Vanessa stepped out of her car, her heels sinking slightly into the soft sand of the driveway as she looked up at the beach house. The ocean breeze tousled her hair, carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen. Waves rolled lazily in the distance, crashing against the shore with a rhythm that didn't match the restlessness inside her.
She climbed the short wooden steps to the deck and gently pushed open the door. The interior of the beach house was quiet—sunlight streamed in through large glass panels, lighting up the polished wooden floors and the faint scent of coconut oil.
Jeremy looked up from behind the front desk, a fan whirring lazily behind him. He had a relaxed look about him, barefoot, and scribbling something into a logbook.
"Hi," Vanessa said, walking over. "I'm looking for someone—Mellissa. She used to work here."
Jeremy's smile faded slightly. He set his pen down. "Oh... yeah. She doesn't work here anymore."
Vanessa blinked. "What do you mean?"
"She quit. Just a few days ago. Came in, dropped her key off, said she was done." He leaned back in his chair. "Didn't say much else."
Vanessa crossed her arms. "Was she with anyone? Liam?"
Jeremy shook his head. "Not that I saw. She came alone. Left the same way."
Vanessa muttered a soft thanks and stepped back out onto the deck. The sun was too bright, the breeze too carefree for how unsettled she felt. She leaned against the wooden railing, staring out at the sea.
First Mellissa disappears. Now Liam is unreachable. No notes. No calls. Nothing.
It didn't make sense.
She pulled her jacket tighter around her, even though it wasn't cold.
As Vanessa stepped down the wooden stairs and walked back to her car, Jeremy stayed seated for a moment, staring blankly at the door she'd just exited. Then, he leaned forward and pulled out his phone from the drawer beneath the desk.
He dialed a number—no name saved—just a string of digits he knew too well.
The call connected after two rings.
"You need to get your act together," Jeremy said sharply, keeping his voice low. "I just had someone walk in here asking about Mellissa."
A pause on the other end. Then muffled static, maybe breathing.
"I don't care who she is," he snapped. "If you're going to do a job, finish it. Tie your damn ends. Because people showing up at her last workplace asking questions? That's a problem."
He stood now, pulling the blinds down over the wide glass windows that faced the ocean. "And don't feed me that line about it being under control. If it was, I wouldn't have had to lie to someone's sister just now."
Another beat of silence passed before he muttered, "Clean it up," and ended the call without waiting for a response.
Jeremy dropped the phone onto the counter with a dull thud and exhaled, rubbing his temples.
--------------------------------------
Detective Carter Reyes pulled the car to a stop just outside the small bungalow, its pale blue walls catching the late afternoon light. Beside him, Officer Malik Juno was already stepping out before Carter even shifted into park.
Malik was always chewing gum—loudly. No matter the case. The rhythmic click-pop of it had become as much a signature as his badge.
They walked up the short path, Carter rapping twice on the front door before turning the knob. Unlocked.
Inside, the air was still. The house was tidy. Too tidy.
Carter stepped cautiously into the living room, eyes scanning. No personal effects on the shelves. No clutter. Nothing out of place—but nothing lived-in either.
Malik moved toward the kitchen, dragging a finger along the edge of the counter. "No dust," he said with a quick snap of his gum. "Cleaned. Recently."
Carter knelt near a corner of the room and ran his hand across the floorboard. "Too perfect. Like someone staged it."
Malik opened a cupboard and peeked inside. "Dry goods in here. Fridge is clean, too. No leftovers, no takeout containers."
"She didn't move out," Carter muttered.
Malik leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded. "If someone left in a rush, the place would show it. This? This was deliberate. But not long ago. The mop water's probably still drying under the fridge."
Carter's jaw tightened. "No mail on the table. No recent receipts. Phone chargers are gone. But no boxes, no signs of packing."
"Think she ran?" Malik asked.
Carter shook his head. "She had help… or someone wanted her disappearance neat."
He stepped back toward the door.
"Call forensics. Keep it quiet. And start digging into anyone close to her—especially Liam."
Malik nodded, blowing a small bubble.
They stepped out and closed the door.
Carter was halfway down the porch steps when Malik's gum stopped clicking.
"Hold up," Malik said, turning back toward the door. He crouched by the wooden welcome mat and reached under it. "Thought I saw—yeah."
He pulled out a thin, splintered piece of wood. At first glance, it looked ordinary, like a shard from an old frame or broken furniture. But at the very tip… a smudge of dark red.
"Is that—?" Carter stepped back up beside him.
"Blood," Malik said. "Dry. Not much. But it's fresh enough to rule out coincidence."
He stood and turned the shard in his fingers, the edges jagged, uneven—like it had snapped from something larger. Maybe even during a struggle.
Carter pulled an evidence bag from his coat pocket and held it open.
Malik dropped the shard in, then dusted his hands. "You think this was part of…?"
Carter didn't answer immediately. He looked back at the door. "We've got a cleaned house, no sign of her, no trace of a struggle—except this."
He sealed the bag, his expression unreadable. "This wasn't just a disappearance."
He slid the evidence bag into his coat and stepped off the porch.