The journey to Rosedale Hall felt like an eternity for Celine. Her tears had dried halfway through, but the aching in her heart persisted. Juliette's voice replayed in her mind, their conversation an endless loop of torment. What if she hadn't convinced Juliette to stay at Rosedale? Would things have been different? Celine knew these thoughts were futile, yet they plagued her relentlessly. Guilt gnawed at her, making her feel as though, deep down, she wished Hunter had faced his ordeal alone. It wasn't true, but if only Juliette had been safe at home, Celine would be worried for just one loved one instead of two. Perhaps knowing Juliette was safe would ease her self-loathing. She wouldn't feel as if she had signed her sister's death warrant.
But even if Juliette had left Rosedale unscathed, Celine knew she wouldn't have been alright. Her sister's bravery and loyalty would have driven her back into danger. Imagining Juliette's regret mirrored Celine's own self-blame, shattering her heart anew. Tears welled up once more as Nolan turned onto Stafford Street, and Marissa squeezed Celine's hand reassuringly despite her own tear-streaked face.
Any lingering hope that this might be one of Mrs. Rosewood's twisted jokes vanished upon their arrival. The driveway was crowded with police cars flashing red and blue lights, officers and forensic teams swarming around, communicating via radios.
Celine clambered out of the car, nearly stumbling if not for Marissa's steady grip. The sight before them shocked her tears away; perhaps she'd secretly wanted it all to be a horrific prank.
Mrs. Rosewood sat near the Marble Thunderbolt Man statue clutching a Styrofoam cup, speaking to a detective who scribbled in a notepad. Mr. Grier marched towards them but was stopped by a uniformed officer.
"Sir, this is an active investigation. You'll have to stay back," the officer said firmly.
Mr. Grier didn't break stride. "Don't tell me to stay back; my daughter is missing!"
Celine was stunned; her father was usually composed and stoic. Seeing him unravel so quickly extinguished any remaining hope.
The officer tried again to impede Mr. Grier's path but was interrupted by a woman in a grey pantsuit approaching with authority that made the officer step aside sheepishly.
"Apologies for that," she said sincerely. "We seldom encounter such cases here, and Officer Stevens is still learning the ropes."
Mr. Grier merely gave a vague nod in reply. Celine questioned her decision to tell her father about the department's lack of experience, but doubted her own knowledge of criminal investigations.
"You're Jerry Grier? Mrs. Rosewood mentioned you'd be coming. I'm Detective Evelyn Cheng, leading this case." She extended her hand, which Mr. Grier shook half-heartedly. Celine could see her father's irritation with the formalities. "First and foremost, I want to express my deepest regrets for what's happened. My team and I are fully committed to finding your daughter."
"And what exactly are you doing?" Celine interjected, surprising herself with her assertiveness.
"My daughter, Celine," Mr. Grier introduced.
Detective Cheng offered a reassuring smile. "Hello, Celine. I understand you're frightened for your sister. We've reviewed the security footage and are now canvassing the area and interviewing neighbors for leads. My best officers are on it. I know it's a lot to ask, but please trust us to find Juliette."
Unsure how to respond, Celine chose silence. Trusting them was her only option while she tried to banish the horrifying crime show images from her mind—images of Juliette and Hunter being brutally attacked or discarded in a lake haunted her thoughts. For once, she wished her imagination wasn't so vivid.
Cheng's radio crackled to life, announcing that the search of the cottage had yielded no results. She responded, "I'm directing everyone there." She clipped the radio back onto her belt and turned to Celine and Mr. Grier. By now, the rest of their family, along with Nolan and Taylor, had gathered around them. "Mr. Grier, could you and your family please follow me? I need to ask a few questions."
This wasn't how Celine had imagined her return to Rosedale Cottage. Many cherished childhood memories sprang from that summer they rented it; she clung desperately to them to fend off today's harsh reality threatening to engulf those memories with sinister ones.
Despite the late hour nearing midnight, Celine recognized the cottage's familiar buttery yellow walls approaching in the darkness. Memories of their first arrival—Juliette racing for the best bedroom while Celine daydreamed about Hunter—flooded back but now brought only pain.
They entered the kitchen and vivid memories surfaced: young Juliette's fiery outburst at Hunter after Celine had gone through so much trouble to bring him there for an apology meeting. Who could have guessed that botched apology party would lead to her brave sister's potential fate?
Stop it, Celine commanded herself firmly as she blinked back tears threatening to spill over. You can't think like that, Celine. Stay positive.
In real life, unlike Celine's Detective Moony, heroes didn't swoop in with only minor obstacles to overcome. Detective Moony always seemed to catch a break, didn't she? Lucky, stuck-up bitch. Juliette had been right about her; she was quite the irritating character. Yet, Celine would have given anything for Detective Moony to heroically save Juliette and Hunter—or maybe Jace Herondale, Katniss Everdeen, Harry Potter, or Maximum Ride. Anyone with an abundance of exceptional resources unavailable to the pathetic attempts at heroes real life offered. Celine was beginning to see that all her reading had built up ridiculous expectations no one could meet unless they came from the pages of a book.
Celine snapped out of her despair when Mrs. Rosewood joined them, accompanied by another detective who introduced himself as Derek Silva.
Celine couldn't recall ever thinking of Mrs. Rosewood as a "poor woman," but now she appeared visibly distraught.
Detective Silva lowered Mrs. Rosewood into a chair; she was trembling so violently it seemed she wouldn't have made it on her own. Her face was ashen, streaked with black mascara.
"How did you let this happen?" Mr. Grier demanded, hardly giving Mrs. Rosewood any time to compose herself. He didn't bother with pleasantries. "Where were you?"
"Jerry!" Marissa stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm.
Mr. Grier swatted her hand away. "I have the right to be angry, Marissa. We could lose Juliette." He turned on Mrs. Rosewood angrily.
"If you hadn't left them alone, I wouldn't be missing my daughter."
To Celine's surprise, Ella came to Mrs. Rosewood's defense: "What about Hunter, Daddy?"
Ella might not fully grasp the situation's severity, but at eleven, Celine thought Ella was wise beyond her years (certainly wiser than she'd been at that age), and knew that assigning blame wouldn't help anyone.
Their father deflated upon seeing Ella clutching Nolan's hand and staring up at him with wide eyes swimming with emotion.
Mr. Grier ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "Sometimes kids understand things better than we adults do," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to overlook Hunter."
Mrs. Rosewood just nodded weakly, her chin resting against her folded hands as her body heaved with silent sobs.
Celine felt an unexpected rush of empathy for her; after all, she'd cried in a similar fashion for hours herself already.
It wasn't the first time Celine had seen Mrs. Rosewood so worried about Hunter either—not quite as worried perhaps—but years earlier during the Grier's stay at Rosedale when Hunter had run away attempting to escape a future in military academy and find his father.
Mrs. Rosewood had been desolate back then too; but it had been different for Celine who—alongside her sisters—had known of Hunter's plan and hidden him upstairs.
At that time Celine couldn't comprehend what Mrs. Rosewood was enduring; but now—with the prospect of losing Juliette and Hunter forever hanging over them—she realized how cruel they'd been by hiding him from her then.
No one deserved such paralyzing fear for their loved one's safety
For all they knew, Juliette and Hunter might already be dead. Detectives Cheng and Silva had been comparing notes, but as the tension in the room thickened, Detective Cheng put away her notepad and addressed everyone. "I know this is hard for all of you, but right now, you need each other more than ever. The smoother we get through this, the better the chances of finding your kids. Understand?"
Solemn nods were exchanged around the room.
Detective Cheng gave them an encouraging smile. "There are a lot of people here," she noted. "If possible, I'd like to speak privately with just the parents. This process is overwhelming enough as it is, and having more people only complicates things."
Overwhelming? Ha! Pre-calculus finals are overwhelming. This was something else entirely—pure emotional trauma. But with her family seemingly in agreement with the detective, Celine and her sisters obediently headed upstairs, closely followed by Nolan and Taylor.
Celine noticed that Rachelle was just as eager to listen in on what was happening in the kitchen as she was. How could their father send them off to bed without knowing where the investigation stood? She certainly couldn't sleep while waiting anxiously for any sign that Juliette and Hunter would be found safe.
Taylor seemed to sense this too. He paused on the landing and pulled Rachelle into a comforting hug. Speaking just loud enough for Celine to hear, he whispered into Rachelle's ear, "Nolan and I will get Ella settled in her room."
Rachelle mumbled her thanks, and Celine found herself wishing—yet again—that she had her own Taylor to lean on during such crises. Of course, none of her past crises had been quite this catastrophic.
"Do you want to listen too?" Rachelle asked, her voice cracking from all the crying.
"Yes." Celine's own voice hit a strange pitch as she fought to keep it steady; crying would surely give away their eavesdropping.
"Mrs. Rosewood," Detective Cheng was saying downstairs. "Could you please give us the name and address of Hunter's father?"
Celine tightened her grip on Rachelle's arm. "They don't think it was Alan, do they?" she whispered.
Rachelle shushed her quickly.
"Um... his name is Alan." There was a brief pause before Mrs. Rosewood realized there could be more than one Alan in Massachusetts. "Alan O'Malley." She sounded unusually timid. "I have his address somewhere—in my phone, I think."
Had she not been so utterly terrified, Celine would have burst with pride when her father spoke up to defend Alan's honor.
"I know Hunter's father very well," he said firmly. "He isn't behind this."
Detective Cheng assumed a sympathetic, patient demeanor. "I understand. But statistically, in cases of separated parents and missing children—"
"Alan would never harm Hunter!" Mrs. Rosewood interjected fiercely, as if personally affronted by the suggestion. Celine glanced at Rachelle, both mirroring shocked faces. Mrs. Rosewood was not known to defend others, particularly her ex-husband.
Detective Silva intervened. "We get your feelings, but we'd be negligent not to investigate him. We must cover every angle. Our priority is Hunter and Juliette's safety."
Hmph. Detective Moony would never waste time on baseless accusations against Alan O'Malley.
"Is there anyone who might wish to harm your son?" Detective Silva redirected the inquiry.
Celine sensed Mrs. Rosewood's defensive tension. "Why focus on Hunter? Juliette isn't exactly pleasant; she's probably made plenty of enemies with her attitude."
Rachelle stiffened, synchronized with Celine. Trust Mrs. Rosewood to slight Juliette even when her fate was uncertain. The thought made Celine shudder and wrap herself tightly; she couldn't bear the thought without feeling faint.
"My daughter is blameless!" Celine thought she heard her father slam his palms on the table, as rattled as she felt.
"So you're suggesting it's my son?" Mrs. Rosewood snapped back, her voice tinged with pain and frantic worry but still sharp. "Hunter defends your family all the time, but you seem indifferent about him being missing too."
This was too much for Celine; she adored Hunter more than anything.
Rachelle sensed her indignation. "Celine, don't!"
But Celine disregarded the warning. She wouldn't lose her temper (that was Juliette's role), ignoring any thought of Grier Family Honor—only her own concern mattered now. Rachelle reached for her hand, but Celine dashed down the stairs with such urgency that she nearly collided with her father's chair in the kitchen.
"I'm scared and worried."
No one appeared surprised by her presence—they apparently weren't as stealthy on the stairs as hoped. However, Mrs. Rosewood was startled that Celine addressed her directly.
Celine swallowed hard, feeling another unwelcome lump rising in her throat. "Hunter is like my brother. I talk to him every…" She paused for a deep, steadying breath, but tears still flowed. "Every…single…day." Her voice wavered, but she forced the words out, not caring if they made sense. "Juliette would burst in here and demand you take that back, but I can't do that. However, I must say that Hunter is a part of me. If something happens to him, I will never get that piece of myself back. Never."
The room fell silent. Even the detectives were speechless, perhaps giving them space to sort out their emotions—or so Celine guessed.
Between sobs, she stammered, "Th-that's all I have to say. Now, goodnight." Yet her feet stayed firmly planted on the floor.
"Oh, Celine." Mr. Grier began to approach her, but Marissa reached her first. Celine clung to Marissa as if she were a lifeline in a raging storm. Rachelle joined them and gently rubbed Celine's back for comfort.
"We all love Hunter," Rachelle said softly.
Over Marissa's shoulder, Celine glimpsed Mrs. Rosewood tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—though through her blurred vision from crying, it looked like Mrs. Rosewood had been wiping away a tear.
After a long pause, Mrs. Rosewood awkwardly said, "Thank you for sharing that."
Celine sniffled and shuddered as she snorted the contents of her runny nose down her throat. She scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and backed away from Marissa. Remembering where the cups were kept from their previous visits, she poured herself a glass of water to wash down any lingering phlegm.