitch-black room.

"You knew Juniper was terrified of the dark, yet you intentionally shut off the power just to frighten her! I'll teach you how to behave today!"

I cry and beg her not to, but all I receive in return is a harsh slap.

"Claustrophobia? That's just what happens when a kid grows up too spoiled."

Late that night, I sense someone breaking into the house. The first thing I do is to call Mom, a renowned criminal psychologist, for help, only to be yelled at.

"You're still really getting into this role just to fight Juniper for attention, aren't you?

"Kidnappers, huh? Well, go ahead and die so you'll stop bothering me!"

As she wishes, I'm brutally tortured and killed. My body is buried beneath Mom's favorite flowerbed.

After I die, my soul is trapped in the body of a cat. All I can do is helplessly circle Mom until five days have passed.

The police arrive with a mangled body and request her help in creating a portrait of the killer.

"The victim is female, aged between 16 and 20, with the time of death estimated within the last three days.

"From what we could piece together so far… she was likely flayed before death, then smashed with a hammer or similar heavy object, resulting in widespread comminuted fractures throughout the body.

"In short, she likely endured a brutal, inhumane torture before death…"

Listening to the forensic team's initial assessment, every officer at the scene couldn't help but inhale sharply. Even one of the younger female officers shed tears when she heard about how I'd brutally died.

Mom, who soon arrived after the call, looked grim upon hearing the details.

The lead police officer, Martin Beckett, greeted her upon noticing her arrival. "You're here, Amelia Reed. We need your help with the facial reconstruction."

"No trouble at all. It's what I'm here for."

Mom walked straight toward my body and asked, "Which case number is this?"

"The fifth, but the serial killer has escalated this time. It's worse than the others…"

As a renowned criminal psychologist, Mom entered the scene and stood over the scattered bones on the floor for a long, silent moment.

A faint flimmer of hope rose in me. Would she recognize me?

When she stared fixedly at the body without speaking, Martin grew anxious and asked, "Well? Can you reconstruct her face?"

Mom helplessly replied, "Martin, even if I'm a miracle worker, I'd still need the skull."

Then, her expression turned serious as she continued, "We must locate the skull as soon as possible. While the body has yet to decompose any further, I can still reconstruct the victim's likeness to something as accurate as possible."

The skull! I knew exactly where it was!

I ran to her and meowed, tugging at her pant leg and trying to pull her toward the flowerbed.

She stared at me, confused. That was when Martin stepped in. "Let's follow it. They say animals have a certain intuition, don't they?"

They skeptically followed me to the flowerbed. Mom froze the moment she recognized the familiar place.

When Martin saw me stop there, he grabbed a shovel and started digging.

"It really is here…" he muttered, staring at the maggot-infested skull lying among the flowerbed.

Mom affectionately picked me up, and for the first time in 12 years, she smiled at me. "Thank you, Officer Kitty."

Her long-lost smile made my heart ache with bitterness. If she knew that I was the one inside the cat's body, she'd probably want to douse me in formaldehyde.

Looking at the unearthed bones, Martin couldn't help but curse angrily, "The bastard who did this is sick!"

A touch of pity flickered in Mom's eyes. "She's so young, and to die such an awful death… Her family will be devastated when they find out."

Devastated?

Somehow, I felt that if Mom learned I was dead, she'd probably throw a party to celebrate.