Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #17
I have made a horrible mistake
I lie on the mattress, holding my mom’s notebook above my head. Waves of guilt pour over me as I think back to my conversation with Ghost. It killed me to say the things I did—to watch his shoulders droop and hear his sad tone—but I couldn’t just let it go. He hid something major from me, and I need to process how that makes me feel.
The fucked-up part is I was really, truly starting to trust him. A psychopathic, lunatic serial killer in a mask. I sigh, shaking my head at those vile thoughts. I’ve realized Ghost has a lot more to him. He has a sweet side that he only shows the people he loves. So much, it almost redeems the horrible things he’s done.
I pull the notebook open with a sigh. I heard the front door scrape a few minutes ago, meaning I’ll be alone for a while to pore over the pages of scribble. I flip through the first couple of pages, finding only contact numbers and random names. When I get to the middle, though, my eyes go wide, and I greedily take in entry seventeen.
I flip back a few pages, starting at the very beginning of the entries. There’s so much about the Sanctum that it makes my head spin, but what I find next nearly sends me to the floor.
She was in love—with a Mask. Not just any Mask—a high-level Reaper by the sounds of it. I think back to the night Ghost saved me in the garage—about the men in white masks he called Reapers. I had assumed correctly that night—Reapers are a type of Mask, though not nearly as highly trained as Phantoms, which explains why Ghost had no trouble taking them out.
When I get to note seventeen, my fingers shake as I turn the page, not wanting to see and desperately needing to know how her story unfolds .
Jane Evangeline: Entry #18
Brett, baby girl. If this ever finds its way to you, I’m so so sorry. Mommy made a mistake, and I’m afraid it’s cost me my life. I’ve barricaded myself in the bathroom of Hudson's ski lodge, but the ax he’s wielding will surely break down the door eventually.
The whole trip up here was a trick. I looked too deeply, found out too much, and now he’s going to kill me for it.
Brett, if you ever come across a masked man, DO NOT TRUST HIM. No matter how sweet he seems or how much he cares for you, RUN. Run fast, and don’t look back.
They are master manipulators—a fact I found out too late—and only serve one thing.
The Sanctum.
I was too blind to realize his loyalty always lay with them. That even if he wanted to be a good man, his programming would not allow it.
Even as I sit here, waiting for the ax to break through the door, a part of me still cares for him. Still wants to help him.
That’s how bad they can get you.
Brett—I was a shitty mother. You deserved so much better, and I wish I could write out all the ways I would make it up to you. But the fact is, in a few minutes, he’s going to burst through that door, and I am going to die .
I will never get to take you prom dress shopping. I will never get to see the smile on your face when you get married. Will never get to hold your hair when you cry, or nurse you through your first heartbreak. For that, and so much more, I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.
But if I can give you one last piece of advice, it’s to never, ever trust a man in a mask. No matter how good he makes you feel.
I love you, sweet girl. Goodbye.
I flip violently through the rest of the book, trying to find something—anything else. But there’s nothing. Nothing but a few splatters of blood toward the end of the pages.
No. This can’t be all. It can’t.
My stomach churns as images of her body, bloody, beaten, and limp swim through my mind. I remember the picture on my laptop I saw all those weeks ago at what became of my poor mother. What he did to her.
I look down at the little brown book, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. This is why he didn’t want me to see this. He saw her warning and knew it would have an effect on me.
Well, it did. And the fact he lied to me about it only makes me more suspicious. If something like that could happen to my mom…
I shake my head. No—no, that’s not Ghost. I’ve seen him. I know who he is, and I know he would never harm me. My mom chose the wrong man, and in the back of my mind, I secretly wonder what would have happened if she had chosen Maverick.
As I look down at her scrawled words, I realize what I have to do. As much as I’ve come to adore Ghost, I know he’s so protective of me, he won’t let me do what needs to be done. This needs to be taken to the FBI, and I know if I tell Ghost he’ll just drug me and tie me to the bed in the basement or something.
My legs are over the side of the bed before I realize I’ve made up my mind.
I need to escape.
I scramble throughout the whole house, trying to find something that looks like it would unlock the door. I’m sure it’s some sort of magnetic locking device, but for the life of me, I can’t find a single thing that would work.
I’m about to call it quits—maybe this is the universe telling me escaping is a horrible idea—but then Venom’s insistent mew breaks out to my left. I raise my head from my hands, noticing Venom perched on the shelf next to the Ghost’s father’s head.
“Venom! Get away from that thing!” I cry, trying to shoo him away from the horrible abomination. Venom’s yellow eyes narrow, and he reaches a little paw out and nudges the side of the heavy jar.
“Venom! Don’t you dare!”
But he does dare. In slow motion, the jar slides from the shelf and falls to the ground. My mouth opens wide in horror, knowing there’s nothing I can do but watch as glass and murky, acrid-smelling liquid splatter all across the floor.
I hold my hand to my mouth, closing my eyes from the sight of the bloated head rolling across the ground. It hits the edge of the cabinet with a dull thunk, and I have to breathe through my mouth to stop myself from vomiting.
As if things weren’t bad enough, Venom jumps down to the ground and makes a beeline for the head, careful to step around the puddle of disgustingness .
“Oh please, no,” I moan, placing my hands on my knees as my stomach turns over. “Venom, why? ”
He lets out an irritated mew, plopping his fluffy butt on the ground next to the head. When I don’t move, he looses several more calls and a hiss, the latter of which finally gets my attention. Against everything inside me screaming not to, I step over toward that hideous pale head, keeping my eyes trained to a spot just above so I don’t have to look directly at it.
Venom howls, reaching a paw out and swatting the back of the head. I screech, reaching down and attempting to scoop him up away from that thing, but he easily escapes me.
“Meow!” Venom circles the head, his haunches raised.
“What the fuck is up with you?” I wonder, trying and failing again to grab him.
Venom raises his paw and swats at a spot just below that head’s ear, and that’s when I finally notice it. A tiny bulge in the skin, just like the one on Ghost’s wrist.
Well, that’s one place to keep a spare key.
It occurs to me that this is the one place Ghost knew I wouldn’t search. Except he forgot that Venom is always watching .
“Good boy,” I coo, reaching down to scratch his head. Venom chirps, brushing against my ankles before waddling toward the exit. A job well done.
I shake my head with a chuckle, then focus on the problem lying on the floor. The last thing I want to do is touch this, but it’s not like I have another choice. With a sigh, I head into the kitchen and grab a small paring knife. My knuckles are white around the handle when I finally return to the head, and I fight to swallow the rising bile in my throat.
“You got this, Brett,” I whisper aloud. “It’s just a head. A hacked-off, embalmed head. It’s totally fine.” I crouch, piercing the skin with the tip of the blade as my stomach flips. I make a vertical cut across the lump and pop the little chip out with shaking fingers like a pimple.
It flies out of the skin, skidding across the floor and stopping with a tink on the far wall. Dropping the knife, I scuttle over and pinch the small pea-sized key between my thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck yes!” I cheer, nearly dropping the tiny gray thing in my excitement. I rush toward the front door, placing my ear to the stone for a moment to listen for Ghost’s footsteps. When no sound answers, I place the bead to the small divot in the wall, my heart skipping as the stone door scrapes open.
Just as I’m about to leave, the scrape of nails against the floorboards calls my attention, and I look behind me to find Rupert, his big, lazy eyes pinning me with an accusatory stare.
“I’ll be back, I promise,” I say, my heart squeezing as Rupert looks behind me for Ghost. “He’s not coming with. But I swear, it’s for a good reason.”
As Rupert’s sad face disappears behind the closing door, my gut screams at me, telling me this is a bad idea. But it’s a little too late to listen to reason now.
Miraculously, the key I found works for Ghost’s truck, too—which is good, considering I hadn’t thought that far ahead. After driving much too slowly down the winding wilderness roads, I finally make it to the main highway, then gun it the rest of the way into the city.
An hour later, I’m pulling into the driveway of Jim’s house. I’d been here a few times in the past for cookouts and coworker bonding sessions— something Jim liked to call them, though I’m pretty sure it was just an excuse for the guys to get together and get drunk off cheap beer. At the time, I hated the obligation, but now I’m thankful because there’s no way I would go to the station to talk to him. In his world, I’ve been missing for the past month, and I’m sure the bureau would not take kindly to me just showing up out of nowhere and refusing to answer their questions.
I hope he doesn’t freak out and call the police. I cringe at the thought as I pull the keys from the ignition and race up to Jim’s front door. The sun is already below the horizon, meaning Jim is home from work. I just have to hope he listens to me.
I raise my fist, ready to pound on his beige front door, but something stops me. Shaking off that strange, nagging feeling, I knock three times, then listen for the sound of nearing footsteps. The lock clicks open, and the door is thrust open, revealing a wide-eyed, rumpled-looking Jim. His thinning brown hair is tousled like he’s been running his hands through it constantly, and the dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping much lately, which would explain the fact he hasn’t quite gotten the buttons to match up on his shirt.
“Hi, Jim. ”
“ Brett, ” he whispers, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Oh, if only you knew what I’ve been through…
“Before you freak out, I’m oka—” My explanation is cut off as Jim lunges forward, wrapping his arms around me in a massive bear hug. My feet leave the ground as a squeal falls from my open mouth, and my skin immediately breaks out in a swarm of fire ants where his hands rest on my bare shoulders. “J-Jim… I’m okay, I swear.”
He holds me to him like he doesn’t hear me, his body shuddering enough to concern me. “Jim?”
“Just…” He sighs, pressing his face into my hair. “Just let me fucking hug you, woman. I thought you were…” He swallows hard, not needing to finish the sentence for me to understand. He thought I was dead. They all thought I was dead.
A wave of guilt pours over me as reality crashes into me. How could I have just been living my life, having a grand old time while people here worried about me? And by the look on Jim’s face, he’s not angry. Just so, so relieved.
“Brett, you have no idea how glad I am you’re here,” he whispers, finally loosening his grip after a few more minutes of the torturous hug. “Come inside. Tell me everything.”
Another ball of guilt punches me in the stomach as I follow Jim inside, a metallic taste coating my tongue as I take my bottom lip between my teeth. As bad as I feel, I can’t tell Jim everything. If he knew what I did about Ghost, there’s no way he would let him stay free. He doesn’t know him like I do and doesn’t understand a fraction of the things happening in this city. I just have to pray that what I can tell him will be enough.
I plop onto Jim’s dark leather sofa, the scent of cigar smoke wafting up my nose and making me sneeze. Jim smiles apologetically, taking the armchair opposite me and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“So… where were you? No, wait—first, tell me what happened. ”
“Well…” I twist my fingers in my lap, unable to look Jim in the eye. “I was taken.”
Jim shakes his head, his jaw tight. “They didn’t…? Did they?”
Realizing he’s asking if I was raped, I finally look up with wide eyes. “Wha—no! Of course not.” Because it was completely consensual, and the best damn thing to ever happen to me. But Jim can’t know that. I take a deep breath before continuing. “Nothing bad happened to me. I was just… unable to get away.”
“You were fucking kidnapped, Brett. Something bad did happen to you.” Jim clenches his fist, looking like he’d like nothing more than to send it through the face of the person who did this to me. “Who was it?”
“I can’t—I don’t know,” I say, a little too quickly. Jim’s eyes narrow, and he leans in closer.
“Brett, you can tell me. No one is going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”
“You’re not listening,” I sigh, bringing my fingers up to massage my temples. “He didn’t hurt me. He took care of me. Kept me safe.”
“And that’s the Stockholm syndrome talking,” Jim says, his voice much softer than it was before. “Brett, honey, you were there for a long time. I know you think they’re not a bad person, but they are. Just tell me what they look like—that’s it. I can pull a task team together by tomorrow morning, and we’ll find?—”
“Jim, stop!” I stand from the couch, my chest heaving in frustration. “This… person is not the bad guy. He told me things about the city—about the Sanctum. They’re real, Jim.”
He shakes his head, standing slowly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Brett.”
“Yes, I do!” I cry, reaching into my pocket and wrapping my fingers around Mom’s notebook. “I can prove it—look! My mom was looking into them too over a decade ago. That’s why she was killed, Jim. She found out too much, and the Sanctum had her murdered. You have to help me, you have to… Jim?”
Jim hangs his head, his shoulders tense. I can’t see his expression, but something in the air of the room makes my words die in my throat. Something sinister.
“You just couldn’t leave it the fuck alone, could you?”
I take an involuntary step back, only to smack straight into the couch. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“You just couldn’t stop looking at the Sanctum.” He raises his head, and the malice in his hazel eyes knocks the breath from my lungs. “I told you I didn't want to bury any more colleagues. Now look what you’ve made me do.”
My body moves before I know what I’m doing, but I barely get one step toward the front door before Jim’s hands wrap around my throat. My feet leave the ground, and I thrash in his grip, but I can’t kick him from his position behind me.
“You should have left well enough alone, Brett. What a shame,” he snarls, his tone indicating he doesn’t find anything shameful about what he’s about to do to me.
Black spots line my vision as I claw at his wrists, but none of my efforts seem to affect him. My heart beats once, twice, and then the room goes dark.
And when the black swallows me this time, I am very, very afraid.