“Thank you.” I look at Allen. “I mean it.”
“Don’t worry about it. This is going to go smoothly, or we’ll get you the fuck out of here.”
We step up to the front desk of the prison, the imposing gates now firmly behind us. The man at the desk looks up as we approach. Allen and I hand over our identification, and the deputy scrutinizes them carefully before nodding. We sign the visitor log, recording our names, the time of arrival, and the purpose of our visit.
Ghost.
The metal detector looms ahead, a silent reminder of the prison’sstrict security measures. I pass through first, the machine beeping softly as I clear it. Allen follows, and we’re directed to place our personal belongings into a locker nearby. My bag, our phones, our keys—everything goes in.
A deputy steps forward to conduct a pat-down search. Once cleared, we’re handed visitor badges with our photos and names printed on them. The badge feels heavy as I clip mine to my jacket. It’s a constant reminder that I’m in a place where every move is monitored to prevent my death.
“Follow me,” a corrections officer says once we’re cleared, his tone as neutral as his expression.
We fall in line behind him, and he leads us through a series of security doors. Each one opens with a loud buzz, then slams shut behind us with a heavy thud that echoes in the narrow corridors. And in the chambers of my heart.
When we finally reach the interview room, the officer turns to me, his gaze hardening. “A few things to remember before you go in. There’snophysical contact with the inmate. Keep your distance and don’t attempt to give him anything or take anything from him through the pass-through drawer. The conversation will be monitored, and there are certain topics you’ll need to avoid—personal details about yourself, specifics about other cases, or anything that could provoke a reaction. If at any point you feel unsafe, there’s a panic button under the table. Use it, and we’ll come in immediately.”
“Got it.” My voice is steadier than I feel.
Detective Harris reaches out to tap my shoulder. “Remember, you’re in charge. Don’t let him rattle you. Go get him, Dr. Andrews.”
The officer opens the final door and I step into the interviewroom. The harsh fluorescent lights above cast a stark glow over everything, making the already sterile environment feel even more impersonal. The room is divided by a thick wall of glass, a constant reminder of the barrier between me and the inmate. It’s not just for physical safety. For me, it’s psychological as well.
On my side, there’s nothing but a metal table and chair. I glance up at the glass wall as I take my seat, noting the small pass-through box embedded in it. I won’t be using that. Ever.
I take a deep breath, scanning the emptiness of the room. There’s no warmth here, no comfort. Just a calculated design meant to keep everyone in their place—safe, distant, and controlled.
This is where I’ll face him.
The coldness of the chair underneath me seeps into my clothes, trying to steal my body heat. I drum my fingers on the hard surface of the table as impatience tangles with my nerves.
Sound amplifies with each second. The buzz of the lights overhead, the distant clank of the metal doors shutting, and my own tapping all come together to create a soundtrack of tension. It’s a song only I can hear, one that thrums through my body, pressing on me from all sides.
The door on the inmate’s side creaks open.
I halt my fingers, suppressing the nervous habit, as two security guards lead Ghost into the room. My breath catches the moment I lay eyes on him.
His white hair is ghostly under the bright fluorescent lights, while shadows dance across his cheeks, deepening the scar on his face. His hazel eyes capture mine, and it takes everything I have not to react to the weight of his gaze.
If eyes are the window to the soul, he is damned.
Ghost saunters up to the glass, much bigger up close than he seemed from a distance in court. His attention never wavers as the guards maneuver him. Without a word, they cuff his wrists to the table welded securely to the floor, the clinking of the metal echoing in the small space.
Ghost doesn’t resist. He sits and continues to watch me with that eerie calm, his eyes burrowing into mine through the glass. My breathing quickens under his intense scrutiny.
Finally, they exit the room.
It’s just me and him.
Ghost smiles. It’s sinister and seductive, a lethal combination.
“Dr. Andrews,” he says, his voice an alluring purr. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
I continue meeting his gaze with as much steel as I can muster. There’s no doubt that he’s enjoying this. That smile is a weapon designed to unsettle me. To remind me that he’s testing me with every glance and every word.
He wants to remain in control, even if he’s the one in chains.
“You have information about Anna Lee and her kidnapper,” I say. “I’m here to listen.”
