MRS. LUCIFAY TURNED AWAY.

“No!” she screamed in a hoarse voice. “No! You are wrong! Wrong! My daughter is a living, breathing human who’s truly gone missing!” She was too tired and sleep deprived to say more.

Despicable! Ignorant! Malicious! Nefarious! She screamed internally. What right does this online blogger have to decide who is real and who is not? What qualification does he have to easily dismiss a living things life as a scam, a hoax, a fake?

With renewed anger and rage, Mrs. Lucifay turned back to her computer and typed an angry response in the comments section.

“How dare you. Marine Nicole Lucifay is real. I am her mother.”

With that, she pressed the post button and shut off the computer without waiting for the comment to load.

“Evil!” she yelled in a hoarse voice, before falling asleep from exhaustion.

REPLY FROM EXPERTSQUID (AUTHOR)

How much did they pay you to say that?

TIMOTHY HAD NOT EXPECTED ANY MORE TROUBLE.

He was due to leave in two days for work at a new site where it was believed that a Native American arrowhead was found. Stapes was recovering from a minor surgery when the doctor, as promised, took out the microchip. Timothy had been reclining on his sofa watching his favorite documentary while sipping black tea. His face was the definition of blissful happiness.

His happy mood did not last long. His phone rang, starling him and making his spill his hot tea.

“Augh!” he wailed like a child, upsetting Stapes who began yelping to protect his master. With reluctance, Timothy paused the documentary, muttering angry, incomprehensible words. He snatched the phone up. “Yes, yes, hello?”

“Ah, Mr. Fletcher,” a pleasant voice responded. Timothy was able to detect slight annoyance from the smooth voice. “I am Officer Kirk.”

“Ah! Yes, officer!” Timothy said, his voice completely changing to the one he used in professional meetings. He instinctively smoothed his hair and arranged his robe, as if he were speaking to the officer in person. “I apologize for my rude greeting. I was startled, and I automatically assumed the was another one of those telemarketer’s calls…”

The officer laughed coldly. “Yes, those telemarketers really are annoying.”

Timothy shifted his weight to the other foot, laughing awkwardly. “That’s right. Er, officer, may I ask of the reason for you call?” He assumed a slightly frightened, respectful tone. This Officer Kirk made him feel insignificant.

“Ah! That’s right. I was going to invite you down to our station. We are in need of your help. It’s the Lucifay case, if you remember.”

“Ah…” Timothy murmured. He did remember something that involved the police, but this memory was gradually fading. With some difficulty, Timothy recalled being dragged to a woman’s house, and being questioned by a fat officer. “Oh, yes! I was the last witness.”

“That one exactly. Shall I be expecting you soon?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure this isn’t the sort of thing that police do to lure a suspect in? You know, ask the suspect to help out on a case and then arrest him?”

The officer laughed that cold laugh again. “That only happens in movies, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Still…” Timothy said, feigning uneasiness.

“There will be donuts.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll be there then!” Timothy replied a little too quickly. He waited until he heard the officer hang up, before he replaced the phone on the receiver. He frowned at his reflection, not because of unsatisfaction, but because of the unpleasant realization that he’d have to take off his comfortable robe in exchange for a stiff suit.

Even if I am a suspect, at least my photo would be of me in a nice suit. Timothy laughed to himself.

Stapes barked at him. After a few moments’ consideration, Timothy decided to take Stapes as well. It was his only protection, though he doubted the police would have much trouble defeating a tiny little dog.

Unless, of course, this Officer Kirk is allergic to dogs, Timothy thought with some amusement. For some reason, the idea that this cold-hearted officer to be allergic to anything seemed ridiculous to Timothy. Timothy couldn’t help picturing a big, muscular officer running away from Stapes in fear of getting an allergic reaction. Timothy smiled at this thought. He was one of the few adults who still enjoys their vivid childhood imagination.

With slightly shaky steps, Timothy set out with a leash in his hand.

IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE HE FOUND ONE OF THOSE POSTERS.

They were everywhere now. The same, blurry photo. The same black text. Timothy pitied the mother. How nervous she must be right now! Timothy couldn’t imagine it, and was glad his imagination didn’t kick in. He’d never, ever want to experience what that mother would be going through now.

Timothy was aware of the glances he was attracting. No normal person would walk their dog in suit. He himself felt a little silly doing it. But it had made so much sense earlier.

Ah, yes. That was because of my imagination, Timothy remembered, with mixed feelings of pride and embarrassment.

He walked a little faster now, growing more uncomfortable that so many people could see him. Timothy had once wanted to be famous, and be known wherever he walked. He wanted people to worship the path he walked, and magically clear a route through however dense a crowd. He had imagined shining lights from a giant paparazzi, being kept at bay by six bald body guards in black bulletproof vests and mirror sunglasses.

Timothy was beginning to have second thoughts now. Even a few people looking at him made him nervous that he’d fall and make a fool of himself. How would he be able to survive in a crowd of hundreds? Timothy broke into a jog, which Stapes greatly enjoyed. Timothy was growing more and more conscious that his run made him look even stranger. No morning jogger would ever take their dog out on a run wearing a suit.

Timothy was glad he was nearing the police station. He could see more and more police cars.

And he could begin to smell the unmistakable aroma of donuts.