The rain was pouring down so hard it seemed as if it would extinguish all the neon lights in the city.
When Arthur pushed open the heavy doors of the police station, his expensive cashmere coat was already soaked through, clinging tightly to his hunched back. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers, his eyes revealing a weariness as if his soul had been drained.
David, the officer on duty, looked up, his ballpoint pen hovering over the report form: “Sir, would you like to file a report?”
“Yes.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse, as if sandpaper had been dragged across a tabletop. “I need to file a report. Someone is missing.”
“Who?”
“My wife, Elena.”
David expertly flipped open a thick case file, but his brow gradually furrowed. He turned page after page, then finally looked up, his eyes betraying a hint of confusion and wariness: “Mr. Arthur, the system shows this is the fourth time this month you’ve come in to report Elena missing. On the 3rd, the 10th, the 17th, and today, the 24th.”
Arthur paused for a moment, then offered a resigned, bitter smile: “I know, Officer. I know this sounds crazy. But every time she comes back, I feel like… something’s not quite right with her.”
“Not quite right?” David closed the case file and leaned forward. “What exactly do you mean? Has she lost her memory? Or is she injured?”
“No, she looks exactly the same.” Arthur stared at a water stain in the corner of the desk, his voice dropping. “She remembers our wedding anniversary, she remembers that I don’t eat cilantro, and she even remembers the glass of red wine we spilled on our first date. But…”
“But what?”
“But her eyes have changed.” Arthur looked up, his gaze vacant. “The Elena I used to know had a sparkle in her eyes—that kind of… vibrant energy that would get upset over the little things. But the Elena who’s come back these past few times is too perfect. She no longer complains about me working late, and she doesn’t get angry because I don’t wash my socks. She’s become… like a meticulously programmed computer—gentle, considerate, yet cold.”
David fell silent for a moment, the tip of his pen tapping lightly against the tabletop. “Mr. Arthur, is there a possibility that perhaps the old Elena was just too exhausted, and she simply wanted to change the way we interact?”
“No, you don’t understand.” Arthur suddenly became agitated, bracing his hands on the tabletop. “Last Tuesday, I deliberately threw my wedding ring down the drain. If it had been the old Elena, she would have flown into a rage and asked me through her tears if I wanted a divorce. But the ‘her’ who came back that day just gave it a casual glance and said, ‘It’s okay. You can’t make way for the new without letting go of the old—we’ll just buy a better one.’”
Arthur was panting, staring intently at David: “In that moment, I realized my wife was gone. That thing that came back wasn’t her at all.”
David looked at the man before him, who was on the verge of a breakdown, and sighed. He stood up, walked over to the filing cabinet, and pulled out a manila envelope labeled “Arthur.”
“Mr. Arthur, there’s actually one thing my former colleagues never told you.” David pushed the envelope toward Arthur. “While investigating your previous reports, we reviewed the security footage from your home.”
Arthur’s hand froze mid-air: “Surveillance footage?”
“Yes.” David opened the paper bag and pulled out a printed photo showing Arthur’s living room. In the image, Arthur was sitting on the couch, talking to thin air, while the other end of the couch was completely empty.
“What… what does this mean?” Arthur’s voice began to tremble.
“We found Elena’s passport and ID card in a trash can near your home—they date back three months.” David’s voice grew unnervingly calm, even tinged with a mechanical coldness. “According to the forensic report, Elena passed away three months ago. The cause of death was an overdose resulting from long-term depression.”
Arthur’s pupils contracted violently, and his mind went blank. “That’s impossible… Then what I see every day…”
“Those were your hallucinations, Mr. Arthur. Or rather, because you couldn’t accept reality, your brain constructed a ‘perfect Elena’ for you.” David pointed to the registration form in Arthur’s hand. “Every time you came in to report her ‘missing,’ it was actually your subconscious resisting this hallucination. Deep down, you knew she was dead, so you kept calling the police, trying to bring back the ‘real, temperamental’ her.”
Arthur trembled as he took the photo. In it, he was smiling gently at the empty sofa, as if someone were really sitting there.
“But…” Arthur muttered, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “But this morning, she definitely made me breakfast. The eggs were runny, and the coffee had double the sugar… That was the way she used to hate it the most, but it was my favorite. ”
David froze. He quickly flipped through the case file again, his face suddenly turning pale.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur keenly noticed the change in the officer’s expression.
David didn’t answer; he just stared intently at the surveillance footage playing on the screen. In the video, in that empty kitchen, the frying pan was indeed moving on its own, and the coffee maker was indeed running by itself.
Arthur slowly stood up and smoothed out his soaked coat. He looked at the terrified David, a strangely gentle smile curving his lips.
“Officer, I think I was wrong. ” Arthur said softly, his tone carrying a spine-chilling sense of relief. “Perhaps it wasn’t her who went missing. Perhaps… it’s me who’s truly gone.”
He turned toward the front door, and the moment he pushed it open, the rain outside stopped. Arthur glanced back, his eyes eerily clear: “Please close the case. She’s still at home waiting for me to have dinner.”
David watched Arthur’s receding figure, then glanced at the spoon on the screen that was automatically stirring the coffee, and suddenly felt a chill run through him.
He looked down at the back of his hand, where, at some point, a faint, translucent scratch had appeared.
It turned out that on this rainy night, there had never been just one “missing person” waiting to be registered.
