Soup Shop Mystery

The two officers who brought me here rushed over to restrain the middle-aged officer.

"Captain Beckett, what's going on? Calm down, sir..."

Why was this middle-aged officer furious with me? What did he mean by that outburst?

I didn't stop to think. "My boyfriend's life is in danger. Please, you have to—"

"Danger?" His glare sharpened, his voice like a whip. "The police station is swamped right now. Don't waste police resources with your petty relationship drama!"

What? Relationship drama?

He turned on his heel and stormed away.

A few minutes later, another officer approached me with an explanation. "This afternoon, you said your boyfriend had been missing for a month, correct?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Edmund Rhodes. Twenty-four." He rattled off my boyfriend's information.

"Yes!" I nodded again.

"He's not missing," the officer replied flatly. "Last month, he went back to his hometown. Every Saturday, he calls his parents there. In fact, we just got off the phone with him."

"That's impossible!" I snapped. "He hasn't contacted me for a month!"

"We asked him. He told us he's broken up with you."

My legs gave out. I collapsed into the chair, numb.

Deep down, I'd already accepted that possibility—that he had simply chosen not to reach out. But hearing it confirmed, so bluntly, shattered me all over again.

And now, I understood Captain Beckett's anger. He thought I was clinging to Edmund, unwilling to let go, and had fabricated this story about danger to trick the police into helping me track him down.

But no, wait—just moments ago, Edmund himself had called me, begging for help!

"That's not true!" I insisted. "He really did call me for help!"

The officer's patience frayed. His tone sharpened. "Do you realize false reports can get you detained? I'm giving you only a verbal warning this time."

He didn't believe me.

"But I really—"

He raised a hand, cutting me off, then pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he thrust it toward me. "This is Edmund's number, isn't it?"

"Yes!" I recognized it instantly.

He dialed, put it on speaker.

"Hello?" Edmund's voice answered.

"Tell your girlfriend clearly. Stop filing false reports," the officer barked.

"Edmund? You're okay?" I burst out.

"We've broken up," he said coldly.

"Then what about the call just now? You begged me to save you. What was that all about?"

"I never called you," he replied, baffled.

I froze. My mind blanked.

The officer hung up and tucked away his phone. Then he arranged for a police car to drive me home.

I refused. I explained again and again that I had heard Edmund's desperate cries.

That was when the officer looked at me strangely, as if weighing his words. "Have you been to a hospital recently?"

I understood immediately. He thought I was mentally unstable.

First, I had claimed to find human skin with my boyfriend's tattoo in a bowl of soup. Then I'd insisted he was in mortal danger. Their investigations had turned up nothing but contradictions. To them, I was delusional.

If I were in their place, I might suspect the same.

Shaken, I left the police station.

Had Edmund's departure broken me so badly that I'd actually lost my grip on reality? Was I truly sick?

I resolved to get checked tomorrow.

But the moment I stepped back into my apartment, my phone rang again.

It was Edmund.

"Just now, that wasn't me! Amanda, help me! Help—"

The line cut out mid-scream.

Just now… that person wasn't him?