Chapter 4 #2
“Okay, me again.” Ezra leans against the bench, hooking an elbow along the rail.
“I never wanted to leave Grey. I was in a fraternity—on track to be president, actually. But there was an…accident last spring at a party.” He swallows, and Mallory wonders if certain words are hard for him to dislodge, too.
“A friend of mine was badly injured. There was a school board hearing. The vote was unanimous. You’d think getting expelled would be the worst thing that could have happened, but it didn’t hurt quite as much as losing my friends.
” He bows his head. “They all stopped talking to me after.”
A hollow void pulls at Mallory’s chest. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“Anyway, my father knows the dean at Shore, so now I’m here.” Ezra turns, his expression growing serious. “Warm-up’s over. Tell me what’s going on.”
Mallory hesitates. She doesn’t know how she’s managed to talk with him this easily. It’s like she’s become someone else, a girl whose throat isn’t sewn shut with secrets. But she’s not sure she knows how to talk about this.
“You’re worried I won’t believe you, right?” Ezra says, and she raises her gaze.
“You won’t.”
“What if I do?” He leans closer, his elbow brushing hers. He doesn’t move it away. “Jules, just try me.”
Jules. The first time he called her that it was confusing. Now, it sounds like an inside joke meant only for her. Mallory scrambles to remind herself that all Ezra wants is a good grade. That he doesn’t actually care what happens to her.
But the way he’s intently looking at her could almost convince her he does.
Mallory swallows. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. “You can’t…you can’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll keep your secrets,” Ezra promises, “if you keep mine.”
She searches for the words she’s never said out loud, vaguely imagining them congealed or rusted over, needing to be pried loose.
“Okay. I’m going to start with the end, because that’s what matters most.” Mallory swallows again. “My mom died when I was five. And I…” She grinds her teeth, gathers whatever is left of her courage. “I think I know what killed her. I just don’t know why.”
Ezra tips his head to the side.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asks quietly.
He leans a little closer. “Is that a prerequisite for the rest of this conversation?”
“Kind of. Yeah.”
Ezra nods slowly. “Then the answer is yes.”
Mallory flattens her hands on her thighs.
“Okay. When I was little, I used to…see things. A woman, specifically. I know what you’re thinking.
Little kids ‘see things’ all the time, right?
But it wasn’t like that; she wasn’t an imaginary friend.
She was real. And she was fucking terrifying.
Covered in blood, like her heart had been ripped from her chest. And always, this horrible smell followed her around.
Like something burning. My mother called her a ghost.” She drops her gaze.
“Her ghost, specifically. She always promised the ghost would never hurt me. Maybe because she knew the woman would hurt her instead.”
Mallory chews her lip, this time feeling the heat of Ezra’s gaze on her mouth.
“My mother looked just like that ghost when she died,” she whispers, skipping over the details.
The blood-slick kitchen knife. The EMT’s words.
The grief that sunk like a stone between her ribs and hasn’t disappeared since.
“Sometimes I feel like it’s all my fault.
Like my fear conjured her death into existence. ”
“What? Jules.” Ezra tips his head. “You didn’t kill your mother.”
“But everything stopped after she died.” A breeze licks her cheek. “No more blood-soaked women. No more moments when I couldn’t trust my own eyes. Until now. I think the ghost has been waiting to show herself to me again. Here.”
Ezra is quiet for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“Tonight, in the costume dungeon, I saw her. Only, for a second”—Mallory draws in a shaky breath—“she looked exactly like me. It felt like a premonition. Like a threat. Like she’s going to push me toward my death just like she did to my mother. Unless…unless I stop her first.”
Mallory’s words linger.
“Why Shore?” Ezra finally asks, studying her intently. “Why here, of all places?”
“I’m a legacy student,” Mallory answers. “Every woman in my family has gone to Shore. I only have two things that belonged to my mother. One is this locket.” She fingers the brass butterfly. “The other is a notebook with the college’s insignia.”
Ezra narrows his eyes as Mallory describes her mother’s illegible handwriting, that final page, the one covered in little squares Mallory’s tried over and over to understand.
“It’s some kind of code,” she says finally. “I don’t know what it means, but I’ve always had this feeling that something happened to her at this school. Something that connected her to the ghost she carried with her the rest of her life. And into mine.”
“And you’re trying to figure out what it is,” Ezra concludes. “And prevent whatever happened to her from also happening to you.”
Mallory looks up at him. “I used to think the house I grew up in was haunted. That’s the simplest explanation, right?” She shakes her head. “But it was never the house. It was always just us. My mother. Me.”
“Well, that’s because places aren’t haunted,” Ezra says. “People are.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You say that like it’s a fact.”
“Being haunted—it’s a feeling. A sense that something’s wrong. Something that wears you down. Something that aches. Only a person can feel that.”
Mallory nods, absorbing his words. “You’re right.”
He studies her. “I have an idea. We could meet after rehearsals. Find your ghost. Figure it out, together.”
Doubt creeps back in at the thought. This isn’t something anyone else should be a part of, least of all a stranger.
“No.” Mallory jumps to her feet. “I don’t need help.”
“Really?” Ezra counters, standing just as fast. “So, you would have been perfectly fine tonight if I hadn’t been there to rip you out of that dress?”
She spins, hoping the annoyance in her eyes masks her blush at the memory of his broad hands tearing the lacy fabric like it was paper.
“I’m not going to turn myself into ghost bait just so you can get an A.” Mallory takes a breath. “Besides. I’ve already decided—I’m leaving Shore. Tomorrow.”
Ezra frowns, jaw set. “No,” he says. “You’re not.”
A laugh grinds loose. “It’s not exactly up to you—”
“It’s not just about getting an A, okay?
” Ezra exhales through his nose. “Look. There’s this theater society in London called the Caligo Group.
It’s…elite. Selective. Only admits one new college graduate a year.
I’ve been working toward this forever—almost fucked my chances with everything that happened at Grey, but they miraculously approved my pre-application for next year.
All I need is a 4.0 and I’m in.” His voice shifts, a note softer.
“You don’t understand. This is my last chance. ”
Mallory falls silent. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not the only one with a past you’re ashamed of,” Ezra says quietly. “Or ghosts that follow you around. Only thing is, mine is still alive.” His expression darkens. “My father.”
Understanding takes hold. “You want to get away from him.”
“When you grow up with a father like mine, you learn to play a certain role until you become brave enough to fight back. To sever ties and start your own life—one where you’re not so helpless, hiding scars and lying to protect someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
Mallory sorts through all the possible meanings of his words. The weight of the secret he’s just unraveled in front of her.
“He’s all I’ve ever had,” Ezra continues. “My mother left when I was small. And for twenty-three years, I’ve lived a life that doesn’t belong to me.” His throat sways in a swallow. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
Mallory pictures how Ezra might have looked as a boy, easily imagining the fall of raven-colored hair over his eyes, the serious stare that must’ve formed so early. She glances at his hands, studying his silver rings, the tendons and veins that disappear beneath his coat sleeves.
Her fingers suddenly itch to touch him. She picks at her nails instead.
“Here’s my proposition,” Ezra says. “We find out what your ghost wants. Set it free. The showcase is a hit. We both get what we need.” He tips his head. “Are you in, Jules?”
Mallory’s brain races in silent debate. Less than an hour ago, she was calculating how many lies she’d have to tell in order to leave Shore first thing in the morning. And now, this man she barely knows is convincing her to stay.
Maybe it’s the possibility of answers she’s been so desperate to find.
Maybe it’s the guilt that would gnaw at her if she left Ezra’s future in ruins.
Maybe it’s just something about the way he’s been staring at her this whole time, like he’s trying to find a method to crack her hardened shell and learn what’s beneath her lies.
Whatever the reason, she stands up straighter and nods. The gesture is at once a surrender and a leap of faith, and he notices, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Okay, Ezra Pierce,” Mallory says. “Let’s catch a ghost.”