“I got it.”
The guard unlocks the door, and I steel myself as I walk into the interview room. The lights are harsh, too bright for the darkness I’m about to face. Ghost is already sitting behind the glass, chained to the table, his white hair made blinding by the fluorescent lights framing him in a soft glow. It gives him an ethereal quality, but he’s no ghost.
Just a man who haunts me with only a few words.
Our eyes meet as I sit down. The hazel in his glitters with amusement. And that smile… It’s there, curling at the corners of his mouth like he knows a dark secret.
I’m quick to speak first, wanting to take charge of the conversation. “Why are you in this room before me? Last time I was here, they brought you in after I arrived.”
Ghost nods slowly, his smile growing just a fraction. “Very perceptive, Dr. Andrews. You see, things changed around here, especially after the latest incident.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Incident?”
His eyes flash with that familiar glint, the one that tells me he’s enjoying every second of this. He leans back slightly, letting the chains on his wrists clink softly against the metal table. I try not to become distracted by the muscles of his large chest expanding under the orange material. “The inmate closest to this room. He met an unfortunate end. An apparent suicide. Gruesome, they said.”
My body tenses, and I take a deep breath to loosen my muscles. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Such accusations, Dr. Andrews. Do I strike you as the type to get my hands dirty?”
I nod. “Yes, actually.”
“Then, you’d be correct.” He rests his elbows on the table. His eyes gleam with a twisted amusement, and the smile never leaves his lips. “I may have given him a few choice words to remind him of… unpleasant truths. Sometimes, when you look at yourself too closely, you don’t like what you see.”
He tilts his head, eyes still locked on mine before continuing. “It’s amazing what the mind is capable of when it’s pushed in just the right direction. Wouldn’t you agree?”
My stomach tightens. He didn’t need to lay a finger on the inmate. Ghost has a way of planting seeds in the heads of others—seeds that grow into something far more dangerous.
Case in point: I’m sitting here talking to him when I know I shouldn’t.
His grin widens at my silence, and he nods slowly—almost as if reading my mind and praising me for connecting the dots. “The truth is powerful. You, of all people, should know that. And sometimes, the truth is enough to destroy someone.”
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to create some distance between us. “Did you know him?”
Ghost shrugs, the motion casual, as if we’re discussing something trivial. “Not personally, but we had commonalities. He had his ghosts, just like you, just like me. I simply helped him face them.”
I stare at Ghost, my skin crawling at the ease with which he speaks about manipulation and murder. “Why did you do it?”
“Don’t you ever get tired of asking ‘why’?”
“Don’t you ever get tired of killing people?”
His smile fades, and his eyes darken. “Nope. And to answer your question: I did it because I could.”
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between us, the tension thick in the air. I can’t tell if he’s being honest or if this is just another one of his games. But I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, and the disturbing part is… I almost understand. I’ll never stop asking why. It’s my obsession, the same way murder is his.
“I knew you’d come back to me, Dr. Andrews.”
The way Ghost addresses me should be a barrier, a professional title that creates formality. But the way it rolls off his tongue is soft. Intimate. Like the brush of fingers over skin. Like he’s reminding me who I am when I’m with him… and who I pretend to be when I’m not.
“It would seem that you know a lot, Ghost. More than you should.”
Like my fucking phone number, for instance.
His smile widens, turning puckish. “I suppose I do. Information is the only thing I have to keep me company. It’s lonely here, and you’re my only friend.”
I roll my eyes. “We are not friends.”
“We could be. You’re not going to ask me for my real name?”
“Do you want to give it to me?”
He grins. “No. No. No.”
“Then why waste time?”
“Why indeed?” His eyes shine with satisfaction, and something devilish. He spreads his powerful thighs as he settles deeper in his chair. “So cold. So distant,” he murmurs. “But I suppose that’s what makes you so good at what you do.”
I put my elbows on the table and steeple my fingers, using this posture to send a message of confidence and control. “I’m not the only one who’s good at what they do. From my understanding, you’ve manipulated someone into giving you certain privileges?” Like a cell phone.
Ghost shakes his head, his smile never wavering, as if we share some private joke. I suppose we do. “Me? Manipulate? Never. I haven’t been given anything that hasn’t been approved by the great state of New York.”
“Then I guess you found other ways to get what you want.”
“Loneliness breeds creativity. One has to be innovative if they want something that’s unattainable, Dr. Andrews.”
I hold his stare while my mind churns. There’s something different in the way he’s looking at me this visit. It’s a subtle shift, minuscule, but I sense it. It’s how his eyes trail over my face as though he’s captivated by every inch of skin, every eyelash, every freckle. It’s intense, unnerving, and… fascinating.
For the first time since I met him, I feel like I’m the one being studied. My insides clench and I instinctively squeeze my thighs together to eradicate the sensation of desire.
I peer at him from behind my steepled fingers. What was once a gesture of self-assurance has now become a shield. Against him and my unwanted attraction. “Have you always been good at getting what you want, even when it’s impossible?”
“Oh, yes,” he purrs, his voice a deep rumble. “Nothing is impossible. Some things just require more patience. More… finesse.”
“Finesse is a decent strategy, but it won’t do you any good with something as immovable as a mountain.”
He laughs softly. “Even a glacier will melt, given time and the right circumstances.”
His reference to me doesn’t go over my head. It’s not the first time Ghost has called me cold and guarded.
“Why me?”
The question I’ve been agonizing over falls from my lips and into the silence between us with the impact of a bomb. I may have detonated it, but I’m not ready for the explosion. For the destruction that follows.
At first, there’s nothing. Then his gaze sharpens, and something flickers behind his eyes—something that feels almost like recognition.
“Because,” he says slowly, his voice soft but deliberate, “you’re just like me.”
I rear back, a mix of anger and denial surging through me. “I’m nothing like you,” I say through clenched teeth.
His smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, but you are, Dr. Andrews. The only difference is that you’re still trying to bury your ghosts, but I invite mine to dinner.”
He’s pushing again, trying to blur the lines between us. The worst part is that the connection I felt while texting him returns with full force. And it’s more than a mere ember. It’s scalding.