Chapter 5: The Shadow's Promise

After he finished, Carter asked, “You couldn’t find Autumn—why didn’t you use the walkie-talkie?”

His tone was sharp, more accusation than question.

Bryce turned away, reluctant. “I didn’t want you all to know I was following Autumn around like a lost puppy.”

His cheeks flushed, and he wouldn’t meet our eyes. Pride, even now.

That fit Bryce’s character. He cared about Autumn, but was too proud to admit it. Even when giving gifts, he’d say, ‘If you don’t like it, just throw it away. I don’t want it back.’

It was his armor, a way to keep from getting hurt.

Carter said, “So you had a lot of time alone. No one knows what you did.”

He let the accusation hang, heavy as a judge’s gavel.

Bryce snorted. “You’re convinced the murderer is one of us. No matter what I say, you’ll suspect me. What’s the point?”

He slumped in his chair, defiant but exhausted.

“Remember, I’m in charge now.” Carter’s face was expressionless as he turned to me. “Your turn. Bryce said he saw you. Is that true?”

His eyes were cold, calculating, as if he was already dissecting my story.

I nodded. “Yeah, let me tell you what I saw.”

I straightened up, feeling the eyes of the room on me. My mouth was dry, but I pressed on.

Here’s my account of that night:

I wasn’t interested in adventure games, so I checked the first floor briefly, then sat on the stairs to smoke.

The air was thick with dust, and the glow from my cigarette barely cut through the gloom. I just wanted the night to be over.

Afterwards, I met Bryce. He asked if I’d seen anyone come down; I said no.

He looked disappointed, but didn’t push it. We parted ways quickly.

After smoking, I went to the second floor and ran into Carter coming out of the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He looked startled to see me, like he’d been caught somewhere he shouldn’t have been.

He said he’d heard a girl crying, so we checked the bathroom again, but found nothing.

We searched every stall, our footsteps echoing. There was nothing but the smell of mildew and something I couldn’t name.

Carter said he’d check downstairs and left. I wandered the second floor, then went upstairs.

His footsteps faded quickly. I felt a chill, but kept moving. The whole place felt like it was watching me.

On the third floor, I heard people talking, but didn’t bother to check, so I kept going up.

Their voices were muffled, indistinct. I figured it was just Bryce and Tyler, or maybe Autumn. I didn’t want to interrupt.

On the fourth floor, I also heard a girl crying from the bathroom, checked, but found nothing. I felt uncomfortable, so I used the bathroom.

The sound was so real, it made my skin crawl. But again—nothing. Just shadows and echoes.

After that, bored, I went into a classroom and napped until Carter called us on the walkie-talkie.

The hard desk pressed into my cheek, but I managed to doze off for a bit. When the walkie crackled, I jerked awake, heart pounding.

After I finished, Carter nodded. “I did run into you, but your story is too simple. You were alone even longer than Bryce. But you and Autumn were never close—unless you secretly liked her?”

He raised an eyebrow, the accusation more playful than serious, but it stung anyway.

I shrugged. “If that’s what you think, I can’t help it. I really don’t have any witnesses.”

I kept my tone light, but inside I was bracing for the next blow.

Carter rubbed his neck, settling in for a long interrogation. “You both are clearly hiding something. If you don’t talk, we all go down together.”

His voice was low, almost gentle, but the threat was clear as day.

His tone was so calm, I was certain: if we don’t produce a murderer today—note, ‘produce’ a murderer—none of us are leaving.

He wanted a story, not the truth. I could see it in the way he watched us, waiting for someone to slip.

As for who the real murderer is, what the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Carter just needs a convincing culprit.

It was all about control. He’d rather have a neat ending than a messy reality.

If that’s the case, I’ll help him out. “Tyler isn’t here. Are you sure he’s not the murderer? Doesn’t Bryce’s story need Tyler’s confirmation?”

I tossed the ball back in his court, watching his reaction.

Bryce glanced at me, surprised, angry, and confused.

His lips parted, but no words came. The accusation hung between us, souring the air.

No rush, the show’s just starting.

I leaned back, crossing my arms, waiting for Carter’s next move.

Carter said, “I’ll handle Tyler. You two can’t even protect yourselves. If you can’t convince me, neither of you will leave.”

He sounded almost bored, but I saw the glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this.

“I’m a nobody, but I don’t want to die here.” I turned to Bryce. “Autumn said she’d check the third floor. You went there too, said you didn’t see her, but when I passed by, I heard a man and a woman talking. How do you explain that?”

I kept my voice steady, but my heart was pounding. The logic was airtight, and Bryce knew it.

Bryce froze, glaring at me, then stammered, “I… it could have been Tyler. I met him on the third floor.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. The lie was obvious.

I propped my chin on my hand, tilting my head at him. “If it was Tyler and Autumn talking, you would’ve seen them, but you said you saw Tyler but not Autumn. Isn’t that a contradiction?”

I watched him squirm, the truth pressing in from all sides.

“Maybe… they finished talking, and Autumn left.” Bryce clenched his hands, eyes darting, his jaw tight.

His voice was barely above a whisper, desperate.

“You’re lying,” I said flatly. “You met me on the first floor, then went straight to the third. I lingered on the second floor before heading up. If Autumn had already left, I couldn’t have heard a man and woman talking on the third floor.”

I laid out the timeline, brick by brick, leaving him nowhere to run.

Carter’s gaze locked onto Bryce. “Morgan makes sense. I was on the first floor at that time. Tyler is the one you met later. So the voices Morgan heard could only have been you and Autumn.”

His tone was clinical, almost admiring. He liked a good deduction, even if it hurt.

Bryce’s face turned ghostly pale.

He looked like he might be sick, his bravado crumbling.

“Morgan! What are you doing? We’re in the same boat. You’re framing me to save yourself? You sycophantic jerk, just like ten years ago!”

His voice cracked, the accusation more wounded than angry.

I gritted my teeth and said calmly, “If you’re not the murderer, explain what you and Autumn talked about, and where she went afterward.”

I kept my tone even, but my hands were clenched under the table, knuckles white.

Bryce lowered his head, body trembling, his voice weak. “This has nothing to do with Autumn’s disappearance. Don’t you think it’s strange? Why did we all hear a girl crying, but never found anything?”

He tried to deflect, but Carter cut him off.

Carter interrupted, “Don’t try to change the subject. We’ll talk about that later.”

His voice was sharp, brooking no argument.

I smiled to myself—this probably involved Carter.