The wind continued to howl outside, accompanying the sobs that rushed out her throat without end. Tired, dazed and a little dizzy, she stumbled around the house like a ghost. To the kitchen, the groceries still lying on the counter untouched. To the tiny living room, the mis-matched furniture still littered with Zinnia's worn-down schoolbooks. To the bathroom, a tiny purple toothbrush resting besides her own. And again...to the bedroom, the black handprint on the wall as binding as a doctor's signature on a death certificate.

The mystery began again. The dripping handprint under the window taunted her, the very same one that was plastered on the dresser of her mother's room when she disappeared, and that smudged on the window

pane of the bathroom where Zinnia's father had disappeared. It was that same, godforsaken hand that turned to smoke the second the police showed up. That stained her old slippers with paint that disappeared after an hour, though it stained her memory forever. Her own hands curled into fists.

'The police department has ruled out any chance of kidnapping. The individual in question has been declared missing, so any reports of similar-looking people will be shared with you. The case is now closed.' She had read their report on her mother and husband well enough to know they would be of no help. Once again, it fell on her to figure this out.

Mrs. Robinson took out an old dusty chest from the attic. Old tools glinted in dark.

She would not fail this time.