Twenty years. Twenty years our lives had been haunted by the ghost of a distorted lullaby and an antique music box, the only clue left behind by the monster who murdered my wife Jennifer' s parents.
Just when a new murder-a replica of the old horror, right next door-offered a flicker of hope, I found myself slammed against a patrol car, my own badge glinting uselessly on the wet asphalt.
My wife, Jennifer, stood before me, not with relief, but with eyes full of a terrifying resolve, and cuffed me.