Page 22 of The Phantom's Vice

“Damn. Have you been getting into the food bag again?” I wonder aloud, patting his belly. “The vet is not going to be happy with us, Venom.”

Venom narrows his eyes, swatting at my hand with one of his T-rex arms.Noted. Don’t make fun of Venom's weight.

I straighten with a sigh, looking once more around the room for clues. There’s nothing out of place—like when you stay at a hotel and come home to your room magically cleaned and straightened. Part of me wants to go into the bathroom to see if there's a fresh pile of plush white towels waiting for me.Why would the Phantom clean my apartment? And why am I all giddy inside thinking he did itforme? Like a favor. Or a gift.

Curiously, I walk into the kitchen, noting how all my dishes have been cleaned and put away. There's a fresh trash bag in the bin, and my weeks’ worth of Chinese containers and empty wine bottles are nowhere to be seen. The scent of lemon is far more potent in this room, and by the look of the floors, someone came through with a mop and probably wax.

What the actual fuck?

In a daze, I move to the bathroom, my mouth dropping to my chest at the sight before me.I was totally joking about the towels, but… there they are.Three fluffy, freshly laundered towels lay folded on the side of my tub—something that hasn’t looked soclean and white in ages—probably since before I moved into the unit. I run my hand over the top of the stack, nearly moaning at the plush texture that greets me.Better than sex. Or better than what limited experience I've had with the action. I snort, pulling away and moving back toward the bed. I plop onto the edge, my mind and body numb as I stare out at my now-spotless bedroom.

He… hecleanedmy apartment. Why would he do that?I shake my head, unable to piece together the clues.Intimidation? No. Appreciation? Definitely not.A headache builds behind my lids the more I try to figure it out, and I ultimately decide he did it because he’s just fuckinginsane.

Insane. Yes. That makes the most sense. Way more than if he did it to be nice—or, God forbid, if he cared about me. That would be horrible. So horrible.

Wouldn’t it?

The rest of the day goes off without a hitch. I get through my paperwork before lunch, then spend the rest of the day poring over the evidence we have onthe Phantom. I click through the few surveillance images we’ve managed to obtain over the past few months, scouring the background for any clues.

“What are you up to?” I murmur, zooming in on the only frontal image we have. It’s always creeped me out—the way he seems to know the camera is there. The way he seems to belookinginto it, toying with whoever is on the other side. A chill runs down my spine at the sight of that soulless black mask, and I quickly click to the next slide.

Before I can stop myself, Iscream.

“Brett?” Jim’s voice sounds out somewhere to my right, but I can’t move—can’t speak. All I can do is stare at that image on my screen—an image that wasdefinitelynot in the Phantom’s file yesterday.

“Brett? Brett what’s wron?—”

The rest of Jim’s question is cut off as the contents of my stomach make their way onto the floor. I squeeze my eyes tight as I continue to dry heave, that image burned into the back of my mind and making it difficult to breathe.

I’m vaguely aware of Jim touching my back, but I’m too out of my mind to care.Why? Why the fuck is there a picture of mymomin his file?

My body shudders, another wave of nauseaovertaking me as that image flashes in my mind—her pale gray skin, those horrible, awful gashes covering the skin of her lifeless body.

Why? Why, why, why?—

“Jesus fuck!” Jim curses, finally discovering the photo on my screen. “What the fuck is this?”

“My…my…” I gasp, trying to speak through the vise constricting my windpipe.My mother. My poor, sweet, mutilated mother.Another heave racks my body, and Jim rubs gentle circles into my back.

Oh God, this is making it worse.

“Please don’t,” I murmur, attempting to sit up straight so he stops touching me. “I’m okay. I just?—”

“Jesus… is that…?” Jim’s eyes are wide as he faces me, a look of horror clear across his face. “How did you find this?”

Something in the back of my mind nags me for his choice of words, but I shake it off.I’m clearly not in my right mind if I’m starting to become paranoid of Jim.

“It was… in his file,” I gasp out, reaching toward the mouse to click out of the image. “The Phantom’s.”

Jim is faster than me, turning off the monitorbefore I touch the mouse. “Fuck, Brett. I can’t believe you saw… I can’t imagine what that must be like. To see her like that… this should have never happened.”

You’re telling me.For some reason, the thought has a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. Jim shoots me a look, clearly wondering about my mental state.

Makes two of us, buddy.I wipe the corner of my eye as my chest continues to shake, and Jim grows more concerned by the second.

“Brett? Talk to me, hon. Are you?—”

“I’m—fine.” I gasp, picking a spot on the floor and concentrating. “Fine. Totally fine.”

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