I grab my phone against my better judgment. The same judgment that has failed me time and time again when it comes to this man.
Geneva:What do you want?
Unknown:So, so, so many things. But tonight, I just want you to answer the question.
Geneva:Go to hell.
Unknown:Very rude, not to mention unprofessional, Dr. Andrews.
I stare at the text, every fiber of me screaming to block this number and end the conversation. But I don’t. Ican’t.
Instead, I sit there transfixed as every interaction with Ghost flashes through my mind. His eyes locking with mine across the courtroom. The way he smiled, like he knew more than anyone.
Like he knewme.
My cell phone vibrates softly in my hand as another alert appears on the screen.
Unknown:I’ll make this easier for you. Do you think of a ghost as something that represents the dead, or do you see it as something that haunts the living?
I clench my jaw, my mind buzzing with the implications of his words. He’s playing with me, drawing me in, feeding off my pain. Except, he shouldn’t know anything about me beyond the surface-level details of my professional life. He shouldn’t know me like this.
I sit there, staring at the messages, my thoughts spinning out of control. In death, my parents haunt me. The memories, the survivor’s guilt, the endless questions. All of it has shaped who and what I am, and why I’m having this conversation to begin with.
But then there’s him…
Ghost isn’t like my parents. He isn’t someone I loved and lost. He’s something else—a living phantom, drifting through my life, possessing my thoughts. He’s alive, yet he feels like a ghost too, haunting me in an entirely different way.
Am I tormented by the dead or the living? The answer comes to me. Or maybe it’s been there all along, and that’s his point.
Geneva:Both. I think of a ghost as both of those things.
Unknown:The dead and the living, always overlapping.
Unknown:It’s my reality too.
His reality too?
A sense of understanding rises in me before I can stop it. His response is very telling. Vulnerable in a way that humanizes him. I mentally rail against viewing him in this light, knowing this could be nothing more than lies designed to manipulate me. To force compassion from me in a way he doesn’t deserve.
How many times do I have to remind myself that he’s a serial killer?
Unknown:You feel it, don’t you? The connection between us?
I should call Detective Harris right now, delete these texts, or throw the phone across the room, anything to break this fragilebond between us. It pulses within me like a slow-burning ember, not ablaze but still hot enough to provide warmth. And pain.
I want to believe that I’m not reporting this in order to discover more for Ghost’s psych evaluation. But right now, this interaction isn’t about professional curiosity. No, this is something more. Something personal.
The ember of connection flickers and for a moment I can feel myself drawn to Ghost in a way that’s stronger than before. His words echo in my mind, each one dragging me deeper into a shared darkness, into a space where his ghosts and mine meet.
Fourteen days, twenty-two hours, seven minutes, and twelve seconds since I’ve seen Ghost…
Come Monday morning, I’ll be back at zero.
CHAPTER 11
GENEVA
The inmates look at me like I’m a donut and they’re on a diet. It’s uncomfortable but not enough to deter me. Meanwhile, the guard barely glances at me as he guides me down the long, dim prison hallway.
