Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 42 | Not even this officer, would ever see it coming.

THE ATMOSPHERE AT ELMWOOD Heights High School had shifted into something unrecognizable. The hum of typical school life—chatter, laughter, the occasional scuffle—had been replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. Students whispered to each other, heads ducked low, as though death itself might hear them. Two students gone within a week—first Ethan, then Trent. Both deaths wrapped in mystery, leaving a trail of fear in their wake.

James walked through the front doors like a ghost, his presence muted, but his mind alive with a storm. The hallways felt tighter, eyes lingering on everyone, suspicion thick in the air. There were police officers stationed at nearly every corner, their crisp uniforms adding to the tension. They spoke in hushed tones with teachers, their faces etched with lines of worry and determination. Occasionally, they'd pull a student aside for questioning—someone who seemed nervous or out of place, but James had slipped under their radar so far. He was careful not to stand out. His every move was measured, his expression always calm, his demeanor blank.

But inside, he felt... electric.

He made his way to his locker, his footsteps steady, despite the growing chaos around him. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, a fresh coat from the janitors likely trying to scrub away the lingering scent of death, as though cleaning the floors could erase the past week's horrors. As James opened his locker, his fingers brushed against the cold metal, grounding him in the present. He felt the usual weight of stares on his back, the judgment, the disgust, but none of it fazed him anymore. Not after what he had done.

And then, his eyes caught movement. Across the hallway, standing with his remaining friends, was William Carlisle.

The sight of him made something tighten in James' chest, a slow, possessive ache that never quite went away. He could see the exhaustion etched into William's face, dark circles under his eyes. It seemed as though sleep had abandoned him, as though he was drowning in the grief of losing his two best friends. He looked... haunted.

But there was something else in William's gaze when it met James'. Something unreadable, something dark. It wasn't the same condescending look he had always given him, the casual superiority of someone who knew they were better. No. This was different. Was it regret? Fear? Confusion? James couldn't tell, but he knew one thing—it pulled him in. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't help but stare.

The moment stretched, their eyes locked, until someone shifted beside William, breaking the tension. Markus.

Markus' gaze snapped from William to James, and his expression twisted into something vicious. Even from where he stood, James could hear the snarl in his voice as the jock spat out, "You think because Ethan and Trent are dead, you can get away with being a faggot? Think again."

James barely blinked at the slur. It was nothing new, just more ammunition hurled at him by those who couldn't even grasp the weight of their own cruelty. Markus' anger radiated off him like heat from a bonfire, burning and desperate. He took a step forward, eyes blazing with fury and grief. "I'll show you what happens to people like you."

In an instant, Markus was closing the distance between them, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. James braced himself, the cold, detached part of his brain already calculating the impact, the pain. He almost welcomed it. After everything, a beating would feel like a formality.

But just as Markus' fist rose, Joel's hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "Cut it out, Markus!" Joel hissed under his breath, nodding toward the approaching police officers, their dark uniforms a warning beacon in the distance. "Do you want to get arrested?"

Markus' face twisted in frustration, his muscles tensing as he fought the urge to throw a punch anyway. His jaw clenched so tightly that it looked like his teeth might crack. But with one final shove, he stepped back from James, throwing him a glare full of hatred and venom. "This isn't over, freak," Markus spat, his eyes still burning with rage.

"No problems here, officer," James said before anyone else could speak, his voice monotone, deliberately calm. His expression remained blank, void of any emotion, but deep inside, there was a flicker of something else—something darker. Amusement, maybe. Or triumph. He couldn't help it. The fear, the tension, the way Markus had backed down—it all fed the twisted sense of control blooming inside him.

One of the officers, a tall man with a sharp jawline, seemed to study James a little too closely. His eyes lingered on James' face, as though he was searching for something beneath the surface. James' blank mask of calm was in place, but apparently, something about him had caught the officer's attention.

"Is there a problem here?" the officer asked, his gaze flicking between James and Markus.

"No, officer," James repeated, his voice a deadened echo. But there it was again—that slight tug at the corner of his lips. It was subtle, just a hint of a smirk, but the officer didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step closer to James.

"Can I ask you a few questions?" the officer said, his tone more curious than accusatory. It was as though he had seen something in James' eyes, something that made him want to take a closer look.

James didn't flinch. Didn't react. He simply nodded. "Sure."

The officer gestured for James to follow him, and without a word, James fell into step behind him. The hallway around them was still thick with tension, the other students watching the scene with quiet fascination. But no one dared to interfere.

As they walked toward the office, James kept his head down, his mind running a hundred miles an hour. He knew how to play this game. He knew how to keep his mask on. There was no fear, no panic. The calm that had settled over him since Ethan's murder only seemed to solidify further. He could feel the control slipping into his grasp, like the handle of a knife.

This officer didn't know. None of them did. James was just another face in the crowd to them, a quiet, strange boy who kept to himself. They didn't know the storm brewing inside him, the darkness waiting to be unleashed.

As they reached the office door, James felt the familiar spark of exhilaration flicker in his chest. This was just the beginning. He'd been careful. He'd been smart. He had more power than any of them realized.

And no one, not even this officer, would ever see it coming.