The second day in captivity dragged by in an agonizing silence. The only human interaction was the harsh delivery of another meager meal by my captor, who I still hadn't seen clearly.

The journal offered a chilling glimpse into my apparent future. Day 4 spoke of a successful escape attempt, quickly prevented. Day 5 detailed a grueling interrogation, though who was doing the interrogating remained a mystery.

The name Vanessa Moore appeared in every entry with increasing desperation. It was clear I cared deeply for her, but the details of our relationship were frustratingly absent.

Were we lovers? Married? Was she the woman in my fragmented memories?

By nightfall, despair threatened to consume me. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic dripping of water somewhere in the darkness. I clung to the journal like a lifeline, its cryptic messages the only connection I had to the outside world.

The next morning, the heavy door opened with a familiar creak. This time, however, my captor wasn't alone. Stepping into the dim light was a woman, her face etched with fury and barely concealed fear.

"Mr. Evans," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "You have a lot to answer for."

Shock coursed through me. The woman was Detective Miller, a seasoned investigator who had questioned me briefly after the death of Vanessa Moore, my girlfriend.

This was the face accusing me of murder.

"Detective," I stammered, my voice hoarse from disuse. "What's going on? Where am I?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she threw a newspaper clipping onto the floor. The headline screamed: "Famous Actress Vanessa Moore Found Dead in Her Apartment - Boyfriend Suspected."

The blood drained from my face. I stared at the photograph accompanying the article - Vanessa, stunning in a red dress, the smile that once melted my heart replaced by a horrifying grimace. Memories flooded back, fragmented and disorienting.

A fight, an argument, the glint of a knife... but in whose hand?

"You remember it, don't you?" Detective Miller sneered. "The night you murdered Vanessa! The evidence is all against you, Mr. Evans. The prints on the murder weapon, your blood found at the scene, the eyewitness placing you there."

Eyewitness? My mind reeled. Who had seen me? Who was lying?

The journal slipped from my hand, forgotten. Panic constricted my chest.

Was I being framed? Was the real killer manipulating everything, including the evidence and a witness?

"I don't remember," I croaked, desperation lacing my voice. "There's been a mistake. I didn't kill Vanessa."

Detective Miller's face hardened. "Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Evans. You'll have your chance to plead your innocence in court. But for now, you stay here."

With a disgusted glance, she turned on her heel and exited the room, followed by my captor. The heavy door slammed shut, plunging me back into suffocating darkness.

Alone with my thoughts and the haunting echoes of Detective Miller's words, I scrambled to pick up the journal. Maybe, within its pages, lay the key to unlocking the truth and proving my innocence. But as I flipped through the entries, a terrifying realization hit me.

The journal only went up to Day 10.