Chapter 3: Shattered Vows

"Who the hell are you? Why do you keep ordering me around? And what do you really want?" I yelled into the phone. "If you don’t come clean, I’m done picking up your calls."

"Whatever you want," the man laughed. "Unless you’re done being relevant."

As before, he hung up right away, leaving me with this tough choice.

I was furious but helpless. I hated being jerked around.

"Ethan, don’t go!" Marissa pleaded. "He’s too secretive, Ethan. Nothing good can come of this."

I knew that, but I was still itching to go. Last time, it paid off.

Thinking about that night, I couldn’t help but crave that feeling again. I craved that feeling. Recognition. Envy.

"Uh, I’ll just go check it out. Anyway, his last tip was real."

"What if he wants to hurt you?"

"Last time, nothing happened. I’ll be fine."

Ignoring Marissa’s objections, I grabbed my camera and left.

When you’re desperate, fear doesn’t matter.

As the name suggests, Lakeview Drive circles the water. It’s remote, rarely traveled, and even more deserted at night. On the way, I didn’t see a single car. The world felt emptied out. The silence was heavy. Made me itch.

I checked my watch—it was already 3 a.m.

What’s going on? Did I get here too early? Did I miss it?

I slammed on the brakes. Heart in my throat.

Up ahead, a stalled car blocked the road. A boulder crushed the roof. A heavyset man was trapped inside, groaning weakly.

He must have been hit by the falling rock while driving here.

Clearly, this was the "incident" the man had spoken of!

Seeing someone approach, the man perked up: "Help me, please, save me!"

I’ll help. But not before I get my shot.

I found the best angle and quickly raised my camera…

The blinding flash lit up the man’s face. His face grew paler, his breath weaker. His eyes begged for help. For life.

I already had the headline in mind: "Cherish."

I could taste it. Success.

When the ambulance arrived, the man was already dead.

I felt a twinge of guilt, but quickly consoled myself—

Some deaths matter. Some don’t. His might inspire someone.

I gave him meaning. He should thank me. Right?

After the body was taken away, I went back to my car.

I didn’t leave right away, but took something out to look at.

It was a cigarette butt I’d found on the hillside. While waiting for the ambulance, I’d climbed up and found it in the grass.

Still warm. Someone had been here.

Who would smoke here in the middle of the night?

Only one person could’ve done it.

I dialed the man’s number again.

This time, it actually connected!

"What, calling to thank me?" the man said lazily. "Call me John Doe."

"Words aren’t enough. I’ve decided to send you a gift," I sneered. "Want a pack of Marlboros, John Doe?"

He was silent for two seconds, then sighed, "It’s a bad habit, littering."

"So, this car accident wasn’t an accident at all. You were waiting on the hillside and pushed the rock down! And if I’m right, the woman at Oakridge Apartments wasn’t a suicide either! You pushed her, and forged the suicide note!"

I spoke slowly into the phone: "You’re a murderer!"

He laughed. "I like killing. I’m good at making it look like an accident. What do you think? Am I a pervert?"

I was speechless. Took me a minute to breathe.

Why me? What do you want?

"It’s poetic, really," the man said. "Three years ago, I saw your photo series—what was it, 'The Moment of Death'? It was great. Suddenly, I had an idea—how about working with you? Maybe we can make magic again."