That word: Murder. Such a blunt, harsh, and straight to the point kind of word, one that meant trouble, death, breaking the law, prison. Koda didn't like that it was used to describe how his mother died. He didn't like it one bit.

"I don't believe you," he said almost immediately. How could he?

"It's true. I wouldn't say it if I weren't one hundred per cent certain."

Koda stared into his father's intense eyes. "They told me it was an overdose."

"They," Morlen said, crossing his arms. "The doctors. They're all in on it. Everyone, liars and killers. We can't trust anyone."

Koda wanted to laugh at the sheer madness of their conversation. "You've finally lost your mind. Doctors don't lie about something like that."

"They do if the government gets involved." Morlen looked serious, almost deadly with how sharp his features sat against his pale skin.

"When was the last time you slept?" First, Koda's mother died, then he was told that ghosts were real, now his father was telling him that his mother's death was one big lie to cover up what, exactly?

"I know it's something you don't want to hear, but it's the truth and I swear on your life that I'm not lying."

Koda then laughed. It was heartless and lacked amusement. "You don't care enough about me to swear on my life and mean it. How stupid do you think I am?"

"You're my son. Of course I care about you." Morlen spoke so harshly, Koda thought he saw a crack of hurt in his concrete gaze.

"You have a funny way of showing it." Koda thought back to when he told his father, the rugby coach who had a 'tough guy' reputation to withhold, that his son would be studying art at college. Morlen was furious and refused to fund any of the art supplies that he needed and refused to give him lifts or money for the bus. Koda even considered dropping out when his dad wouldn't stop telling everyone about how much of a disappointment he was to people he met on the coaching field, players, parents, friends.

The horror on his father's face when Koda told him he was gay was imprinted onto his brain. Koda had never felt so ashamed of himself, so eager to take back what he said, or so ready to run away. His dad stopped talking to him for weeks, and their relationship deteriorated from there. As tragic as it sounded, Koda thought that his mother's death might bring them closer together. When the doctors said she had died, Morlen held Koda while he cried like he was in unbearable pain, rubbed his back and promised that they'd get through it, together.

The next day, Morlen was gone, and his daily ritual of getting drunk began. Koda was used to his parents breaking promises, but it still stung like a fresh wound.

"I know it's my issue that I can't accept you for being g- who you are, but art?"

"Oh my god." Koda sank into his chair. "You just told me that mum was murdered and you want to lecture me on how to be the perfect son?"

"Keep your voice down-"

"No! There's nobody here to listen to your insane theories. Just take me home so I can get away from you." Koda crossed his arms and glared out of the window, watching the heavy raindrops pouring down the glass. He could see his fathers reflection, and he didn't stop staring at him.

"I didn't want to involve you in any of this, but you're the one who's in danger."

"From who? Your imaginary killers?" Koda reminded himself of Alfie with the sarcasm.

"When we get home, I'll show you, then you'll believe me." Morlen restarted the car, and the engine roared to life, the headlights revealed the soaking road in front of them. The rain had slowed, but Koda's heart hadn't.

"Show me what? Why do you think she was murdered?" His voice was calmer, but still slightly uneven.

"She wrote everything down in a notebook and hid it under our mattress. Everything that was happening to her, it's all on paper." Morlen's eyes were glued to the road as they sped off down the street, but it felt nice to be the centre of his father's attention for once.

"What did it say?" Koda could feel the familiar emptiness seeping into him, clouding his thoughts and squashing his mood.

"I'll let you read it." As if Morlen sensed his growing sorrow, he added, "I'm sorry, you know, for not being here for you. The first time you came back from college after her funeral and yelled to your mother that you were home, I heard you stand in the doorway for ages. I could feel you just staring around in disbelief. The house doesn't feel like home anymore, does it?"

Koda bit his lip, hard enough to almost cut into it. "It never did," he said, hearing the blankness engulfing his tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his dad glance at him and stare for longer than he should for someone who was driving.

They didn't speak to each other again, not until they got home, and Merlon placed a thick leather journal in his son's hands, marked at the top with his mother's initials.

* * * * *

Alfie waited for what felt like hours to receive a text from Koda, telling him that he got home safe. When he checked his watch, he realised that it had been hours. He didn't want to be needy or for Koda to think he was needy, but he was a little worried, and a harmless text wouldn't leave his crush feeling overwhelmed, right?

"Please don't tell me you drowned in a puddle. That would be a really unfortunate way to go." He sent the text, trying not to be amused by his own humour, and placed the phone next to his bed.

Alfie twiddled his thumbs, tracing his large room, picking out the stuff he'd be embarrassed about if Koda ever entered. The glow in the dark stars in the corner of his room, the peeling posters of when he was obsessed with heavy metal bands, paintings from various ages of his life stuck to the wall, a teddy on the shelf next to his door, someones name in chalk across the back wall. Sometimes, when a ghost forced their way into Alfie, he momentarily loses his own sense of awareness and allows them to fill his head with images of loved ones they want him to contact or images of how they died. Sometimes, they make him write or draw things when they're a little more powerful.

When Alfie was twelve, his parents decided to paint his room entirely with chalkboard paint, so they didn't have to keep painting over another ghosts name, or bad scribbles of whatever it was they tried to tell their son. Alfie could merely rub off the chalk, and his walls were clean again. It had proven to be very useful, Alfie thought as he stared at the name Ronnie Birch in huge capital letters.

His phone buzzed, yanking him out of his daze and he grabbed it, almost dropping it as he typed in the pass-code.

"Do ghosts even know how to text?"

Alfie smiled, hovering his thumbs over the keypad. "Yes," he sent, and immediately sent another one. "So, I'm guessing you didn't drown?"

"I'm home now. Sorry, I forgot to say. My dad picked me up."

There was something off with the way Koda was responding. Maybe it was the lack of emojis.

"He was here asking to speak to your mum. I guess he believes in ghosts too."

Alfie saw that Koda had read his message, and the three dots at the bottom of the screen started pulsing as his crush responded. Then they vanished, then they appeared again, then they vanished, then appeared like Koda wasn't sure what to say. Alfie started to feel nervous. Maybe texting him was a bad idea, maybe Koda did think he was too needy and-

The blood drained from Alfie's cheeks when Koda's sentence popped up.

"My mother was murdered, but I guess you already knew that. Well, either that or you're a fake."

Alfie wanted to fling his phone out of the window, or stamp on it until it was undetectable, or flush it down the toilet. He sat up and stared without blinking, his heart kicking at his rib-cage. For a second, he thought about lying, but that clearly hadn't worked in the past.

"I knew about the murder." His reply was simple, and he wanted to wait for Koda's response before begging for forgiveness.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to give you time to grieve. I didn't know how you would act when you were still struggling so much. I was going to tell you soon. I'm sorry I didn't tell you straight away. You had a right to know." Alfie then frowned. If he didn't tell him about her real death, then who did? "How did you find out?" Slowly, he set his phone down and waited for a response.

His mind fuzzed, sounding like TV static. If the noise of silence ringing in his ears came from something visual, it would be that. The vein in his neck pulsed hard as the blood rushed around his body. He waited five minutes, then ten minutes, then fifteen minutes before opening his phone to find out that Koda read it as soon as he sent it, he just didn't reply.

Alfie didn't know what was worse, a disagreement over text or the silence.

He let his phone fall to the floor, and he rolled over to bury his face into his pillow. Being dramatic had always been far too easy for him, primarily when he was no longer in Koda Oak's good book. Though, Alfie wondered if he was ever in it at all, or if he had always been the annoying freak who could speak to ghosts.

He waited another half hour and lost hope that his crush would reply tonight, so he switched off his light and crawled under the covers, feeling the sadness in his heart pinning him to the sheets.