“Could this be what the photographer left behind?”
“I’m not certain yet,” Katelyn replied, her expression thoughtful.
The presence of the recorder under such circumstances was undeniably suspicious.
Pressing play, a dialogue between two voices emerged instantly.
A youthful, impatient voice asked, “How long must we wait? Is Zoey really going to jump? What if this is a prank? I mean, how did they know she’d jump?”
The other, calmer and more controlled, responded, “Stop whining. We just need to follow orders. If we manage to capture exclusive footage, it will secure our future forever.”
The man who had been scolded muttered under his breath, “We’re journalists, yet here we are in the middle of the night, filming this ridiculous stuff. Luckily, it’s winter; otherwise, the mosquitoes would be swarming us.”
“People are drawn to dramatic love stories. We’re shooting what the viewers want, not what we prefer,” his companion said.
A hint of shock flashed across Katelyn’s face.
The recorder had come at just the right time. With it, she could show that Zoey’s fall was planned and that others had been positioned to record it.
The recording continued, abruptly cut by a scream.
“Look! She actually jumped! Is she out of her mind? From the third floor?”
“Quiet and get that shot. If we miss this, I’ll never let it go,” the other snapped.
The steady sound of a camera shutter clicking marked the rhythm of their conversation.
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The audio stopped there.
Katelyn handled the recorder, about to activate another file, when Vincent’s attention sharply turned towards a shadowed corner.
“Who’s there?” he called out sharply.
The shadowy figure realized they had been seen. Without a second thought, they turned and sprinted away.
Vincent wasted no time. He chased after the figure, his long legs moving swiftly.
Night had fallen, and the only light came from a row of dim streetlights along the road.
Vincent raced after the figure, hidden in the shadows of the night.
He delivered a swift sidekick with perfect timing, sending the person crashing to the ground.
Katelyn arrived moments later. She switched on her phone’s flashlight, shining it on the stranger’s face. Neither of them had ever seen that face before.
“What are you doing around my house at this hour?” Katelyn demanded sharply.
The young man, barely in his twenties and dressed in black clothes, froze, panic sweeping across his face. His hands flailed in the air, and his voice cracked as he stammered, “I was just passing by. Just passing by.”
Katelyn and Vincent exchanged a quick look as the voice echoed. It was unmistakably similar to one of the voices from the recording.
.
.
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