The shovel bit into the soil, and with a grunt, jerked up with clumps of dirt to the side of the grave.Page wiped his brow against his sleeve, sniffing at the amount of work he had mustered up the past few hours. After finding a spare spade lying around the cemetery, he figured the only thing left to do was to unearth the past and discover why his grandfather led him into this place. It couldn't be to order a hit on Page and bury him here, could it? That was more of his brothers' gig than the big ol' man's.

He struck the ground again, the tip of the spade thumping against something solid. It wasn't even that deep. Not enough to bury a dead body, at least those who put thought on doing so. He used the spade to brush the remnant soil to what appeared to be leather.

Frowning, he tugged on his gloves to bite the spaces between his fingers tighter and crouched by the mystery material. He cleared more of the dirt to reveal a box big enough to be a suitcase. He braced the sides and pulled. It budged easily, the weight almost throwing him back. He lugged the case to flat ground, searching for a lock. None. The latches popped without resistance, and the top gave way to a deep crevice filled with stacks upon stacks of...files.

The body must be somewhere deeper, and Page wasn't keen on discovering for himself. This suitcase and its trove of mysteries were enough.

He fished out the first file and opened it. His own face greeted him, albeit younger and more innocent. His hair had been gelled to submission across his forehead, making him look like a premature adult. That was the case inside the family. A child wasn't supposed to be in the business. He flipped through the yellowing pages, scanning the typewritten words.

The gist leaped out in a span of a few paragraphs. These were investigation files that belonged in a crime registry somewhere, and for some reason, they featured him and were buried underground for them to be forgotten. He couldn't remember being part of a crime in his childhood, and something this big should have imprinted itself into his mind and never let go. Right?

On the eve of the treaty signing between the rival families, the youngest heir led the victim to a secluded section of the garden. The victim was later found dead in the same spot. Autopsy reports say the cause of death was from a poison from the thorns of an iqareen berry, one of the most fatal plant-based poison in the world. The youngest heir, with his family behind him, pleaded innocence, claiming the incident was an accident. The victim's family also rescinded the case after a few days, requesting the world to give them the time to grieve. As of this report, both families have agreed to never interact under any circumstances. Of course, developments are bound to happen, hence a request for continued surveillance is necessary.

Page might be young, but he wasn't the youngest. He checked the date the report was filed. Yup. He was the youngest at that time. But...what of this incident? Why would his grandfather go through such lengths getting his hands on reports and evidence like this, only to give it to Page after passing? Additionally, why couldn't he remember this if he was involved?

He turned to another sheet, and a musty photograph slipped from the file's bottom. It fluttered by his boots face down. He retrieved it and turned it over. This face...

Slowly, his gaze settled on the man standing still at the lip of the grave. Dara. The boy in the picture was none other than the man who cornered Page and hounded him for no reason. Unless, it wasn't for no reason. Not at all. Maybe...

"I know that look," Dara said, his voice too clear and melodious for Page to have guessed it the first time. "You're not going crazy. I'm as real as I can be. I grew up well, didn't I?"

Page shut the file and faced Dara. "I don't understand," he said. "How can you be here? And why can't I remember anything about this?" Were they pulling his leg? Should he expect his brothers to jump out that tree, laughing their asses off at how stupid he had been?

"Chill your loafers, man," Dara said, placating Page's racing thoughts with a gesture. "I'm a ghost, so I can't hurt you—if that's what you're worried about. And I'm here for the same twisted reason most of us were. We misplaced our bodies, so we can't move on."

"Move on where?" Page asked, well aware of the fact it probably was not the best question to ask.

Dara stuck a lip out. "The afterlife," he said. "I told you I have something to look for, and when you showed up in the gazebo, I knew you could lead me to it."

"Is that because I...killed you?" Page asked. "I don't remember any of it. I can't remember."

Footsteps scratched by Page's ears. Not a drop of shadow loomed over him even as Dara stood next to him. How foolish had he been, not being able to notice that while priding himself for being observant? "Then, let me help you," Dara said. A hand extended towards Page, and within seconds, he wasn't in the present.

Instead, he watched the scenes play out in his head. Younger versions of his brothers goaded Page into taking a younger Dara into the garden where they keep their lethal plants. "Don't worry about the poison," the oldest brother said, passing a vial with a clear liquid into Page's hands. "This is the antidote."

"We're only sending them a message," the middle child said with a snicker. "Despite this treaty happening, they mustn't forget which family sits at the top."

The scene shifted to Page leading Dara into the garden of horrors. The young heir seemed happy to have made a friend in the middle of a boring gathering of adults. Page positioned Dara next to the iqareen bush. "Just run your hands over this bush. It will give you magical powers," Page promised, knowing full well it would bring about something worse.

Dara obeyed, and one thing led to another. Right after wounding himself with the exposed branch and realizing what happened, a glint of silver whizzed in Page's memory. Blood flew into the cloak of night, and Page looked down to see a bright trail of crimson on his palm. It would later scar, and he would spend most of his life trying to cover it up.

A knife clattered to the ground, and Dara follwoed soon after. Then, Page saw himself cradling Dara's head as the latter convulsed, the poison progressing like lightning. He shoved the antidote into Dara's mouth...and it didn't work. Ah. That was where the confusion and the deep-seated hate and distrust for his brothers originated. Looking back on it, they never gave him an antidote. It was just water from the tap.

They had planned to kill off Dara from the start, and Page had played right into their schemes.

He snapped back to the present to find Dara crouching in front of him with a sad smile on his face. Page's breaths heaved, his chest rising and falling in erratic cycles. "I..."

"Don't be guilty about it," Dara said, resting his chin on his knee and hugging his folded legs. "We were both too young in a world where everyone expected us to be adults. Past is past. If anything, I need to thank you for finding my body. That way, I get to move on. You should too. Perhaps, that's what your grandfather's telling you."

Page blinked. "But I..." He pursed his lips to collect his thoughts. "Why can't I remember it?"

"The mind makes up ways to comfort itself," Dara answered. "Yours simply decided to turn back on all of this by pretending it never happened. The fact that your grandfather hid all corroborating evidence added to the illusion. But I get it. He was only looking out for you. And I'm dead. I knew better than to hold grudges against the living."

"What will you do now?" Page glanced at Dara who gave him a lopsided smile. Even with the hint of melancholy creeping into his eyes, the smile was still the brightest part of this abandoned town.

Dara sighed, craning his neck to the gray sky. "I'm going home," he said.

Then, with one gust of the wind rising from the east, Page was alone with a grave half-unearthed and a stack of files painting him to be a murderer. He fished the map from his pocket and gave it a long stare.

Ah, so this was it. His grandfather had kept his secret for as long as he was able. Now, it was Page's turn. He didn't reveal it to the rest of the family and assigned only Page in this quest to the truth to keep it that way. He did what he could with this knowledge, and beyond the grave, the helm passed on to Page.

His fingers brushed something else when he stuck his hands into his pockets. A packet of cigarettes and a stick of store-bought lighter. He chuckled under his breath when he brought them out and regarded them for a few seconds. After a long day, he deserved a smoke, right?

The lighter's switch ticked with nasty clicks, bringing fire into the cigarette Page tucked between his lips. Then, as he turned to leave, he flicked the lighter one last time and threw it over his shoulder. He didn't stop walking away as fire devoured the files and the case, turning them into nothing but a pile of ashes.