After examining the room together with ‘John’ while making sure to keep an eye on my back open just in case, we come to the conclusion that the place is as pristine as it gets. Considering that I can’t well just call the police with their fancy technicians working their magic to make the unseen visible, a cursory review is the best I am going to get. No shreds of clothing, no splatters of blood where they shouldn’t be. All in all the room looks precisely how it is supposed to...save for the body in the middle nobody but me seems to be able to get close to.

“Nope. No traces magically appeared since I first did a sweep,” John concludes his search as well, “So, Detective, what’s our next course of action?”
I sigh, turn to him and ask, “Seeing how we have absolutely nothing in terms of hints and pretty much anyone can access this room, I—“
“A total of 10 people entered this room before the body was found,” John interrupts me, fingering around with his bracelet again, making it display a list of names.
I look at the list and then up to John and ask, “Where do these names come from?”
“That’s the access log. When you open the door, your name gets registered with timestamp and stuff.”
“But...but that’s great! Why didn’t I know about this?! With this, we can narrow down the list of suspects considerably!”
John smirked and replies, “See, that’s exactly what the old man sent me up for. But...it’s not quite that easy. I’ve done some research and all those names belong to guests of the place.”
“That is to be expected, isn’t it?” I ask, not sure what John is getting at, but then something the barkeeper had said pops into my head. ‘I don’t know who the victim is or how she came in.’
“She is not a guest,” I mutter and look over the list again.
“Exactly, detective. The system only registers the one who opens the door, but it doesn’t register who goes through. The victim must have come in with one of these people here. But we don’t know with whom or who she is. There are no records whatsoever of anyone matching her description even just remotely being in this place.”
“And it’s not possible to...I don’t know, cheat the system?”
“Not that I’d know of, but just like people lie to other people, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone managed to outsmart the system. So, whom do you want to speak to first?”

I browse over the list of names again and then ask, “This last entry here, ‘John Doe’ is you, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously? John Doe?”
“Hey, don’t blame me, blame my parents sense of humor. That’s much like a family named ‘Pan’ calling their son ‘Peter’. I actually once met someone called Peter Pan.”
“...funny. Either way, who discovered the body?”
“The report was made in by Simon Silver, the second to bottom on the list.”
“...wait, why wasn’t I registered on that list?” I ask.
“Because you only arrived after I got that list I reckon. Why?”
“Because I am still amnesiac and it’d be nice to at least know my own name.”
“...if the keeper didn’t tell you when you asked, he must have had a reason.”
“He claimed he didn’t know.”
“...the keeper is not knowing to be a liar. A bit on the mischievous side sometimes, but not a liar. If he says he doesn’t know, he doesn’t. Chances are that even if we get a fresh list, your name isn’t going to be on it either. If anything, there’d be a placeholder.”
“Like John Doe, huh?”
“Like John Doe, yes. But please don’t call yourself that. Might get weird.”
“...alright, let’s talk to this Mister Silver...or much rather...what did he say?”

All of a sudden, my surroundings changed and I find myself in a sepia toned version of the same room. A fit young man with some sort of armor opened the door, ushering in two young fox women who might as well have been twin save for the color of their hair. One of them has flaming red hair, whilst the other has jet black hair. The sepia coloring of the surrounding of course falsifies the image quite a bit, but I do recall seeing the red-headed girl down in the guest room.

Upon entering, they naturally pretty much immediately noticed the body and rushed to see what was going on, but when they tried to approach the body, the image suddenly distorted heavily and by the time it stabilized again, they were hurrying to leave the room, a collective expression of terror on their faces.

And that’s where the recording ended and John stood next to me.
Apparently my confusion was written all over my face, as John asks, “Your first flashback I take it?”
“A...flashback? But it was...it was like watching a movie from the fifties.”
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you only get the relayed version. The real memory usually has a better quality. Depending on the person, you often even get sound.”
“What in the world was that?!”
John shakes his head with that smile of his and explains, “A flashback. A regular phenomenon of this place. When telling about something that happened in the past, it visualizes itself in the head of those who are listening. You’d better get used to it.”
“But...but how is that even possible?!”
Now John is laughing and says, “Tell me again, what is this place?”
“...the...house of dreams or something?” I ask, having no idea what the heck he is aiming at.
“Exactly. The house of dreams. That’s not just a name, you know? It is what this place is. Everything you can imagine, all your desires and wishes, all of those are at your fingertips. Especially here, in the twilight wing, where light and darkness come together and mingle. There is only one law that nobody can override. It is impossible to exact violence against anyone who does not consent to it. And even if they consent, it’s not possible to kill. Even the most grievous wounds heal in a matter of seconds. I’ve heard of people getting beheaded in the arena, picking up their heads and putting it back on like nothing ever happened.”
“...and yet, now there is a body. Someone died.”
“Yes. And that is a big problem. If word of someone actually dying for good in this place spreads, some might well remember their old grudges...and seek to vanquish their foes of old once and for all. If anyone ever figures out how it was possible to actually kill in the house of dreams, we’d have a war on our hands before the end of the day. And the body count would be staggering. The whole place would be ruined.”

I sigh and scratch my head, “I’d like to talk to this Mr. Silver and his twin girlfriends.”
“Miranda and Mirabelle,” John informs me, “And they’re not twins. They’re clones. Well, Mirabelle is. You know what, ask that little gadget of yours when you meet her.”
“Might do...speaking of which, thus far I know little but your name about you. Do you mind?”
“Go ahead, knock yourself out,” John encourages me.

I pull out the small device and point it to John.

The detective – John Doe

Origin: A short murder story

A nameless detective who only ever had one case, a murder at a mansion. The suspects were as curious as they come, but the case was solved quickly with little but a draft of wind tickling the bare feet of a witness. Currently on the case of the murder at the house of dreams in an attempt to redeem himself as a proper detective.

“That...is not very much information,” I say, comparing it to the small essay the device had given me on Lucifer.
John shrugs and replies, “The longer someone has been here, the less information there are. I don’t know why that is, but I’ve noticed it too. As if a memory was fading.”

I shake my head again and push the many questions I have to the back of my mind. John won’t have any answers and God is not known to share what they know with us mortals.

“Alright, our prime suspect would be this Mr...Sebarius? Is that right?”
“Him and Mr. Silver, yes.”
“But didn’t that flashback show us that they only found the body?”
“You are right, it did. A rookie mistake. The flashbacks do not necessarily show the truth. They are visualizations of what someone is saying. And people lie. You, of all people, should know that.”
“...felt so real though…”
“That’s how a good story should be like,” John says with a smile and then waves to the door.
“Um, should we really just...leave her there?” I ask, a pang of separation pain tugging at my heart. A silly emotion to have, considering that she’s dead and gone.
“Not like we can move her anywhere anyway. On a side note, I asked the keeper to restrict access to this room to you and me. So we shouldn’t have to worry about her going anywhere.”
“Really funny.”
“Hey, when there’s no more room in hell…” John says and all but pushes me through the door, closing it shut.

This is going to be one heck of a long day.