Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (3)
“That’s a lot to live through, Miss Pearl.” Dr. Cove’s tone was soft and sincere, making me want to cry and hug him and run away all at the same time.
“It’s not the worst part though, if you can believe it. I made it as far as Tennessee and settled in for a few months. I got part time job and was even starting to make friends when the letters started . . .”
“What kind of letters?” he asked deeply, his voice like molasses and silk.
I took a deep breath. I’d only ever told Dr. Omar, but this felt easier than telling her for some reason. Maybe practice helped. “First, they came from Alabama State Prison. An envelope was addressed to me with a blank page inside.” I bit my lip, remembering that first jolt of terror. “He’d found me. I have no idea how, but it was his handwriting. So I left that night. Eventually the same thing happened in Pennsylvania. And New York. Wherever I go, he finds me.”
The room was silent. When I looked up from the threading and lint I was hyper focused on, Dr. Cove was gripping the sides of his armchair. “Did you come here because you felt unsafe?”
“I never feel safe, doctor. But that’s not why I came. I was sitting in a diner and heard the same ringer his phone used to have and I lost it. It’s stupid, I know.”
“Not stupid. Normal, natural. Your brain is evolved to keep you safe. Anxiety and trauma are all mechanisms meant to keep you alive. But sometimes they go haywire; sometimes they interfere with our lives in ways that we can’t control. I’m glad you’re talking to someone about this and seeking therapy, Miss Pearl, but have you informed the police?”
I huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I tried that three states ago. There’s nothing they can do.”
His jaw tensed into a hard line and I could feel his tension radiating toward me. Dr. Omar never showed emotion. I’d never felt anything from her other than maybe sympathy. “What do you do for fun?”
His question caught me off guard. “Go to bed before eight?”
He raised that sexy eyebrow again. All of a sudden, all I could imagine was him occupying my bed. I’d never been with anyone in a bed. What a stupid realization. I’d never even had proper sex, only making out and above clothing touching in the backs of cars or under school bleachers. Now I was in front of a professional psychologist who was only talking to me because it was his job and I was going feral. I needed to get laid. If only I ever felt safe enough to seek such a thing out.
“Panic and anxiety can be helped when you have an anchor tied to better feelings. Some sort of moment or activity that grounds you. Have you heard of Hallows Fest?”
What he was saying made sense. I’d been running and afraid for so long, I’d never considered that my brain needed something nice to hold on to. “What’s that? I’ve only been here for a few months.”
“It’s Ash Grove’s month-long dance party. They meet at The Brew Pump every night in October. Then on Halloween . . . Well, you’ll just have to go and find out.”
“Aren’t you supposed to recommended meditation or some shit? A rave doesn’t seem very therapeutic, doctor.” I grinned. I liked him.
He made a sound of amusement. “You’d be surprised how therapeutic some people find wearing a mask and dancing their asses off for a month. You’ll find this town takes Halloween very seriously.”
I nodded. “Maybe I’ll check it out. I work most nights at Garden of India, but maybe.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It looks like I’ve wasted your time long enough.” I stood, clutching my purse. “You may have no musical taste but at least you seem okay at being a psychologist.”
He stood, towering over me, looking like he wanted to say something else but chose against it. “I hope today was helpful, Miss Pearl. I’ll leave a note for Dr. Omar about our visit.”
“Thanks.” I hesitated by the door. I’d only known him for an hour and I wanted to wrap myself in his arms. I wondered what he looked like without his thick glasses. “And um . . . Blythe. You can call me Blythe, even though I won’t be here long. You know, I’m kind of a ghost.” I shrugged. “See ya.”
I left Dr. Cove with a pensive expression across his stubbled face. The moment the door clicked, I felt both relief and sadness. What would have happened if this weren’t my life. If I’d just met Dr. Cove in a bar, or in college. I’d considered studying social work before I had to run. Maybe he and I could have been friends. Or maybe more . . . I silenced that small, insignificant piece of my heart.
If I kept moving it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
And maybe dancing was the sort of movement I needed right now.
CHAPTER 2
Ames
JACK THE STALKER
People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk.
Steven King
It had been eighteen months since my last kill. Nothing excited me anymore. It was getting harder to get my blood pumping. To satiate the gnawing fucking beast in my ribs. Onyx had been throwing me scraps and they weren’t enough, but now . . . Now something may have stumbled right into my office. Something about five foot three inches, as curvaceous as Aphrodite, and with the ripe smell of fear on her breath. It shouldn’t have made my cock twitch. The tremble in her little voice. Her dainty red fingernails pulling at the strings of the cushion. I wondered how they’d look wrapped around my dick. We had an instant chemistry. She felt it. I felt it. I hadn’t met a new woman in . . . a long time. How’d she fly under my radar for months?