The scene played out like a movie in Dylan’s head. Dylan, who was 21 years old, had witness a murder only a few hundred feet from where it actually happened. Dylan wondered if the murderers saw him or not. He tossed and turned all night having flashbacks. The girl was so innocent, and carefree looking. How anyone could just rape than slit her throat was beyond Dylan’s comprehension. Dylan woke up sweating in his bed, but the dream didn’t wake him, something else did. Then it came again, the knocking on the front door. Dylan lived alone in a one bedroom apartment just south of Downtown Manchester, New Hampshire. The sudden crash caused Dylan to panic as he figured it was him. Dylan kept the lights off and quickly looked in his room for his baseball bat. Eventually, Dylan felt a gun on the back of his head and froze. Then, Dylan’s mind went blank. Dylan woke up confused and strapped to a stainless steel cart. His vision was still fuzzy, but he could make out several knives on a table next to him. Dylan struggled against the restraints but it was no use. Dylan began to panic more as soft, classical music started to play. The kind of music was used in every scary movie Dylan had ever seen. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone! I swear.” Dylan called out hoping for a response. The room he was trapped in, was empty, or at least so Dylan thought. “This isn’t like him! He never misses a call from me at this time!” Jasmine explained to a police officer who had noticed someone broke into Dylan’s apartment. Jasmine was a friend from college and was very close to the male. “Did he seem okay last night?” The Officer asked as he pulled out a pen and a small notebook. “Yeah, we went to a movie early that day. Then he said he was going to meet someone at a club. Dylan said he would call me when he got home, but never called. So I called him and no one picked up.” She said as she began to sob. “I should’ve known something was wrong.” Jasmine spoke.