How To Be A Murderer

Phoenix Keehl wakes up in a hospital with selective amnesia, his older brother Nate missing. Days later, Nate is found dead, staged as a suicide in their high school classroom. But Detective S, an enigmatic figure, declares it murder, accusing Phoenix and a group of Nate's friends. As Phoenix grapples with his lost memories and a shocking murder threat that targets him and his mother, he must navigate a web of lies, hidden motives, and a ruthless killer to uncover the truth and protect the last person he has left.

How To Be A Murderer

Phoenix Keehl wakes up in a hospital with selective amnesia, his older brother Nate missing. Days later, Nate is found dead, staged as a suicide in their high school classroom. But Detective S, an enigmatic figure, declares it murder, accusing Phoenix and a group of Nate's friends. As Phoenix grapples with his lost memories and a shocking murder threat that targets him and his mother, he must navigate a web of lies, hidden motives, and a ruthless killer to uncover the truth and protect the last person he has left.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. I blinked, the world slowly coalescing from a blur. I was in a hospital bed, needles taped to my arm.

Mom entered, her face streaked with dried tears, a forced smile on her lips. "You're finally awake," she said, walking towards me. "The doctor says you have selective amnesia. And... your older brother is still missing."

Older brother? The words felt alien. A cold dread seeped into my chest. Nate Keehl. The name meant nothing to me. Mom's grief was palpable, a heavy cloak in the sterile room.

I was discharged on Monday. Ignoring Mom's pleas, I went to Emmanuel High. The school hallway buzzed with whispers. My classroom was cordoned off, police tape everywhere. Inside, a man hung, his feet touching the floor. It was Nate.

SPO2 Patrick Smith approached. "You must be Phoenix Keehl?" he asked. "The man inside... it's Nate. Your brother."

"Impossible!" I cried, tears blurring my vision. He couldn't be dead. Mom would be devastated. A wave of sorrow, unearned yet overwhelming, crashed over me. My brother, a stranger, was gone.

Later, a man in a black mask, Detective S, arrived. He declared it murder, not suicide, and accused me. Me. "All of you are the suspects for killing Nate Keehl," he announced, pointing at me and a few others. The world spun. I didn't even remember him, let alone killing him.