I own nothing but the story.

Somehow, I knew who it was before Ronin said the name. It wasn't too hard a guess, in hindsight. Ronin asked for Lloyd first, his face stretched like that of someone who'd seen a ghost, and I guess he had, in a way.

The ghost of Lloyd's father.

Lloyd was confused.

Understandable. I was drawing a blank, myself, like my brain was climbing stairs and reached the top thinking there was an extra step. There wasn't one, just air and a scare that makes one's heart jump in surprise.

Lloyd stepped back after hearing the name, frowning, bowing his head. Zane looked affronted, surprised, then angry. I wondered if this was some sort of joke, if Ronin was going to break off into strange, hysterical laughter, but his face gave no indication other than a faint reveal of fear.

Yes, fear.

"What?" said Lloyd.

"I know it sounds like I'm pulling your leg, here," said Ronin, speaking fast, "but this fingerprint is your dad's."

"That's impossible…" said Lloyd, bringing a hand to his frowning forehead, "Dad…Dad's been dead for eight years…we buried him."

"Is some sort of joke?" Zane burst, "A way for you to get your money and to get rid of us?"

Ronin held up his hands, "Keep your money, for all I care. I'm telling you the truth."

"No!" Lloyd suddenly yelled, and the hair on the back of my neck shot straight.

Ronin steeled his teeth, and though he kept his gaze on Lloyd's face, his head turned to the side, towards the door the police would enter.

"Kid—" he tried.

"You're sick!" Lloyd said, still shouting at a volume loud enough to warrant some furious shushing.

"Have you made sure?" Zane asked again, shoulders trembling with anger.

"I wouldn't say a name if I wasn't sure," said Ronin, "I checked three times."

"Sick!" said Lloyd again, hands ripping through his bangs and pulling them back from his face.

Zane was angry, too, enough that he didn't bother trying to stop Lloyd from giving us away. I tried grabbing at Lloyd's hand, hoping to provide a gentle touch, some sort of sign that said, "Hey, there's no reason to freak out over this; there's probably a logical explanation, one that doesn't include the idea of your father's reanimated corpse, so why don't you just calm down?"

Unfortunately, the hand I used to grab his shaking wrist wasn't enough to convey this message, for he jolted backwards, eyes wide as he glared at the fingerprints.

"You're sick, Ronin!" he said, "Sick! Sick! Sick! Sick!"

"Zane!" I fixed a pleading stare at my friend, but he was looking at Ronin, face set in a cold fury.

"Kids," Ronin sounded desperate, "I know I'm not always trustworthy, but please believe me. I've nearly made up my mind on taking this out to the rest of the team."

The thought of anyone else possibly knowing about what we were doing was enough for me to attempt for control.

"You can't do that!" I said, snatching the paper from his hands, feeling it like a hot stone in my hands, "If you hand this off, someone will know that we're here."

"You can't keep something like this a secret," said Ronin, "It's unbelievable, maybe, but that cannot excuse the fact that a dead man's fingerprints were, at some point, on the body of your friend."

And they were so big, so long, so warped.

I clutched the sheet to the point of crumpling it, stinging eyes glaring at it as my resolve began spiraling dangerously close to panic. Lloyd kept his hands pressed to the sides of his head, which he dropped down and up again as Ronin continued trying to reason with us.

"Look," he said, "I'm not trying to start anything, nor will I go to the police behind your back, but I think you should come out of whatever rock you're hiding under; you need to talk to the chief yourself."

We couldn't do that; we couldn't do that. I looked at Zane, hungry for an answer, even now that we had ours.

But he had none.

We had answers, but we still had none.

Lloyd suddenly turned and ran, rushing from the spot before Ronin could tell him that the prints were his father's another time. He ran erratically, insane. With no other choice, we followed, sparing Ronin a few glances, ranging from cold to apologetic.

Time was stopped as we walked, dazed, after Lloyd. The trees seemed to stretch above us, warped and skinny. Ronin just stood at the window, a look of what might have been pity on his face.

I don't think I thanked him.

I stared at the paper until I couldn't look at it anymore, so I stuffed it into the pocket of my bright blue parka. In our haste, we'd forgotten of our little dress code.

The paper might as well have been on fire, for all the awareness I graced it on the way back. The image of Lloyd's father kept swimming through my thoughts, one I tried but couldn't reconcile with the image I'd procured of the monster in the woods.

It just didn't make sense.

None of this made sense.

Zane looked as confused as I did, once all the anger disappeared. If it disappeared. Lloyd didn't join us in the basement. In fact, we hadn't even seen him enter the house. I worried he caused a scene upon entering the café, but I couldn't focus on anything when we crawled back through the window.

Zane sat against the couch with a huff, staring at a point past where I could see as his mind raced. His face was so hard and still, I feared it would crack.

"Zane?" I asked once, hoping to get some sort of comfort out of a response.

He didn't so much as move.

We sat up during the night, lying awake in the dark. I hoped that we would speak, but nothing would come to mind other than vague feelings of regret, confusion, and, oddly, anger.

We'd opened a nasty can of worms, poked and prodded at the contents, left it to fester. I was regretting all of it.

I might've eventually fallen asleep, but the room was so dark and quiet that I couldn't tell.

Thank you for reading!