Under the warm orange light, a pink room came into view. The little girl's room was warmly decorated.
The deceased couple must have loved their daughter dearly.
Sadly, the chaotic bloody footprints on the floor added a sinister feel to this warmth. The bedsheet, piled with stuffed animals, was spattered with bloodstains.
A sweet-looking blonde little girl, dressed in clean clothes, seemed to be peacefully asleep, her lips slightly upturned as if enjoying a beautiful dream—a picture of serene tranquility.
Unfortunately, this little girl, at most six or seven years old, was also dead.
A bullet had penetrated her forehead. The resulting fan-shaped splatter of brain matter and blood coated one side of the nightstand. These splashes, resembling blooming plum blossoms, conveyed to Dean what had happened here a few hours earlier:
The killer had grabbed the little girl at the head of the bed, gun pointed at her forehead.
BANG.
