Gift

“When you arrived, was she already dead?”

The police robot's voice sounded mechanical and cold, a flat line of functionality with no space for humanity. Leo stared at the glass of water in front of him, his trembling hands gripping the glass as though the pressure could hold back what was about to escape. The liquid swayed gently, reflecting the cold, artificial white lights of the room—distant and unfeeling.

“She… she was breathing, but barely.” The words came out choked. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the memories that now seemed to slip out of his control. “I tried to help, but… I couldn’t.”

“There was no one else at the scene besides you two?”

Leo slowly raised his eyes, meeting the smooth, metallic face of the robot. No expression, no human traits. Just an absence that made every spoken word feel even more cruel. He took a deep breath. “Just me and her. No one else.”

The robot paused briefly before continuing. “Interrogation concluded. Please wait for a human officer.”

With a metallic hum, the machine left the room. The silence that followed felt alive, filling the space with an almost unbearable weight. The air was tinged with the mixed smell of stale cigarettes and disinfectant. Leo pressed his temples, trying to calm the pounding in his head. It didn’t work.

The door opened again. A police officer entered with a digital clipboard in hand, not bothering to look up. He walked past Leo, sitting down on the other side of the table. His posture was slouched, almost dismissive.

“We reviewed the surveillance drone footage from the area. We’ve confirmed you weren’t involved. You’re free to go.”

The words hit Leo like a punch. He blinked, confused. “Free to go?” His voice trembled, a mix of disbelief and anger. “You’re going to investigate, right? Find out who did this?”

The officer sighed, finally lifting his eyes. The tired and disinterested look met Leo’s for a moment before returning to the clipboard. “Look, we’ll do what we can. We’ve got a lot of cases piled up.”

“But this is my sister!” Leo leaned forward, his voice spilling over with rage.

“Sir,” the officer interrupted in a bored tone, “your report has been filed. If anything comes up, we’ll contact you.”

Leo opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. The officer’s words felt like a sentence—cold and final. He followed the man through the station’s hallways, observing the brutal contrast between his pain and the indifference around him. Officers laughed and played cards; others dozed off in reclining chairs. For them, it was just another day.

At the exit, the officer handed him a card with a mechanical gesture. “The body was taken to the municipal crematorium. If you have any questions, call the number on the back.”

Without waiting for a response, the officer turned and disappeared, leaving Leo standing there, holding the card as if it were a dead weight. His mind spun. Nothing made sense. Lucy was dead, and the world seemed to move on, indifferent. He left the station with slow steps, feeling more alone than ever.

The walk to the crematorium was a blur. Leo didn’t see the people around him or the lights flickering in shop windows. His thoughts muffled the constant noise of the city. Each step brought memories—Lucy’s laughter, her sharp remarks, the way she always found creative solutions to impossible problems.

At the crematorium, he was greeted by a robotic attendant, whose mechanical voice sounded insensitively formal: “Leonardo Gray, proceeding with the release of the deceased. Please wait a moment.”

The environment was cold. The white tiled walls gleamed under harsh lights, creating a space that felt more clinical than respectful. Leo stood still, his gaze lost on the polished floor, while the muffled sound of machines worked in another room. Time seemed to drag on, each second piling up and crushing him.

Finally, the attendant returned, pushing a cart with a small metallic cylinder. The object gleamed under the cold light, but there was nothing warm about its shine. She handed over the cylinder as casually as a barista passing a coffee to the next customer in line.

“These are the ashes of Lucy Gray. Our system shows the payment has already been processed. If you need assistance, contact the number on the receipt.”

Leo took the cylinder carefully, almost as if he were holding something too fragile to touch. The physical weight was insignificant, but emotionally, it was overwhelming.

He sat on a nearby bench, unable to leave immediately. His fingers traced the edges of the container. Was this all that was left of her? A lifeless silver container with her name printed impersonally: Lucy Gray. She was so full of energy and so vibrant, but now reduced to something so small and cold.

He opened the lid briefly, staring at the ashes inside. A mixture of fine dust and bone fragments that seemed impossible to associate with the person she was. His mind struggled to reconcile the image of his sister with what he held in his hands.

“Lucy,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

The sound of machines in the background seemed to mock his grief. He closed the lid again, clutching the cylinder to his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, but that only brought her image back—Lucy smiling, Lucy working, Lucy dying in his arms.

On the way home, the world around him felt emptier than ever. He barely noticed the hurried people, the flying cars overhead, or the intermittent glow of advertisement panels. It was all just background noise, a distant distraction from the void growing inside him.

He imagined what Lucy would say if she saw this. She’d probably crack a joke, something ironic and biting to lighten the moment. “This is it? Reduced to a giant spice jar? They couldn’t even give me something more stylish?” He could hear her voice in his mind, but even that hurt. There were no more jokes. No more Lucy.

The house felt emptier than ever. The silence wasn’t just an absence of sound; it was an oppressive presence as if the very structure was aware of the loss. Leo moved slowly through the living room, his eyes scanning the overturned furniture and the debris left from the attack. Every corner brought a memory, a reminder that now felt bittersweet.

He touched the arm of the couch, where Lucy used to sit cross-legged, adjusting some device she was assembling. The coffee table still bore burn marks from her experiments.

He climbed the stairs slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. He passed by his room but didn’t enter. His gaze was drawn to Lucy’s door, slightly ajar. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. He knew stepping inside would be painful, but something called to him.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open gently.

The familiar scent of Lucy lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic smell of the equipment she loved so much. The room looked untouched as if she might walk in at any moment and pick up where she left off. Her desk was cluttered with papers, tools, and small, unfinished devices—chaotically organized in her unique way.

Something immediately caught his attention at the center of the desk: a necklace with a metallic pendant and a small note beside it. Leo stepped closer, picking up the necklace carefully. It was cold to the touch, but the weight in his hands felt disproportionate. He noticed a button embedded in the pendant and, hesitating, pressed it.

Instantly, a hologram projected into the air, filling the room with a soft, dancing light. Images began to appear, one after another. First, he saw himself and Lucy as children, running through the streets of the suburbs. Their faces glowed with carefree smiles, the kind of joy only childhood can capture.

Then came an image of Lucy working on one of her projects. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her skilled fingers dismantling what appeared to be a rudimentary drone. The hologram seemed to hum with her energy.

Another photo showed the two of them sitting on the couch, laughing at something he couldn’t quite remember, but whose happiness seemed to echo in the room like a ghost.

Some of the images were surprisingly intimate: him sleeping peacefully, unaware, while Lucy pulled funny faces in the background. It was as if she had captured the purest and most genuine moments of their time together—moments he hadn’t realized were special until he saw them there, now.

Leo felt his legs weaken. He sank slowly into the chair beside the desk, still holding the necklace. The hologram’s light faded, but the impact lingered, leaving a heavy emptiness in the air. He pressed the pendant against his chest, feeling tears stream down his face, unbidden.

After a moment, he picked up the note beside it. Lucy’s handwriting was hurried but unmistakable.

Hi, Little Leo,

During my breaks at work, I can’t stop thinking about you and worrying. Are you eating properly? I hope you land that job soon. By the way, I made this gift so you won’t feel so alone. I’ll finish things here soon, and we’ll eat together again. Love you so much,

Lucy.

The knot in his throat tightened further. He read the words over and over as if they were a lifeline connecting him to her. Simple words, yet they carried all the love and care Lucy had always shown him.

His eyes wandered to the desk. He wiped his face with his sleeve and began sifting through the papers. Each sheet seemed to tell a story: detailed sketches of devices he didn’t recognize, hurried notes filled with complex calculations, and ideas that defied his understanding.

As he flipped through the pages, something slipped out from the pile and fell to the floor. Leo bent down, picking up the object—a card. He turned it over carefully, noticing something written by hand.

“We can help you. I’ll wait for you here.”

Beneath it was an address hastily scrawled in uneven letters.

He stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the card. Who was this person? Why did Lucy need to meet them? A sense of unease settled in his chest.

Leo slipped the card into his pocket, his gaze lingering on the room one last time. Every corner seemed to scream her name, but now, instead of offering comfort, it carried a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

With the necklace still in his hands, he stood up, scanning the desk one final time. He knew this card was more than just a message. It was perhaps the only clue he had to understand what happened.

And with that, determination began to form amidst the pain. He had to uncover the truth, no matter how much it scared him. Because if there was one thing he owed Lucy, it was this: answers.