“Too bold?” Sarah’s jaw drops as if I’ve just insulted her personally. “You’re literally the keynote speaker for one of the biggest fundraising events of the year. You’re the university’s star alumna, Geneva. You need bold. You’re not supposed to blend into the background like you do at work in that depressing office of yours.”
“First of all, ouch. Second, I’m not trying to blend in,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
She smacks my leg and looks at me as if I’m the one who just slapped her. “Trying too hard? You’re going to stand in front of a room full of high-profile donors, alumni, and university hotshots because they’re basically worshipping you for being the only person who’s ever created a psych profile on him.” She lowers her voice on the last word, leaning in closer like we’re swapping secrets. “I mean, come on. Own it.”
I shift in my seat, glancing out the window as the city lights streak past. “It’s not just about Ghost. They’re asking me to talk about my work in general. Convictions, profiles, and how psychology intersects with criminal justice. Those types of things.”
Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically. “Puh-lease. They’re asking you because you’ve put away, what? Thirty? Forty criminals? And because you’re the only person in the world who’s had a front-row seat to the inside of that psycho’s mind.” She pokes me lightly in the arm, grinning. “Face it, bestie, you’re a big deal.”
“I’m not—” I sigh, cutting myself off before I can finish the sentence. There’s no point in arguing. Sarah’s right. The university has made it clear that my keynote isn’t just about my achievements as a criminal psychologist; it’s about my connection to him. Ghost. The man whose mind I dissected and mapped like some dark, endless labyrinth.
Except I never finished the psych profile.
And I won’t.
“They don’t even care about the speech,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah. “They care about the name attached to it. Ghost’s name is more than famous. It’s legendary now.”
“They asked you because you’ve worked your ass off.” Sarah softens, the note of teasing in her voice fading. “You’ve earned this. Yes, the Ghost thing is part of it, but it’s not the whole picture. Don’t discredit all the work you’ve done. Or all the people you’ve helped. Including me.”
Her words hit a tender spot. On impulse, I throw my arms around her. She hugs me back and pats my back as if I’m the victim. Not her.
Sarah doesn’t bring it up often, but when she mentions the way I testified in court, I want to smile and throw up. Prison is too good for Frank “Skinner” Burns. The serial rapist deserves to burn in hell and have his dick cut off. Not necessarily in that order.
When Sarah was crumbling under the weight of her trauma, I was there. I helped her find her footing again, guided her through the storm she thought she’d never escape. She’s always credited me for that, though I’ve never felt like I did anything extraordinary. Listening, supporting, or even testifying—that’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you care about.
In the end, Sarah’s right. I’ve done important work that was due to my profession, and I should be recognized.
After pulling back, I exhale slowly, leaning my head against the headrest. “You’re right. They’re lucky to have me. I just hate public speaking.”
“I’m always right. Which is why you should let me pick your dress.”
“Fine.”
Sarah claps her hands, releasing a tiny squeal, and I immediately regret my decision. Or I would if her face wasn’t so joyful. I’d give that keynote speech butt-naked to make my best friend happy. Hopefully, she doesn’t consider that as an option.
The driver clears his throat, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “This your stop?”
I look out the window at my apartment building, the familiar silhouette looming in the dark. “Yeah.” I reach for the door handle but pause, turning to Sarah. “Promise me the dress will be something appropriate.”
Sarah grins, shaking her head. “Appropriate is not in my vocabulary. I’ll find you something that screams, ‘Professional who likes to get railed on the regular.’” She winks.
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks. I think.”
She waves me off, but her smile is warm. “Text me later, okay? And seriously, stop underestimating yourself. You’re going to kill it.”
“Thanks.”
I exit the car and step into the crisp night air. As the ride share pulls away, taking Sarah with it, I stand there for a moment, staring up at my building. The windows are dark, save for the glow of the one that belongs to me. Everything looks as it should, but there’s an unease that crawls up my spine. It’s something I’ve been experiencing ever since I first laid eyes on Ghost.
I shake off the unpleasant feeling and head toward the entrance. It’s just nerves from thinking about the keynote. Nothing more. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I walk into the elevator and press the button for my floor.
The doors slide open a minute later, and I step into the dimly lit hallway. My footsteps echo softly against the tiled floor as I make my way to my apartment, fishing my keys from my purse. I unlock the door and push it open with a sigh of relief. The familiar scent of lavender greets me, coming from the diffuser I forgot to turn off.
Everything seems normal…
I lock the door behind me and set my purse down on the counter, flicking on the rest of the lights. My apartment is quiet and peaceful. It’s my sanctuary from the evil in the world that I face every day. But the longer I stand there, the more the sense of foreboding grows, until the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and my breath catches in my throat.
Something’s different.
I can’t pinpoint it immediately, but the air is dense now, charged with an invisible tension. My heart rate picks up as I scan the room, my gaze darting to every corner. Finding nothing doesn’t stop me from striding across the room to grab the baseball bat by the back door. Hefting it into a defensive stance, I make my way to my bedroom.
When I push the door open, I freeze.
On my bed, next to my stuffed elephant, sits a box. It’s pristine and beautiful, white and tied with a maroon ribbon that gleams in the soft light of the room. My stomach drops, and my pulse roars in my ears.
Eyes locked on the package, I take a step forward, my breathing shallow. The stuffed elephant, usually perched on my dresser, has been moved. The sight of it, paired with the box, makes my hands shake and the bat wobbles in my grasp.
I approach the bed slowly and reach out on instinct but stop just short of touching the ribbon. Who sent this to me? And how in the fuck did they get into my apartment?
My first thought is Sarah. It’s hopelessly naïve of me, but that doesn’t stop my train of thought. She’s the only person who has a key. My friend could’ve snuck in earlier and left this gift here to cheer me up or to celebrate my achievements.
But I know Sarah. She wouldn’t do this. She knows how much I need my home to feel safe and untouched. On the off chance it was her, she wouldn’t have moved the elephant.
After setting my bat on the bed, I reach down and pick up the ivory card tucked under the ribbon. My fingers tremble as I open it, the elegant script staring back at me like a taunt.
Magnolias bloom, masking death’s decay.
Illuminating the shadows, where I wait.
Never let the flame that binds us fade.