I grinned at my TV, eye staring blankly as white static ate through the stations, distorting and breaking down the corny dialogue of morning television. My back hunched forward as I listened to the pleasant buzz, watching the washed out silhouettes of George Lopez, Tim Allen, Bob Saget, burning white against the flickering disruption. I sat on my couch, head resting in my palms, humming to the irregular whisper of electromagnetic noise. The cable had been on all night, my single pupil shrunken and pierced by beams of artificial light as I listened mindlessly to shepard tone. The faucet dripped in the background against the cluster of broken plates I'd ceremoniously shattered in the metal sink, right after plunging all my silverware down the garbage disposal. I didn't need them anyway. This vessel didn't require food. Or sleep, for that matter.

Looking to the window, I caught a glimpse of sunlight peeking past my drawn curtains. It slashed my eye with a sore shine, punishment for being up so late. It didn't bother me. I loved a good punishing. The TV set went off with a click of the remote. Straightening out, I took a deep breath, stretching as a satisfying pop sounded through my shoulder blades. That small bit of light began to grow, seeping through the curtain's thin fabric onto the other end. I squinted my eye against it. Getting up, I closed the blinds tightly, only to flick on the apartment room's light. The place was a mess. But, who cared? It wasn't technically my place anyway.

But boy, had those teens left a mess! On the counter, by the sink under the cupboard, was a single belly-up goldfish, now molded by algy and glassed over with white eyes. Very distasteful. Not to mention the teens' clothes. They'd left in such a hurry, they didn't even pick anything up. T-shirts and shorts, as well as panty hoes and bras were mindlessly cast on the floor or slung over wooden chairs. The place absolutely wreaked of human! I would have to throw the articles away once I found the time. Couldn't have someone snooping around and finding out who used to live here.

That'd just be trouble.

I walked through the kitchen into the hallway, turning left to my bedroom. There weren't many pleasures to be had in this flesh-sack. Not when it ran on neither food nor rest. The most entertainment delivered seemed to be by playing dress up with it. I put on a white button up shirt, crisp and tailored to my masculine form. Some slacks. A pair of suspenders. A black tux. And finally, a yellow bow tie. Snazzy! I was perfect bait for my victims. An irresistible snack!

I drew a tongue over my canines, fingers carding through hair as I admired myself in the mirror. This body was like a wonderfully decorated bear trap, complete with sharp metal teeth and a thick, juicy slab of steak as the lure. Because, at first my intentions had been to snag Shooting star. An enticing meal, of course, couldn't be turned away by such a ravenous, starving beast, deprived of affection. She'd been the obvious target. But, the trap being set strategically, ready to ensnare and capture the elusive creature, was useful in other terms. An unsuspecting fawn had stumbled into the area, and could just as easily be clamped down upon. It all depended on which prey was more attractive for my appetite. Who would those metal jaws catch for me?

I tightened my tie, giving this form an approving once over before heading for the door. It was a four minute walk to work. One I was willing to make. But, not one I necessarily wanted to make. With no car, and having disposed of those kids' RV the night after my resurrection, I'd been on two feet ever since. It was nice, though. Got a lot of appreciative looks from passer byers! A few eyes staring for too long. Heads drifting to watch me, unaware of their own swivels. The involuntary glow of cheeks and expressions, catching a glimpse of that trap, oh so inviting. And, the disappointing fall in their features once I passed them, taking my treats with me. Humans were too easy.

When I got to the laboratory, Pine tree was already there. Seated away from his desk, placed by the test tubes, his face leaning into a fancy microscope, he fiddled with the side dials as a glass petri dish inched closer to his lens. He didn't acknowledge my presence, eyes glued to the pair of metal tubes that magnified his vision. Instead, he leaned down farther, mumbling to himself pointless confusion and small commentary. I contemplated disrupting him. Maybe scaring him out of his thoughts. It was always good fun watching him squirm like that!

"Morning, Dip 'n Dots!" I chirped, hoping to startle him from his thoughts. He didn't so much as flinch, attention fixated on his work. Sighing lowly, he moved from the microscope, scribbling something on a piece of paper before returning his gaze to the small sample.

"It's too early for this shit, Bill." He shot back, tired and vaguely annoyed. How hurtful. I hadn't even done anything yet!

"It's never too early to have a good time! Speaking of which, hows about we skip the work today? Go someplace crazy?"

"I seriously don't have time for this." I moved towards him, pressing my cheek against his to squeeze my single eye into the microscope. "Back up, Bill." He moved out of the way, crossing his arms.

"Whatcha lookin' at, cutie?" I twirled the dials at my side, enhancing the image to the point of blurring. A brown smudge, crusty and dried, paled white at the corners.

"An asshole who wont' get out of my work space. Seriously. Scoot. I'm actually doing work here." His voice held an edge of hostility, lying otherwise flat against his tongue. The kid must have been tired, considering the nightmare I'd sent him last night. Hellfire. Hellfire. Hellfire! What a beauty!

"Ugh! You always do work!" I stood up straight, moving away from the microscope. My head went to look at the ceiling, rolling my eye as I sneered at his professionalism. What a stiff. "Isn't there anything else you wanna do? Isn't there a single bone in your body that's spontaneous?"

"Isn't there a single bone in your body that wants to leave me alone?" He bent back down, face lowering once again. "Just go sit over there. I've got most of the research done, anyway." He jammed a thumb to his desk, a spot I'd personally claimed as shareable territory. Pine tree was never too happy when I sat in his seat. What did I care? He never did anything when I did. And I did. A lot. Because I knew how pissy it made him. But, him offering the seat to me just made it unappealing. Distasteful. I would've much rather played with my toy at the moment.

"...Really, though. What are you doing?" I asked finally, giving him some space. Pine tree paused, jotting down another set of notes on the scrap of paper by his side. He huffed, turning to face me as he leaned against the counter. A gust of Oxytocin smacked me in the face hard as an anvil, his hormones working against him every second I was around. I noticed he'd done his hair today. Real neat-looking, with those pretty little curls soft, organized, shiny and clean. The smooth fragrance of pine needles and lavender enveloped him.

He had cleaned up for me!

He cleared his throat, looking me up and down with a snap, almost too quick to be seen. I smirked involuntarily. "I'm looking at samples from the note."

"Ah, yes. The suicide note. Speaking of which, how are my five bucks coming along?"

"They're not. I'm not paying you."

"Can I trade it in for a service?"

"I'm not doing your work load, Bill."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a blowjob." I quipped.

It was apparent in the tone of my voice that I meant to tease him, and by the way he rolled his eyes, I was sure he knew that too. And yet, thickening like honey for a moment, the scent of Oxytocin became as potent and strained and wanting as anything. A tightening. A squeeze of the faucet, and it was back under control. Pine tree scoffed.

"Are you done yet?"

"Not until you swallow."

"Okay, then." He turned back around, prepared to ignore me and continue his scribbling. I laughed.

"Hey! I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Sheesh, kid. Can't take a joke?" He didn't respond. "Let me hear it. What are you working on? I'm just dying to know. Can you tell? I'm all ears."

"Sure you are."

"I am! Come on! Don't leave me hanging! The anticipation killing me!" It was meant to sound whiny, but by the way it made Pine tree groan in annoyance I couldn't help but laugh. Slowly, taking a side glance at my smiling form, he got back up.

Like a trained dog, I'll teach you to obey your master. Good boy!

He sighed again. "It's got fingerprints all over it."

"What? The letter?"

"Of course the letter. From Ms. Lass. And Derek, obviously."

"Obviously." I mocked. Well, it was obvious. But, being the case, pointing it out just made him sound stupid. Come on, puppet! Give me something juicy. "What? You think the prints are gonna attract the ghost our way? You think it's a nice little beaken?"

"I-... I don't think so, actually. I haven't been seeing any ghosts around, and it's already been three days. If he was in Gravity Falls, don't you think he'd visit us by now?"

"Mmm. Fair enough. Well, what says you, then? You think the ol' fart skipped town? Haled a skeleton taxi and went on the lamb? Think he ascended?"

"No. No, not that. Just-. When someone dies, don't they usually haunt the area they lived in?"

"Died in. But, continue." He rolled his eyes at me, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before looking away. A smile was creeping up his lip, though faint and small. He liked my little commentary. Another point!

"Well, if he died all the way in Tennessee, why would his ghost be up here in Oregon?"

"Are you saying the old bat was lying?" Because, if he was, that was just a shot at my credibility. I already told him she was telling the truth. Wasn't that enough? Oddly enough, he caught the subtle meaning in my plain tone, and was quick to grow frantic.

"Oh! I didn't mean-!" Pine tree stopped, quickly recollecting himself before clearing his throat. "Stop getting ahead of me." A cold look masked his features. What a vixen! "As I was saying before, there were finger prints on the letter."

"Ol' granny and Spook 'em McGookems."

"And one more." He retorted to my knowing tone, a small triumph in his short life span. I acted curious.

"Oh?" I enquired, allowing him room to continue. So, he was finally figuring it out. I had to admit, a lot faster than I expected him to. Bravo, kid. You're catching on! "Who's?"

"I'm not sure. But-." He turned to his left, grabbing at the plain yellow folder that sat next to him. Opening it, there were magnified photos of the finger prints. "I took a few looks. Ran them through a couple of computer screenings, and the data base came up with Ms. and Mr. Lass, no problem." He paused, worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from past nibbles. They were plumped red with irritation. "The other print, though. It's not on any of our records."

"Spooky." I added playfully. That smile of his became a bit more obvious, but was kept otherwise under wraps.

"Yeah, I know. But, get this." He flipped to a specific picture. Two finger prints, lined up side by side, marked with red ink and some circling around the photo's surface, met my gaze. "This-." He pointed to the first print. "-is Mr. Lass's." He tapped at the other one. "This one's the unidentified print. Can you tell the difference?"

"Sure. Where you made the little red marks. Those are the distinctions, right?"

"Right. But, very little differences. Minute. Fingerprints are far too detailed for this kind of copying." He closed the folder, walking to his desk. Throwing it on its wooden surface, he turned back to me. "They were almost perfect matches."

"Maybe a close relative."

"Mr. Lass was an only child. Says it right here in his records." He picked up another folder, this time with a blue tab sticking out of it. He placed his finger between the sheets, thumbing through the documents with a knowing hand. "It was almost a twin. So close to the original, but just too meticulous to copy exactly. A small hiccup."

"But, it was otherwise identical."

"Exactly. A counterfeit. It looked like someone had tried to sketch down the marks, and did a pretty damn good job, but missed the little stuff. Just enough for the computer to pick them up." I said nothing, smiling as he continued. That's it, puppy. You're almost there. Getting to the main point. Good boy. Good boy.

"Anything else?" Come on, sweetheart. I know you've got it. Just tip the glass over and crack the case. So close, puppet. So close! Pine tree froze, looking to his equipment; the microscope, placed thoughtlessly by the sink. He beckoned for me to follow, leading the way to his earlier work.

"There was a stain on the note, too. Some brown gunk."

"Shit?" I asked. Pine tree grimaced.

"Oh, no. Thank God." He took his fingers, pushing at the edge of his metal device, inviting me to peer down at the sample. I did so graciously. Still the same brown crust, whitening at the edges, crumpled and deforming. "It's bean paste."

"Bean paste?" I stood up, looking at him with comical disbelief. My eyebrow hitched up, bringing a devious smirk up as well. "You snacking on the job or something?" He ignored my comment, simply flipping through Derek's personal files. The page marked with a blue tab turned up, papers passed from him to me. I could just make out his eyes, hooded and sheltered beneath thick lashes. My eye lingered a bit, letting him shine in my knowing attention. And, he looked back, quickly stuffing away his stunned features. Part of luring in the prey was seeming interested. I broke out in a toothy grin and he quickly snapped his gaze from me, looking out the window.

"Check his medical records." Pine tree ordered, sounding calm as he examined a stray bird perched outside on a telephone wire. The page was documented thoroughly. Thick, black letters typed out in mashed up clumps came to view.

'September 6th, 1987: Fractured wrist. Prescribed brace.'

'May 27th, 1992: Car accident. Could suffer from possible concussion.'

'June 3rd, 1992: Seizure.'

'November 7th, 1997: Bitten by domestic pet. Tetanus shot.'

"Jump down to January." Pine tree snapped away from the window, looking at me again. I complied, skimming to the bottom.

"January 14th, 1998." I read. "Experienced severe reaction to black eyed peas. Doctors recommend a restriction."

"He was deathly allergic."

"To beans. I see..." Which can only mean one thing, Pine tree! Come on. Just say it! Say it, you know what that means this was!

"Why would there be beans all over the letter, then? Even as a final meal, if he were to eat them one last time, there's no way they'd keep refried beans in the house. Not even if she liked them." He paused, giving me a hard, steady look. "Someone else wrote this letter."

The elevator door came open with a casually automated bell. We looked up from our revelation, only to see none other than Ms. Lass passing through.

"Ms. Lass?" Pine tree inquired, confused as he looked on. "How'd you get in here? This area's restricted to civilians without authorization." He began to move forward, as though to escort her out, only for her to laugh.

"Oh, no no no, sunny! Your chief let me up. I thought I'd talk to you about the case."

"That's great! Uh-." He fumbled for a minute, taking the files from my hand before moving forward. "Actually, we were just talking about it. I think we've made a serious-." Ms. Lass put a hand up.

"Don't bother. I'm dropping the case."

...What?

Pine tree looked absolutely baffled, tongue skipping over itself as the announcement was made clear.

"Um... I'm sorry?" He cocked up a brow, giving her an odd glance. Something to examine her. Was she having a stroke? The woman smiled softly at Dipper, going to pick at the base of her shirt. She wore the same teal skirt, as well as the same sandells from last time. Even her white hair was pinned up the same way, with bee-printed knitting needles holding it in place.

"Well, I just got to thinking, is all. Is it really all that important if we catch my husband? He's not causing any harm. Can't we just let him live as he pleases?" She asked calmly, relaxed and comfortably confident. Those toes no longer curled in. She seemed certain of her choice.

"With all due respect, ma'am. You're husband's not exactly-... 'living.' If you'll just hear me out-."

"No." She shot. For a moment, those eyes held something like annoyance. They were quickly wiped clean, shining with a motherly warmth. "It doesn't change anything. Derek's gone. I need to move on, plain and simple." Her nose began to drip again. This time, she wiped it away with the back of her hand, only to clean herself off secretly by drifting it against the side of her skirt. She tried to keep it hidden by maintaining eye contact.

"Are you still paying us, lady?" I asked. Pine tree shot me a nasty look. Her smile remained.

"Oh, certainly! I'll just have to get my things in order. My accounts and such." She waved a hand at me, like the matter was no big deal.

"But-!" Dipper steadied himself. "If I may, ma'am. What we're dealing with might not be Derek's ghost. All of the evidence points to..." Ms. Lass's expression stiffened, sharp and bloodily unforgiving. Those eyes became piercing.

"I'd think twice about doubting me, boy." Her face softened instantly, giving him a sorrowful look. "There's nothing to be done about it. Just nothing." Dipper's lips curled in cutely, eyes shifting to the floor. A moment more, and he spoke.

"...Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, young man. Positive. Good day to you two." She stuck out her hand as a parting, offering it up to either of us. Dipper took it first, giving her a strange, weighted look as he shook her hand. In the moment, I had assumed the look was due to her unprecedented withdrawal from the case. But, once it was my turn to exchange departures, I began to understand more fully his expression. She shook with her left hand. Like a foreign. Someone unaware of customs. Her left was clunky in my right, uncorrected with a switch of the hand. I almost considered trading in for my left, just to feel like an improvement had been made. Her fingers slipped away from mine.

"Thank you for your effort."

"No problem, Nana." She left without a word more, elevator doors closing behind her. I stared at those silver doors, contemplating her odd mood, only for the clicking on a pen to snap me out of it.

"That was weird, Bill." Pine tree mumbled low, a ball point snapped tightly between his fingers. "She was different than before." He leaned against the desk, brow furrowed in contemplation.

"Yeah." I said simply.

"I mean-. She seemed so set on finding him. Why would she cancel it?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she couldn't afford our services." That wasn't it at all. Not even close. But, I wanted to know if he'd fight it. I wanted to know if pushing back encouraged him to push forward.

"She said she'd pay." He waved a hand at me, batting my comment away, still staring at the elevator. "No, no. Something was off. It didn't seem like her." So smart, Pine tree. So very smart.

"It didn't, did it?" I mused, leaning in on him. "You noticed it too, then? The way she acted." Dipper bunched up a little, noting my close proximity, only to nod in agreement.

"She was too calm. It was like talking to someone who'd never even known Derek before." He paused, taking a breath. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just overanalyzing." Oh, you're trying to stay rational. How cute. But, you can't maintain it. I know that much. You're too reckless. You want this to be a murder or a crime or mystery. You want it. And that scares you about yourself.

"Probably." I laughed, nudging his shoulder. Pine tree moved away, giving me a sour look. He said nothing, looking out the window to examine the parking lot down below, viewing Ms. Lass walk with a new spring in her step.

"She just up and quit..." Pine tree said. "Out of the blue." That pen of his began to click more rapidly. Looking his way, he was beginning to pace, mumbling to himself, checking out the window once or twice to see the old woman make her slow trudge across the street, still clicking his pen. It was kind of annoying.

"Hey!" I mused, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You win some, you lose some, am I right?"

There was a slight 'squish' sound under my hand where I pet him. I didn't acknowledge it, wondering if Pine tree'd pick up on the subtle hint. And, he did effortlessly. Giving a pale expression, he looked at the palm clutching him. Long, golden fingers curved against his boney shoulder. Pine tree grabbed my wrist, snatching it off of him, only to examine it. And there, dotted across my left hand, were small smears of bean paste. He looked at me.

"...Paste." He huffed, looking over my skin for a moment, only to turn towards the window. His body pressed against the glass, looking to the street below. The old lady was making her escape.

"Come on!" Pine tree called out, racing to the building's steps.

I put on a show of concern, following him down the concrete rows. It didn't seem like a good time to ask why we didn't just take the elevator. I'm sure he had his reasons. He bolted down the steps, sliding around every curve and twist, feet tapping and hand gliding against the metal railing. Within seconds, we'd scaled seven flights of stairs and made it to the lobby. We shot for the door, ripping it open for the parking lot.

But, she was gone.

The next four days were spent tracking her down. Of course, Dipper convinced the chief to give him access to her personal films. And he went through them at least eight times every hour. He put the town on high alert for an old woman in her eighties, wearing a teal skirt, sandals, and bee knitting needles. Look out, folks. A criminal at large. A search warrant was produced for her car, only to find it was gone. Everyone was told to keep an eye open for license plate 'DEBB1E.' But, no such luck. Not until Wednesday. And, even then, the case only seemed to twist.

A local ranger had called us up, stating he'd found something odd peeking out in the lake. Something big, like a lake monster or a really big rock. His words, not mine. There'd been a tow company to pull it from the waters, and I asked if Pine tree wanted to watch. He waved my comment aside, too concentrated on Ms. Lass's files. I decided to stay in, as well. Three hours later, we got the call. A gruff voice came out on the other side, announcing what had surfaced: Ms. Lass's car. And 'You'll never believe what we found in the trunk.' Well, I could guess. And, based on the cold feel of his skin, Pine tree could, too. When we got down there, he already had his forensic kit out and ready.

Ms. Lass looked hilarious in her current state! Face drenched, makeup running, mouth stuffed with mud and roots and leaves, eyes rolled back and pale blue veins absorbing the lake water and growing thick. I almost laughed. Pine tree was stiff, watching her form lower onto the tarp next to him, but remained otherwise neutral. He'd dealt with corpses before. The entire car was searched, checking for fingerprints once again. Pine tree almost scoffed at the chief's orders. 'Fingerprints.' Again. Whatever. Every item was removed from the car, labelled and laid down like a garage sale.

Her purse, drenched and flooded with lake mucus. A pair of old sunglasses. Leather gloves holed up by nibbling fish. A few photos she kept in her glove compartment. A little wooden cross, hung over her rear view mirror. Some letters under her seat, starting with 'Dear Grandma,' only to fade and be washed away, the rest illegible. A spare pair of black shoes. And, found crammed under her passenger seat, was an empty can of beans, as well as another set of unknown fingerprints.

This pair looked a lot like Ms. Lass's.