Chapter 3: Confessions in the Dark

After graduation, we scattered. I moved to the state capital. Bryce went to Chicago. Carter studied abroad, came back six months ago. Only Tyler stayed.

We scattered like leaves in the wind, each trying to outrun the past. Only Tyler stuck around. Family, I guess.

I’m sure they all got Carter’s email, and I’m confident he’ll persuade them to attend. Carter always gets what he wants.

Carter’s the kind of guy people don’t say no to—not outright, anyway. Even after all these years, he can pull us back with a single message. Some things never change.

After Autumn disappeared, we all answered police questions. At the police station entrance, we said quick goodbyes. We all knew we’d never see each other again. Or so we thought.

I remember the way we avoided each other’s eyes, the hush in our voices. Let it rot. That was the deal.

But I know Carter never stopped looking for Autumn. Not really. Not ever.

He was relentless, chasing every lead, never letting go. He couldn’t let go. Some part of him refused to accept she was gone.

Autumn was the daughter of his father’s friend. They’d known each other since they were five. After Autumn’s father died young, Carter’s family took her in, watched out for her. He probably saw Autumn as a little sister.

It was a bond that ran deeper than most. Obsession, plain and simple. Carter’s protectiveness bordered on obsession, though he’d never admit it.

All these years, he was waiting for closure. No, all of us were waiting for closure. Closure. Whatever that means.

We carried the weight in different ways, but none of us were free. Closure wasn’t just a wish—it was a need. A need that never went away.

Today, it’s finally here. We never truly said goodbye to the past. Time to end it.

There’s a finality to the day, a sense that the story’s about to flip to the last chapter, one way or another.

It’s as if fate knows tonight isn’t a friendly reunion, but a grave-digging—a return to that sinful night—so the weather is unusually gloomy, with a cold wind whipping through Silver Hollow.

The sky is slate gray, the kind of heavy, low-hanging cloud cover that feels like it could press you into the ground. The wind cuts right through my jacket, making me hunch my shoulders as I walk. Should’ve worn something heavier.

Because of road construction, the Uber could only stop at the university town entrance. After getting out, I walked to the café. The shops along the road were mostly closed, and the apartment buildings were nearly deserted. The air smelled like rain and dust.

My footsteps echoed on the cracked sidewalk, the empty storefronts looked back at me, hollow and abandoned. A couple of neon signs flickered in the gloom, but most windows were dark. The whole place felt like a ghost town, as if everyone had packed up and left in the middle of the night.

The café Carter mentioned is in the redevelopment zone, called Lakeside Café. It sits on an artificial lake, accessible by a stone bridge. From a distance, it looks like a lone holdout. Like it’s waiting for something.

The water is still, reflecting the gray sky, and the café stands at the end of the bridge like a memory you can’t shake. It’s the kind of place you’d expect to see in a painting—a little too perfect, a little too lonely.

Lakeside Café stands alone on the water, faintly shrouded in gray, like a stage set waiting for its players. The windows glint dull in the cloudy light, and the whole place feels cut off from the world, suspended between past and present.

It’s almost theatrical, the way the place seems to float above the lake, untouchable. The air smells faintly of damp leaves and cold stone. I shivered, but not from the cold.

A rental bike was parked at the door—someone was here before me.

The bike’s frame was splattered with mud, the seat still glistening with raindrops. Whoever got here first must have been in a hurry. Probably Bryce.

I pushed the door open. Bryce Moreno sat alone by the window. Legs crossed. Smoking, slow and steady.

The bell above the door jingled, but Bryce didn’t turn. The smoke curled around his head, catching the light from the window. He looked like he belonged in a film noir—troubled, dangerous, and a little too handsome for his own good. Classic Bryce.

Back in school, Bryce was the school heartthrob. Generous and charming, he made a lot of girls swoon. His family was loaded; aside from Carter, he looked down on everyone.

He was the kind of guy who’d show up to class in a leather jacket and sunglasses, even on cloudy days. Girls whispered about him, and guys either wanted to be him or punch him. I never wanted to be him. Not really.

Here goes nothing. I walked over and sat across from him. “Long time no see,” I said.

My voice came out steadier than I felt. Bryce finally looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, lips twitching in a half-smile. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

He turned. His beard was scruffy, his hair barely groomed, his tired look clashing with his expensive suit. After ten years, his wildness seemed to have faded a bit. Age catches up with everyone.

He looked like someone who’d been running for a long time and finally got tired. The suit didn’t fit him anymore, not really. It was just armor. Just armor now.

“You showed up,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. “What are you up to these days?” Small talk. Always the same.

His voice was rougher than I remembered, like he’d been yelling at ghosts. Maybe he had.

“Me? Just writing stories online. Unlike you, inheriting the family business—already a big shot.”

I shrugged, trying to make it sound like a joke. The truth was, I’d always felt like an extra in the story of our group. The extra. Never the lead.

I’ve never really stood out—not as capable as Carter, nor with Bryce’s background. Maybe only Tyler is like me: ordinary, lost in the crowd. Ordinary. Forgettable.

We were the ones people forgot first, the ones who blended into the background. It’s not so bad, most days. Most days, anyway.

Bryce curled his lips in a half-smile. “Yeah, it was decided long ago—no surprises.” He turned back to the window, staring at a bird flying past. No surprises. Right.

His tone was flat, but I could hear the bitterness underneath. Sometimes, the path laid out for you is a cage, not a crown.

“With all you’ve got, how come you’re still single?” Tyler hadn’t arrived yet, so I kept the conversation going. Cheap shot. But I needed to fill the silence.

It was a cheap shot, but I needed something to fill the silence. The question hung between us, heavier than I expected. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“You’re really well-informed,” he said, smiling. “Just haven’t met the right one.” Right. Like there’s a right one.

He tried to sound casual, but there was a tightness in his jaw. The kind of answer you give when you’re tired of explaining yourself. I let it drop.

I guessed he never found anyone like Autumn. Back then, the scandal-plagued Bryce suddenly dropped all the girls around him and pursued Autumn single-mindedly, making the others both jealous and envious.

It was the talk of campus for weeks. People whispered about it in the cafeteria, speculating what made Autumn so special. Bryce never cared what people thought—except, maybe, about her. He cared. More than he’d admit.

I thought he was just chasing novelty, but he stuck with it. At first, Autumn ignored him, but Bryce was unusually patient—inviting her to eat, giving gifts, writing love poems, trying every trick. He tried everything.

He even learned to bake, once, showing up with burnt cookies and an embarrassed grin. Autumn just laughed and tossed him a pity compliment. He never gave up.

None of it worked at first, but a few days before our adventure in the abandoned building, Autumn’s attitude toward him suddenly changed, and she started getting close to him. I still don’t understand why. I never will.

It was like a switch had flipped. One day she was indifferent, the next she was laughing at his jokes and walking beside him after class. It made the rest of us uneasy, though we never said it out loud. Something had changed.

Coming back to myself, seeing Bryce silent and the air tense, I looked around and said I hadn’t seen Carter. Bryce replied he was busy in the kitchen, making coffee or tea.

The thought of Carter playing host was almost comical, but here we were. The past was full of surprises. Stranger things have happened.

I chuckled. “Didn’t expect him to buy this place. The university town’s being redeveloped, hardly anyone comes here anymore. I wonder what he’s after.” Carter never does anything for no reason.

My voice was light, but the question was real. Carter never did anything without a reason. Never.

“No idea what he’s thinking,” Bryce said, lighting another cigarette. Neither did I.

He watched the smoke drift upward, lost in thought. The silence between us was heavy, but not unfriendly. Just the weight of years and things left unsaid. Too much left unsaid.

“Everyone’s here,” Carter said, coming over with a tray of coffee and pastries. Showtime.

He moved with the same easy confidence as always, but there was a tension in his shoulders. The tray rattled slightly as he set it down. He was nervous, too.

I got up to help distribute and cut the cake. “Tyler’s not here yet.” Where was Tyler, anyway?

I tried to keep my tone casual, but my hands shook a little as I sliced through the cake, the knife clinking against the plate. My palms were sweating.

“He texted me—said his tire blew out, he’ll be late,” Carter replied immediately. Too quick.

His answer was quick, almost rehearsed. I caught Bryce’s eye, and we shared a look—something wasn’t right. We both knew it.

I felt a jolt inside, but kept my expression neutral. No need to let Carter see me sweat.

I tucked my hands under the table, willing them to stop trembling. The old instinct to hide my nerves kicked in. Hide it. Always hide it.

Carter is even taller and prouder now. Back then, he was a campus star—top grades, class president, a leader’s right hand. He was the golden boy.

He always seemed to stand a little straighter than everyone else, like he was born to be in charge. Even now, you could see the old confidence, though it was worn around the edges. Time changes everyone.

“Try these. I ground the coffee myself—not instant. As for the cake, I can’t bake, but I bought it from ‘Sweet Magnolia.’ You won’t be disappointed.” He always had to show off.

Carter spoke as he carefully placed the pastries from the tray onto the table, arranging them neatly in the center. The pastries smelled sweet, almost too sweet.

He always did have a flair for presentation, even when we were just kids eating gas station snacks in the dorm. Old habits die hard.

Hearing “Sweet Magnolia,” I was touched—that was Autumn’s favorite pastry. Autumn loved those pastries.

The memory hit me like a wave: Autumn’s eyes lighting up whenever someone brought her a box from Sweet Magnolia, her voice bright with gratitude. The smell of those pastries always meant good things were about to happen. I missed those days.

Sipping coffee and eating the city’s most famous pastry, the atmosphere seemed to relax. Just for a moment.

For a moment, it almost felt like old times—just friends, coffee, and laughter. But underneath, the tension coiled, waiting to strike. It was a lie. We all knew it.

Carter wiped his hands, looking solemn. “The reason I called you here, I already said in the email.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over us. “Autumn has finally been found.” He let the words hang.

His voice was low, but the words landed like a punch. The room seemed to shrink around us. I could barely breathe.

“My condolences,” Bryce said, quickly taking a sip of coffee. His voice was tight.

His hand shook, just a little, and he set the cup down too fast, sloshing coffee onto the saucer. The coffee stained the white porcelain.

Carter continued, “But today isn’t a memorial. Relax, I just want to talk.” Relax. Sure.

He tried to sound casual, but there was steel in his voice. We all heard it. No one was fooled.

This was my chance. “Talk about what? Autumn?” I asked. I kept my tone light.

I kept my tone light, but my heart was pounding. The question was a dare. I dared him to answer.

He looked at me suddenly, a chill in his eyes, his face calm. “Morgan, you know me best. Yes, I want to talk about Autumn—or more precisely, about that night.” That night. The words hung between us.

He held my gaze, and for a second, it was just the two of us, the past crackling between us like static. I couldn’t look away.

Bryce immediately stood up. “I’m here for Autumn. If this isn’t a memorial, I’m leaving. I have nothing to say about that night.” He was shaking.

He shoved his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor. His bravado was brittle, ready to shatter. I almost felt sorry for him.

I was a little surprised. Bryce was usually polite to Carter—maybe because of Autumn. Not tonight.

Bryce never challenged Carter, not openly. This was new, and it made me uneasy. Everything was off tonight.

“You don’t want to talk about it—did you do something you’re guilty of?” Carter said, eating his cake slowly. He didn’t even look up.