Page 34 of The Phantom's Vice

Marge shrugs, her thick shoulder pads brushing the tips of her dangling gold earrings. “Suit yourself. Just be careful of some of those file cabinets. I almost had one fall on me last week.”

I nod, grateful for her lack of questions. Marge has been working the archives for longer than I’ve been alive. It’s a lonely job, and once, I asked her if it ever bothered her—being stuffed down in the basement, away from all sunlight and people. She justlaughed in that deep croak of hers, like what I said was the funniest thing in the world.

“Brett,”she said.“The best people in the world are the ones on the page.As long as I have my stories and a quiet place to read them, I’ll never be lonely.”

And that’s what Marge loves most in the world—sitting down here in the dark and reading on the bureau’s dime.It’s kind of ingenious, but I would never say it out loud.

“Thanks, Marge. I won’t be long,” I promise, grabbing the key she places on the counter.

She just shrugs, raising her newest book to eye level. “Don’t matter to me. Just lock up when you’re done.”

I nod, giving her a small smile and wave even though she’s no longer paying attention. I hasten to the end of the corridor, shoving the large iron key into the lock before shoving the security doors open. I’ve been down here at least twice this week, so I know my way by heart. I duck around several file cabinets leaning precariously off-center, making sure not to step on any of the random files littered across the ground.

When I come to the section where files on the old Phantoms reside, I breathe a sigh of relief. Every time I come down, I half expect them to be gone.Vanished from the face of the earth, like so much of the evidence through the years.

Maybe these files just aren’t important—or maybe the fact that they’re on physical paper has something to do with it. I’m more inclined to believe the former, considering I’ve found diddly squat that will help me with the Phantom investigation.

Really, it’s justmyPhantom investigation, considering everyone in this office is convinced the case is shut. I’ve heard they DNA-matched the guy with the hair we found at that first crime scene, which makes no sense to me. Iknowwhat I saw in that basement. I know it was the Phantom, just like I know he’s still out there, biding his time.

I sigh as I plop down on the floor, pulling open the file I was poring over yesterday until someone came down to the archives, and I had to abandon my research. Listening for any sounds like last time, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I’m truly alone.

Cracking open the file, I start reading the witness accounts of the Phantom from the eighties. A few of them mention some place called the Sanctum—apparently some mysterious organization that the Phantom hails from. Martha Gore mentioned the same place, so the coincidences are too great to be ignored by now.

Another account that interested me was from a woman named Ariel Smith. She claimed—similar to Martha—that men in white masks showed up at her door one day, offering to buy her toddler. She claims she slammed the door in their faces and called the police although no report was filed that day.

Maybe she was lying, but I don't think so. Her story is far too similar to Martha’s. She even called the white-masked men the same thing: Reapers. I shudder, contemplating the possibility that there are more men like the Phantom. That this thing goes far deeper than I could have ever imagined.

When I first got assigned to this case, I thought it would be a career maker. I thought someone at the top finally realized my potential and was giving me a chance to crack one of the biggest cases of the decade. Now, I’m starting to worry they had other motives.That they put me on this casebecauseI'm inexperienced… because they thought I wouldn’t ask questions.

I shake that thought away. I’m probably just being paranoid. Even with the sleeping meds, my sleep has been fitful. Every morning I wake, it feels like I didn’t sleep at all, like my mind has refused to turn off even though my body has.

I heave a sigh, closing the file whena headache begins to build behind my eyes. The clock on my phone lets me know I’ve been down here for several hours already, meaning Jim is definitely wondering where I’ve been. Placing the file back on top of my stack, I rise and make my way out of the archives, locking the door just like Marge requested.

As I head out, I silently place the key on the counter, and Marge waves a hand in thanks, never taking her eyes from the page. I chuckle to myself as I take the elevator back to the main level, wishing for a moment I could be more like Marge. She seems pretty damn stress-free, and I’ve never seen dark circles under her eyes the way I do when I look into the mirror every morning.

Maybe I need a vacation.

“Brett! Where have you been?” Sure enough, Jim’s voice sounds across the room, sounding slightly peeved. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Sorry. I was down in the archives,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly. “No service.”

Jim scowls, crossing his arms as he pins me with an inquisitive glare. “Why were you down there? You’re supposed to be working on files from the Wade case.”

I nearly groan aloud.The Wade caseis just some asshole with a medium-sized money-launderingoperation. And while it’s disgraceful, the crime pales in comparison to a serial murderer running amok.

“Just some personal research.” I wave him off and take a seat at my desk. “I’ll get it done before I leave, don’t worry. Mr. Wade won’t be kept waiting.”

Jim stomps over to where I’m seated, hovering menacingly over my shoulder. “Whatpersonal research?Were you…?” He looks around to make sure no one is listening in. “Are you still looking into this Phantom shit? Haven’t you heard? The DNA matched—he’s our guy.”

“I heard,” I deadpan, refusing to say any more. I grab my pen and am about to return to my stack of paperwork when Jim slams his hand on top of mine.

“Brett,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath tickling my neck. “You need to stop whatever you’re doing—now. You don’t know what you’re?—”

“Everything okay, Agent Peterson?”

Jim releases me immediately, standing straight and turning to face the chief. “Everything’s fine, sir. Just talking to my partner.”

“Ah, right.” He looks at where Jim’s hand rested just a moment ago. “Agent Evangeline. How are things with the Wade case?”

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