Page 25 of Ghosted in Arkadia
“Yup. It’s still raining, buddy,” I laugh, knowing he will ultimately drag himself out there before he dares to go to the bathroom in the house.
Police dog training.
He huffs, and I take the empty tray from my food and toss it into the trash before washing my fork. My drink comes with me when I head for my bedroom. It feels like I need to make a decision by the time I shut and lock the door, but I do not know what to do with Ghost.
I don’t even know how to wrap my fucking head around it all.
I head into the bathroom, checking behind the curtain and all around the perimeter of my room before stooping low to look under my bed. The disappointment I feel when I don’t find someone lurking underneath it tells me more than I want to admit.
I laugh at myself while getting out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. With my phone in hand, I select my favorite playlist; the upbeat tempo urging me to dance, though I remind myself to drink my cocktail slowly. My feet ache and scream in relief when I kick off my boots, helping me to feel immediately more at ease.
My body takes over undressing while my mind continues to obsess over Ghost. My room becomes a chaotic ballet as I pace back and forth, the floor littered with clothes I throw into the heap at the mouth of the closet.
I need to get to knowhimbefore I can decide.
After changing into a new tank top and underwear, I feel the soft cotton against my skin as I relax in bed. My phone is on the table next to me, and I know the kit is inside the drawer just beneath it. A war wages in my mind, and I wish I had his damn number to talk to him. While all this mystery certainly does things to my body I never thought could exist, I could use a little more normalcy.
There is always one other way to reach him.
I yank the drawer open and see a small piece of paper with something written on it sitting right on top of my kit. My blood hums, drowning out the sound of the music as I grab the note with trembling fingers.
Did you scream?
A small scream escapes my lips. He was here. Inside my house. Inside my room.
My heart hammers against my chest as I look around the room, clutching the note. Excitement and terror mix with uttersilence from my inner voice. The world feels hazy, the edges of my vision swimming in and out of focus. The more I strain, the more my head pulses and the world slips away. A rush of cold runs up my spine, and I have the distinct feeling that I am on the verge of passing out.
I turn toward the bed, finding my head swimming around the warped vision of my comforter. It feels like needles made of ice are digging into every inch of my skin as I crawl up the bed and reach for my phone. The music coming from it stops as my fingers slide over the screen. It’s hard to be sure that I am pressing the correct areas through my ever-waning vision, but I hope I turn on the record button to the camera like I intend. My fingertips push the phone roughly into position, leaning against the side of my table with the camera trained on me.
It should record until the battery runs out.
I have no choice but to surrender to the pull of unconsciousness. Part of me is terrified of why this is happening. The only answer my mind seems to come up with is Ghost.
I awake to pounding rain, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding inside my head. It’s pitch-black outside, suggesting it’s still the middle of the night. My mouth is so dry my tongue feels like sandpaper as I move it across my tender lips. I groan, rolling to my side.
A faint glow comes from my phone on my bedside table, plugged in and charging. It takes my brain a moment to clear through the fog, but the sight of my phone sparks swimming memories of my fingers pushing it into place somewhere else.The feeling of scared desperation comes with the memory, sharper than the images in my mind.
My arm feels like rubber as I reach over and unplug the phone before the bright screen blinds me. The headache instantly becomes worse, and I drop my phone. Thankfully, it falls face down on the bed, blocking the blinding beam while I press my fingers into my eyelids. My head pulses in time with my erratic heartbeat, and it isn’t long until it lands hard on the pillow.
Sleep drags me under, despite the nagging voice urging me to resist. I hurt too much to fight.
The alarm blares on my phone, but I take an extra minute to find it inside the tangled mess of blankets. I swipe the alarm off, enjoying a blissful moment of silence in my success. My head pounds and I have a flash of memory, reminding me I used the last of the vodka in my drink last night.
“Cathy, I hope you’re laughing at my pathetic ass,” I mumble, holding my head between my palms.
I really mean it this time. I need to cut back on alcohol.
Absentmindedly, I peel my clothes from my body and add them to the overgrown pile before hopping into the shower. The warmth of the water embraces me as I step into the stall, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that I am simply dragging myself through the motions of getting ready for work. Time melts away as I let the water rinse my sticky skin, but I emerge wishing I hadn’t taken so long. I should have saved time for makeup. My skin looks dull and patchy, which will only draw more attention to the deep bags under my eyes.
On the ride to work, I scramble through the glove compartment until I finally find the pair of sunglasses Cathy kept for sunny days. If Killian can wear glasses any time of day, then so can I.
Might as well give the guys in the station something else to focus on rather than the steaming pile of shit I look like this morning.
“Aww, look,” James says, putting his hand on my shoulder to stop me the moment I walk in. “They are already wearing matching outfits.”
The sunglasses don’t hide my cheeks, and I feel them heat as I realize the insinuation James made from my act of fashion rebellion.
“No,” I say in a haste of defense before taking a breath to refocus. The pause would have been effective if followed by a quick retort, but my mind blanked and if it weren’t for the glasses, James would have seen my eyes widen as panic crept into my chest.
