The Dare

I lost a game of Truth or Dare and my punishment was to go out, grab a random stranger, and tell them, "I'm the killer." I picked a guy who looked the most aloof, the least likely to get involved. Steeling myself, I walked up and said, "I did it... I'm the killer." The aloof, handsome guy stared at me for two seconds, then slowly pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Suspect has confessed. Fall back." Me: Wait, what?? 1 Huh? That’s not how this was supposed to go. Before my brain could even process what was happening, the handsome guy had a hand on my shoulder, steering me to the side. "Get in the car." Oh crap, I've really done it now. Reality hit, and I started to struggle. "No, wait, officer! It was a dare! I'm not a killer!" The handsome cop didn't seem convinced. His grip on my arm just tightened. "Get in the car." I could hear the ice in his voice, so I didn't dare fight back. I let him lead me, muttering under my breath, "I'm really not a killer. My friends are right around the corner, they can vouch for me! I'm sorry, I'll never play a stupid game like this again, just let me go!" He ignored me, pulling me toward a black, unmarked car in a few quick strides. The door swung open and he shoved me inside, speaking into his walkie-talkie as he scanned the area. "Suspect is in the vehicle." I sprawled across the back seat, on the verge of tears. "Officer, I'm really—" "Shh." The handsome cop gave me a sharp silencing gesture. "Play along. Now that you're in the car, the real suspect will let their guard down." I froze, then it clicked. I scooted further into the car, making room for him as he slid in beside me. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't take it anymore. "You're really an undercover cop, right?" I whispered. "You're not, like, a human trafficker?" He glanced at me. "A little late to be asking, don't you think?" Before I could panic, he added, "But yes, I'm a cop. You can relax about that. And…" He looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You do fit the criminal profile we have for our suspect." "There has to be a 'but' in that sentence, right?" I pleaded. A small smile touched his lips. "But…" Before he could finish, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Target is on the move!" His expression changed in an instant. He threw the door open and sprinted out, his voice trailing behind him. "But I know you're not the killer." "Because at the time of the murder, you were with me." 2 What the hell? I've been in a room with a cop before? I have absolutely no memory of that! And with a face like his—sharp brows, striking eyes—there's no way I would have forgotten! As I was racking my brain, the car door opened again. The handsome cop gestured for me to get out. I peeked out and saw a few other people. A couple of young men were holding a woman, trying to get her into another car. Her build was pretty similar to mine. Seeing me, one of them signaled to the handsome cop. "Noah! Make sure you get the young lady home safe!" The cop, Noah, nodded, then raised an eyebrow at me. "Are you getting out? Or were you hoping for that cup of tea at the station?" "…Did you arrest her for murder?" I asked, my inner gossip columnist taking over. A girl who looked so frail and unassuming, a killer? Noah's face was all business. "I can't disclose case details to civilians." I pouted, then another thought struck me. "You said you were with me at the time of the murder. That's related to me, right?" He didn't deny it. "Three days ago, in the afternoon. You were at the gym, right? You were on the stair climber, and I was a few machines behind you." Right, that did happen. But he wasn't finished. "Same day, that evening. You went to a bar, right?" I was stunned. "You were there too? How could you even remember my face in that chaos?" His voice was flat. "You had too much to drink. You felt faint and short of breath when you left the bar, so you sat on the steps outside to recover." Also true. That also happened. His tone shifted slightly. "The people around you thought you were having an asthma attack and told you to control your breathing, to press on your chest and regulate your breaths." Very true. That's exactly what happened. Noah let out a breath, a crack finally appearing in his calm facade. "Now, let me ask you this. Do you remember whose chest you were pressing on?" 3 I have a tendency to black out when I drink. My last memory of that night at the bar was my hand landing on something… soft. I remember being pleased at the time, thinking all those papaya smoothies were finally paying off and my cup size had gone up. But now… Did I grope this handsome cop's chest that night?! Seeing Noah's face darken, I rushed to apologize. "I'm so sorry! I-I was really drunk…" He stared at me for a few seconds, his jaw clenched, then forced the words out through his teeth. "I just have one question for you—" "Is my chest really that flat?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice. "I've been working out for three months! You're telling me I haven't gained any muscle at all?!" He sounded so genuinely devastated that I felt like a criminal. "No, no, no!" I waved my hands frantically. "I was drunk, I was slurring my words! What I meant to say was, why isn't my chest flat anymore!" "Your chest is amazing! It's firm, it's sculpted, it's… impressive! It feels great, unforgettable, makes you want to touch it again and again." Noah was silent for a few seconds, a vein throbbing at his temple. "I understand the sentiment, but can you please take your hand off my chest now?" Oops. Didn't even realize. I snatched my hand back, laughing nervously. "Force of habit, force of habit." He shot me a sideways glance. "Where do you live? I'll take you home." My friends were still waiting for me at the board game cafe nearby, but… I looked at the handsome man in front of me and gave him a sweet smile and an address. "That would be wonderful, Officer Noah." My place wasn't far, just a regular apartment complex, but Noah's expression remained complicated the whole way. The car pulled up to the entrance of my complex. I was about to unbuckle my seatbelt and thank him when he reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't get out just yet. I'll walk you in." I blinked. Oh? This boy wants to spend a little more time with me, does he? 4 Noah saw my expression and his face twitched. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back. "Which building, which unit?" I pointed ahead with a smirk. "Building 5, unit 3." His expression relaxed slightly. "Okay." He drove into the complex and stopped in front of the building. This time, he didn't stop me from unbuckling. "Feeling better now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He paused. "What?" "I'm not an idiot," I said with a huff. "You wouldn't just randomly be this nice and walk me all the way in. You wanted to know exactly where I live, right?" A genuine smile touched his lips. "You're pretty sharp." Seeing him in a good mood, I decided to press my luck. "So why did you want to know? Does that murder case you mentioned have something to do with this complex?" Oh god, I hope this doesn't affect property values! This time, he didn't hide it. "The victim did live in this complex. But in a building far from yours." That was a relief. I nodded and prepared to get out. "Hey." Noah suddenly spoke, pulling out his phone. "Can I get your number? In case anything comes up and we need your cooperation." I didn't refuse, and we exchanged contacts. "What's your name?" he asked. I smiled. "Amy." He raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Ms. Amy. Please keep your phone on." I grunted in agreement, got out of the car, and walked into the building. Through the stairwell window, I watched Noah's car turn around and drive away. Only when it was completely out of sight did I slip back out of the building and head towards the back, to Building 9. If he was going to play games with me, I wasn't going to tell him the truth either. Just as I was silently congratulating myself on my cleverness, I heard footsteps. A figure emerged from behind the corner of the building, blocking my path. "Ms. Amy." It was Noah, still in his black clothes. He was smiling, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "You're not being very honest, are you?" 5 So, I ended up having that cup of tea at the station after all. In the interrogation room, I was on the verge of tears. "I really have nothing to do with the murder! He's a grown man, and he wanted to walk me home, all the way to my unit number! Of course I was going to be cautious!" A woman living alone has to be careful, you know! Noah looked frustrated. "I'm a police officer!" As if that explained everything! Another female officer tried to soothe me. "Don't worry, Ms. Amy. Noah is just eager to solve the case. He doesn't mean any harm. And we didn't bring you here because we think you're the killer." Noah added from the side, "It's just too much of a coincidence." I didn't get it. What did he mean? He sighed. "Your real address is Building 9, right? The victim of the murder, she also lived in your building." I gasped. My property values! "Which unit was it?" I asked urgently. "The person wasn't killed in the apartment, were they? I haven't seen any police cars around our complex lately!" This time, Noah was forthcoming. "The resident of 302, Ms. Miller. She wasn't killed in her apartment. She was struck on the head with a heavy object near her workplace." "Mrs. Miller is dead?!" I exclaimed. He raised an eyebrow. "You knew her well?" I nodded, then shook my head. "Not well, but we'd chat sometimes. She lived alone and was struggling financially. I felt sorry for her, so I'd help her out now and then." "Struggling financially?" Noah asked. "But from what I understand, the rent and property values in your complex aren't cheap. How could she afford to live there if she had no money?" I shrugged. I had no idea. It was dark by the time I left the interrogation room. Noah offered to drive me home. "Is Officer Noah going to want to know my apartment number this time, too?" I asked sarcastically. He held back a smile. "Still holding a grudge?" "Of course not," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're the police." He sighed. "I was out of line today. I'm sorry." His apology sounded sincere, so I dropped the attitude, muttering, "Just don't let it happen again." He actually laughed. "Most people would be happy to never have to deal with the police again. You're already thinking about a next time?" I rested my chin on my hand and turned to look at him, a playful smile on my face. "Maybe it's because this particular police officer is especially handsome." "And…" My gaze drifted down to his chest. "Especially… well-endowed." "Makes me want to get my hands on him." 6 Noah sentenced me to write an 800-word apology for harassing a public official. Seriously?! Is there no justice in this world! I just have a thing for guys with nice pecs! But he wouldn't listen to my excuses and demanded I send it to him by Friday. I sulked for a while, then finally managed to squeeze out 800 words and send it to him just before the end of the workday on Friday. He replied almost instantly: 【Did you use even a single brain cell to write this?】 Hey! Who's he calling brainless! I furiously typed back: 【Sir, I'm admitting my mistake with such a good attitude. The least you could do is praise me, not mock me!】 The next second, my phone buzzed. It was a call from Noah. His voice was lazy, with a hint of a smile. "Alright, I'll praise you. You're a good girl." I huffed. "That's it? You think a few nice words are enough?" He chuckled. "Not enough?" "If it's not enough—" He drew out the words. "Then come on down. I'll praise you properly." Noah was here? I was surprised. I hurried downstairs and, sure enough, there was his black car. The door was open, and he was sitting in the driver's seat, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his face obscured by the smoke. I didn't make a sound, just watched him from the entrance of my building. He was already handsome, but with the cigarette, he had a lazy, arrogant air about him that was surprisingly attractive. I couldn't help but pull out my phone and sneak a picture. Click. His head snapped up, his gaze sharp and piercing. "Come out." I rubbed my nose and walked out, my phone in my hand. "Sorry, forgot to turn the sound off." When he saw it was me, he relaxed, stood up, and stubbed out his cigarette. He came over and ruffled my hair, venting his frustration. "You scared me. I thought the killer was hiding here, waiting to ambush me." I blinked. "What do you mean? The person who killed Mrs. Miller? Didn't you guys catch them?" He smoothed my hair back down. "Means we didn't catch the real killer." "The woman we caught was just a thief. She was the first one to find Mrs. Miller's body, so she stole all her valuables. But she didn't kill her." A chill went down my spine. So there was still a killer on the loose? And that killer was likely still hanging around Mrs. Miller's home? Why? Just as I was wondering, I heard a faint sound from above. "Look out!" The next second, Noah lunged, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me into the building entrance. Crash! A loud thud exploded behind me. When I turned, the spot where I'd been standing was covered in the shattered remains of a flowerpot. "Are you okay?!" Noah asked urgently. "Are you hurt anywhere?" I struggled out of his arms. "I'm fine, I'm not hurt." He let out a breath of relief, then his head snapped up. 7 I followed his gaze up into the dark stairwell, but it was too dim to see anything. "You think someone's up there?" I whispered. "You think that pot was thrown on purpose?" He grunted in affirmation, his brow furrowed. He clearly wanted to go up and check, but he was worried about leaving me alone. "I'll go with you." I slipped out of his embrace, my voice calm. "I have a circular saw at home. I can bring it with me. And…" He looked at me. "And what?" I glanced up at the floors above us. "This has happened before in our complex. It wasn't on purpose. Some of the residents put flowerpots and other things on their balconies, and they fall off when it's windy or if they're not secured properly." Noah frowned. "What is the property management doing? Why haven't they stopped such a dangerous practice?" "It's mostly the elderly residents," I said with a sigh. "How can you manage them? If you say too much, they'll just lie on the ground and complain of heart trouble." He shook his head. "Unbelievable." "Anyway, I didn't see anyone in the stairwell when I came down. Even if there is a killer, why would they throw a pot at me?" I glanced at him. "Throwing it at you, I could understand. Throwing it at me is just a waste of a perfectly good flowerpot." He looked amused. "How do you know it wasn't aimed at me? We were standing less than two feet apart." He had a point. I scratched my head and hid behind him. "Okay, let's go. Let's go check it out." Our building wasn't a high-rise, only seven floors. I lived on the top floor, and I hadn't seen anyone on my way down. Noah led me up the stairs, but we didn't see anyone. I threw my hands up. "See? I told you." He was still frowning. "Maybe they're hiding. I don't believe in coincidences." "Where could they hide?" I asked. "We don't have an elevator. There's only this one staircase. How could they hide?" He stroked his chin, thinking, then his eyes lit up. "I know a place. A place someone could hide." "And… a place that's easily overlooked." The place he was talking about was Mrs. Miller's apartment. Standing in front of 302, I blinked. "Hide… in here?" He gestured for me to step back. "Yeah. No one's been living here since she died. The police finished their investigation and left. It's an empty apartment." He jangled a set of keys in his hand. "The property manager gave us these so we could get in and investigate. But who knows who else has a key." That was true. If Mrs. Miller's murder wasn't a crime of passion, it was likely the killer was someone she knew. Someone who might have a key to her apartment. He gestured for me to move further away. I took a few more steps down to the landing. Only then did he insert the key and press down on the handle. With a soft click, the door opened a crack. And his expression changed. "What's wrong?" I asked, peeking around the corner. His face was tense. "The door was open." "It wasn't locked." 8 I was stunned. "Maybe the police who were here before forgot to lock it?" He frowned. "No, they wouldn't make a rookie mistake like that. And the property manager was with them. The door would have been locked." He carefully pushed the door open. The living room was right inside, bright and sunny. A quick scan revealed no one was there. "Turn on your saw and stand guard by the door." He pulled out his baton and instructed me, "If someone comes out, don't try to stop them. Just protect yourself." I nodded and flipped the switch. The buzz of the saw filled the air, vibrating up my arm. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The apartment wasn't large, about 800 square feet. It took him less than three minutes to search the whole place. He came out and shook his head. "No one." "Maybe they slipped out while we were on the sixth or seventh floor," I guessed. The doors in our complex had just been serviced, so they opened and closed quietly. It would be hard to hear from two floors down. He looked frustrated, pulling out his phone. "I'll tell my backup not to come up. They can search the area around the complex first." I nodded, my eyes scanning the apartment. The layout was simple, and a thin layer of dust had settled on the furniture. My gaze fell on the dining table. It wasn't really a dining table, more like a small altar with an incense burner and several framed photos. One of the photos immediately caught my eye. It was a profile shot of a young woman, clearly taken without her knowledge. A large red 'X' had been drawn across her face. It was unsettling. Who was she? A young Mrs. Miller? She didn't look like her. Just as I was wondering, Noah came over and pulled me back. "Let's go." I jumped, and the saw lurched forward, nearly hitting him below the belt. "Hey!" He dodged, a mix of anger and amusement on his face. "Are you trying to make me the last of my line?" I quickly turned off the saw, laughing nervously. "Of course not. We can't waste a handsome man's genes." He pinched my cheek. "And how would we not waste them?" I scratched my chin. This conversation was taking a turn. Seeing my silence, he huffed and turned to leave. "All talk, no action." Hey! Who's he calling all talk? I immediately went after him, about to clap him on the shoulder, when I froze. "Noah… I think you're bleeding!" 9 He grunted in confusion, then moved his shoulder and winced. "A piece of the pot must have gotten me. I was wondering why it hurt." I was speechless. How thick-skinned do you have to be to not notice that for so long! "Come on, come on," I pushed him downstairs. "Who knows how deep it is? What if it hit a nerve?" He wasn't worried. "If it was that bad, I'd be rolling on the floor by now." And he was right. When we got downstairs and he took off his shirt, the wound wasn't deep at all. He could get the shard out with a pair of tweezers. I held his shirt, nervously wringing the fabric. "Does it need stitches?" He waved his hand. "The wound isn't even as big as my finger. Stitches would just be embarrassing." "It's not about being embarrassed, it's about whether it hurts," I grumbled. He tilted his head and smiled, poking my cheek. "Lighten up. Why so serious?" "You got hurt saving me," I mumbled. "How could I laugh? I'm not that heartless." He chuckled. "It's not that serious. I get hurt saving people all the time. I'm used to it." I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I wasn't listening. My entire focus was on his chest, which was suddenly very close. He'd taken his shirt off to clean the wound, and now a half-naked, well-built, handsome man was standing right in front of me, his pecs practically bouncing with every movement. Oh god, I think I'm getting lightheaded. "Amy?" He waved a hand in front of my face. "Are you listening?" "…Huh?" My eyes didn't move from the two points dancing before me. "Amy…" His voice changed, a complex mix of emotions. "You're bleeding, too." "From your nose." 10 Oh crap! It's definitely because of the hot, dry weather lately! It has nothing to do with his chest! I quickly tilted my head back to wipe my nose, but he grabbed the back of my neck. "Don't tilt your head back! Lean forward!" He pinched the bridge of my nose and called for another officer to get an ice pack. I tried to stop him, my voice muffled. "I'm fine! Don't bother anyone!" "Don't move," he said, trying to scare me. "You want the blood to go down into your stomach?" "It's not that dramatic," I muttered, but I stood still as he placed a cold water bottle on the bridge of my nose. "Amy, you're hopeless," he teased. "A little nosebleed and you're out for the count?" I glared at him. "You say one more word and I'll bite your nipples!" A nearby officer snickered. Noah's face darkened. The bleeding stopped soon enough, and Noah got dressed after bandaging his shoulder. I looked at him. "Do I still get my reward?" He shot me a look. "You were just about to bite me, and you still want a reward?" I thought for a moment. "Oh, that's fine. That can be the reward." He was speechless for a second, then he pinched my cheek. "You're a handful." I scratched my chin, saying nothing. While we were getting patched up, the other officers had finished searching the area. They hadn't found anyone suspicious. "So the flowerpot was just an accident?" I wondered. "But what about Mrs. Miller's door being unlocked? Was that an accident too?" "We can't be sure yet," he said, his hand moving to the back of my neck, guiding me forward. "Let's go." "Where are we going?" His eyes met mine, a faint smile in them. "Don't you want your reward?" My eyes lit up, and I forgot about everything else. "Let's go!" He drove out of the complex and to a commercial street, stopping in front of a restaurant. I looked at it, my enthusiasm waning. "The reward is dinner?" He narrowed his eyes, a playful smile on his face. "What did you think the reward was, Ms. Amy?" 11 I laughed nervously. "Nothing… Dinner is great. I love dinner." He pointed a finger at me, about to speak, when someone behind him called out. "Noah?" He turned, surprised. "Mr. Peterson? What are you doing here?" I looked over. It was a man in his sixties, with a friendly face. "Just passing by," he said, then his eyes fell on me, a mischievous glint in them. "Well, well… when did you get a girlfriend?" Noah glanced at me, and seeing I wasn't offended, he turned back to the old man. "You're as nosy as ever, sir. It's not like that." Mr. Peterson wasn't easily fooled. "Not like that? Then why did you just glance at her?" Noah sighed and introduced us. "This is Mr. Peterson. He used to be in our tech department. He just retired." "Mr. Peterson," I said politely. He smiled. "Yes, you seem like a nice girl." Noah scoffed at that. I secretly stepped on his foot and said to Mr. Peterson, "Are you here for dinner too? Would you like to join us?" He waved his hand. "I won't interrupt you two lovebirds. It's just…" He hesitated. "I heard about that recent murder case. The crime scene isn't far from here, is it?" Noah paused, confused. "It is. Why do you ask?" "I heard about it when I was at the station finishing up some paperwork," he said with a sigh. "And the victim, this Ms. Miller… I knew her." Noah and I both froze. "You knew her?" He nodded. "Her son was in the same middle school as my daughter. They had a good life, but then…" Then what? That's the important part! Seeing our eager expressions, he looked surprised. "You don't know? You didn't find out during your investigation?" He seemed to realize something. "Right. I heard she took the money and disappeared." "What happened? Please don't keep us in suspense!" Noah urged. "Her son was in an accident in his last year of middle school," he explained. "I think he was hit by a car. The driver paid them a large sum of money to keep it quiet, and after that, she and her husband disappeared."

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