Writer Games: The Final Twist & A Night in Wattpad Manor & Faction Wattpad

Motive to Kill: Males

One: Jamie Webber

My glass of red  wine is really no substitute to the drinks I could have had at home, sat  in my easy chair with a can of lukewarm bear and the cricket on the  television screen the only light in my house. No cows or sheep like I  promised my parents, no crowds of people that make me feel socially  unaccepted, no killer trying so hard to re-enact their own version of  Wink Murder, the children's game that I used to enjoy so much. Now, the  fear I feel is real.

I feel homesick.  Maybe it's because I'm just longing to be in a familiar enviroment.  Maybe it's because the locked doors make me feel uncomfortable. Maybe  it's because I know there is quite a high chance I might not ever leave  this house alive.

The inspector  promises he'll get down to the bottom of the case, but you can never be  sure. There is always a murder case left unsolved, a killer that can't  be caught. So far, there has been no link between the three victims.  They've all just been left to die, a knife in their back and their blood  staining the carpet crimson.

Although I'd  rather be by myself, I can't turn down a conversation with the inspector  when he finally makes his way over to me. If I refuse to answer  questions then I will make myself a suspect, a target. Plus, even the  most antisocial of party-goers get desperate for some human contact.

"Can I ask your  name, sir?" he asks, looking almost like a character from a film as he  produces a small notebook and black pencil, the tools no inspector ever  seems to leave behind.

"Jamie Webber," I  reply, placing my now-empty glass of wine on the table next to me as I  gesture to the empty chair next to me. "Please, have a seat."

As he takes his seat, he makes a couple of marks in his book before looking back at me.

"Where were you at the time of the first murder?" he questions, beginning the interrogation.

"In the main  room, with everyone," I answer. "I was in a corner, so I didn't see the  action unfold directly. Only the screams and the crowds before going to  discover the body myself."

Inspector Graham raises  his eye-brows, before copying down my words into his book of evidence.  As I wait for the next question, I pick my glass back up, examining it  with great interest to see if there is even the slightest bit of alcohol  left.

"How did you know the victim?" he asks, poising his pen to make another mark.

"I didn't," I reply,  trying not to laugh when Inspector Graham gives me a look of disbelief.  "Seriously, I didn't. Ask anyone, I've done nothing since walking in,  with the exception of locating the alcohol and keeping myself very close  to it."

"How do I know you're  telling the truth?" continues the inspector. "After all, it wouldn't be  the first time someone has tried to decieve me."

"Well," I answer,  looking away from him and examing my glass with even greater intent.  "Inspector Graham, look at this from my point of view. I'm a few years  past my twenties, and I am at an event that was referred to as some sort  of 'party'. For me, a party means having fun, getting drunk, maybe  picking up a few girls. It means waking up tomorrow in a stranger's bed  with a traffic cone, a half eaten kebab and a girl that looks so messed  up you have no idea what you were thinking last night. It means you  remember absolutley nothing about the evening, but that just means you  had the best bloody time you could ever imagine. If I was going to lie,  surely I would make my night something that matched that description  rather than making myself out to be some sort of socially awkward weirdo  with a drinking problem and a cricket addiction."