They sat in the waiting area of the hospital, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. The tension in the air was suffocating. Finally, the doctor stepped out of the room after examining the twins.
"One of the twins is stable," he said, voice heavy, "but... we couldn't save the other. I'm so sorry. She's... she's already gone."
Rosy's legs nearly gave out beneath her. She bolted into the room, her breath coming in sharp gasps, her body trembling with fear. She moved toward the bed with slow, staggering steps, each one a battle against the wave of fear crashing over her.
Her heart raced as she reached for Lizz's hand. Her fingers trembled as they made contact, but the hand she held felt so cold, so still.
Tears flooded her eyes, falling uncontrollably and blurring her vision. She squeezed Lizz's hand tighter, desperately searching for any sign of life. But there was nothing. Her sobs echoed in the stillness, an aching cry that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
She cried in a way as if she hadn't known how to cry before — each tear carrying love, loss, and helplessness. She was praying for a miracle that was impossible to happen.
Allen, who had tried so hard to stay strong, finally broke down. Tears burst from him, his own grief too powerful to hold back. No one could have ever expected something like this — especially not on a day meant for celebration.
Outside the room, friends who had come to celebrate their friend's birthday stood frozen, the news of the tragedy hitting them like a shockwave. Slowly, one by one, they began to cry, the pain of seeing their friends in such a state was too much to bear.
.
.
Before coming to the hospital, when Erik, Clara, Flora, and May had hurried toward Erik's car to follow Allen's, Clara had pulled out her phone with trembling hands and called the police, reporting the attack as quickly as she could.
By the time the police arrived at the scene, everyone had already left. What they found sent a chill through them — an unconscious man lying on the sand, covered in blood. Recognition flickered instantly among the officers: he wasn't just any criminal. He was the serial killer they had been hunting for months.
Wasting no time, the police traced the number that had reported the attack — Clara's number. When they reached her, Clara told them they were at the hospital.
The officers immediately headed there. As they entered the hospital, they quickly learned the tragic news — Lizz hadn't survived the attack, and Blizz was still unconscious, fighting to recover.
The officers approached Allen, but he stepped forward, his face pale and exhausted.
"I have already lost one of my daughters," he said, his voice shaking. "Please... don't force my other daughter right now. She's not in any condition to answer your questions."
One of the officers, trying to balance sympathy with urgency, spoke quietly, "Sir, we understand but, this is the first real chance we have. Before this, every time he attacked, there was never enough evidence to convict him. If we lose this opportunity, he might walk free again. Blizz may be the only one who can give us the proof we need."
Before Allen could respond, a weak stirring came from the bed.
Blizz slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh lights overhead. The sterile smell of the room filled her senses. Confused and disoriented, she tried to piece together where she was.
The first thing she saw was her mother's tear-streaked face leaning over another bed beside hers. Allen stood stiffly at the door, and around him stood Leah, Amy, Erik, Flora, May, Clara — and a few uniformed police officers.
Blizz frowned, her head pounding as she shifted slightly.
"Blizz... sweetheart," Allen whispered, brushing her hair back gently. "You're in the hospital. You're safe now."
One of the officers stepped forward but paused, glancing at Allen for permission. Seeing Blizz's confusion deepen, Allen softened his voice and explained quietly, "The police are here because... the man who attacked you was found. He's been arrested. But we need your help to make sure he never hurts anyone again."
Blizz's mind struggled to keep up. Memories flooded and everything was flashing in front of her eyes as if a video was being played.
She inhaled sharply, the pain of remembering of what had happened was far more brutal than her injuries. Still, she pushed herself to speak, her voice low but determined.
"We were trying to find a place to hide..." she began slowly. "In search of a better spot, we went a little too far. And then... out of nowhere, this man rushed toward us with a knife in one of his hand. Lizz..." Her voice cracked. "She stepped in front of me and took the stab instead."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to go on.
"I didn't even have time to think. Before I knew it, he came at me next. I dodged somehow and hit him as hard as I could. My hit knocked him down... but when I turned to check on Lizz..." Blizz swallowed hard. "He smashed a rock on my head."
The room was utterly silent, everyone hanging onto her every word.
"I grabbed the knife he had dropped when I hit him and stabbed his hand to stop him... then I grabbed the rock and hit his head. He fainted, but his blow to my head was too strong. I tried to stay conscious... but I just couldn't. I collapsed."
Blizz's hand clenched weakly into the blanket, her whole body trembling with the effort of remembering.
Allen stepped closer and gently placed his hand over hers. "You were brave," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
The police exchanged glances — it was enough. Finally, they had what they needed to put the killer away forever.
But none of it changed the one, brutal truth: Lizz was no longer with them.