Gathering Evidence

I spent Saturday morning in the sound booth.

Not working. Just sitting.

It was the only place in the house where I felt safe. The foam on the walls absorbed everything. Sound. Fear. The hum of the encroaching deadline.

The dead drop was empty. No messages. No phones.

Gavin had said *survive the night.* I had. Barely.

But now what?

Leo was safe. That was the only thing I knew for sure.

I looked at my hand. The cut from the glass was throbbing, a dull, insistent ache under the bandage. It felt real. Grounding.

I needed evidence.

Not circumstantial evidence. Not footprints in the mud or weird texts. I needed something hard. Something that would stand up in court. Or at least something that would make the neighbors listen.

The recording.

The one Graham had played for me. The "suicide note."

It was a fake. A splice job.

But the raw files... the ones he had used to make it...

They were still somewhere.

On his computer? No. He would have deleted them.

On a backup drive?

Maybe.

But Graham was careful. He wouldn't leave loose ends.

Unless... he wanted to keep them.

As a trophy.

I thought about the box in the attic. The one with the handcuffs.

If he kept physical souvenirs... maybe he kept digital ones too.

I remembered the server room. The "nursery."

The stack of hard drives on the shelf.

Labeled by year.

*2020. 2021. 2022.*

And... *2023.*

The current year.

If he was recording everything... if he was archiving my "decline"... the raw footage would be on that drive.

Including the footage of him drugging me. Of him planting the evidence. Of him rehearsing with the Replacement.

I needed that drive.

But the server room was locked. And I had used my only bobby pin.

I looked around the studio.

Tools.

I had the bolt cutters. But they were too big for a door lock.

I needed something smaller. Something precise.

I opened the drawer of my foley table.

Cornstarch. Gravel. A pair of pliers.

And... a set of lock picks.

Toby’s lock picks.

He had left them here months ago, after we had done a scene involving a safe cracker. He had taught me the basics. *Tension wrench. Rake. Feel the pins.*

I grabbed the picks.

I put them in my pocket.

I left the studio. I went upstairs.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Graham was gone. "Errands," he had said. "Last minute preparations."

For the party. Or the funeral.

I went to the server room door. The mirror.

I inserted the tension wrench. I inserted the rake.

I closed my eyes. I focused on the feeling. The tiny vibrations in the metal.

*Click.*

One pin.

*Click.*

Two.

*Click.*

The lock turned.

I opened the door.

The room was dark, lit only by the LEDs on the servers.

I went to the shelf.

*2023.*

It was a black external drive. 4 Terabytes.

I grabbed it.

I needed to check it. I needed to know if it was the right one.

I plugged it into the console.

The screen lit up.

Folders.

*Camera 1. Camera 2. Camera 3.*

*Audio Logs.*

*Edited Projects.*

I opened *Edited Projects.*

There it was.

*Merritt_Suicide_Note_Final_Mix.wav*

And next to it...

*Project_Vivarium_Master_Plan.docx*

I opened the document.

It was a script. But more detailed than the one I had seen before.

*Phase 1: Isolation.*
*Phase 2: Gaslighting.*
*Phase 3: The Replacement.*
*Phase 4: The Event.*

I scrolled down to *Phase 4.*

*Scenario A: Public Breakdown. Subject attacks guests. Police intervention. Involuntary Hold.*

*Scenario B: Fatal Accident. Subject falls down stairs/off balcony. "Tragic loss."*

*Scenario C: Disappearance. Subject wanders into woods. Presumed dead.*

He had options. Contingencies.

He was a crisis manager. He managed crises by creating them.

I ejected the drive. I put it in my pocket.

This was it. The smoking gun.

I turned to leave.

And then I saw it.

On the monitor.

*Living Room.*

Graham was home.

He was walking through the front door.

And he wasn't alone.

He was with a woman.

Lorna.

They were talking. Arguing?

I turned up the volume on the console.

*"...too risky,"* Lorna was saying. *"With the police involved..."*

*"It's fine,"* Graham said. *"Vance is on the payroll. He'll handle the report."*

*"But the boy,"* Lorna said. *"If he talks..."*

*"He won't talk. He's six. And he's terrified."*

Graham poured a drink.

*"Tonight is the end of it, Lorna. After the party... she's gone. And we get the money."*

*"And my cut?"*

*"Fifty-fifty. Just like we agreed."*

Lorna nodded. She looked relieved.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

She walked toward the kitchen.

"I'll help with the food," she said.

Graham watched her go. He took a sip of his drink.

Then he looked up.

At the camera.

At me.

He smiled.

He raised his glass.

He knew.

He knew I was watching.

How?

I looked at the console.

*Remote Access: Active.*

He was watching me watch him. On his phone.

The trap had sprung.

I ran.

I ran out of the server room. Into the bedroom.

I needed to hide the drive.

If he found it... it was over.

I looked around.

The mattress? Too obvious.

The vent? He knew about the vent.

I needed a place he would never look.

A place he was afraid of.

The dead plant.

The peace lily in the bathroom. The one he had poisoned.

I ran to the bathroom. I dug into the soil. I buried the drive deep in the pot, under the dead roots.

I washed my hands.

I heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Merritt!" Graham called out. "I'm home!"

His voice was cheerful. Bright.

I walked out into the hall.

He was at the top of the stairs. He looked impeccable. Freshly showered. Shaved.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Not really."

He laughed.

"You're in a mood," he said. "Good. Use that energy. For the party."

He walked past me. He didn't check the server room. He didn't ask what I was doing.

He just went into the bedroom and started getting dressed.

I stood in the hall.

He was too calm. Too confident.

He had seen me in the server room. He knew I had the drive.

Why wasn't he panicking?

Unless...

Unless the drive was part of the trap.

What if the files were fake? What if he had planted them?

To give me false hope?

To make me play my hand too early?

I went back to the bathroom. I dug up the drive.

I wiped it off.

I needed to check the metadata. The creation dates.

But I didn't have a computer.

I had to trust it.

I had to trust that his arrogance was his weakness. That he thought he was untouchable. That he kept trophies because he thought he'd never be caught.

I put the drive in my bra.

I went into the bedroom.

Graham was tying his tie.

"You should get ready," he said. "People will be here soon."

"I'm not wearing the white dress," I said.

"Of course you are," he said. "It's tradition."

He pointed to the bed.

The dress was laid out. Clean. Pressed.

I looked at it.

It looked like a shroud.

"Fine," I said.

I picked up the dress.

I went to the bathroom to change.

I locked the door.

I took off my clothes. I put on the dress.

It was tight. Constricting.

I looked in the mirror.

I looked like a victim.

Perfect.

I checked the hem. The razor blade was still there.

I checked my bra. The drive was safe.

I took a deep breath.

"Showtime," I whispered.

I unlocked the door. I walked out.

Graham nodded. "Beautiful."

He offered me his arm.

"Shall we?"

I took his arm.

It felt like holding onto a snake.

We walked downstairs.

The house was filling up. The music was playing. Soft jazz. Unoffensive.

People turned to look at us.

"There they are," someone said. "The happy couple."

We smiled. We nodded.

We played our parts.

I scanned the room.

Toby wasn't there yet.

Elena wasn't there.

Where were they?

Had something gone wrong?

Graham led me to the center of the room. He tapped his glass with a spoon.

*Ting. Ting. Ting.*

"Everyone," he said. "If I could have your attention."

The room went quiet.

"Thank you all for coming," Graham said. "This has been... a difficult year. For both of us."

He looked at me. His eyes were wet with fake tears.

"But Merritt is a fighter. She's been battling... demons. And tonight, we're here to support her. To love her. Before she goes to get the help she needs."

A murmur of sympathy.

"To Merritt," he said, raising his glass.

"To Merritt," the crowd echoed.

I stood there. Frozen.

Where was Toby?

"And now," Graham said. "A special presentation."

He pointed to the wall.

A projector screen lowered from the ceiling.

"I've put together a little... montage," he said. " memories. Of better times."

The lights dimmed.

The projector whirred to life.

Photos appeared on the screen.

Me and Graham on our honeymoon. Me in the garden. Me in the studio.

Music swelled. Sad, sentimental strings.

It was a eulogy.

He was burying me. Right in front of everyone.

I looked at the crowd. They were eating it up. Some were crying.

I felt a hand on my arm.

Lorna.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "He loves you so much."

I pulled away.

"He hates me," I said. "And you know it."

She flinched.

The montage continued.

And then... the tone changed.

The music stopped.

A video started playing.

Grainy footage. Night vision.

Me. In the kitchen. Holding a knife.

Me. Screaming at the wall.

Me. Digging in the garden like a maniac.

The crowd gasped.

"Oh my god," someone whispered.

Graham looked sad. Resigned.

"I didn't want to show this," he said. "But... you need to understand the severity of the situation."

He was using the surveillance footage. Edited. Contextualized.

To prove I was insane.

I looked at the screen.

That wasn't me.

It was the Replacement.

I recognized the shirt. I recognized the way she moved.

"That's not me!" I shouted.

"Merritt, please," Graham said. "Don't make this harder."

"It's an actor!" I yelled. "Look at the ear! She has a mole on her left ear! I don't!"

I pulled my hair back.

No mole.

But no one was looking at my ear. They were looking at the screen.

At the monster Graham had created.

I looked at the projector. It was connected to a laptop on a side table.

If I could get to the laptop...

I started to move.

Graham blocked me.

"No," he whispered. "Sit down."

He gripped my arm. Hard.

"Let go," I said.

"Sit down, or I'll break your wrist."

He meant it.

I sat down.

I watched the video.

It showed "me" trying to start a fire in the living room.

Then "me" talking to thin air.

It was damning.

The video ended.

The lights came up.

Silence.

People were looking at me with fear. With pity.

"I think," Graham said, "it's time for Merritt to go upstairs. Ideally, Dr. Aris is waiting."

Dr. Aris stepped forward. He had the bag.

"Come with me, Merritt," he said.

I looked at the door.

Still no Toby. Still no Elena.

I was on my own.

I stood up.

"I have something to show you too," I said.

Graham frowned. "What?"

I reached into my bra.

I pulled out the hard drive.

"The director's cut," I said.

I walked to the laptop.

Graham lunged. "Don't!"

I dodged him.

I plugged the drive in.

I didn't know the password.

But I didn't need to open the files.

I just needed to create a distraction.

I grabbed the pitcher of water from the table.

I poured it onto the laptop.

*FIZZ. CRACKLE.*

Sparks flew. Smoke rose.

The screen went black.

The sound system screeched feedback.

People covered their ears.

"My laptop!" Graham screamed. "You crazy bitch!"

He grabbed me. He threw me to the floor.

"Restrain her!" Dr. Aris shouted. "She's violent!"

Security guards moved in.

I kicked. I screamed.

"He killed Sarah! He killed Sarah!"

"Get the jacket!" Graham yelled.

He pulled the straightjacket out of the box under the table.

They grabbed my arms. They forced me into the jacket.

I struggled. But there were too many of them.

They buckled the straps.

I was bound. Helpless.

"Get her to the car," Graham said. "Now."

They lifted me up.

They carried me toward the door.

The crowd watched. Silent. Horrified.

I looked at them.

"Help me!" I screamed. "Please!"

They looked away.

They carried me out the front door.

Into the night.

A van was waiting. Not an ambulance. A plain white van.

They threw me in the back.

Dr. Aris climbed in. Graham climbed in.

"Drive," Graham said to the driver.

The van started moving.

I was in the back. In a straightjacket. With the two men who wanted me dead.

"That went well," Graham said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"A bit messy," Dr. Aris said. "But effective."

Graham looked at me.

"You really are a piece of work, Merritt. Destroying my laptop? Do you know how much data was on there?"

"The evidence?" I asked.

"My novel," he said. "I was writing a memoir. *Surviving the Darkness.* It was going to be a bestseller."

He laughed.

"Now I'll have to rewrite it. From memory."

He leaned closer.

"But don't worry. The ending will be the same."

The van turned onto the main road.

Heading for the cliffs.

Not Northlake. The cliffs.

Scenario B. *Tragic Accident.*

"She jumped," Graham said, rehearsing. "She broke free and jumped. I tried to stop her..."

I looked at the straightjacket.

I couldn't move my arms.

But I could move my fingers.

I felt for the hem of the dress.

The razor blade.

It was there.

I wiggled my fingers. I caught the edge of the fabric.

I pulled.

*Rip.*

I got the blade.

I held it between my fingers.

It was tiny. Sharp.

I started to cut.

Not the jacket.

The strap. The one holding my left arm.

It was thick canvas. Tough.

But the blade was sharper.

I sawed. Back and forth.

Graham and Aris were talking. Celebrating. They weren't watching me.

*Snip.*

One thread.

*Snip.*

Two.

The van swerved.

"Watch the road!" Graham shouted.

I sawed faster.

The strap gave way.

My arm was free.

I kept it against my chest. Pretending to be bound.

I waited.

The van slowed.

We were at the overlook. The scenic view. A 200-foot drop to the rocks below.

The van stopped.

"Okay," Graham said. "Let's do this."

He opened the back doors.

The wind howled. The ocean roared below.

"Get her up," Graham said.

Dr. Aris grabbed my feet. Graham grabbed my shoulders.

They pulled me out.

They dragged me to the edge of the cliff.

"Any last words?" Graham asked.

"Yes," I said.

I whipped my free arm out.

I slashed.

With the razor.

Across Graham's face.

He screamed. He let go. He grabbed his eye.

Blood.

I kicked Dr. Aris in the groin. He doubled over.

I was free.

I stood up. I ripped the rest of the jacket off.

I stood on the edge of the cliff.

Graham was on his knees, howling. Blood streamed through his fingers.

"You took my eye!" he screamed. "You took my eye!"

"An eye for a life," I said.

I looked at Dr. Aris. He was backing away.

"I'm just a doctor," he stammered. "I didn't sign up for this."

"Run," I said.

He ran. He got in the van and drove away. Leaving Graham.

I looked at my husband. The architect of my demise.

He looked up at me with his one good eye.

"You can't kill me," he said. "I'm Graham Coe. I'm invincible."

"You're cancelled," I said.

I didn't push him.

I didn't have to.

He lunged at me. Blind with rage.

I stepped aside.

He went over the edge.

He didn't scream. He just... disappeared.

Into the darkness.

I walked to the edge. I looked down.

Nothing but black water and white foam.

Gone.

I stood there for a long time. Letting the wind tear at the white dress.

Then I turned around.

And I started walking back to town.

I had a story to tell.

And this time