The warehouse
1098 Words
The precinct was buzzing with movement—officers on call, keyboards clacking, and the faint hum of the vending machines in the background. Alina Carter ignored the noise, focusing on the map spread across her desk. Red circles marked various locations connected to their cases, but one stood out—the address Brian had just confirmed, which seemed to be their only lead after the cigarette butts yielded nothing in the DNA database.
A warehouse operating as an independent film studio. Owner: Philip Hayes.
“Could be nothing,” Brian said, leaning over her desk. “Or it could be where Maya was taken.”
Alina tapped the location with her pen. “We’re about to find out.”
Ethan Holloway, sitting on the edge of her desk, smirked. “If this guy was running a horror show, I’d say we just got VIP tickets.”
Alina rolled her eyes. “Let’s move.”
Inside the Warehouse
The drive to the warehouse was quiet, tension thick in the car. Ethan drummed his fingers on his knee, watching the city blur past. Brian was gripping the wheel a little too tight.
The moment they arrived, the eerie stillness of the industrial district made Alina’s gut tighten. The warehouse loomed in front of them, its dark windows reflecting the dim glow of streetlights.
Brian killed the engine, and they stepped out. Alina knocked on the metal door.
A few moments later, it creaked open, revealing a young man with messy dark hair and ink-stained fingers. He blinked at their badges.
“Uh… can I help you?”
Alina gave him a once-over. “Pius, right? You work here?”
Pius nodded, glancing behind him as if unsure if he should let them in. “Yeah. What’s this about?”
“We’re investigating an incident near this location,” Alina said. “We need to ask some questions.”
Pius hesitated, but then stepped aside. “Alright… but Director Hayes isn’t here right now.”
They entered, immediately struck by the controlled chaos inside. Various film sets filled the space—a dimly lit alleyway, a grungy apartment, even a replica of a police interrogation room. The smell of sawdust and metallic paint lingered in the air.
Brian whistled low. “They really commit to the aesthetic.”
Ethan walked further in, eyes scanning every detail. “It’s more than just an aesthetic. This place is built for immersion.”
Alina turned back to Pius. “What exactly does Hayes film here?”
Pius scratched his arm. “Indie films. Thriller stuff. Some experimental projects.”
Alina narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘experimental.’”
Pius shifted on his feet. “He… likes authenticity. Use real locations, real reactions. Says it makes things feel more alive.”
Ethan scoffed. “That’s a nice way of saying he blurs the line between reality and fiction.”
Before Pius could respond, another voice cut in.
“What’s going on?”
They turned to see a woman stepping out from behind a set wall, her hands dusted with makeup powder. Her expression hardened when she saw the detectives.
“Edith Lawson?” Alina asked.
Edith nodded slowly. “Yeah. What’s this about?”
“We’re asking about last night,” Alina said. “There was an incident near here, and we need to confirm if Philip Hayes was present.”
Edith’s jaw tensed. “He left early. Said he had edits to work on.”
Alina studied her. “You seem nervous.”
Edith exhaled sharply. “Look, I get it. The sets can be intense. The props are realistic. But it’s all just a production.”
Alina exchanged a glance with Ethan.
“Mind if we take a look around?” Alina asked.
Edith hesitated but finally gestured vaguely. “Go ahead. Just don’t mess with the equipment.”
Alina and Ethan moved deeper into the warehouse.
Near the back, Ethan crouched beside a chair in the middle of a darkened set. He ran his fingers along the armrest.
“Grooves,” he muttered.
Alina frowned. “Like someone was struggling?”
Ethan nodded. “Grip marks. Someone held on for dear life.”
Brian, scanning the floor, called out, “Guys, I found something.”
They turned to see him holding a cigarette butt near a ledge overlooking the entire set.
“He was watching,” Brian murmured.
Alina exhaled sharply. “Bag it for forensics.”
Footsteps echoed across the warehouse.
Philip Hayes had arrived.
Philip Hayes entered with the kind of confidence that only came from someone in control. His casual blazer, rolled-up sleeves, and knowing smirk made Alina’s skin crawl.
“Detectives,” he greeted smoothly. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
Alina stepped forward. “We have questions about last night.”
Philip’s smile didn’t waver. “Last night? I was home.”
Ethan tilted his head. “Funny. Because this”—he held up a printed still from security footage—“looks a lot like you.”
The image was grainy but damning—a masked figure adjusting a camera, another standing beside him, directing.
Philip chuckled. “I work in film, detective. Staging is my job.”
Alina crossed her arms. “Then explain why one of your sets looks like an a*******n scene.”
Philip’s gaze flickered, just for a second. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure.”
Ethan smirked. “Is that what you call it?”
Philip sighed dramatically. “Detectives, if you think something illegal is happening here, you’re welcome to check my permits. I assure you, everything is above board.”
Alina narrowed her eyes. “Where is Edith?”
Philip barely glanced over his shoulder. “I assume she’s around.”
Brian leaned against a table. “You seem awfully calm, considering a woman was nearly killed near your set.”
Philip smiled. “If I panicked every time someone got hurt near one of my locations, I wouldn’t have much of a career.”
Alina clenched her jaw.
Philip leaned forward slightly. “You’re chasing a ghost, Detective . And ghosts tend to slip through fingers.”
Alina held his gaze.
“We’ll see about that.”
As they turned to leave, Philip called after her.
“Detective,” he mused. “You’re quite a performer yourself. Do you ever get tired of playing the hero?”
Alina didn’t react. But as she stepped outside, a feeling settled in her chest.
Something wasn’t right.
They were missing something.
And Philip Hayes knew it.
- Writer
