“No, really.” I say, trying to wiggle out my insurance info out of my phone. “It’s fine. It was my fault. I totally flew out of nowhere.”

“No! No, it was. Totally me. Um… Aah…” she clicks her tongue. “There goes that luck of mine.”

I chuckle. “Hey, listen, your car’s the only one who got hurt, here. Better for a stranger to pay for the repair than curse my name until the end of days, eh?”

The woman whose side-mirror I’d clipped adjusts her glasses. Looks like she can’t find an objection. “C-Could’ve been worse, you know! I’m just happy to s-see you were wearing a helmet! You wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff that happens!”

“Oh, I’m sure most people wouldn’t. That’s part of why they don’t wear helmets, I guess.” Finally fishing the info out, I write it down on a scrap of paper from my notebook. “Thankfully, thick as my skull is, I’ve learned a long time ago it can’t go up against concrete. Here.”

She looks at the scrap. Likely noticing that I included my name, she blurts out: “O-Oh! I’m—I’m Maggey! Maggey Byrde!”

“Hi Maggey, I’m Dad.” I say.

She blinks. “On second thought, m-maybe the helmet didn’t help as much as I thought it would.”

We laugh.

“But yeah, I’m—I’m really sorry.” I take another glance at her car. “One long day and your thoughts get all jumbled for a while.”

“Hey, you can have a normal day and jumble them for a minute – still doesn’t leave you accident-proof.” Maggey points out.

“Helps with the guilt.”

“Get too caught up in guilt, and that’s the thing to jumble your mind for the next time. So don’t worry about it, alright?”

I nod. “Thank you, Sensei.”

She crouches down next to me. “So, um. Do you think you can get up?”

“Hm? Oh, sure. Sorry, was just resting my feet.”

I pick myself off the ground. She wipes some of the dust off my coat.

“I guess you really are fine.” she murmurs, not hiding her relief. “Still, it might be a good idea to maybe visit a hospital, just to be sure.”

“I am indestructible, Maggey. You will do well to remember this.”

We wave each other goodbye. She gets back in her car. I pick up the cracked helmet and walk over to my bike. Thankfully, it’d landed on its side, so she couldn’t tell, but it’s actually gotten scratched up pretty bad. Damn slippery road. I should’ve checked the forecasts. Stupid, Athena. Stupid.

But the ignition’s still working. The wheels seem to be fine, too.

What more could I ask for?

“A bath.” The realization hits me the moment I step into the elevator. “A nice, warm, bath.” Maybe an acid one? Maybe tonight I become an evil sewer monster and destroy this whole city? What a fun idea.

Ding.

10th floor.

Apartment 1013. End of the hallway.

I fish my keys out of my pocket.

I can almost taste that bath.

I slide the key into the lock, checking to make sure the door’s still actually locked. You can never be too careful these days.

I turn the key.

Home stretch.

I open the door.

The darkness of the living room consumes me. Or, rather, the strange smell coming from it does. Looks like I forgot to put last night’s pizza in the fridge.

I flip the light switch on.

And I see it.

Sitting on my couch.

It ain’t pizza.

Not unless pizzas turn into decayed corpses. That also move over to your couch. And put on a dusty tuxedo. And also leave the pizza box on the kitchen counter. And the pizza inside it.

It ain’t pizza.

What it is, though, is making me sick.

God, how hard did I hit my head?

I reach out to it.

I don’t have to touch it. It’s not a dream. It’s not a dream!

“Oh, God.”

Obviously, I didn’t go to work with a corpse chilling on my couch. And the only key to the apartment was on me the entire time. I mean, the bike key and it are on the same keychain, how would I have used the freaking bike? Break-in? Lockpick, maybe? No, I would’ve caught the scratch-marks on the door. Maybe. I guess I’ll have to ask forensics to make sure. Forensics? Forensics! I guess this IS a crime scene. Planting real corpses in the Chief Prosecutor’s apartment is definitely a crime.

Real corpse? Maybe—

I glance at it again.

Yeah.

Yeah, no.

That’s as real as they get.

My stomach’s turning. The smell is getting worse by the minute.

Wait. I have to focus. The door was definitely locked just now. The only way to lock it would’ve been the same way they got in – with the key. The door was locked. The door was locked—

What if they’re still in here?

“Hello?!”

I slam the door shut, locking it once again.

“Closed in, buddy! You might as well come out!”

No response.

“I hear you!”

But I don’t.

I don’t hear anything but the sound of my own, unpleasant breathing.

I turn the apartment upside-down. But there’s nobody else there. The windows are all closed and locked, too. Not that they could’ve gotten this high up, anyway.

The only thing different in this place, compared to how I’d left it is—

Is that thing.

The corpse.

That’s crazy. That’s impossible.

That’s—

A freaking locked room mystery. Great. I guess I should be thankful I’m only seeing one body, given the previous experiences. At the very least, no bird feathers. Or bird prints. Or bird anythings. Just a plain old corpse.

I’m not sure what to do now.

Damn it. I’m shaking.

I really wish someone wish you were here to see this, Apollo. I can’t bring myself to, but you’d scream. You totally would. And this would feel less horrifying.

I cough.

What’s with the tuxedo?

I step closer to it.

There’s something sewn on top of the breast pocket. It’s a wooden crest of some kind. A defiled one – while I can make out some kind of pattern in the original piece, it’s obvious a less steady hand went through the trouble of engraving something across it.

The words, however, mean nothing to me.

And that upsets me even more.

At the very least, finding out who the corpse belongs to likely won’t be hard.

I photograph the crest. Somehow, staring at the image helps me ignore the corpse, if only for a little bit. Even if it brings me no closer to understanding.

The words pass through my head, again, and again, and again.

I AM VICTOR KUDO