Morning Birds Sing Deep into the Night

Chapter 10

Time went still as Harold uttered the haunting truth. William had somehow found out our realization. Cathy froze, dark curls hanging over nutmeg skin becoming as stiff as her limbs. She muttered a quiet curse under her breath, swiftly pulling out the receiver that previously clung to her belt. "Cathy speaking, it turns out those workers were right. We've got a runaway on our hands, now." As she continued to explain how the newfound murderer didn't show up, there was a crackling voice talking of a search from the receiver's speaker. Cathy agreed, as the other police officers ushered out the door and to their cars. With a turn of her heel, the kindly yet bold woman informed us that she would join us in searching the workplace, if we wanted to help. I responded first, my voice no longer a fearful tremble of reluctant words. "Thank you for letting us help." After that, no other words were spoken as we all started moving forward, our steps in alignment. Harold kept his chin up and Christopher's lips were pressed in a firm line, both of their strong-willed gazes looking around. I joined them in stride as we followed Cathy down the hallway.

However, there was nothing. The meeting room held all the same paperwork. The wooden floors of the delivery room were still riddled with clipboards and lined paper stacks. There was still a faint scent of bleach in the supply closet. All of our work rooms remained untouched. The last place we stepped foot into was the woodworking room, where William had spent the majority of his time. Laying on the round corner table shoved in the back corner was a slip of paper, torn from a notebook. Harold breathed out a sigh, baritone with a trace of relief. "So he left a final note..." Nobody continued his trailed off sentence. Instead, I picked up the thin sheet of paper. Fidgeting hands fumbling with it for a brief moment. My nerves gradually returned like a freight train. I began to read the hand-written page out loud. I didn't bother to look back at the others' hitched breaths and clenched teeth. Fickle trust breaking inside their eyes and mine.

Christopher spoke after a moment of silence passed. "All this time..." His words tumbled out slowly, sounding as if he had lost his breath and was trying to regain it. Harold glanced back at the page and then me, his jaw hung partially open. He sighed, a heavy breath with a hint of disbelief. I turned to catch Cathy's line of vision, unadulterated shock leaving the lights in her eyes barren. Feeling rather stiff-limbed from the shock and slight horror myself, I handed the paper over to the police officer. In my buzzing mind I could hardly believe it, either. Cathy took the note from my stilled hand, thanking me before ushering out the door and telling us to take the day off. I stared at the wooden floor with a steadfast heartbeat. Breathing out a dreaded lull of an excuse for a whisper. "He called himself a life thief..." Christopher audibly swallowed as Harold cupped a hand over his mouth, fingers just bare of twitching. Silence passed as the air layed heavy amongst us. The wind rattled the shaking shutters outside.

"Would either of you like to come over? We could... help distract ourselves." Christopher questioned us with a lilt of concern seeping through his words. It went unspoken as Harold and I nodded immediately, gratitude and relief in the depths of our eyes. Christopher seemed glad we agreed, all of us bustling out of the toy factory. Harold locked the front door with a firm, shaking grip. We stayed near a stone fireplace that flickered with crackling flames and warm fumes. All was quiet during the movie. Flashing images and thoughtless sounds reflecting in our tired eyes and soothing our racing minds. Harold's lingering sigh interrupted our near silent breathing. "Do you think we should call the police department tomorrow, to see how the search is going?" Christopher and I nodded, the faintest hint of sorrow in our gazes. The programmer's sight flicked over towards the rolling credits. "I hope that note helps them find him in some way." The words escaped my lips without second-thought. Harold's line of vision darted back to us as he nodded, Christopher following suit.

...

December 24th, 2020:

It's the day before Christmas. There was never once a confirmation of William being found. The local police had difficulty tracking him, deciding to call other towns in hopes they would have better luck. Those nearby townships turned into other states. A warranted desperation to find the runaway criminal. There was no success as of yet, however there is a possibility. A chance. The local police station had managed to get a hold of our boss, and informed him of the news. To say he was surprised would be a poor understatement. Despite this turn of events, I don't regret calling him my old friend. William had an honest personality, even though he kept a dark secret. Christopher and Harold have both become good friends of mine. We ended up sharing our journal entries, albeit later than planned. I told them about my conversation with Jolene before she died. Unfortunately, we couldn't quite pin down the reason behind Jolene's sudden actions. Only that it most likely had something to do with the other murders and her finding out who caused them.

Well, that's all for now. I just figured that I'd write down an actual end to the journal entries. Even though William had yet to be found, at least we figured out who the murderer was. I'm glad we did.

...

Late afternoon sunlight breached the opened curtains, the plastic candy canes outside bathed in a light dusting of snowfall. I cleaned the remaining paint, brushes already tucked in their baskets on the shelf. There were snowdrops planted in the small garden outside my window, sat atop the pale grass and burrowed under flakes of white. Scanning the winter flurries causing gusts of wind to rip past the frigid air, I breathed a quiet sigh. Subconsciously rubbing my arms from the sight of chilling winter at it's finest. After all of the supplies were put away, I took hold of my coat and walked out the open door into the hallway. Upon stepping towards the front door and reaching the handle, an abrupt ringing of a dial tone caught my attention. With a huff, I turned my foot to answer the phone. Fingers curled around the object in a loose grasp, thumb pressing the call button. Holding it up to an ear behind strands of sunlit hair. "Hello, this is the North Toy Factory. My name is Ashley, how may I help you?" My grip on the phone tightened at the voice that answered. Breath hitching for a moment as dusk-reflecting eyes widened. "William, is that-" My response was cut off from the phone line cutting short.

I took a photo of the number that called before rushing towards Christopher's work room. The mechanic slipped his headphones off, looking back to me with a questioning gaze. My voice sounded hasty as I spoke, heart thrumming relentlessly in my chest. "Knock on Harold's door. Something happened." Our gazes perked up as the programmer himself opened his door, phone in grasp as he stared at us with fearful eyes. "William called." The air was silent as we ran out the door and drove to the police department. Cathy gazed at us from behind her desk, eyes wide.