I decide to confide in Nemo once again and he tilts his head, putting a finger to his chin. A typical pose for someone processing a difficult question.
Eventually he says, “You know, you’re right. I’ve never had anyone ever ask me for food. Just drinks. Weird how you only notice these things when someone else mentions it, huh?”
“...but if people aren’t thirsty or hungry in this world...why do they drink?”
Nemo gives me a smirk and suddenly says something that rings familiar, “Some dance to remember. Some dance to forget. Besides, we only just established that people don’t eat. How’d you figure they don’t get thirsty?”
“...do they? Do you?”
“...as a matter of fact, I’m like you in that regard. I eat when I get hungry, drink when I get thirsty and rest when I get tired. After all, this here is my story. I live here. Just like you, from the looks of it.”
“So you do know where to get some grub them?”
“Not exactly ‘grub’, but I’ve got something else for you. Give me a moment.”

Nemo disappears in the back of the bar and comes back with a glass filled with a golden liquid I cannot identify. Nemo places the glass in front of me and asks me to take a sip.
I take up the glass and gulp it down and instantly feel refreshed. Hunger, thirst, tiredness, all are gone within an instant as the liquid runs down my throat.

After I am done drinking, I ask, “What in the world is that stuff?”
“It has many names. Manna, Ambrosia or Amrita just to name a few. It’s what I drink when I feel down. I am told that I shouldn’t give it to the customers, but since you’re not actually a customer, it should be okay. Can’t let you go hungry when you’re working so hard after all, am I right?”

Speaking of ‘working hard’, I should probably get back to work. After all, the issue isn’t going to resolve itself, and then longer I take, the more time the culprit has to cover their tracks.
If there even is a culprit.

After meeting back up with John, we brainstorm on what to do next. We’ve learned the name of the victim from Eva, but other than that, we’re completely out of leads. As it were, Eva’s the only one thus far who even seems to have any recollection of her whatsoever. Nobody knew her or even so much as saw her until she died.

“So...any ideas on what we should do next?” John asks as we look at the very sparsely populated whiteboard in his office. I’m not going to ask where the heck he got that thing from. For all I know, it just materialized in his place when he figured it’d be nice to have one and nobody ever wondered about how that is possible at all.

“I think it’s time to hit the midnight wings. That’s where the bad guys are hosted, right?”
“...and you think, them having been the bad guys in their story, they must have something to do with what happened? And what makes you think they’re going to talk to us? You know, being ‘the bad guys’ and all?”
“Oh come on, don’t tell me you believe that black and white thinking. Shouldn’t you of all people know best that things never are that simple? Everyone’s the hero of their own story, right? I really don’t get why they are being stigmatized like that anyway.”
“Probably because you really don’t want the guy who tried, or even succeeded, to kill you as your neighbor.”
“...fair enough. Either way, we shouldn’t assume they aren’t interested in resolving this case. I mean, after all it’s their existence on the line as well. But we should bring a mediator. Someone who isn’t from the daylight wing. Someone who knows who’s who and who can vouch for us not trying to make their life miserable.”
“Got anyone in mind?” John asks.
“I think we should get in touch with this Lucifer fellow. He seemed reasonable enough.”
“Lucifer? The guy who triggered a world war just to get four people to try to stop him? Couldn’t you have picked someone...I don’t know, less genocidal?”
“Like whom? Look, I understand his actions are...questionable, to put it mildly, but this is not his world. And we do need any help we can get at this point. Who knows, maybe he’ll take the chance to redeem himself a little bit.”
John scratches his head and mutters, “I really don’t know about this.”
“Hey, it’s not your neck that’s on the line here. He kills you, you wake up in your room.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You’re not immortal! You need to watch your back! And there’s some really crazy people in the midnight wing!”
“...so what do you suggest we do then?”
“I say we split up. You stick around the daylight wing. At least these guys tend to have some sense of morality. I take the midnight wing. And we’ll meet up here in the evenings to discuss our findings. Sounds good?”

I really cannot argue with John’s logic on that point, however I don’t like the idea of shying away from talking to ‘potentially dangerous’ people, just because I may only have one life in this world. I mean, in their stories, everyone here only had that ‘one life’ and if they died, that was the end of it. But that didn’t stop them from putting themselves in danger, did it?

I sigh and reluctantly agree to John’s plan. I sure hope he is as good a detective as he is a drinker.