The next few days blurred into a suffocating haze of anxiety and false normalcy. The yellow crime scene tape remained around Whispering Pines, a constant, vivid reminder. Detectives Harding and Reynolds, a younger, sharper-looking woman, were a fixture in Oakhaven now, their unmarked car a lurking shadow on the town's quiet streets.
The first official questioning began. Teachers were interviewed, then students who had known Noah. Liam's turn came during fifth period history. He was led to a small, stuffy office, the air thick with the smell of old paper and dust. Detective Harding sat behind a cluttered desk, his eyes unwavering. Detective Reynolds leaned against the wall, a notepad in her hand, her gaze piercing.
"Liam Miller, is that right?" Harding began, his voice surprisingly soft, almost conversational. "We understand you were in Mr. Davies' history class with Noah Vance last year?"
"Yes, sir," Liam said, his voice steadier than he expected. He'd rehearsed this. Every detail.
"And where were you on Tuesday evening, between, say, five and seven PM?" Harding continued, his gaze never leaving Liam's face.
"I was at my friend Alex Chen's house," Liam stated, his heart hammering against his ribs. "We were working on our advanced algebra project. We have a test coming up."
"Alex Chen," Reynolds murmured, jotting something down. "Can he corroborate that?"
"Yes, of course," Liam said, forcing a confident tone. "He'd tell you the same thing." It wasn't a complete lie. He had been supposed to be at Alex's. And Alex, bless his innocent heart, would likely back him up without question. They often studied together.
Harding leaned forward slightly. "Did you see Noah Vance at all on Tuesday?"
"No, sir. Not since Monday at school," Liam replied, trying to keep his expression blank. The lie tasted metallic.
"Any idea why someone would want to hurt Noah?" Reynolds asked, her voice calm, but her eyes sharp.
Liam paused, feigning contemplation. "I don't know, really. He… he could be a bit of a jerk sometimes. But I don't think anyone would actually kill him." He said it with just the right amount of hesitant honesty, painting Noah as a mild nuisance, not a violent threat.
The interrogation continued for another ten minutes, probing his relationship with Noah, his routine, if he'd seen anything suspicious. Liam held firm, his practiced answers flowing smoothly. They thanked him, told him they might be in touch, and released him. He walked out of the office, his legs feeling like jelly, but a flicker of relief ignited in his chest. He'd done it. He'd held it together.
But the relief was fleeting. As he walked through the school hallways, he caught snippets of conversation, hushed and knowing. "He owed money to everyone." "He was messing with someone's girlfriend." And then, a whisper that made his blood run cold, "I heard Noah was blackmailing someone."
The rumors, vague as they were, confirmed his deepest fears. The investigation wasn't just about Noah's killer; it was about Noah's secrets. And those secrets were intertwined with Liam's own. He felt the weight of countless unseen eyes on him, not just the killer's, but the entire town's. Everyone was a suspect, everyone was a witness.
Later that evening, scrolling through Oakhaven's local news site, a new article popped up. It was a picture taken by a local nature photographer, dated Tuesday evening. The caption read: "Early autumn beauty in Whispering Pines." The picture was of the old millpond, shrouded in mist, the last rays of sunlight glinting off the water. And in the foreground, half-obscured by a cluster of reeds, was a small, dark object. Too small to identify clearly, but unmistakably, eerily familiar.
The flash drive. It hadn't sunk. It was still there. Waiting. And now, potentially, photographed. Liam stared at the image, his heart plummeting. The ticking time bomb had just started counting down even faster.