Chapter 9 – Part 4
Autumn Berry – POV
We stepped back into the club room, the familiar smell of coffee and old textbooks hitting me like a small comfort after the tense interrogation. Dorielle walked beside me, hands tucked into her blazer pockets, smirking like she had just enjoyed a private joke. I dropped my bag onto the table, pulling out the last poem Selene had sent—the one from seven days ago, the last before she went missing.
Rhea was already standing near the whiteboard, clipboard in hand, her eyes sharp, scanning the room. Quinn peeked up from her notebook, her shoulder-length hair falling slightly into her eyes, and Liam's fingers were already flying across his laptop. Theo sat quietly, observing us, ready to take notes or jump in when necessary.
"Report," Rhea said, her voice calm but commanding.
Dorielle leaned against the table with her usual smirk. "He's complicated," she said, nodding toward Alex. "Emotionally torn, maybe scared… doesn't mean that he's guilty. Just… dramatic."
I cleared my throat and laid out the last poem she passed before she was missing for everyone to see. Quinn leaned closer, wide-eyed.
---
Selene's Last Poem -
The path curves under overgrown trees,
A gate swings open, welcoming the quiet.
Footsteps echo softly along wooden floors,
Dust rises where sunlight touches the rug.
Keys left on the table beside a chair,
Windows open to catch the evening breeze.
The hearth glows faintly, holding warmth,
Corners cradle shadows of stories long told.
A narrow staircase winds to empty rooms,
Halls hum faintly with memory and time.
Curtains sway where no one passes,
Every nook preserves whispers of life inside.
The garden waits, untamed but serene,
Doors stand ready for those who wander near.
---
Quinn blinked at me. "A… house?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes. Listen. Every object she mentions—gate, footsteps, dust, keys, windows, hearth, corners, staircase, halls, curtains, nook, garden, doors—these aren't just random. They all describe a house. She's leaving us a location without saying it outright."
Quinn frowned. "Okay… but how do we know which house?"
I tapped my pen against the paper, feeling my memory replay everything I'd observed over the past week. "Look at the way she describes the movement through the space. 'Footsteps echo softly along wooden floors,' 'keys left on the table beside a chair,' 'a narrow staircase winds to empty rooms'—she's not just describing objects; she's describing movement, a layout. I've noticed the way she wrote about Alex in previous poems—the little details he's mentioned, the stories she used to tell. It matches. It all points to a house associated with him."
Dorielle tilted her head, finally showing more curiosity than mockery. "So we're supposed to just… follow the poem and go knocking at someone's door?"
"No," I said quickly, "we observe first. Notice the sequence of objects and the emphasis she gives each. The garden waits… doors stand ready… it's directional, like a breadcrumb trail. She's telling us how to approach, what to look for, even the order in which to expect things. If we ignore the pattern, we could miss her entirely."
Rhea nodded, writing notes on her clipboard. "Good. This is more than just deduction—it's procedure. Autumn, I want you to map every object, every directional hint. Quinn, assist her. Liam and Theo, cross-reference Alex's recent movements and check for anything digital. Dorielle, watch for anything out of place or manipulative behavior. We move as a team, cautiously."
I opened my notebook, listing every key noun, and began drawing arrows connecting them, like a map. My mind replayed Alex's subtle expressions during the interrogation—the nervous glance at the floor. He had nothing obvious, nothing that confirmed guilt—but the tension in his body, the little inconsistencies, combined with Selene's clues… it all pointed to a place we had to check carefully.
Quinn leaned over my shoulder, whispering, "I can't believe she was leaving directions like this… in a poem. And no one would even think to look for it."
Dorielle smirked again, a rare spark of seriousness in her amber eyes. "It's messy, it's clever, and yes… it's dangerous. I didn't see that coming."
Rhea's voice cut through the quiet. "Good. Document, map, analyze. Every detail matters. Selene left this for us for a reason. We follow her path carefully, or we lose her entirely."
I exhaled, staring at the paper. The weight of it pressed down on me. Selene wasn't just missing—she was guiding us, leaving breadcrumbs in the shape of words, objects, and movement. And the person at the center of it all might be right in front of us.