Chapter 1 - Secrets.

"Countless faces, numerous points of view…

Either everyone is telling a lie or their own version of truth…"

Sheriff Fred Williams leaned forward, his lips pressed together tightly, his fists clenched. Before him sat a seventeen-year-old boy with moss-green eyes and brown hair, a sharp jawline, and an irritated smirk. The room they occupied was almost empty, with a solitary table placed at its center. A flickering light bulb hung above them, casting shadows on their clenched jaws and annoyed faces. The stale, ripe odor in the room seemed inconsequential amidst the tension.

"Last time we spoke, about the call…" Sheriff Williams began, his voice low and tense. "You denied even knowing Emily, stating that she was 'just a classmate,' but her diary had a completely different story to tell."

The boy's arrogant tone didn't waver as he responded, "Look, Sheriff, I don't know why she mentioned my name on that call. I wasn't there, and I have an alibi to prove it. I have no idea what was written in that diary, and I didn't know Emily. There was nothing going on between us. I have a girlfriend; you can ask anyone."

Sheriff Williams locked eyes with the boy, unyielding in his gaze. As days passed, the mystery surrounding Emily's murder grew darker.

Before the sheriff could continue his interrogation, a knock on the door interrupted them. Another officer entered the room and whispered something in Sheriff Williams' ear. With a frustrated sigh, the sheriff reluctantly said, "You may go… for now."

The boy chuckled, cocked his head, and smirked as he rose from his chair. "This is far from over," Sheriff Williams warned.

Unperturbed, the boy moved toward the door. He paused for a moment as if debating whether to say something more. "My answers aren't going to change," he declared before swinging the door shut, allowing a brief gust of cool air and outside chaos to invade the room. The sheriff was left standing there, staring into the abyss.

"Dammit!" Sheriff Williams exclaimed, banging his fist on the table. "Every time I try to get information from this boy, his lawyer intervenes! He knows something… The more his lawyer tries to protect him, the stronger my doubt becomes." He opened the file before him and started flipping through its pages, causing them to crumple in frustration. "I don't believe for a minute that Emily was just another classmate of his! Everybody is hiding something. Everyone has a secret!"

A malicious grin crept onto his lips as he halted on a random page. "But I am going to uncover them," he vowed, his eyes shining with determination. "I am going to find out the truth about what exactly happened that night. I am going to find out who killed Emily Smith."

He tapped his finger on the page, lost in thought. Another officer, Timmy, spoke up, snapping him back to reality. "You're not going to rest until you solve this mystery, are you?"

Sheriff Williams grinned wider. "You got that right, Timmy." He exited the inquiry room and settled into his chair, placing the file on the table. He stared at it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Opening his desk drawer, he discovered it was almost empty, save for some staplers, pens, and other stationery items. His gaze landed on a diary tucked away in the corner. The diary had an antique appearance and an unassuming black leather cover. Emily's life was etched across its pages, a repository of her happy and sorrowful moments. "Emily loved to write," he recalled Emily's mother's tearful statement about her only child.

If not for this diary, the already convoluted case would have been even more perplexing. Reading Emily's diary felt like having a conversation with her, seeing the world through her eyes. Yet, something particularly disturbing lay within its pages. Sheriff Williams flipped through until he reached a page with a bookmark.

He began to read "13th July. Something terrible has happened to me. Something so shameful I can hardly put it into words... It's beyond fear. It's sheer terror. To think he would commit such an act... And then, he carries on as if nothing occurred, as if his conscience doesn't weigh him down. I still don’t know whether I should report this to the principal or not. What if he did it again? Would anyone even believe me??? Why would anyone believe a freak?"

The rest of the page remained blank, except for the inked smears and tear-stained craters. Who was this person Emily mentioned? What was she going to report? Could this individual be responsible for Emily's death? After all, a few days later, Emily was found dead. He attempted to do something again, and Emily resisted. He closed the diary, shut the drawer, closed his eyes, and rested his head on the chair, replaying the events of that fateful night in his mind.

The last call Emily ever made, to this very Sheriff's station, pleading for her life, flashed vividly before his eyes...