Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #4
I’m not sure what to make of what the Reaper told me tonight—then again, I suppose I should just be grateful I’m still alive.
R-57 is his name (well, the only one he would give me), and he works in “acquisitions” for the Sanctum. What that means, exactly, I don’t know (and he wouldn’t tell me, no matter how much I pried). I imagine it has something to do with trafficking, but for what (or whom), I’m not entirely sure. It has to be something truly horrible for him to want to turn against his organization, after all.
I have another meeting with him this weekend. I can only hope to come away with more answers than questions, unlike this time .
I wake in a daze, still hazy from the powerful sleeping agent coursing through my system. I hate the things, but I can’t get a wink of sleep without them—and I’ve tried everything. Nothing but prescription medicine will keep the nightmares at bay. But when you can’t sleep, you can’t dream, making life a tad meaningless but bearable.
I’m so out of it this morning that it takes me a few moments to realize I can’t breathe.
“Benom!” My muffled cry does nothing to make the chubby black cat move from his sleeping position. His belly is covering my mouth and nose, making it impossible for me to take a breath. If he doesn’t move soon, I fear I might?—
“Mew!” Realizing I’m awake—and, therefore, able to feed him—he jumps from my face and to the floor. I take in gasping lungfuls of precious oxygen, thanking the lord. Or rather, Venom’s love of food.
“You gotta stop doing that, Venom,” I cough, straining to sit up in bed.
A haughty glare is the only response I get. When he sees I’m not rising from the bed fast enough, he hits me with another angry mew, raking his claws against the old hardwood floors.
What a little asshole.
“I’m coming, your highness,” I mutter, throwing back the covers and stumbling toward the kitchen. I flick on the light, squinting as my eyes adjust to the change.
Venom lets out another mew and rubs up against my leg, his skinny black tail flicking happily at the tip. I reach down, scratching gently between his shoulder blades and watching for any change in temperament. Venom is very particular about where and when he’s touched—something we both have in common.
The shelter I saved him from assumed that because he didn’t like to be touched, it meant he was a bad cat—a mean cat—and determined it was a reason to euthanize him. But all he needed was someone to respect his boundaries. It took several months, but I got him to come around.
Now, we’re the best of friends. When he doesn’t accidentally kill me in my sleep, I remind myself, sending a playful glare at my little fluff ball. I grab a can of food from the cabinet and empty half into his food bowl, an action which gains me another glare from my tiny-legged cat.
I sigh, emptying the rest of the can. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Venom mews happily, then attacks the patty like the ferocious puma he is, somehow getting the food all over his muzzle and chest. I chuckle, fighting the urge to give him more scratches. One of the first things I learned about him: refrain from touching when food is in the room.
“Love you, Venom,” I murmur, waving goodbye before heading into the bedroom to get ready for work. I strip my pajamas off, tossing them into a corner before hurrying to the bathroom. I take my time, letting the water heat as I choose a song, my hips already swaying in anticipation.
I step under the stream, closing my eyes in bliss as it warms my skin—a part of me that remains achingly cold, even in the summertime. I take an extra long time washing my hair, running my hand over my skin, and pretending it’s someone else’s caressing me. I know it’s depressing as fuck, but no one has to know except for me, so it’s fine.
I’m shocked from my fantasy by the claws scraping against the bathroom door. I frown, shutting the water off so I can listen easier. Sure enough, there it is again.
Scritch… scritch… scritch…
“Venom?” I wonder, tracking water across the bathroom tile and wrenching open the door. Angry yellow eyes stare up at me, followed by a mew filled with urgency. “ What’s wrong?”
I look around my bedroom, the sensation of being watched overwhelming me. Just as I’m about to chalk it up to paranoia, my eyes catch something gleaming on my nightstand.
Okay. That sure as hell wasn’t there before.
Wrapping a towel around my chest, I tiptoe into the bedroom before it occurs to me that this is my damn house. I huff, pulling my shoulders back and walking over to the strange object like the fearless, badass FBI agent I am.
Venom hisses as I close the distance, and he darts between my legs, sending me off balance. “Venom! What the hell?”
He leaps onto the mattress, barely clearing it due to the unfortunate length of his legs. Then he uses his new position to swipe at the object, causing it to bounce off the carpet and under the bed frame.
“That was so uncalled for.”
Venom howls when I get down on my hands and knees, but this time, he can’t do much to stop me from getting my hands on these… Dog tags?
I reach into my dresser, pulling out my gun and flipping off the safety. I feel slightly ridiculous with nothing but my towel as I search my apartment, but the weight of the weapon in my hands quells the majority of my anxiety .
Someone was in my home—that is a fact. Whether they still are... I shudder, thinking about what would have happened if the intruder decided to enter the bathroom where I couldn’t protect myself. Damn sleeping pills. If I wasn’t so hazy right after waking up, I might have…
I stop that line of thought. What could have happened makes no difference now. What matters is what can happen if I let my emotions gain control. If I let that fear take hold of me.
Taking a steadying breath, I do another thorough sweep of the apartment, checking all the locks only to find they’re just how I left them before I went to sleep.
The fuck?
Shaking off that irritating sensation of being watched, I lower my weapon and stomp into the bedroom with Venom hot on my heels. With sopping hair, I yank on a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved top, nearly toppling to the floor in my haste. Now that I’m clothed and feel somewhat more secure, I grab the dog tags and inspect them. I palm the hammered metal rectangles, squinting to make out the engraving through the rust and damage.
“P-1313…” I rub my thumb over the face, trying to see if there’s any other clues about who this belongs to. With a shudder, I place the tags on the table, my face paling as I notice something else glinting on the floor between the bed and nightstand. Reaching my arm through the small space, I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, the coolness of the material telling me it’s made of some kind of metal.
Straightening, I hold the business card-shaped object in my palm with a wary expression. Just like the tags, words are etched into the metal face, though this is shiny—brand new. I squint, trying to make out the words in the dim light.
I’m alive, but I don’t exist. What am I?
I frown, trying to decipher the message. I’m sick of this cryptic serial killer shit. It’s seriously inconvenient. Suddenly, the card warms in my palm. I jerk back with a yelp, tossing the red-hot card to the floor.
Double the fuck?
I’m about to lean closer to inspect it when a loud crack rings out, followed by a series of pops and fizzles as the card literally dissolves before my eyes. In a moment, there’s a small pile of ash where the metal card used to be, along with something small and white peeking out of the top.
Against my better judgment, I reach down and grab it, pulling the small piece of paper up to eye level. It’s another note, although this one is far less cryptic—and twice as creepy.
Hello, Brett darling.
I’ve heard you’ve been looking for me.
Lucky for you, I’m in the mood to play.
The rules? Don’t tell anyone about our little… correspondence.
Especially not Peterson.
Three's a crowd after all, and crowds make me want to murder people.
So what do you say, darling?
Want to play a game?
Way to make me eat my words. Kinda wish we could go back to cryptic now. I shudder, gripping the note tighter in my hand. Should I really keep this to myself? How would he even know if I told Jim, or any of the other guys for that matter?
I yelp as the piece of paper suddenly bursts into flames, and I jump back instinctually, letting the blazing paper fall to the floor. When the flames have subsided, a smaller, flame-charred piece is left behind with a seemingly different note. And this one is red. Bloodred.
P.S. I’ll know if you tell, and you’ll never be able to find me again.
Remember—stupid actions get killer consequences.
Kisses,
Ghost.
Ghost? I swallow the lump forming in my throat. So that’s what the Phantom goes by. Not very original, if you ask me…
I curse as—yet again—the little piece of paper bursts into flames. Though, this time, there’s truly nothing but ash left after the fireworks show.
“Stupid dramatic asshole,” I grumble, frowning down at all the little piles.
“Mew!” A fuzzy black paw taps at my shin, breaking me from my spell. I reach down and pull Venom to my chest before I remember his boundaries, and he goes rigid for a moment but—surprisingly—doesn’t try to claw my eyes out.
“Sorry, Venom,” I mutter, placing him delicately onto the mattress before grabbing his cat carrier from the closet. I’m not sure how the Phantom got into my apartment or why he left those tags, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Venom alone in my apartment until I figure it out.
“We’re going on an adventure. How’s that sound?” I say, keeping my voice cheerful as I tap the inside of the carrier. To his credit, he only resists for a moment before hopping inside, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I sling the carrier over my shoulders.
I just have to pray The Pet Paradise has a spot open for boarding.
I had to go to three different establishments before I could find one that would take a cat with Venom’s temperament. It was well worth it to ensure his safety, but I was s o not in the mood to receive shit from the guys for being late—especially since this was the first time in my whole damn career. That doesn’t matter, though. Any sign of a mistake, and they flock to me like vultures to a carcass.
“Brett! Do you realize what time it i—whoa. Who the fuck shit in your oats?” Samuel’s eyes go wide as he elbows Parker, calling their attention to the scowl on my face.
“Hey, guys. It’s been a bad morning. Need coffee,” I grumble, stumbling toward the break room.
“Brett? You okay?” Jim’s voice rings out to my left, and I jump, not realizing his proximity.
“Shit! You scared me,” I pant, holding a hand over my racing heart.
“I can see that.” His hazel eyes take in my expression carefully. “What’s with you? You come in here looking like a frightened doe— late, might I add. Very uncharacteristic, Evangeline.”
I pop a pod into the machine, refusing to meet his inquisitive gaze. Must not tell him. Cannot tell him. Just don’t think about the Phantom and his weird gifts and you’ll be fine. Just… think about puppies—puppies are good. Puppies don’t leave you cryptic firecracker notes or vandalize your dessert.
“Fine. You don’t want to talk? That’s great. You just sit on whatever crawled up your ass, and I won’t tell you what you missed in the meeting.”
I whip my head up, my glare already in full force. “I’m really not in the mood, Jim.”
Jim sighs, tapping his foot gently against the floor. “Always so serious. If you came out with us sometime, you might learn to loosen up.” When I don’t respond, Jim clears his throat nervously. “Right. The meeting—we got an anonymous tip last night.”
This piques my interest. “About?”
“We think we know who the Phantom’s next target is. And most importantly—where the attempt will happen.”
“And how did this ‘person’ come by this information?”
Jim shrugs, refusing to meet my eyes. “Who knows. That’s the beauty of anonymity. But the chief is taking it seriously. He wants?—”
“Don’t you think that’s a tad suspicious?” I interrupt. “For months, we’ve been scrounging for crumbs, and suddenly, an anonymous tip comes through with the Phantom’s next target and location?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, right. This is bullshit.”
Jim shrugs, refusing to meet my eyes once more. “Like I was saying, the chief thinks?—”
“Damn what he thinks!” I say, lowering my voice so we won’t be overheard. “Damn him, Jim. This is bullshit. You know it is.”
“Maybe. But it’s all we have right now. He wants this whole Phantom mess wrapped up before the election, and he’s willing to go off any lead that comes his way. Maybe we’ll get lucky—maybe someone who works with him flipped.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening with that horrible, helpless feeling. “He doesn’t work with anyone, Jim. No Phantom ever has! Just let me talk to the chief. I can make him see reason. If I just had five minutes to explain?—”
“Brett, there’s nothing you can do!” Jim interrupts, his eyes alight with a frighteningly violent sheen. Seeing the look on my face, his shoulders droop, and he looks to the side. “There’s nothing we can do. Nothing but go along with the plan and hope to God it’s not what we think it is. You never know…”
“Yeah. Right.” I scoff, pulling the steaming mug of coffee from the tray and pushing past Jim, refusing to look at him. I’m late one time, and all hell decides to break loose. That checks out. “Whatever he has planned… it’s a stupid idea. Put it on the record.”
“Consider it recorded,” Jim grumbles, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I haven’t even told you the worst part.”
I freeze. “The worst part?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, his eyes trailing to the ceiling. “He wants you for security detail. Undercover. ”
“How is that the worst part?” I frown. “I’ve done way worse?—”
“It’s a masquerade ball.”
I choke. “I’m sorry. A what? ”
Jim shrugs, regarding me like he would a polar bear. “It’s the annual senator’s ball. You know how they enjoy their… extravagances. We’re expected to fit in, and that means ball gowns and masks.”
“Seriously?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as my ever-present headache throbs. “Would it really be such a bad thing if the Phantom… you know? It’s not like any of them are stand-up citizens…”
Jim cocks a brow. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”
“Of course not.” I wave him off. “Like I said, I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“No. You said it was a bad morning. What’s going on, Brett?”
Damn you titty-twisting shitty fucking suck-at-lying mouth.
“Brett?”
Thinking quick, I manage to come up with, “Well, I was trying to spare you from the details of my crime scene I found in my underwear this morning, but since you won’t leave it alone… ”
Jim scrunches up his nose as if he was delivered via stork rather than said vagina. “Gross, Brett. All you had to say was it was that time of the month.” He shakes his head, a shudder running through him as he grumbles something like, “ Fucking women .”
I frown, shoving down that ball of rage trying to claw its way out of my throat. Fucking. Jim. “Are you on this weekend, too?” I ask, deciding a change of topic is needed.
“Sure am. You’ll get to see this handsome face in a tux for once.” He grins, shooting me a wink. “I already ordered my mask online—I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”
I blink. “You mean… when we’re not watching the target, right?”
Now it’s Jim’s turn to wave me off. “Right. Of course. But it’s like you said—this tip is most likely bullshit. Like the Phantom is going to take out a high-profile senator in a room full of people, right?” He chuckles, shooting me a conspiratorial wink.
My lips thin in an unconvincing smile, and I turn to grab my coffee cup. I want to tell Jim he’s wrong—that the tip wasn’t fake at all. That the Phantom left me a calling card this morning, telling me he wants to play a game .
That somewhere deep inside, I know who left that tip.
The Phantom himself.
After snagging Venom from day-boarding, I stop at my usual Chinese restaurant, snagging the bag of lo mein waiting for me on the counter. I walk to my car with a bit more pep in my step, the deliciousness inside the greasy bag wafting to my nose, tempting me.
I stay strong until I get back to my apartment, all but sprinting up the stairs and into my bedroom. After today’s shit show, I need the dopamine that can only come from a bag of greasy food and Venom snuggles.
Placing the bag onto my bedside table, I strip off my uniform and change into my favorite pair of pajamas. I giggle as I stare down at the dozens of happy little dumplings staring up at me, several of their faces faded to nothing from years of use.
Venom mews from the bed, his tiny little arm reaching out to the bag in an attempt to get inside. “Hey!” I chastise, wagging my finger at him even as he ignores me. I roll my eyes with a chuckle, sliding under the covers and reaching across Venom to grab my dinner.
My mouth waters just from the smell, and I tear into the little white container like it’s my first meal all week, offering small pieces of chicken to Venom between mouthfuls. When I get to the bottom, I sigh, leaning back and rubbing my belly contentedly.
“Now, for the best part.” I grin, reaching into the bottom of the bag and pulling out the fortune cookie. I swear, they put crack in these things, I muse, pulling apart the thin plastic wrapping.
I snap the pale yellow cookie in half, popping the first into my mouth with a little happy dance. I finger the small piece of paper sticking out of the other half, trying to guess what my fortune will be today.
Hmm. Something about money. Or wealth!
Now that my guess is in, I pull the paper from the cookie, pulling it close to my face so I can read the tiny letters. Only one word is printed, but it has the power to turn all the blood in my veins to ice. Because my “fortune” is not that at all—it’s a message. A greeting.
“Boo.”