Chapter 6 Geneva
GENEVA
THE AIR SEEMS THINNER, MAKING IT HARDER TO PULL brEATH INTO my lungs.
Every muscle in my body aches from tension, fear, and fighting.
Despite all of this, I reach out, my hand hovering above my cell phone.
Calling Sarah feels like admitting how broken I am right now, how much I’ve unraveled.
But the thought of sitting here in this empty apartment, consumed by the weight of it all, is unbearable.
I swipe the phone off the table and scroll through my contacts, my trembling fingers landing on Sarah’s name. She picks up after the second ring.
“Geneva? It’s late. What’s wrong?” Sarah’s voice is full of concern, and just hearing it makes the lump in my throat swell.
“I…” My voice cracks, and I can’t get the words out. A sob escapes instead.
“Geneva?” Her tone softens, though the worry is still there. “Hey, hey, I’m here. What happened?”
“Can you… can you come over?” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I can’t bring myself to explain, to relive it. Especially not over the phone. “Just… please hurry.”
“I’m on my way,” she says firmly, and the line goes dead.
True to her word, Sarah arrives in record time.
The knock at my door echoes in my apartment, jolting me from my spiraling thoughts.
My legs are unsteady as I rise and drag the blanket around my shoulders.
When I open the door, Sarah’s expression shifts from concern to horror.
Her eyes roam over my face, lingering on the bandage and the bruises starting to bloom on my skin.
She gasps, her hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Geneva,” she whispers, her voice low and filled with alarm. “What happened to you?”
I can’t speak. I try, but the words won’t come. So I just step aside, letting her in. The moment she crosses the threshold, she pulls me into her arms. Her hold is tight, and I lean against her, my body trembling as the tears start to fall again.
“Talk to me,” Sarah says softly, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “Tell me what happened.”
I pull back, swiping at my face with the edge of the blanket. “Let’s sit down,” I murmur, leading her to the couch. I sink into the cushions, and she takes the seat beside me, her eyes never leaving mine.
“It was Skinner,” I say finally, the name coming out like a broken whisper.
Her whole body stiffens, and her expression twists into a combination of fear, rage, and disgust. “What?”
“He broke into my apartment. He escaped from prison, and he came after me.”
Sarah’s face drains of color, and for a moment, I think she might break. But she doesn’t. She clenches her jaw, and her hands curl into fists on her lap.
“That son of a bitch,” she hisses. “He came after you?”
I nod, my throat tightening. “He blamed me. Said I had a debt to pay for testifying against him.”
“Of course he did. Blaming everyone else for what he’s done is his MO.” I catch her hands shaking, and she grips her knees to steady them. “Did he… hurt you?”
My stomach churns, and I force myself to meet her eyes. “He tried to.”
Sarah’s lips part, but no sound comes out. Her hands fly to her face, shaking as they cover her mouth. A pregnant quiet blankets the room, broken only by my ragged breathing.
I inhale deeply to steady my nerves. “He hit me and slammed my head into the wall. Hence the bandages.”
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
I want to be here when Ghost returns.
I shake my head slowly to avoid making the room spin. “But I promised the paramedic that I’d go to the ER if I start experiencing any symptoms.”
“Okay.”
Sarah smiles at me, but the tension in her posture remains, her shoulders tight and her lips thin. My friend is putting on a brave front, all for my benefit. Skinner isn’t just a name to her. He’s a demon she’s never been able to fully banish.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry to burden you with this.”
She blinks at me, her eyes blazing with something I can’t identify. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she says, her voice fierce. “You didn’t do this. He did.”
I nod. “But I’m forcing you to relive—”
“No.” She shakes her head so hard, her hair slaps her cheeks. “No, Geneva. You’re allowing me to support you, to be a friend. Just like you were to me all those years ago. This is the least I can do.”
I wrap my arms around her, and she embraces me in return, our shared trauma bringing us closer than before. But how would she feel if she knew I’d unleashed another, more dangerous monster to stop Skinner? Would she thank me? Or condemn me?
Sarah pulls back and takes my hands in hers as if to fortify me. She exhales deeply, the rigidity of her shoulders lessening, though not disappearing entirely.
“How did you fend him off?” she asks, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “I mean… you’re here, so you must’ve done something.”
I hesitate, the image of Skinner’s leering face flashing in my mind, followed by the satisfying crack of the bat against his ribs. “I had a baseball bat,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “It was nearby, and I swung as hard as I could. Twice, I think.”
“He didn’t finish what he came here to do,” she says slowly. “So what stopped him?”
I can’t do this. I can’t tell her. Too much is at stake. And yet the need to share this information with someone, to gain a perspective outside of my own, is beyond tempting.
“Gen?” Sarah’s voice is softer now, her concern evident. “What aren’t you telling me?”
My heart pounds loudly as I weigh my options, knowing none of them are good. I won’t ever tell the authorities, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this from my best friend.
“It wasn’t the police,” I whisper. “And it wasn’t some Good Samaritan who just happened to be passing by.”
Sarah tilts her head, her confusion deepening. “Then who?”
I draw in a shaky breath, the truth spilling from me. “Ghost.”
Her eyes widen, the color draining from her face. “The serial killer?!”
“Yes,” I say, my voice cracking on the monosyllable.
“Talk about taking your work home with you.” Sarah leans back, gripping the edge of the couch like she’s steadying herself. “How… how did he even know?”
Good fucking question.
“I wish I knew. He just… showed up and stopped Skinner.”
The disbelief etched across Sarah’s face deepens. “He just knew?” she repeats. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” I say, feeling stupid. “But it’s the truth. He came, Sarah. He came for me, and if he hadn’t…” My throat tightens, the memory of Skinner’s hands on me flashing through my mind. “Ghost saved me. And beat the shit out of Skinner.”
Sarah’s brows draw together, and I brace myself for her judgment, for the wave of fear or outrage I expect her to unleash. But instead, her expression shifts, her jaw tightening as something dark flickers in her eyes.
“Is Skinner dead?” she asks slowly.
I press my lips together.
“Geneva Lynn Andrews, tell me the truth or I’ll scream like a banshee on cocaine.”
“If he’s not dead, he will be soon. Ghost made that promise to me before he took off after Skinner.”
“Good,” she says. “That fucker deserves anything and everything Ghost does to him.”
I blink, stunned. “Huh?”
Sarah waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t act so surprised. That man took something from me, Geneva. And if someone like Ghost is willing to stop him, then fine by me. Good fucking riddance.” She jumps to her feet. “Do you have wine? I feel like celebrating.”
Well, fuck me. Mazel tov.