Welcome to Nowhere-a town that seems to dance on the edge of reality, where a detective chases memories and mysteries in a twisted web of shifting faces and strange puppets. Here, mannequins speak with a dark humor, a dead woman haunts the living, a...
He sat silently, observing the room. A delicate vase filled with the darkest orchids he had ever seen stood on a wooden table near an open window. Sunlight streamed in, and a light breeze brushed his scarred cheek. His eyes drifted over to the walls, where pictures of the woman's family hung-memories of the life she'd had before he took it. But why had he killed her? He wished he could find a reason, something solid and meaningful.
She lay shattered before him, her brain scattered across the floor. Her marble-white eyes were fixed on the ceiling, as if she had seen God seconds before he pulled the trigger. Perhaps she'd glimpsed something he would never know. A wave of nausea rose, and he needed to leave.
He climbed into his car, started the engine, and stared at the empty road ahead, one thought running through his mind: *"Oh, girl, why did you have to do this to me?"*
Diary Entry
What day is it today? Tuesday, maybe? How long have I been on this assignment? About a month. Results? None so far. Will there ever be any? Not if these things keep up their charade-or whatever lives they're living. Maybe one of these "freaks" will eventually turn out to be Donna. But when? It's not like I can tell them apart just by looking.
One day, one of them calls itself Benny, a "butcher"-though he does nothing all day, just plays the role like a kid pretending to be a doctor in an abandoned factory. Then, another day, it's Alexis, a "car mechanic" despite there being no cars here except my duty vehicle. Then it's Walter, a "librarian." And then they swap. Benny. Alexis. Walter. It's all the same. There's no pattern. No logic.
I've tried listing their names, but it got me nowhere. The only real thing in this town is the bar. The good old bar-the only stable point in this twisted space and time. Liquor keeps my sanity intact. Even the mannequins seem to understand that.
Day X
It's a bright day in Nowhere. The streets have an aura of urban elegance, full of busy people, window shoppers, families, couples-urban phenomena that captivate Walter and Benny, two self-declared dandies who lounge at Nowhere's only bar, observing the interactions around them. Today, they wear nothing but flamboyant hats swiped from the thrift shop. Their plastic skin starkly contrasts the colorful wall of the bar behind them-green, red, blue, and white. Benny lights a cigarette, inhaling through a small hole in his mouth.
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"Did you notice our detective is unusually busy today?" he asks.
Walter spots the detective in the crowd.
"You're right. Is he talking to Bovary again? Asking about that Donna no one knows?"
"What a pity. The detective works so thoroughly, but he's chasing a ghost. I think he's schizophrenic."
"Why's that?"
"He's chasing phantoms with such energy it's hard to watch. He seems lost, confused by us. Whenever he looks at us, I see dread and hate in his eyes-a combination found only in the mentally unstable."
