𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

E L E V E N

[jolene hale]

I stand in the kitchen of my apartment, chopping vegetables for dinner—salad with smothered grilled chicken breast. The TV in the kitchen plays whatever was in when I turned it on an hour ago to have background noise while I cooked. I take a sip of my glass of iced tea beside me before returning to my cutting. I toss a handful of diced peppers into a pan, sautéing them as well as some mushrooms and onions. An arm wraps around my waist, causing me to gasp and jump in their grasp. I spin around, exhaling a sigh of relief.

"Dammit James, you almost gave me a heart attack. You know how much it scares me when you do that." I say.

He laughs and pulls me towards him, his arms wrapping around my waist.

"What are we doing tonight?" He asks, kissing my temple, then cheekbone, then jaw, then trailing down to my neck. "Dinner? Movie?"

I laugh and pull away from him.

"I'm making dinner," I say. "You are taking a shower. You stink."

He kisses my cheek and pulls me towards him.

"Join me? I've got some spots I can't reach that well." He says.

I shove him off of me and shake my head.

"No," I laugh out. "Go take your shower. Dinner will be done when you get out."

He sighs out sadly and nods. He exits the kitchen and I'm standing alone, cooking dinner for two. A breaking news report comes on, grabbing my attention.

"Previously aired tonight, We received an anonymous call with who we believe was the 'Ghost'. He was speaking with Chicago Fire Department Firefighter Graham Eaton, son of Chief of Police, Tobias Eaton. Warning, what you're about to hear may be disturbing to some viewers." The TV says.

"How did you get this number?" Graham asks.

"Oh, Graham, it was simple, really. I single follow on any of your multiple social media platforms, then a quick hack into the mainframe and find your most recently used cellphone number. Strange how social media makes us link our phone numbers like that." A deep voice says.

"What do you want from me?" Graham asks.

"It's not your turn to speak yet, Graham. It's theirs..." The voice says, switching to speakerphone. "Help us! Please, let us out! Let us go!"

"Let them go." Graham says. "Please. They haven't done anything."

"We had a deal," The voice says. "You keep the fire off the news, the prisoner lives."

"You said keep the letter off of the news. The fire was huge. It's obviously going to make it onto the news." Graham says.

"You didn't read carefully enough then." The voice says. "Tell me why I shouldn't pull the trigger, Graham."

"Don't." Graham says. "It isn't worth it. Don't shoot. Please."

"Prove that I shouldn't kill them." The voice says. "Prove to me that you want them to live, Graham."

"Don't do this," Graham says, his voice breaking. "Your fight is with me, not them. Don't do this. I'm begging you—let them go. Don't kill them. Please."

"You aren't begging hard enough, Graham. What should I do to punish you?" The voice asks.

"Stop! Don't shoot! What do you want? What can I give you? What will make you refrain from shooting them?" Graham asks.

"Oh, Graham... What I want, you cannot give me." The voice says.

A loud boom echoes through the phone and I flinch. A scream follows the bang.

"I'll be in touch," Ghost says, then hangs up.

I cover my mouth with my hands and watch it again, rewinding the audio. James walks into the living room, an eyebrow raised.

"What's going on?" He asks as I rewind it again.

I look up at him with wide eyes.

"Is it just me, or does this sound like Sierra and Rachel?" I ask, playing the audio of the two women yelling for help. "I think Ghost has them held prisoner in some cabin in the woods. And he killed one of them."

James shakes his head and exhales. He takes my hands and looks at me.

"I'm sure it's not them. I bet they're at home with their families watching this same report right now." He says.

I nod and return to the counter where I cook our food, turning off the stove.

"I just feel so uneasy." I say as I finish making the salad. "It sounded just like them."

He smiles and approaches me.

"Well, Ghost never said anything about either of them in his letter." He says. "So I'm pretty sure it isn't them."

I raise an eyebrow.

"How did you know that?" I ask, standing completely still now, staring at him.

He shrugs frowning slightly.

"I heard it on the news. They were talking about the letters." He says.

I shake my head, staring at him more intensely now.

"No, they weren't. The only mention of a letter was by Graham." I say.

He chuckles nervously and approaches me again.

"I—I don't remember where I heard it but they were talking about the letters. He didn't say anything about his prisoners." He says.

I back away from him now, scared that he may know something about the case.

"What do you know, James?" I ask. "What are you hiding?"

He shakes his head, grabbing my arm.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He says.

I shove him off of me.

"Stay away! You know something about this case and you need to tell me right now." I say.

He furrows his brows and smiles.

"Okay, Jolie, I will." He says.

He grabs me by my shoulders and throws me against the wall, smashing my shoulders against the wall, hard and firm. He punches me in the face, blood spilling out of my nose. I punch back, hitting him in the stomach and face, my blows not even phasing him. He throws me at the counter where I tip everything over onto the floor. He shoves me to the ground and kicks me in the stomach, causing me to groan out. He reaches for something on the counter and crouches down. I grab the chopping knife from beside me and raise it, the blade now pressed to his throat. His dark eyes are open wide—wild and bright.

"Go on, Jolene, do it. Slice my throat. Do it. I know you want to." He says.

His voice is deep and hoarse. Tears spill out of my eyes, dripping down my cheeks.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.

He raises something hot to my arm, burning my hand and wrist. I scream out and drop the knife, looking at the boiling red skin on my wrist. I look up at him, fear bubbling up in my chest. I kick him in the chest, causing him to collide with the cabinet behind him, hitting his head on the drawer. He groans out, reaching to his head. I jump to my feet and grab my cellphone and keys. I run out of the apartment, and run to my car. I back out of my parking space and drive as far away as I can.