Ghost

ONE

"I know how it feels." Mark announced, his voice laced with sympathy, as he sat down next to me on the steps, pulling out a small box of cigarettes and offering me one.

"Yeah, I bet you definitely know what it feels like to have your fiancé and sister bound, stabbed, decapitated, and thrown down a canyon." I scoffed, ultimately deciding to take the cigarette from his hand and twirling it between my fingers.

"Okay, so maybe I don't." Mark chuckled dryly, placing the cigarette between his teeth and lighting it. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Cut the classic 'your loved one has just murdered and that's unfortunate but I'm not really affected' FBI agent bullcrap Mark." I spit out as I continued to twirl the cigarette. I focused only on the cigarette as it twirled, focusing more clearly on the grooves.

"Look, I really an sorry." He sighed. "But I get what it's like to lose someone you care about."

I vaguely remembered attending a memorial for Mark's partner who was shot on duty. I think it was the one with a nice lunch afterwards, the one with lemon squares for dessert. They were really good lemon squares

"Yeah, whatever."

"Have you seen a therapist?"

"I don't need to see a therapist." I groaned. I'd been told to see a therapist or a psychologist or whatever countless times already by pretty much everyone I had come into contact with. "I don't need a fucking shrink to tell me I've seen some crazy shit because trust me, I know."

"Ronnie," He warned. "it might be best if you go see someone, just to talk."

If I wanted to talk about my feelings I would've sat down in my neighbor Glenda's house and ranted about all kinds of shit while she tried to serve me lemonade every five seconds. She was always offering me a place to come and talk, and of course drink the lemonade she constantly made too much of but I never took up the offer. Her house smelled weird and she always seemed a little off to me.

"Maybe when somebody else dies." I deadpanned. "But until then I think I'm good."

"Veronica-"

"Anymore news on the case." I interrupted, eager to change the subject. The only thing that I had focused on lately was solving the case, finding out who murdered Thomas and Cora was the most important thing to me right now.

"Well we found only one file on Harry." He reluctantly shifted topics and opened another folder. "Harry Styles, no know birth date, no know residence, no know cell phone number of credit card, nothing at all. We already told you he's a ghost, doesn't even exist."

"There's gotta be something on him."

"Well he did serve in the armed forces for a while, dishonorable discharge, but before that he interned at a forensics lab. He was young, still is but was able to do pretty well, involved with different sections of the government, and all kinds of other stuff. We had knowledge of every part of his life until her disappeared three years ago."

"What'd he get discharged for?" I questioned.

"Starting a physical fight with his superior officer." Mark shuffled through the file a bit and pulled out a few other papers, scanning over them. "This kids crazy, jesus."

"Let me see." I made a grab for the file but Mark pulled it out of my reach.

"I don't think so missy." He taunted, getting up slowly and tucking the files under his arm. Damn him. "Head back to my office in a minute or two, we'll go over the evidence again."

I was about to protest until Mark shook his head, tossing a blue lighter down to me. I caught it in my hands, placing the cigarette between my teeth and ligthing it.

I felt sick, the scent of smoke not helping as I sat by myself on the marble steps. I didn't show it but Cora and Tom's death hurt. It hurt to know that two of the people I love most were dead. And murdered at that, ruthlessly and thrown in a fucking canyon.

I took another drag from the cigarette before sighing loudly. Smoking was a habit I thought I had kicked years ago. It only came back at my worst times, like right now where I felt like a disaster. I should've been there to protect both of them, but I wasn't.

"You know, if Rita catches you smoking she'll throw a fit." I flinched at the sound of a deep voice behind me.

I took the cigarette out of my mouth and turned around to where the man was standing. I was almost eye level with his knees, which were covered with tight black denim, sitting on his broad shoulders was a jacket that looked as if it belonged to a biker although the color was a light brown.

His brown hair was messy yet seemed to suit him as it sat as a curly mop on his head. His eyes hidden by a pair of Ray Bans which I hated, it always seemed like a necessarily thing for me to see people's eyes when I first met them. It gave me a sort of impression of their personality.

"Rita doesn't work here anymore." I said, placing the cigarette back in my mouth and taking a drag. "So there's nobody to bitch at me about it."

He chuckled softly, nodding to the stairs in a sort of ''may I?' gesture. I nodded and he sat down beside me, his long leg sprawling out in front of him.

"What happened to poor old Rita?" He asked, focusing on where the cigarette hung off my finger.

"She was fired." I shrugged, thinking back to when Rita worked here as a janitor. She was always a nice lady, seeming perfectly content with her work although she scrubbed toilets for a living. "Not sure why though."

The man nodded as if thinking about it, "Haven't been in this building in about three years."

"I would've thought you worked here."

"No never worked." He chuckled again although I didn't see what was humorous. "Visited quite often though."

"Well," I threw my cigarette on the ground, stomping it out and deciding I'd worry about it later. "Veronica Corrigan, nice to meet." I held out my hand for him to shake, which he gladly took. "But you can call me Ronnie."

"Nice to meet you Ronnie, my names Harry. Harry Styles."

•••

please forgive me I haven't written in first person pov in forever and I feel uncomfortable

this is short because it's kinda like the other part of the prologue

more will come soon so let me know whatcha think xx