It's locked. Damn it.
It's finally locked.
Stop it. Don't even think that. Shut up. He's okay.
He's not just some random kid. Whatever he's doing, wherever he is, he's okay. He's okay, he's okay, he's okay. But that blood?
Man.
That wasn't a small cut. It was a lot, dried up, but not old. It had a smell you can't miss. You don't bleed that much from a little cut, idiot.
What if something bad happened? Or what if he did something bad? No. He wouldn't.
He's strange, does things without thinking, but he's not like that. The last time was a year ago. It's over. He's calm now. He thinks before he talks. Yeah, whatever.
Still, that hoodie. Rolled up like he was hiding something. Who hides something like that if they don't have something to hide? You're thinking too much. Again.
He probably got hurt and didn't want people to worry. He does that. Acts tough. Fine.
Then why is the door unlocked? Who leaves their door unlocked in this awful place? What if someone got in? What if he was taken? Or what if he left and doesn't plan to come back? Stop.
Stop freaking out. He's alive. Breathing somewhere.
Maybe eating junk food, telling some stupid joke like nothing's wrong. He better be. Because if he's not... No threats. You sound crazy. Maybe he left it open for me. Like he knew I'd come. Yeah, right. Don't think too highly of yourself. He's always thinking ahead and never tells anyone. That's what bothers me.
He doesn't tell anyone anything. You could be dying, and he'd say, "Don't worry about it." Great. That's helpful.
Bloody clothes. Used bandages. An open door. How is that not worrying? Should I call Julian? No.
He'd say, "I told you so."
Simon? If I tell Simon, he'll go crazy.
Alex? Where is he when people need him? So yeah. Great.
Just me, talking to a locked door like a crazy person.
Paul, you can disappear. Get into another mess. I'm not helping you this time. Except I know someone will.
It'll be me. Because you always do this. You make people care, then disappear like it doesn't matter. I hate that.
I hate that you still bother me. You'll be fine, I know it. Next time you'll walk in, acting calm, say something clever, and I'll pretend I'm not angry.
But if you're not fine, if you're really not, then I swear I'll kill you. No one will stop me. Damn it, Paul. What are you doing now?
Mam? Hello?
Sara blinked, snapped back. The noise of the café came rushing in again: spoons clinking, chatter around her.
She straightened her posture, pushing her thoughts away.
"Yeah," she said quickly, forcing her tone steady. She adjusted in her seat, the notebook already open in front of her. "Sorry. So—who's who?"
The two teens sitting across from her exchanged a quick look. Both looked nervous, like they'd rather be anywhere else.
"I'm Stanley," said the one on the right. Oversized shirt, restless leg bouncing under the table.
"I'm Brian," the other said quietly.
Sara nodded, pen tapping the corner of her notepad. "I'm Sara. Private investigator." She paused, studying their faces. "Since you came this fast after my message, I'm guessing you two were close with Cecilia Everain?"
"Close? Nah, not really," Brian blurted out quickly.
Sara tilted her head. "Not really. How close was not really?"
Brian looked away. "I was not." His voice went smaller.
"C'mon, dude." Stanley leaned back with a grin. "You ain't fooling anyone with that face. You were drooling for her every day."
Brian shot him a look. "Shut up."
Sara's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Relax, you two. No one's in trouble." She motioned toward the counter. "If you want to order something, go ahead."
Stanley perked up instantly. "If you say so." He half-stood and called across the café, loud enough to draw a few looks. "A cold Coke and a hot steak!" He turned to Brian. "You want something?"
Brian rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm good."
"Make it double!" Stanley said anyway, then glanced at Sara. "And an iced tea for the lady?"
Sara sighed through her nose. "Sure. Whatever keeps you talking."
Stanley grinned and dropped back into his seat. "So... what's this about?"
"Cecilia Everain," Sara said, voice even. "Tell me how well you knew her."
Stanley leaned forward, elbows on the table, pretending to think. "Not much. And by not much, I mean… enough to say she was decent. She was my tuition teacher, but more like a friend, I guess. The kind who overthinks everything. You could tell she had her own shit going on, but she never talked about it. I didn't ask."
Sara turned to Brian next. "And you?"
He hesitated. "Yeah. She was… like that. Kind. Always worrying about other people more than herself."
Sara studied his face for a long moment. His hands fidgeting, his voice thinning. Then nodded slightly. "Alright. What about the day of the accident? You remember anything unusual?"
Stanley shrugged. "Normal, I think. Right?" He looked at Brian.
Brian blinked, thinking. "Yeah… she was normal that day. Taught class, left early. Same as always." He paused. "Though—uh—the day before…"
Sara's eyes narrowed. "What about it?"
Brian hesitated. "A—well…" He coughed into his fist, eyes dropping to the table.
"Just say it, man," Stanley cut in, half-laughing. "Actually, before the accident day, this idiot here proposed to her. Like, full-on confessed."
Sara blinked once, her face unreadable.
"Though," Stanley continued, "she obviously turned him down. But, you know her type—soft. She told him he still had a chance someday. Future bullshit. Sweet talk." He shrugged. "But there's no future now, right? Later that evening, she came to my place for tutoring stuff, and I could tell something was off. She didn't say much, just confirmed what I already guessed. Maybe she was bothered by him. Or maybe family shit. Hard to say."
Brian's voice cracked. "Y-yeah. That was it. I thought…" He swallowed. "I thought it was me who did this to her."
Silence stretched. The sound of clinking glasses broke it. Waiter setting down their food. Steaks sizzled between them, but no one reached for it.
Sara leaned back a little, stirring her drink absentmindedly, eyes distant.
Simon told me to look into this. Why, though? Cecilia Everain, an accident. Ten forty p.m. Hector's was midnight. Two hours gap. That's not a coincidence, is it?
She sipped her iced tea, trying to think
straight.
No. I'm connecting dots that don't exist. Could just be one of the many. Still… Simon doesn't waste words. If he pointed me here, there's something.
When she looked up, Brian hadn't touched his food. His hand trembled slightly, knife and fork hovering midair. Eyes distant.
Sara watched quietly.
Then came a whisper, barely audible:
"I know who's at fault."
Sara froze, the straw still between her lips.
"I know who did this to her," Brian murmured. "She didn't deserve it."
Sara lowered her glass slowly, eyes narrowing.
Brian's lips moved again, mumbling faster now, words spilling like static. "If he didn't talk to her like that… she would've been fine. She was just trying to help him…"
Stanley blinked, confused. "Yo—what?" He reached a hand out toward Brian but stopped halfway. His gaze shifted toward Sara. Why isn't she stopping him?
Sara didn't move. She sipped her drink again, eyes fixed on Brian. Calm and patient behind her eyes.
Brian's voice cracked, barely holding together. "Him. It was him. It was all because of him. His fault."
Stanley frowned. "Who the hell you talking about?"
Brian's hand clenched on the table edge. His eyes lifted, glassy and unblinking. "It was him. I know it now. Should've known before."
Sara's hand froze midair.
Brian looked straight at her, like he'd been waiting to say it all along. "Paul Vaxlar," he said, voice trembling but certain. "The anomaly of Saint Anthony School."
For a split second, the sound around Sara vanished. The café noise, the clinking plates, even her breath.
Her iced tea slipped an inch in her grip. Then she moved.
In a blink, her hands grabbed Brian by the collar and yanked him forward across the table. Plates rattled, Coke nearly spilled. Her voice, when it came out, was low. Controlled, but dangerous.
"What did you just say?"
"Paul what?? Who's this chigga?" Stanley asked.
Sara forced her breath down.
Her fingers twitched under the table.
It's all in your head. Calm. Down.
"Yeah… well I don't really know him." Brian finally relaxed a little. "But lemme tell you—he's the edgiest mofo you'll ever see."
"Heh…" Stanley snorted.
"Like literally. Dude sits in the darkest damn corner of the classroom. And—" Brian's voice thinned, "that day when Madam Cecilia tried helping him? Dickhead started saying some over-the-top bullshit. I was about to knock his teeth out but she stopped me."
Sara's voice was steady, but there was something heavy lodged in it.
"But you said it was all his fault?"
"Didn't you listen?" Brian snapped. "Nobody ever talked to her like that. Like…ever. But this piece of shit? He starts spitting crap around her. Of course she'd overthink it, you know how she was."
His voice dropped to a murmur. "Who knows… maybe that's why things went down the way they did."
Sara's jaw tightened.
"What do you know about this... Paul Vaxlar?"
"Man, fuck should I care about that asshole?" Brian shrugged like it meant nothing. "If I saw him lying dead in the street, I wouldn't give a rat's ass."
"Fair enough," Stanley mumbled, totally unbothered, cutting into his steak.
Sara tilted her head slightly.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her finger hit the table in a slow rhythm.
Brian lifted his eyes and froze.
Something in her stare demanded more.
More than he intended to say.
"Well… actually…" His voice wavered.
"I didn't even know someone like him. Someone named Paul Vaxlar, even existed. Not until Madam Cecilia called out to him. Not saying he popped out of thin air but… dude was non-existent. Nobody mentioned him. I never even heard his voice before."
He frowned, trying to recall.
"Wait—no. I did see someone talking to him once. A girl. In class. She was standing in front of his desk, near the back corner. I only saw her back. I was at the door, kinda far. But I'm sure she's from our class. She seemed… familiar."
"So basically you're hating a dude you know shit about," Stanley muttered, mouth full.
"Yeah." Brian scoffed, defensive. "And honestly? I don't give two fucks about it. I ain't tryna know anything about weirdos like him."
Stanley nodded and went back to his steak.
Sara watched them quietly.
Two normal kids. Laughing. Eating. Living.
Paul was their age. Yet nothing like them.
Not even close.
And the fact that Brian knew nothing about him…
That didn't surprise her.
Two years, and she barely knew anything either.
She leaned forward.
"What about Knives? Her brother?" Sara asked.
"Knives? Yeah." Stanley wiped his mouth. "We met him once. Dude said he was gonna get off this island. After that? Nothing. Gone. And—uh—his relationship with Cecilia wasn't just… brother–sister."
"Yeah," Brian muttered, nodding.
"You mean like they weren't blood-related?" Sara asked, voice flat, testing.
"No, no." Stanley shook his head fast. "Not like that. I mean, I dunno if they were blood or not. Could be, could not be. But that's not what I meant."
He struggled for the right words, hands gesturing vaguely.
"I'm saying… Knives talked about her differently. The way he talked about her? The way he looked when her name came up? They were close, too much. Like the kinda close siblings normally don't get, y'know? No boundaries. No distance. Almost like they had their own world."
Sara listened quietly.
Blood relation or not. She never had that but she still understood what he meant.
She nodded. "And nothing after that?"
"Nothing," Stanley said. "Guy just vanished. Poof. But you can check his place. Maybe there's something there. Who knows?"
"Yeah. Thanks. I will." Sara stood up slowly. Her mind had already started running ahead when the question slipped out of her without a filter.
"Did you see Paul Vaxlar today? At school."
Brian looked up. "I don't know. I barely notice the dude anyway."
Then with a shrug, "Why? You wanna talk to him? I can drag that bastard here if you want."
Sara shook her head fast. "No. It's nothing. I'll ask him myself. You two already did enough."
She gave them a small nod, turned, and walked out.
Leaving the clatter of dishes, teenage voices, and warm restaurant lights behind.
While her thoughts closed in on one thing only:
Paul.