With my heart pounding in my chest, I close the file abruptly. The small victory feels far less satisfying than it should. But it’s a start. A single step in a battle I’m not sure I know how to win.
My laptop pings with a new email, jolting me out of my thoughts. The subject line catches my eye: “Keynote Speech Confirmation: Dr. Geneva Andrews.”
Holy Shit. I forgot about that.
Clicking the email open, I skim the message quickly.
Dear Dr. Andrews,
I hope this email finds you well. We are absolutely delighted to have you as our keynote speaker for the Annual Behavioral Science Fundraiser tomorrow night. Your groundbreaking insights into criminalpsychology, particularly your recent work with high-risk inmates, promise to be a highlight of the evening.
Your profile on the inmate you’ve referred to as “Ghost” has generated immense interest among attendees and supporters. The way you’ve unraveled his psychopathy and the intricate nuances of his behavior is both fascinating and vital to understanding the complexities of criminal profiling. We are excited to hear you expand on these findings during your address.
This event will not only showcase the importance of behavioral science but also serve to raise critical funds for ongoing research and education in the field. Your expertise and perspective will undoubtedly inspire and resonate with our audience.
Thank you once again for lending your voice and expertise to this important cause. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you require any resources or support as you prepare for the event.
Warm regards,
Dr. Melanie Corbin
Chair, Department of Behavioral Sciences
The email stares back at me from the screen, its words neatly typed, each one tightening the invisible noose around my neck.My fingers hover over the mouse, motionless, as if clicking away will somehow lessen the weight pressing against me.
The way you’ve unraveled his psychopathy and the intricate nuances of his behavior is both fascinating and vital to understanding the complexities of criminal behavior.
Fascinating. That’s the word they’ve chosen. They’re enthralled by the work I’ve done, the clinical precision I’ve supposedly brought to studying Ghost’s mind. But I can’t stop replaying our last moment together, the look in his eyes, or the way he kissed me.
Ghost is more than fascinating. He’s damn near irresistible.
I let out a shaky breath, slumping in my chair. The email’s praise is a spotlight I want to shrink away from. They have no idea how I continued blurring the lines between me and Ghost until they became nonexistent.
They can’t know.That thought is immediate, sharp, and terrifying. If they knew how much of myself I’ve already sacrificed to understand Ghost—how personal it’s become—they wouldn’t be congratulating me. They’d be condemning me.
The ticking clock on the wall is deafening in the silence of my office. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to force the tension out of my head. The room feels too small, too bright, like the walls are closing in.
Get your shit together.
I glance at the email again, my eyes scanning the polite words, the thinly veiled demand for more. They want me to stand on a stage and tell them about Ghost, to make him a spectacle to satisfy their curiosity. But how can I talk about him like that now, as though he’s just another file on my desk?
My gaze shifts to his file, the notes glaring up at me. Diagnoses. Traits. Behavioral patterns. All of it meticulously documented.
None of it captures what I saw in that interview room.
The pain.
The longing.
The raw, undeniable humanity he shouldn’t be capable of.
My computer pings again with a new notification, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glance at the subject line, but I can’t bring myself to open it. Instead, I close my laptop and stare up at the ceiling.
I can’t let Ghost derail me, not when so much is riding on this keynote. My career depends on it. My reputation. But as much as I try to focus on what matters—whatshouldmatter—all I can think about is him.
The way he looked at me. The way he said my name.
The way I didn’t want to leave.
