The detectives were the only people who had left the kitchen all night. Celine perched on top of the counter, Nolan remained seated in the corner, and Rachelle and Taylor rejoined after Ella fell asleep. Although they were all drained, not one of them could sleep. Celine was especially terrified of the nightmares that would invade as soon as she closed her eyes.
She stared at her phone screen, another minute slipping away. It was 8:17 AM. Juliette and Hunter had been missing for nearly twelve hours. Silence filled most of that time, but even Mrs. Rosewood chose not to be alone that night.
Celine's thoughts drifted to the investigation. Police still scoured Rosedale's grounds, their ceaseless movements and radio chatter both alarming and oddly comforting. Around six that morning, the media got hold of the story, arriving en masse to capture the best photos and updates – although there had been none. They now camped outside the cottage and lined Rosedale's prize-winning gardens like a horde of insufferable locusts.
Even now, frenzied camera clicks and shouts filled the air – wait, something was different. The noise had died down over an hour ago. Something must be happening. Yes, Celine heard a car door slam just outside. The reporters' excited murmurs swelled to an all-out roar. A man shouted, likely at an officer, insisting he was Hunter's father. Celine jumped from the countertop, her heart swelling and then breaking for what felt like the sixth time that morning.
The door flew open and Alan O'Malley stormed in, his face pale but his demeanor furious. He slammed the door behind him so hard it rattled its hinges.
"Barbara," he said, ignoring everyone else as he fixed his gaze on Mrs. Rosewood. "You bitch."
Mrs. Rosewood sprang to her feet, her eyes wide with shock. "Alan! I—"
"What? Surprised to see me?" Alan growled.
Celine watched in amazement as several incredible things unfolded before her. First, the mere sight of Hunter's parents in the same room, speaking to each other, was surreal. Though she was aware of their brief marriage, she had always harbored a bit of disbelief. They were so different; imagining them ever being in love seemed absurd. In fact, it almost made more sense to think they had somehow produced a child without knowing each other at all.
But what truly unnerved Celine was Alan's raw and unrestrained fury. Throughout all the years she'd known him, she'd never seen him genuinely angry, but now he seemed ready to summon divine wrath upon Mrs. Rosewood.
Mrs. Rosewood's mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to find the right words—or any words—to respond with. Alan didn't wait for her to gather her thoughts.
"Crazy story," he said bitterly. "The police woke me up last night to question me about my missing son. Imagine my surprise since I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE WAS MISSING!"
He shouted so loudly that Celine almost shrieked, feeling an impulse to check if his outburst had knocked any wall décor askew. Could that even happen? She doubted it.
Mrs. Rosewood smoothed her hair with trembling hands to regain her composure. "I did tell them it wasn't you."
"How generous of you," Alan spat venomously, gesturing wildly around the room in his rage. "You told the Griers. You hate them!" Then, as quickly as his anger flared, it dissipated into exhaustion and grief. He sank into a chair beside Mr. Grier and buried his face in his hands. "Why didn't you call me?"
Celine noticed this recurring pattern between Mrs. Rosewood and Alan. Later, she and her sisters would agree that finding out something terrible had happened to your child from someone else was almost as bad as not being told you were a father in the first place.
To Celine's great surprise, Mrs. Rosewood began to cry. "I don't…I don't know why." Embarrassed, she glanced around at the many witnesses in the room who had seen their interaction.
Alan spoke again, his voice softer but still filled with pain. "We've had our differences, but I have never done anything to deserve that."
Mrs. Rosewood shook her head and stared at the ceiling, blinking away tears rapidly. "No…no, I know you haven't. Alan, I'm so sorry."
Alan's face mirrored the shock Celine felt, yet his attitude towards his ex-wife remained unchanged. He diverted his attention, still seated, suddenly realizing he hadn't spoken to anyone else. "I'm sorry about Juliette."
In a burst of emotion, Celine rushed around the table to embrace him. He stood up to reciprocate the hug properly.
"What do we know?" Alan's question was laced with tension.
Rachelle responded, her bitterness unmistakable. "That it's Derick."
Alan pulled away from Celine. "Barbara's Derick?" He directed the question at her even though it seemed he was talking to someone else.
She nodded. "We're getting divorced."
"I know that. Hunter told me what happened," Alan retorted sharply.
Mr. Grier interjected, "Apparently, Derick blames Hunter for something. Why he thinks that justifies this is beyond me."
It was a mystery to everyone. Celine had read countless stories featuring revenge-driven villains, but the rationale made more sense in fiction.
Celine's thoughts were again interrupted by a media frenzy outside, shouts of "Detective!" piercing the air as Detective Cheng entered.
"Mr. O'Malley," she addressed Alan. "I'm relieved you arrived safely. I'm Detective Cheng. If there's anything I can assist you with, please let me know."
Alan didn't acknowledge her, his gaze fixed intently on Mrs. Rosewood. Celine marveled that Mrs. Rosewood didn't crumble under such a piercing look.
"If your husband kills my son…" Alan left the threat hanging in the air, unable to finish it.
"Our son," Mrs. Rosewood corrected softly.
Alan laughed bitterly, devoid of humor. "Is he? That's news."
Celine felt a mix of pride and disapproval at Alan's cutting remark as Mrs. Rosewood flinched as if struck.
It had never crossed Celine's mind that Mrs. Rosewood might still care for Alan. Despite their years of animosity, perhaps a part of her clung to their past love. It seemed implausible for Mrs. Rosewood to harbor such sentiments, yet as Celine scrutinized her guilt-ridden face, she entertained the notion. Mrs. Rosewood had treated Alan terribly from afar for years but was now visibly crumbling in his presence. Celine watched in fascination.
"He's always been our son," Mrs. Rosewood whispered weakly.
"Don't give me that," Alan snapped, glaring at her for what felt like an eternity. He finally closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "What does he want with him – them?" he demanded. "Derick."
Mrs. Rosewood only shook her head, tears streaming down her face once again. Celine wanted to speak, but the words caught painfully in her throat.
In the end, Nolan stepped up to answer. "Revenge, apparently, at least on Hunter. They believe Juliette was used as bait."
Celine felt a surge of relief that Nolan was there. His presence brought a semblance of calm amidst the chaos. For a brief moment, she imagined him heroically defeating Derick and returning with both her sister and Hunter unharmed. She quickly pushed the thought away before it could upset her further.
"How can you possibly know that?" Alan questioned Detective Cheng, addressing her without even a semblance of politeness.
"We recovered a security video from the main house," she replied.
"Show me," Alan demanded.
Detective Cheng folded and then unfolded her arms, likely realizing that crossed arms made her appear closed off and indifferent—something that Celine already thought of her.
"As I explained to everyone else here, it's best if you don't—"
"I don't care what you told them." Alan's anger was palpable. "Show it to me."
"Mr. O'Malley, all that will do is ma—"
Once again, Alan cut her off, his voice filled with impatience and fury. "You said to tell you if there was anything you could do to help. You owe me this. Show me the goddamn video."
Detective Cheng hesitated but finally conceded. Reluctantly, she retrieved her laptop from her bag and set it on the table. After opening it up, she plugged in a USB drive and selected a file—a downloaded video of Rosedale Hall's interior images frozen on the screen.
Celine wrestled with herself internally. On one hand, watching the footage would likely amplify her own torment and replay endlessly in her mind later on. On the other hand, her imagination was already torturing her with the worst possible scenarios. Whatever the cameras had captured couldn't possibly be worse than the hellish scenarios playing out in her head. She would watch; she had to know.
Rachelle had come to a different decision. "I can't see this," she murmured shakily. "I can't. Please, let's go." She was speaking to Taylor, who immediately responded to her needs without protest, as he always did when Rachelle truly needed him most.