I saw it. I saw it all. I saw it all unfold behind that obsidian black furnace. The skinny, dark-haired man holding a shiny, blood-stained dagger, sneaking up behind a young woman. I saw it. But I did not hear it. Because I am deaf. I saw it happen only 5 seconds ago. I am holding my breath, hoping he doesn’t see me. I saw him stumbling around in the dark, plaster-bricked cellar, trying to escape. I saw crimson and blue police lights through the dust-covered window. I saw him trip over the motionless body of his victim, saw him fall to the ground, saw the freshly soaked dagger impale him through his cold heart. Then, I heard something. For the first time, I heard something. It was a scream. A scream of pure terror. Then, I heard another. And another. And another. I saw my red Nikes blurry as I dashed upstairs. I saw the bewildered officers as they read my hands. I saw the bright white ceiling of the ambulance as it drove to the hospital. Then, I saw nothing. I wake up and see the pristine white of a padded cell. I hear another scream. Only this time, it is mine.