Page 17 of The Phantom's Vice

I stop that line of thought. What could have happened makes no difference now. What matters is whatcanhappen 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 tosee 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 loudcrackrings out, followed by a series ofpopsandfizzlesas the card literally dissolves beforemy 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 intoflames, 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 delicatelyonto 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.

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