Chapter 17
Phantom. Now.
One week without Ophelia and I’m experiencing all the symptoms of a junkie in active withdrawal.
I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. Even my palms are sweating.
My Harlem brownstone was my inheritance.
When I’d moved into it, I found it haunted with ghosts.
The ghost of my mother. The ghost of myself, too—the boy I used to be before I put up so many walls around my heart.
Introducing the Seekers Club every Friday night had filled some of those pesky silences.
Except now, I can’t stop seeing Ophelia’s ghost in every corner.
That’s the bench where I first spanked Ophelia. That’s the aftercare room where we’d talk for hours after our sessions. That’s the kitchen where I once held my palm to her mouth, told her to be quiet, and fucked her against the table while everyone was playing upstairs.
The only reprieve I get from the ghosts is when I’m on the clock.
The nightshift doesn’t disappoint. It never does.
I ride with Monique. She’s been my EMT for over a year, which is about the shelf life for an EMT. She came on after Cortez left to go into emergency medicine. Once Monique passes her exams, she’ll also leave, and I’ll be worse off for it.
As we trade off with the dayshift crew, one of the women pats Monique on the shoulder. “Hey, have a quiet night, yeah?”
They walk away laughing. I cast Monique a glare. Have a quiet night? She might as well have cursed us. “What did you do?”
Monique sighs. “Why’s it always what do you do? and not I’m sure it wasn’t your fault?”
I arch my eyebrows.
She shrugs. “I slept with her and didn’t call her back.”
I frown. The radio goes off—barely a couple minutes in and already, we’ve got a call. It’s going to be a hell of a night. “For the love of God,” I tell her, “call the woman back.”
We pile into the ambulance and light up the sirens.
The calls don’t stop coming. A broken hip, an allergic reaction, an overdose.
Just when we’re about to call it for the night, Monique and I get a woman going into labor.
By time we get to the scene, the baby is already fighting its way out.
I coax mom through it. After no time at all, a healthy mom and healthy baby are in the back of our ambulance, both so in love, it makes my heart hurt.
I’m exhausted, beat, but…accomplished. Moments like this, they make the hell of the job worth it.
“Good job, captain,” Monique says, leaning against the ambulance as I exit the ER.
“Good team work. If you fail your exams, you should try baseball. You’d make a good catcher.”
She cackles at that. Then she smacks my back. “Hey, I’ll drop off the van. Why don’t you head home early? Get some sleep.”
“Do I seem tired?”
She shrugs. “I just think it’d probably do you good to clear your head.”
I frown. “Monique.” There’s something she’s not telling me.
She opens the ambulance door and hikes up a leg. Then she looks at me and says, flatly, “What was the mama’s name?”
“Rose.”
“Then why’d you keep calling her Ruby?”
Ah. Fuck.
My tongue ties itself in knots.
“Walk it off,” she suggests. Then she hops in the driver’s seat and closes the door behind her.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about her. Stop wanting her.
Stop wondering what she’s doing. Stop worrying that she’s not drinking enough water. Stop letting her consume your every waking and sleeping thoughts.
Stop craving things you cannot have.
Stop wishing you hadn’t fucked it up so royally.
My body sways with the motion of the train as it rolls to a stop. Across the platform, the Brooklyn-bound train rumbles in at the same time. If I got on it, I’d be going in the opposite direction of my own apartment.
But it would take me directly to hers.
“Stand clear of the closing doors,” the automated announcer says, and I jump out of my seat and cross to the Brooklyn line.