State of Case - 3

The shoot went surprisingly well. Despite my initial discomfort, the setup turned out to be professional, and the photos looked great. The group praised me for my expressions and posture, and Ava even joked, "You're a natural, James. Maybe you've got a future in modeling after all."

The mood seemed lighter as we wrapped up, and everyone appeared in good spirits. But as the clock struck midnight, an unsettling feeling crept back into the air.

I shifted uncomfortably, then excused myself. "Where's the washroom?" I asked.

Ava's smile faltered for a moment before she pointed to the right-side room. "It's in there."

I started toward the door, but Mia quickly stepped in front of me. "Wait, James. That room isn't ready. We're preparing it for the next shoot—a murder shoot."

I frowned, confused. "A murder shoot?"

"Yes," Liam chimed in nonchalantly, adjusting his camera. "There's a prop—a body. Don't worry, though. It's just one of our friends lying there, pretending to be dead. Adds a realistic touch to the scene."

Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl. "A body? He's just pretending, right?"

"Of course," Mia said quickly, her tone a bit too cheerful. "He's alive. Totally fine. But you can't go in there yet. We're still setting up."

I hesitated, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. "I'll just be a second. I really need to use the washroom."

"No," Ava said firmly, her smile now gone. "You can't go in there."

The room fell silent, their sudden shift in demeanor raising alarms in my mind. Against their protests, I pushed past them and opened the door.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, with a single bulb casting eerie shadows. In the middle of the room lay a man. His body was twisted at an unnatural angle, his face pale and lifeless. My heart raced as I realized the truth—he wasn't pretending. He wasn't alive.

"What the hell is this?!" I shouted, backing away.

Ava and the others rushed into the room, their expressions turning dark. "Calm down, James," Liam said, his voice low and menacing.

"That's not a prop," I stammered. "He's dead! What is going on here?"

Before I could react, one of the boys—Henry—grabbed a heavy object from the corner and swung it toward me. I felt a sharp pain in my head as everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, the dim light of early morning filtered through the treehouse windows. My head throbbed, and my vision blurred as I struggled to sit up. The air was heavy with a metallic smell. It took me a moment to process my surroundings.

The room was filled with police officers, their voices low and serious. In the middle of the floor, the body of the man I had seen earlier still lay motionless. Only this time, he wasn't just part of a creepy shoot—he was dead.

I glanced down at myself, panic flooding my chest. I was lying near the body, my clothes gone, my skin chilled by the morning air. A blanket barely covered me.

"What...what is this?" I stammered, trying to get up.

One of the officers, a man with a hard face and piercing eyes, knelt beside me. "Stay where you are," he said firmly.

"I didn't do this!" I yelled, my voice breaking. "I don't know what happened. I—I was hit. I passed out. When I woke up, they were gone!"

The officer's face remained expressionless. "That's your story?"

"It's the truth!" I shouted, desperation creeping into my voice.

Another officer approached, holding a bag with a bloody object inside. "We found this near him," he said, handing it to the first officer. "His fingerprints are all over it."

"What?!" I exclaimed. "No! That's impossible. I didn't kill anyone!"

The officer smirked, shaking his head. "Sure, you didn't. But we're not letting you go, James."

As the reality of the situation sank in, I felt my chest tighten. "You don't understand! I was set up! Those people—Ava, Liam, Mia, Henry—they're the ones you should be looking for! They're gone now, but they were here!"

The officer leaned closer, his voice dripping with condescension. "We've heard enough. You're the only one here. You're the one who murdered him. Case closed."

A few hours later, my parents arrived at the station. My father's face was pale, his hands trembling as he spoke to the officers. "My son didn't do this. You need to find the real criminals!"

But their pleas fell on deaf ears. The officers shook their heads, repeating the same rehearsed lines. "The evidence is clear. He was found at the scene, with the weapon, near the body. There's nothing more to discuss."

My mother's tears blurred my vision as she clung to me, begging for an explanation. But what could I say? I didn't know why this was happening. All I knew was that my life had shattered in an instant.

Now I sit in this cold, dark jail cell, replaying the events over and over in my mind. I don't know who Ava and her group really were or why they did this. I keep thinking about the tree that fell on the road. Was it all part of their plan? Did they lure me into this trap?

My father is trying his best to find them, but it's as if they've vanished into thin air. No traces, no leads—nothing.

My life has turned into a living nightmare. Every day feels like hell, and I can't see a way out. I don't know if I'll ever clear my name or escape this torment. But one thing is certain: I'll never forget the faces of those who destroyed my life.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to start over.