Log 02
Absent Cause
T1he next morning, the sky was unnaturally clear.
New City’s blue was sharp enough to hurt the eyes. Even the wind smelled clean.
I hate days like that.
When the sky is too clean, something underneath is always dirty.
The temporary MCS office was on the fifth floor of Bayshore Precinct. Small room. One whiteboard. One computer. One table. Five chairs. Through the window, you could see the sea. Cargo ships moved slowly across the horizon like a silent funeral procession.
A cup of coffee sat cold on the desk—left over from last night.
The aroma gone. Only bitterness remained.
8:55 a.m.
The door opened.
Lee Wai Hing walked in first, newspaper in hand. “Front page.” He dropped it on the table.
“Young Woman Found Dead at Taka Square — No Visible Injuries — Police Investigating.”
The photo was grainy, but the steps, the angle of light—it was enough to make my stomach tighten.
“The media moves fast,” I said.
“They’re always one step ahead,” Wai Hing replied. “Just never sure where that step lands.”
Chan Chee Yan came in next, tension on his face.
“Sir, we found something strange last night.”
He laid a stack of printouts on the table.
“Lam Chi Ying’s laptop login records show a brief remote access at 12:38 a.m.”
“Remote?” I asked.
“External IP. We traced it to the Changhua district. But by then, her phone signal placed her on Meilin Road.”
“Someone hacked her laptop?”
“Possible. The connection lasted two minutes. No downloads. No deletions. Just opened a folder named ‘The End of the Dream.’”
I frowned. “What was inside?”
“Empty.”
An empty folder is more unsettling than a full one.
Because if someone takes the trouble to open emptiness, it means something used to be there.
9:00 a.m.
Lee Man Tseng arrived. Crisp shirt. Hair tied back. Calm expression, though fatigue edged her eyes.
“Forensics sent results,” she said, placing a file on the table.
I opened it and caught a faint floral scent.
“The powder?”
“Primarily plant extracts. Jasmine. White sandalwood. And an unknown synthetic compound. Toxicology suggests it stimulates abnormal alpha-wave activity in the brain, forcing a dream-state.”
She paused.
“In simple terms—it makes a person dream while awake.”
I looked up.
“You’re certain?”
“Forensics doesn’t speculate.”
“Can it kill?”
“Not necessarily. But in high doses, it can push the brain into irreversible deep sleep. The heart stops. Neural signals persist briefly.” Her voice softened. “It’s like dying inside a dream.”
Silence filled the room.
I could hear the sea wind hitting the glass outside.
“Where does a compound like this come from?” Wai Hing asked.
“Part of its structure resembles a Japanese experimental hypnotic therapy drug. Not yet approved for market.”
“Illegal sample?”
“Possibly. Or someone accessed early research.”
I picked up the photo of Lam Chi Ying on the steps.
“What if she wasn’t killed,” I said quietly, “but guided?”
“Guided?” Man Tseng looked at me.
“As if someone convinced her that the dream was better than reality.”
Wai Hing leaned back. “That’s psychological manipulation. Not every killer uses a knife. Some use belief.”
I turned to Chee Yan. “Check her social accounts. Anything unusual?”
“Yes.” He opened his laptop. “In the week before her death, she had frequent chats in a private room called ‘Beyond the Dream.’ The other user was ‘Solus.’”
“Identify?”
“Local IP. VPN masked. No real-name registration. I pulled some transcripts.”
He rotated the screen.
Solus: You said you always dream of that place.
Lam: The steps outside Taka Square. I’m always sitting there.
Solus: That’s a door.
Lam: A door?
Solus: To where you truly want to go. You only need to learn to let go.
“Let go…” Man Tseng repeated softly, as if tasting the phrase.
“This isn’t typical online manipulation,” she said. “The tone is intimate. Deep. Whoever wrote this understands psychology.”
“Or understands people,” I replied.
Wai Hing exhaled smoke. “These days, you don’t need a weapon. A word will do.”
“Trace the compound,” I ordered. “Experimental supply chains. Black market. University labs. Everything.”
I paused.
“And speak to her parents.”
2:00 p.m.
Cheung Man Man and I arrived at the family’s flat in Gam Man Taai. Aging HDB block. Faded paint. Balcony crowded with old books and potted plants.
Her mother opened the door. Her eyes were hollow.
“Officer… was my daughter tortured?”
“We’re still investigating,” I said gently.
On the living room wall hung photos of Lam Chi Ying—bright smile, eyes full of uncomplicated light.
“Has she been depressed? Strange dreams?” I asked.
The mother hesitated. “Dreams… yes. She said she kept seeing a door.”
“A door?”
“A white door. Slightly open. Light inside. She said the light had a scent. Very fragrant.”
My chest tightened.
Scent.
Again.
Her father handed me a small box. “We found this in her bedside drawer.”
Inside—a small glass vial filled with pink powder.
I opened it. The fragrance rose immediately.
Jasmine. Sandalwood. Sweet with a bitter undertone.
Man Man frowned. “Matches forensics?”
“Looks like it.” I sealed it. “We’ll test it.”
As we left, her mother whispered, “She said someone was waiting for her in the dream.”
“Who?”
“She said… the light.”
7:00 p.m.
Back at the precinct.
Chee Yan and Man Tseng were staring at their screens.
“Sir. The ‘Beyond the Dream’ chatroom just went offline. Server wiped,” Zhiren said.
“Wiped?”
“Completely. Even backups are gone. Someone moved before we did.”
Cold spread through me.
Man Tseng added quietly, “Based on linguistic profiling, ‘Solus’ likely has formal training in clinical psychology or hypnotherapy.”
“Any local institutions conducting relevant research?”
“Yes. New City University Medical School. Ongoing project on ‘induced conscious dreaming.’”
“Lead researcher?”
“Dr. Lau Zi Him.”
I wrote down the name.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said. “We pay him a visit.”
Late night.
The others left one by one.
I remained alone in the office. Outside, the sea reflected scattered city lights.
The fragrance still lingered in my memory.
Sometimes I wonder—perhaps death is another form of dreaming.
If there is light in that dream. A scent. Someone waiting.
Would anyone choose to wake?
The small vial sat on my desk. The pink powder faintly glowing under dim light.
For a moment, it looked alive.
I turned off the lights.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And then I heard it.
Soft.
Almost like breathing.
I knew then—
It wasn’t just a scent.
It was a summons.