CHAPTER 1 — No One Looked Back
A light rain was falling. Small drops of water soaked the asphalt and the roofs of the police cars. Blue and red lights spun slowly. Their colors bled into the puddles, forming a faded purple. The streetlight at the end of the alley was dim. One of its three bulbs was dead.
I stood there.
I watched them all. Officers in yellow plastic raincoats. They were busy. One was putting up police tape. Another was talking into a walkie-talkie. Two forensic technicians were already preparing their kit near the body. The body lay under the one working streetlight. A human shape, covered by a white tarp. But a pair of white shoes was still visible. White shoes now smudged with mud.
I knew this place. This was the back alley behind a restaurant in the old district. I used to come here often. Used to.
I stepped forward. I wanted a closer look. A forensic technician crouched, lifting a corner of the tarp. I saw her face. A young woman. Wet hair plastered to her temples. Her eyes were open, staring up at the falling rain. She wasn't seeing anything anymore.
I wanted to see the wound. But the technician quickly covered the tarp again. He shook his head.
"Third one this month," he said to his partner. His voice was flat, tired.
I wanted to ask questions. I wanted the details. I wanted to examine the area. But I just stood.
The technician stood up and walked. Straight towards me. I didn't have time to move aside. He was going to walk right into me.
But he didn't.
He walked through me.
As if I were air. As if I were smoke. He kept walking without stopping, without a pause, without the slightest hesitation. He didn't even feel it. No shiver. No strange chill. Nothing.
I looked at my own hands. I looked at my feet. I still had a shape. I was still wearing the same jacket, the same pants. But the rain didn't wet me. The raindrops fell through me. I could see them falling, continuing to the ground, never pausing on my shoulders or head.
I tried to touch the police car beside me. I reached out. My fingers approached the metallic blue paint. I wanted to feel the cold metal, the hard surface.
But my fingers touched nothing. They sank into the car door. I could see my hand inside the metal and glass. Like a ghost in a movie. But this wasn't like a movie. This was real. This was wrong. This was so terribly wrong.
I shouted. "Hey!"
My own voice echoed inside my head. But no one turned. A young officer passed close by, yawning. The sound of my shout never reached his ears.
I shouted louder. "Look at me! There's someone here!"
Nothing. The rain kept falling. Walkie-talkies crackled. They talked about the victim, coordinates, calling the coroner's van.
I walked to the center of the crime scene, near the body. An older detective—I knew him, his name was Briggs—was crouching. He was looking around the alley. His eyes scanned the walls, the ground, the roofs.
I crouched beside him. His face was only half a meter from mine. He looked in my direction. But his eyes didn't focus on me. He looked through me, at a dumpster behind me.
"Briggs," I said, my voice trembling. "Briggs, do you see me? It's me. Rayner."
He rubbed his chin. He stood and turned, calling the photographer. "Get an angle from here."
I stood right in front of the camera lens. The photographer raised his camera, aiming right at where I stood. He pressed the button. The flash was blinding. But I knew, in the photo, there would be no trace of me. Just an empty alley. Rain. And police tape.
The loneliness arrived. It came like a physical weight. It slammed into my chest. This was more frightening than anything. More frightening than any perpetrator, any corpse. Because this meant I didn't exist. I truly didn't exist.
I was a detective. I used to have a badge. I was the one they used to call for things like this. Now I was just a spectator. An uninvited spectator. A spectator with no way home.
I sat down on the wet curb. Or, I felt like I was sitting. I didn't feel the wetness. I didn't feel the cold. I was just… positioned as if sitting.
I watched them work. They were efficient. They were routine. This was a ritual they'd performed many times before. Measure, photograph, note, bag, leave.
No one talked too much. Their voices were low, partly swallowed by the rain. Sometimes there was a short laugh, a dark joke about bad coffee. Life went on. For them, this was a workday. For me… this was maybe forever.
I tried again. I approached Briggs as he lit a cigarette, sheltered from the rain under a small awning. His cigarette smoke rose. I tried to wave it away. My hand passed right through the smoke. Didn't alter its course one bit.
"Briggs," I whispered, right next to his ear. "Please."
He exhaled smoke. He checked his watch. He glanced towards the now-bagged body. He sighed. That was all.
The coroner's van arrived. The attendants loaded the body inside. Closed the doors. The sound of the engine started up, cutting through the silence.
Briggs flicked his cigarette butt away. He ground it under his heel. He gave a signal. "Okay, pack it up. We're done here."
They started dismantling. The spotlights were turned off. Cars started their engines. The blue-red lights stopped spinning. They left, one by one.
I stood in the middle of the alley that had just been bustling. Now it was only me. And the rain. And the darkness.
They left. No one looked back. No one felt like something had been left behind. For them, this place was now empty.
I was alone.
I looked around. This alley was now just an ordinary alley. Dark. Wet. Empty.
I had no destination. I had nowhere to go. I couldn't go home. I didn't even know if I still had a home.
I started walking. My legs moved, but there was no sound of shoes on asphalt. The rain fell through me. I walked out of the alley, onto the brighter main road. A few cars passed. Their headlights illuminated me, but my shadow didn't appear on the asphalt. The cars passed, through me, without slowing down.
I stopped under a streetlight. I looked at my hands again. They looked solid to me. But the world said otherwise.
This was disorientation. This was denial. This was absolute loneliness.
And the night was still long.
I kept walking. Deeper into the city that was utterly unaware of me.