THE MELANCHOLY OF A GHOST; RYNER'S SUSPICIONS

Ryner stared out the window, the orange hue of the setting sun reflecting in his eyes as his mind churned with everything he had just learned. The day had been long—twisted by revelations that were both bizarre and disturbing.

"I've learned a lot more about what happened to Rita," Ryner muttered to himself, "but the more I hear, the more absurd everything becomes."

Charlotte's words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain. Rita's school uniform had been found at the scene—torn, stained with her blood—but her body had never been recovered. There was no struggle, no sign of escape. Just the clothes, soaked in crimson and discarded like yesterday's trash.

Then there was the bag.

Ryner had stumbled upon it in the old, abandoned school building. Inside was a carefully folded love letter, dated April 2018. The letter was written for Charles—Charles Buchanan, now a police officer. It had clearly been meant to be delivered but never was. The penmanship was unmistakably Rita's, the ink slightly smudged as if she had cried while writing it.

And yet, what truly unnerved Ryner was the detail Charlotte had shared so casually: that a young man's body had also been found on the scene. He had been described as being "at least twenty" back then.

Ryner sat up, a chill traveling down his spine.

"Wait a minute," he said aloud, eyes wide. "Could it be… that the man they found was Thomas?"

The thought hit him like a slap. He stood frozen in place as he tried to piece it together. Thomas had always insisted that he knew Rita before he died—but he remembered nothing else. It had seemed like an offhand comment at first, but now it felt like a crucial clue.

"Thomas first appeared in the old school building too," Ryner reasoned, pacing back and forth. "And there weren't any other ghosts when we were there… It has to be him. It makes perfect sense."

Or did it?

Something still felt wrong. The timelines weren't quite matching up in his head, and Thomas's memory loss might've been genuine—or it might've been intentional.

"I don't want to jump to conclusions," Ryner mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "But I need to be cautious. Just in case."

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "I should be wary of Thomas. He acts like a fool half the time—always smiling, cracking jokes—but that could be a mask. What if he's hiding something? Something important?"

Behind him, Rita hovered silently, her usual ethereal glow dim. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she made no sound. She had heard everything Charlotte had said earlier, and it had left her shattered.

Ryner turned to her gently. "Rita, I know how hard this must be for you… but I'm going to find whoever did this to you. I'll make sure your soul finds peace."

Rita's voice was small, trembling. "I can't believe this happened to me. Who would hurt me like that? I never did anything to anyone…"

Ryner clenched his fists. "In this world, people don't always need a reason. Some kill for power. Some for jealousy. Some do it just for the thrill of watching others suffer. It's sick, but it's the truth. This world… it's filled with evil."

He turned away as his stomach twisted. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. His leftover pizza sat on a plate, cold and unappetizing.

"I don't think I'll be able to stomach this pizza after what I heard today," he muttered, shutting the fridge with a sigh.

He shuffled into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, he exhaled deeply.

"One day, you're a regular high school student," he said quietly, "and the next… you're helping a ghost uncover her murder."

He sat there, overwhelmed. "It must be haunting her," he said, closing his eyes. "Her clothes were found… but not her body. That's terrifying. Especially if anyone touched her before she died. It'd make sense why she can't move on."

Ryner flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and stepped back into the hallway.

As soon as he did, Amelia appeared from the living room. "Ryner, can I talk to Rita?" she asked, hopeful.

Ryner looked at her, pausing. "Right now may not be the best time," he said gently. "She's… not doing too well."

"I just haven't seen her in a while," Amelia said, folding her arms. "You've been spending a lot of time with her, and I thought maybe I could check on her too."

Ryner gave a small nod. "Alright. I'll go ask."

He walked back toward his room, finding Rita near the window.

"Rita," he called softly. "Amelia wants to talk to you. Is that okay?"

Rita turned to him, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now… I just want to be alone."

Ryner nodded. "Okay. I'll let her know."

Then a realization struck him. "Wait—where the heck is Thomas?"

Rita looked around. "He was with me a moment ago… maybe he wandered off?"

"Damn that idiot," Ryner muttered. "Always phasing through walls, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong…"

Before he could finish the thought, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Amelia called from the living room, already on her feet.

She opened the door—and froze.

Standing there, in a beige coat and scarf, was a familiar face. Someone she hadn't seen in years.

"Chloé?" Amelia asked in disbelief. "This is… a surprise. It's been over two years. What are you doing here?"

Chloé stepped inside slowly, eyes somber. "I need to talk to you," she said, her voice almost cracking. "There's something I've been carrying for five years. Something I need to finally say."

Amelia's breath hitched. "Is it about…?"

"Yes," Chloé nodded. "It's about our late friend. Rita Holt."