Chapter 2: Ghosts of Maple Heights

I’d hoped I’d get the killer’s script—that would’ve been exciting.

After reading, I glanced up. The others looked a bit pale.

Were they already acting?

I grabbed my beer and took a few gulps: "Hey! You guys done reading? I’m ready to start figuring this out!"

Marcus, next to me, closed his script and stared at Parker across the table, hesitating: "So? Are we moving to the next stage?"

Parker looked around: "This round seems to be for us to give our alibis."

He added, "This script… seems to be a ‘blind killer’ script."

"‘Blind killer’ means the murderer doesn’t even know they’re the murderer."

At this, Lila spoke up: "Then how do you play?"

She snapped her script shut: "If the killer doesn’t even know, do they have to figure it out themselves?"

"Exactly!" Parker said. "That’s the fun of a blind killer script! Basically, you have to figure out if you’re the murderer. If you are, you can lie and mislead us. If you’re not, you have to analyze and find the real culprit!"

During the group discussion, Marcus spoke first.

He cleared his throat: "Last night, I wanted to talk to April about something, but when I went, she wasn’t in her room."

"About what?"

"Something I can’t tell you yet."

Marcus glanced at me, and I nodded in understanding: "I also wanted to talk to April last night, but as soon as I got near Liberty Tower, I saw her jump."

"You saw it yourself?"

I nodded.

Next was Lila, who repeated Marcus’s story. Actually, almost everyone said the same thing:

They wanted to talk to April about something. About what? Uh, something I can’t share yet.

Nothing useful came from this round, so we quickly moved on to the next part of our scripts.

"You have a secret you can’t tell anyone: you like April. You want to confess, but recently you found out she seems to like someone else."

I frowned. It was just a line of text, but I felt a weird sense of déjà vu.

Familiar, but I couldn’t recall why, so I kept reading.

"She always disappears after class. No matter how you look, you can’t find her. You thought she was avoiding you, but a few days later, April suddenly finds you and confesses to you.

You’re happy and want to show her off to your friends, but unexpectedly, April refuses. She firmly tells you:

‘Jake, you absolutely can’t tell anyone!’"

Jake, you can’t tell anyone!

Suddenly, a girl’s voice echoed in my mind, repeating that same line: "Jake, you absolutely can’t tell anyone! Absolutely!"

That sense of familiarity in the script hit me, finally piecing itself into a memory: summer, a girl, a confession.

I remembered!

The words in this script—years ago, a girl had said them to me.

Her name was Lily Barnes.

I liked her. I watched her. And in the end, I saw her leap from the school building.

*April White, Lily Barnes.*

*Liberty Tower, school building.*

*Confession, secret crush.*

Something was wrong with this script!

I jerked my head up, about to tell everyone to stop playing, when suddenly there was a loud THUMP!—Parker collapsed across from me.

He pointed at the script on the table in horror:

"This… this isn’t a murder mystery game—this is a real murder case!"

Flashback:

I met her in high school.

The first time, she was called out by the teacher to stand in the hallway, crying all alone.

At the time, I’d just collected homework and was heading to the office. As soon as I stepped out, I saw her.

Back then, I was a restless teenage boy, always wanting to tease any girl I saw.

So I grinned and walked over: "Hey! Pretty girl in tears!"

Who knew that this little girl—not even as tall as my shoulder—would slap me the next second.

SMACK!

She spat, "Creep!"

I stood there, stunned, homework in hand, not knowing how to react. By the time I snapped out of it, she’d already run off. I was so mad!

From then on, I remembered her.

I swore that next time I saw her, I’d get even!

Later, I asked around and learned her name was Lily Barnes, a nobody from the next class over.

She had good grades, but neither teachers nor classmates liked her. In the bustling school, she was always alone.

Sometimes I thought I should just let it go—a real man can take a slap.

But fate is strange; it made us cross paths again.

The second time was after school.

After my chores, I found my friends had already slipped off to the arcade.

"Jerks!" I mumbled, then dragged the mop to the bathroom to clean it.

By then, the campus was almost empty and quiet.

I could hear water dripping, and occasionally, the faint sound of a girl sobbing.

Wait, a girl crying?

What was a girl doing in the boys’ bathroom?

A chill ran down my spine, and ghost stories flashed through my mind.

"Oh God! Please, don’t haunt me!"

As I prayed, the sobbing stopped. Just as I started to relax, the bathroom door creaked open.

"Crap!"

I jumped at the sudden noise and instinctively looked over.

Then I saw the scariest sight of my life:

A slender, pale hand reached out from the last stall of the boys’ bathroom!

In the silent, dim bathroom, the sound of nails scraping the door made my scalp tingle.

I trembled, and in that moment, thought of all my past misdeeds. I even imagined tomorrow’s headlines:

"Shocking! High school boy dies in the bathroom—tragedy or trouble?"

While I was panicking, a weak voice came from behind the door: "Help... help me..."