THE ORIGAMI KILLER: Folded Truth

[ARIA POV]

My phone rang out around two in the morning.

I had already woken up. These days, I stay up no matter what.

Marcus showed up on my screen. I picked up right away - no waiting till the next beep.

"We got another one."

I had no idea where it was. But he sent the spot by message - so I grabbed my coat, left fast.

Ethan stayed motionless. Beside him, a paper fox waited - its wings folded mid-form, one ear slightly bent.

Poor pick of terms.

The Starlight Motel isn't meant for sleeping. Stuff goes down there - stuff folks would rather forget. Forty bucks per night, cash only. Then there's the carpet, messed up in ways that make you keep your eyes up.

Room 406 sat up on the fourth level. When I arrived, the entrance stood cracked - no need to knock.

A guy - maybe a cop, though I’d never seen him before - was standing out front, pale as if he might puke any second.

"Detective Kane."

I gave him a quick nod then stepped inside.

The stink punched me right away. Ugh, lavender spray - super fake, the dollar-store type. Bet someone jammed it into an outlet thinking that’d fix things. beneath that, a sharp tang, like old pipes or maybe blood. Down the corridor, the ice box grunted every few seconds.

That’s when she came into view.

She lay on the bed - blond, looked about thirty-five. Arms crossed over her chest; neck slashed smooth. A single cut, side to side. Looked like someone who knew what they were doing.

On her chest sat a tiny paper bird, folded clean. Each crease hit just right.

Number five.

I yanked on my gloves fast, then stepped nearer. Under her lay a neatly fixed bed. Whoever’d done it had paused to straighten the sheets real careful-like. That’s what hits me every single time - the attention put into small things.

I looked around the space. Everything seemed normal. There weren’t any marks of a fight. Maybe she had no clue things would go bad till they already did.

The nighttable held a phone, along with a cup of water and a tiny pad printed with the inn’s name. Its plastic top felt smooth beneath my covered finger.

And a pen.

I nearly didn't see it.

Silver. Thin. Expensive.

I grabbed it.

My fingers turned icy.

A mark appeared along the edge.

To the one spinning tales beyond the shadows - A.

Back then, just two years past. Light from the bookstore sparkled on wet cheeks. He pressed his lips to mine - like I’d given him something impossible.

I looked right at it.

This wasn't possible.

Maybe he lost it. Maybe someone took it. Maybe I was wrong about the engraving.

I looked again.

I wasn't wrong.

My chest felt tight. But I still tried to catch air.

"Detective?"

The outfit remained by the entrance.

I jammed the pen into my coat pocket.

I'm fine. Somehow, my voice stayed steady - no clue why.

He gave a quick nod then moved backward into the hallway.

I stayed put, staring at the figure without taking it in.

Ethan was sitting at his desk early today while I got ready to go. Scribbling something down. As I leaned in to kiss him on top of the head, he gave me a grin out of nowhere.

Stay out of trouble, that's what he told me.

I kept thinking 'bout that bird lying on the mattress.

Ethan bends paper while his mind’s running. Tiny birds, shapes, creatures - each one takes shape slowly. He claims it clears the noise inside. Sometimes a figure shows up before he even knows what he’s making.

I shrugged it off.

No.

This just happened by chance. Had to be that way.

Yet I never think things happen by chance.

Forensics arrived first. Then Marcus turned up - about sixty minutes after, looking drowsy, collar loose, knot sideways.

"Same as the others?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"This guy's got a pattern."

"Yeah."

He glanced my way. "You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I said I'm fine, Marcus."

He just dropped it.

I stuck around till they took the body away, while the cops finished checking everything. When I finally reached my car, morning light was creeping over the horizon.

I stayed put with the car quiet, gripping the pen while tapping the steering wheel hard.

I should’ve grabbed it. I meant to mark it down as proof - yet I skipped that step. Then came the idea: reach out to Ethan, check where his pen’d gone - to ease my mind - but even that felt impossible. So instead, I simply headed back in the car.

Ethan was out cold by the time I walked in. I stayed near the door, looking at him as his chest rose and fell.

He seemed totally calm, like nothing could faze him

I stayed up instead of going to sleep.

I headed to the kitchen - tried making coffee, but it turned out undrinkable.

The pen? It just sat there in my pocket.

'To the one spinning tales beyond the shadows.