After quietly opening the door, Elizabeth stepped into the bathroom and then slipped in a growing puddle of cold water. After regaining her footing, she groped around the counter top next to the sink for an aromatherapy candle and box of matches that were always kept there. Elizabeth's left hand grasped the smooth, cool pillar of scented wax as the other hand barely prevented the small box of matches from skidding off the counter. Her trembling fingers fumbled as she was opening the box, spilling all but one of the matches into the steadily rising water at her feet.

"Okay, Elizabeth," she whispered to herself, then slowly took a few deep, steadying breaths. "Only one match left. Don't waste it." She struck the match against the phosphorus strip on the box, once, twice, three times and still the match did not ignite. She held her breath and tried again. There was a small spark, then a larger flash, along with the distinct odor of sulfur as the match flared to life. Using that glimmer of welcome light, she set the candle wick ablaze.

Staring at that dancing flame atop the glowing candle, she took a few moments to calm herself before turning towards the tub, then gasped in shock. For there, bobbing lifelessly in a swirling current created by water cascading over the tub's rim, were the bloated, blue tinged bodies of Steven's twins. Elizabeth opened her mouth to scream, but was so horrified by the sight before her that no sound would escape her lips. Unable to take her eyes off the lifeless children, she slowly reached across their little bodies to turn off the water with an unsteady hand. In the unsettling silence that followed, she once again heard the squeak of what sounded like wet flesh being dragged across some form of glass.

With the candle grasped tightly in her hand, Elizabeth backed slowly out of the bathroom and then headed toward her bedroom, following the now incessantly repeating sound. As she neared the bedroom doorway, she noticed a pulsating glow of light emanating from her room. Stepping cautiously into the doorway, she found that the light was coming from at least a dozen candles aflame around the room.

Elizabeth slowly set down the candle she had been holding on the dresser, for in the flickering light given off by those other candles, she could not help but see Steven, as he lay sprawled across her four-poster bed, each of his limbs secured to one of the tall, wooden posts by lengths of thin rope, which were now bloody with the evidence of his struggle against their restrictive presence. Not fully able to understand anything that had happened since she awoke, just a few short, unbelievable minutes ago, Elizabeth was about to rush to Steven's aide when her frenzied gaze fell upon the bloody, gaping cavity which had been gouged into his chest.

She choked back a surge of bile, knowing it was now too late to help Steven. And yet, as much as it sickened her to discover him dead and mutilated in her own bed, a small part of Elizabeth still felt that Steven had received no less than what he deserved, for deceiving her the way he did. Then, catching movement from the corner of her eye, Elizabeth turned toward a large, wall-mounted mirror.

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