Staring at the metal roof inside the ambulance, Christine remembered glimpsing a face she recognised in the chaos, just before she had left. Only now did she realise it was Michael, her boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend. She hadn't seen him for a year, since his wife had found out about their relationship. A shout suddenly interrupted her thoughts, it was the driver. He swerved, losing control of the ambulance, which skidded across the wet tarmac and plunged into a ditch. Sarah's body was found and rearranged in the morgue; a white handkerchief covering her face distorted by the tortures inflicted by her killer. Her brother Marcus had identified her from the small tattoo on her right leg, a sun and moon joined to make one symbol. Five years later, April 2005 Marcus hadn't left the house for more than five years. The last time had been when he went to the morgue to identify his sister's body. His only contact with the outside world was Angela. Melanie had bought the house where the first murder of the swimming pool killer had taken place six years ago, for want of a better way to squander her money. Angela loved Marcus and with her whole heart wanted him to recover from the trauma of his past, to come back and live his life. She had been arranging Marcus's first "outing" for months, for him to leave the house which by now had become a burial chamber for him and for their relationship. Meanwhile, a shadow moved near the building, who was hiding behind the mask? Who was holding that machete? The play began, the killer coming on stage and murdering one of the guests. Marcus couldn't take it and fled outside, escaping from his petrified girlfriend. When Angela decided to go after him, she couldn't see the victim get up from the ground, or Melanie's triumphant look. Melanie was convinced no-one would have left the house, the phones were off, the nearest town more than three miles away. The cars wouldn't start, thanks to Karl's skilled hands. What Melanie hadn't taken into account, or maybe she had, was another uninvited guest. A figure without a face, armed not with a fake knife but with a machete already covered in the blood of his victims killed on his way there. Between make-believe and reality, the real and pretend victims were barbarically killed one by one. Where did Melanie's play end and the massacre begin? No-one found out the truth; some died without knowing why, believing they were imitating a death which crept up on them silently and stealthily. They dropped like flies and before dying they clambered over dead bodies and those who were pretending to be dead. Only three, no two, no just one person survived. Michael wasn't dead. He had returned to kill Melanie. Only someone madder than his victim could kill a mad person. For Michael, once a world famous surgeon, admired and flattered, rich and envied, this was only the beginning of a new life, tarnished with blood, suffering and madness.