Chapter 3 — What They Saw
The call connected on the fourth ring.
"Police control room. What is your emergency?"
For a second, I didn't answer.
The words I had rehearsed in my head—simple, clear, logical—suddenly felt insufficient.
Like they didn't carry enough weight to explain what was happening.
"I… I want to report a missing person," I said finally.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"Name?"
I gave it.
"Since when has she been missing?"
"Since last night," I said. "Or… this morning. I'm not sure."
Another pause.
"Sir, please be clear. When did you last see her?"
I closed my eyes for a moment.
"Last night," I said. "We were at home. Together."
"And what happened after that?"
That was the problem.
"I don't remember everything clearly," I admitted.
The silence on the line shifted.
Not longer.
Not heavier.
Just… different.
"Are you alone right now?" the voice asked.
"Yes."
"Stay where you are. A unit will be sent."
The line disconnected.
---
The apartment felt smaller after that.
Like the walls had moved closer without me noticing.
I stood in the middle of the living room, phone still in my hand, trying to process what I had just done.
There was no taking it back now.
This wasn't just something in my head anymore.
It was official.
Real.
Someone else knew.
I exhaled slowly and looked around again.
At the table.
At the bottle.
At the sandal.
At the faint mark near the door.
All of it felt sharper now.
More defined.
Like everything had stepped into focus at the same time.
"They'll come," I muttered.
"They'll see this. They'll figure it out."
That was what I told myself.
That was what I needed to believe.
Because I didn't trust my own memory anymore.
---
The knock came faster than I expected.
Three firm taps.
Not loud.
But enough to make my chest tighten.
I walked to the door and opened it.
Two men stood outside.
One in uniform.
The other in plain clothes.
Both looking at me with the same measured expression.
"You called?" the one in uniform asked.
"Yes."
He nodded slightly. "We'll need to ask you a few questions."
They stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
Not rudely.
Just… automatically.
Like this was routine for them.
Like situations like mine happened all the time.
I closed the door behind them.
The plainclothes officer's eyes moved across the room quickly.
Taking everything in.
The table.
The bottle.
The glasses.
The sandal.
He didn't comment on any of it.
Not yet.
"Start from the beginning," the uniformed officer said.
"When did you last see her?"
"Last night," I said.
"We were here. At home."
"Doing what?"
"Talking. Drinking."
He glanced at the table.
"Alcohol?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Mahua."
He made a small note.
"How much did you have?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Estimate."
"A few glasses," I said.
He looked at me for a second longer than necessary.
"And her?"
"Same."
The plainclothes officer stepped closer to the table.
Picked up one of the glasses.
Examined it.
Then set it back down.
"What time did you go to sleep?" he asked.
"I don't remember exactly," I said.
"Late."
"How late?"
"Maybe… after midnight."
"Maybe?"
I hesitated.
"I'm not sure."
The uniformed officer's pen paused briefly.
"And when you woke up?"
"This morning," I said.
"She was gone."
"Gone how?"
"She wasn't in the house."
He nodded slowly.
"And you didn't hear anything during the night?"
"No."
"No disturbance? No noise?"
"No."
"Doors opening? Closing?"
I shook my head.
Nothing.
The plainclothes officer crouched near the floor.
Near the faint mark I had noticed earlier.
His fingers hovered over it.
Then lightly touched it.
He looked up at me.
"What's this?"
"I don't know," I said.
"It wasn't there before."
"Before when?"
"Before last night."
He studied it for another second before standing up.
"And this?" he said, pointing at the sandal.
I followed his gaze.
"It's hers," I said.
"Where's the other one?"
"I don't know."
"Was it there when you woke up?"
"Yes."
"Just one?"
"Yes."
He nodded slightly.
The uniformed officer spoke again.
"You said the door was locked from the inside?"
"Yes."
He walked over to it.
Examined the lock.
Opened it.
Closed it again.
"Any other exits?"
"Just the window," I said.
They both looked toward it.
The curtain moved slightly with the breeze.
The plainclothes officer walked over and checked it.
"It's not forced," he said.
"No sign of tampering."
He turned back toward me.
"Are you sure it was open last night?"
"I don't remember," I admitted.
That answer again.
I could see it now.
The way it landed.
The way it changed how they looked at me.
Not suspicious.
Not yet.
But… careful.
Measured.
Like they were adjusting their understanding of the situation.
Or of me.
"Do you and your wife have any problems?" the uniformed officer asked.
The question came casually.
But it wasn't casual.
I could tell.
"Nothing serious," I said.
"Everyone has arguments."
"What kind of arguments?"
"Normal ones."
"Define normal."
I hesitated.
"She wanted me to… listen more," I said.
It sounded weak.
Incomplete.
But it was the closest thing to the truth I could remember.
"Anything last night?" he asked.
"I don't remember clearly."
Again.
That same answer.
That same gap.
The plainclothes officer stepped closer to me now.
Not aggressively.
Just enough to make the distance smaller.
"Let me understand this," he said.
"You were drinking."
"Yes."
"You had an argument."
"I think so."
"You don't remember what it was about."
"No."
"You went to sleep."
"Yes."
"And in the morning, she was gone."
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"And you didn't hear anything."
"No."
"And the door was locked from the inside."
"Yes."
He looked at me for a few seconds.
Long enough for the silence to feel intentional.
Then he said quietly—
"That's not a normal situation."
I didn't respond.
Because I knew that already.
---
They searched the apartment after that.
Not aggressively.
Not like in movies.
Just… methodically.
Room by room.
Drawer by drawer.
Asking small questions.
Noting small details.
The kind of things I wouldn't have thought to look for.
I stood in the living room while they moved around.
Answering when they asked something.
Watching when they didn't.
Time passed.
I wasn't sure how much.
Minutes.
Maybe more.
Eventually, they came back.
The uniformed officer closed his notebook.
"We'll file a report," he said.
"And start looking into it."
"That's it?" I asked.
"For now," he said.
"If she contacts you, inform us immediately."
"I will."
"If you remember anything—anything at all—call us."
"I will."
They turned to leave.
Then the plainclothes officer paused at the door.
Looked back at me.
"Try to remember," he said.
"Small things matter."
Then they were gone.
---
The silence returned.
But it wasn't the same as before.
It felt heavier now.
More aware.
Like the apartment itself was holding onto something.
I walked back to the table slowly.
Sat down.
The chair creaked again.
Same sound.
Same place.
Nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
I looked at the bottle.
At the glasses.
At the sandal.
At the mark on the floor.
All of it had been seen now.
Observed.
Noted.
And still—
No answers.
"They didn't find anything," I said quietly.
The words sounded hollow.
Because I hadn't expected them to.
Not really.
Whatever this was—
It wasn't going to be that simple.
I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.
Tried again.
One more time.
To remember.
To go back.
To find something I had missed.
The room.
The table.
Her face.
Her eyes.
"You never—"
There it was again.
Closer this time.
Sharper.
"You never listen."
The words came through clearly.
For the first time.
I opened my eyes suddenly, my heart beating faster.
"That's it," I whispered.
"That's what you said."
But it didn't feel like enough.
It felt like a beginning.
Not an answer.
Because if that's what she said—
Then what did I say?
What happened after that?
Why did it matter?
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly this time.
"Think," I said again.
But now it felt different.
Less desperate.
More focused.
Because something had come back.
A piece.
Small.
But real.
And if one piece could return—
Then others could too.
I looked around the room again.
Not as a victim this time.
Not as someone confused.
But as someone trying to understand.
Trying to see what was right in front of him.
Because whatever happened last night—
It didn't just happen to her.
It happened to me too.
I just didn't remember it yet.
And that—
That was the second thing that didn't make sense.