There is a murder in Saint Acculus Park.  Three people wake the following morning having memories of them committing the murder.  Only one clue sets them far from the crime.
 
Each morning the vices are ready to rule.  Conquer this body that is conquering this mountain.  Every moment of every day it is king of the hill.  No time to waste, this rock is spinning fast and whipping around the sun like there is no tomorrow.  Jam packed schedule like always.  No problem like always, until there is a problem.  A vice for this citizen is dashing for the shower as soon as she wakes, slide into her jogging shoes to lap the trail across the street and then bring up a breakfast sandwich when done at the park before distractions distracts her from starting her day.  Her first point of victory always well noted when creating the crunching sound of her shoe landing on the pebbles that help keep the grass to grow, the other is of course the beating bombardment over time.  Nothing like pain to make sure your objective is met.  Heart rate: 68.  The champs before they were champs trained like a champ.  This young lady is another fine design of such.   Plenty of light poles shining on the trail.  Not quite all there went the sun in the sky on the eastern side; the blues and violets still scattered about in the atmosphere.  Heart rate seventy-four.  Every so often the trail splits apart.  Choose a path.  Elevated curves wrapped around bushes and trees.  Roots to dodge.  Jagged sand formations from bicycle tires when water sat around.  Heart rate seventy-eight.  Plenty of trees to block what the morning’s light gave so far, and no stabbed pole lights in the ground in this spot made it much too difficult to avoid the terrible scene she didn’t see.  Her pace interrupted.  Palms down, she braced herself; she knew a crash had happened.  Not a clue of what is could have been in the middle of the trail.  A handful of pebbles lodged into her mitts.  Her knees scrapped with dirt acting like a coverage.  She stared at what tripped her so, though her curiosity worked up through the darkness rallied a closer look.
‘Are you okay?’
She shook the body with vigorous attention.  A virus, in which manipulates the brain to think they are the one whom is responsible for this body being here in this manner, found a host.  There are three people this athlete will come into contact with in the next few hours will truly believe they are responsible for the body on this trail.  This athlete is immune to such notion.
 
reporters, an ambulance, three squad cars, an unmarked squad car, fire truck blocking traffic.
She tells them that she was only running like she does every day and tripped on the body in a dark section on the trail.
They tell her that she can leave.