“Then who am I?” I ask him following just behind as he stormed up the hill towards our cabin. My friend hurrying to stamp out what remained of our fire while calling after us to wait.

“Not you,” Says Griffin over his shoulder,
“Maybe not even who I think you are.” He stops abruptly, leaning over to pick up a piece of soggy paper that had been wadded up in his jeans and was now very, very wet.
“But none af that will matter if we don’t fix this mess with the missing key.”

“What the,” I stammer on, hoping to catch up with him enough to at least understand half of what he could be talking about,
“What do you mean who you THINK I am, and what Key?”

He stops, squishing the wet paper in his fist, each drip hitting the dirt with a hiss.
“Are you coming or not?” Griffin has turned around and is yelling over me to our unseen friend.

“You can see him?” I ask surprized.

For a minute or two he says nothing, staring at me with that same look of contempt he had the moment he crawled out of the lake.
“Yeah.” And continues to walk ahead of me,”He is there isn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“Hmph. Well, that won’t matter much either.”

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868