I dropped the bat, falling to my knees and screaming. The sound tearing out of me like it was the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. I don’t know how long I stayed there, on the ground, sobbing like a child.
Eventually, I pulled myself together, wiped my face, and picked up everything I’d demolished. After that I straightened my appearance, putting my mask back in place, and I haven’t been back since.
Until today.
Because of Ghost.
“I went against my rules and met with a criminal today. He’s nothing like you or the people I try to save. Ghost is… dangerous and manipulative. He’s the kind of person I’ve spent my entire career trying to understand. And I hate him.”
I pause, taking a shaky breath. “I hate him because he reminds me of what happened to you. What was done to you.”
Tears sting my eyes when I reach out and trace the rough edges of their names on the headstones. Samuel & Margaret Prescott.
“I hate Ghost because one interaction, one fucking conversation is bringing all of it back. Everything I’ve tried to repress. He got inside my head, and I don’t know how to get rid of him.
“I wish you were here,” I whisper, my voice thick. “I wish you could tell me how to deal with this, how to move on. From everything. My need to understand. My obsession with the criminal mind. My curiosity with Ghost. All of it.”
I sit there, losing track of time, until my tears dry up, my legs go numb, and the sun sets. The potential danger in this place at night forces me to stand, my body stiff from my lack of movement.
“I promise to come visit you again,” I say. “And it won’t take me a year this time. I love you. So much it kills me.”
My stride is purposeful as I walk away. I leave the cemetery behind, feeling no different than when I arrived. Ghost still haunts me, and my parents remain dead.
However, my time spent with them is a reminder of the things that drive me. Because as much as I want to deny it, anger and pain are the only things that make me feel alive.
Two hours later, I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside. The quiet stillness of an empty home is the kind of silence that’s supposed to be comforting but never really is.
I drop my bag by the door and shrug out of my coat, letting it fall carelessly onto the nearest chair. Normally, I’d hang it up, keep things neat and orderly, but tonight… tonight I don’t give a shit.
My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors as I make my way to the kitchen. The day has been a blur, a relentless onslaught of noise, tension, and fear.
But my time with Ghost ended up being worth it.
They found Anna Lee.
She was dirty, barefoot, and curled behind a dumpster like a forgotten doll left out in the rain. Alive but only just. Her skin was a patchwork of bruises, her body frail from days without food, and her hands trembled so violently the paramedic had to steady her arm twice just to place the IV.
She’s safe now, but the damage is done. Her world will forever be colored dark, like mine and Sarah’s.
Now, with nothing but my thoughts for company, my mind starts spinning. Ghost’s voice is there, lurking in the corners of my psyche, whispering all the things I don’t want to hear. All the truths I’m not ready to deal with. I can’t get rid of him, can’t escape the feeling that he’s still with me.
I reach for the bottle of whiskey in my cabinet, my hand trembling slightly as I unscrew the cap. After filling a glass, I take a sip, the burn of the alcohol searing its way down my throat. It’s not enough to mute Ghost’s voice in my head.
“Geneva. I. See. You. The real you.”
I take another long drink, desperate to silence him, to push him back into the darkness where he belongs.
“You’re going to break.” I can see his twisted smile, feel the satisfaction in his tone. “And when you do, I’ll be there, waiting to pick up the pieces. To put you in a design of my making.”
CHAPTER 9
GHOST
She’s fucking exquisite.
Dr. Geneva Lynn Andrews.
Her name lingers in my mind like a sweet, forbidden melody, the kind that envelops you long after the music stops. I can still see her, the way she tried so hard to maintain that icy composure. To keep the walls up around her. As if they could protect her from me.
But I know better.
I saw the cracks, felt the tremors beneath that polished surface. That beautiful mask. She thinks she’s in control, but she’s not. Not anymore.
I glance around my cell, the dim light from the small, barred window casting long shadows on the gray walls. The room is sparse, bare of any comforts. It contains a metal bed bolted to the floor with a thin mattress, a steel toilet, and a small, scratched-up desk that’s seen better days. The air is stale, carrying the scent of mildew and disinfectant, but I’ve grown used to it. The walls are covered in faded graffiti and scrawls from previous occupants. They’re messages to no one in particular, just marks left behind by those who’ve passed through this place.
What legacy will I leave behind? It would be a shrine to Dr. Andrews if I was inclined to share.
Spoiler: I’m not.
Tucked behind the loose brick in the corner is a collection of notes. I’ve carefully written on and hidden away each piece of paper containing observations, plans, and thoughts. All of them concerning Geneva.
The moment she stepped into that interview room, I could sense it—the darkness in her, the one she’s tried so hard to hide, even from herself. It’s there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free.
And I want to be the one to set it loose.
There’s something intoxicating about the idea of watching someone so tightly wound unravel. Especially when they don’t even realize it’s happening.
I can still hear the tremor in her voice when she asked about Anna Lee, the way she hesitated when I used her first name. Geneva. It suits her. So strong, so fucking sexy.
How many times have I whispered her name while following her?
How many times have I uttered her name while planning her future?
How many times have I groaned her name while fucking my hand?
The number is more than the years of prison I’ve been sentenced to.
Geneva hates me. I know that. But that’s what makes our relationship so interesting. Hatred is a powerful emotion—one that can be twisted, manipulated, turned into something much more potent.
She thinks she can keep me out, that she can walk away and forget about me, but she’s wrong. I’m already inside her head. It’s only a matter of time until I’m inside her body, with her legs wrapped around me and her moans in my ear.
“Shit,” I mutter. “You’re hard again?” I pose the question to my dick, staring at it with exasperation. “Okay, but this is the last time tonight, you greedy fuck.”
As I pull out my cock the dull fluorescent light overhead flickers, casting brief, erratic shadows across the room. It’s the only source of light in this place at night, and it’s unreliable at best. I’ve learned to ignore it, just like I’ve learned to dismiss the hum of the ventilation system and the muffled sounds of the other inmates down the hall, all of them constant reminders that I’m never truly alone. But in my mind, I am.