DEVON FELIX LUCIFAY DOES NOT EXIST.

Not anymore, at least.

He died fourteen years ago, two months after his wife became pregnant.

His cause of death is a car crash caused by Johan Cody, also deceased after the crash. Devon Lucifay did not die from the impact, like Cody, but was burned after the car exploded in flames. He could not escape from the locked door.

He died at age 28.

That was the end of the report.

NICK STARED OUT THE WINDOW BLANKLY.

Her face was emotionless. Her hands still clutched the single sheet of paper Detective Hart had handed her.

Devon Felix Lucifay does not exist.

A while ago, Nick couldn’t remember or care how long, Detective Hart had unlocked her chains while she read the short, official report and death certificate.

Devon Felix Lucifay does not exist.

She read it several times before exhaling. Then, in a cold, icy voice, she said, “I see I’ll be visiting my aunt Cara.”

It was not a statement that allowed a reply. Detective Hart did not give one. He held the door open wordless and Nick walked straight-backed out the heavy oak door and into the back of a police car. Hart wasn’t the one driving, though Nick could care less.

A voice in her head relayed the report to her on repeat.

Devon Felix Lucifay does not exist.

Nick hadn’t said anything since then.

DETECTIVE HART WAS THINKING.

One of his officers looked at him with great concern. Hart flicked his eyes towards her direction. She immediately turned around and resumed making coffee, but her long swaying hair gave her away.

“Hey, uh, Lake,” Hart called, desperately hoping he got her name right. “Come over here, will you? I want to ask you something.”

She gave him a frightened glance, and then hunched over even more, stirring her coffee vigorously. “I-I’ll be right there, sir,” she squeaked and added three more packets of sugar.

Hart was very annoyed. Everyone here fears me, he thought. Really quite annoying! How did they ever get in here if they don’t have the guts to look me in the eye? The only one that does is that little egotistic bastard Kirk, and he works in the slum of his. Here, I’m supposed to have the best officers! How are they so weak?

He noticed Officer Lake glance at him again. He turned around and forced eye contact. Lake gave a little shudder and began wiping the coffee machine. “B—be right there with you sir!” she said shrilly. “Just—just spilled something. That’s all.”

Hart frowned deeper. There she goes again!

Finally, when all the sugar packets were organized by color, the stirring sticks all lined up, and the coffee cups stacked into a pyramid, Lake moved towards Hart, shuffling and gripping her coffee a little tighter. Suddenly, she seemed to be hit by a bright idea and said, “Detective Hart sir,” she said, “w—would you like some coffee?”

“No, I think not,” Detective Hart replied dryly. He was certain that if he agreed, all the paper cups and straws will be knocked over again, and another half an hour would be wasted on fixing them. “Come on, hurry up. If I wanted you to make coffee, I would have opened a café, yes?”

Lake’s mouth set into a thin hard line and she shuffled faster to the chair pulled out for her. She sat carefully at the edge of her seat, prepared to run in emergency. She sipped loudly from the cup, determined to drink as loud and as slow as possible, so that conversation was delayed. “Yes, s-sir?” she stuttered finally in a faint, sickly voice.

“Strange girl, that Lucifay is,” Hart grunted. Ah, I forgot. That girl too. She could look me in the eyes.

“S-strange, sir?”

“Yes, very. Received news her mother was in jail, and suddenly found out she had no other parent. Most thirteen-year olds would have burst into tears or have gone hysterical. But she barely showed any emotion, though it was obvious she was holding back many. Remind you of anything?”

“No, s-sir,” Officer Lake said, her eyes flitting to the side.

“Don’t lie,” Detective Hart snapped. “I don’t have time for it.”

“I am vaguely familiar w-with one similar case,” Officer Lake said at last. “M-miss Ellen Teague. H-her parents were jailed for physical abuse. She didn’t show emotion at all.”

“Yes, but we later discovered she was in early stages of drug addiction.”

“Then there was Mr. Relling,” Officer Lake continued, a hint of eagerness in her voice. Her stammering had decreasing significantly as she began warming up on topics she knew well. “H-his father died from the flu. Relling didn’t shed a tear.”

“His eyes were a little too dry,” Detective Hart muttered. “He was tested for psychopathy and turned up nearly 80%. Doesn’t match Lucifay. She was evidently affected, but her ways of showing it was different. Not what you’d expect from someone so young.”

Officer Lake nodded her head in understanding. “I see,” she said. “Then I think young Crevin should be familiar. Mother divorced. She became addicted to vaping and crashed while driving under the influence. She died from injuries in a hospital. Crevin sat by her side the whole time, but never shed a tear. He was silent for a week after her death.”

Detective Hart rubbed his chin. “Yes, that sounds similar. He was very independent, I know. His mother was barely fit for housework. She was never herself. Crevin is a bit older than Ms. Lucifay, but I think the cases are almost identical. Lucifay, I heard, also rarely sees her mother because she’s at work sustaining two at a low-salary programming job.”

“Yes, they do sound similar d-don’t they?” Officer Lake said, going back to her stammer once her job was done.

“Just one question. How did Crevin end up?”

Officer Lake hesitated, gripping her paper cup so tightly it began to crease and fold.

“H-he disappeared, sir.”

“And then? Surely he was found?”

Officer Lake nodded.

“Suicide, sir.”