Tanya's Kennedy disappearance. The case appeared to be harder to crack than it seemed at first.

In the police, where you took an important position as a detective, you're used to hearing stories of teenagers escaping, most often due to motives of romantic drama or an argument with their parents. It didn't take too much to solve, although it's pure pain with documentation. It got tougher, of course, when it was about kidnapping or killing, although as long as it wasn't a sly serial killer who would probably make history in the future, it also shouldn't be that complicated.

Tanya Kennedy was not kidnapped, however, and the body hasn't been found. Yet. Nearly everyone bet on her being dead. You and your colleagues, after unsuccessfully sniffing through the neighborhood and not getting any possible information about a typical strange man in a black coat and a tinted car, moved on to relatives and friends. Her family was grieving—no signs of faking it, and their schedules were clean. Then, her friends and her boyfriend. They were all quite normal teenagers, and although your partner found Michael to be suspicious due to his aggressive tendencies, he wasn't blamed for now, due to the lack of evidence.

William Clarke was not a particularly outstanding individual. His profile was unusual, yes, but even against the background of those who had an average social circle and behavior, he appeared to be dull. He was a white male, just turned eighteen years old, and had been emancipated since he was fifteen, after his mother died in an accident. An astounding showcase of independence. He worked and rarely visited school. Many of his classmates refer to him as 'weird', 'odd', 'quiet', and so on. His relationship with Tanya wasn't established equally by everyone—responses varied from 'secret lovers' to 'no one'.

A perfect description of a perfect killer, only if he weren't so young and pathetic in his fate.

Finally, some clues were found. Well, bones in a black trash bag, wrapped with all love and care. Most importantly, it was found near William's apartment complex. The scientists are in the process of making an analysis.

The boy was already seated in the chair when you entered the room. He wasn't moving an inch, seated patiently near the darkened, cloudy window. He didn't appear to be worried, sad, or angry. He was still, like a statue.

The classical procedure starts. Introduction, basic questions. Do you know why you're here?

Then, you become a witness to a very peculiar sight. Before any word leaves his mouth, his muscles move, one by one. It's like he could control each 43 of them individually. The right corner of the mouth moves down. Then another. At this moment, you swear that it's his left eye that widens first, and the right one follows after a tiny, barely noticeable pause. But it's there.

"No, I don't."

. . .

You read him his rights. Show him the photograph of the girl.

He stares at it, but even with his head tilted down, you notice how he fights off a smile. Or a snarl of disgust—it's impossible to tell for sure when the bits of his face jerk so much, each one like a dancer on its own—two groups of competitors.

In the end, his lips purse into a thin line, and his eyebrows move down.

"Yes, this is Tanya Kennedy."

You do not recall any sort of mental or neurological illness mentioned in his file.