The Ghost In His House

The doorbell rang at 7:00 a.m., and Ethan Cole almost dropped his gun. In two years, nobody had rung that bell. Not friends, not family nor even the mailman, so he checked the gate camera and saw a young woman who stood in the morning light, holding one small bag, wearing a plain blue dress. She looked straight into the lens and smiled, calm and bright like she'd come to a party she knew he'd forgotten. “Wrong house”, he thought. He walked to the courtyard and looked at her through the iron bars. "Can I help you?" "Good morning, Mr. Cole. I'm here about the housekeeper job." "I didn't post a job." "You should have." She glanced past him. "Your fountain has a dead plant, your porch lamp is cracked and your windows haven't been washed since spring." Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You noticed all that in ten seconds?" "Eleven seconds." He nearly laughed. He folded his arms instead. "Fine. Let's interview you right here." Her smile widened. "I'd love that." Mia stood with her hands folded, her back straight, her heart perfectly slow. She had rehearsed this moment for three weeks and she knew his file by heart. “Ethan Cole, thirty. FBI. Hard, cold and brilliant.” The man in front of her wore a wrinkled shirt and looked like he hadn't slept in days. He wasn't cold at all though he looked like someone trying very hard to be. “Don't like him”, she warned herself. “He is a door. You walk through it.” "Name?" he asked. "Mia Carter." "Age?" "Twenty-four." "Why should I trust you?" "You shouldn't." She said it lightly. "Trust is earned. I'd like to start earning it." His mouth twitched. He was enjoying this and she could tell. "All right," he said. "You're alone in my house. You find an envelope on my desk with your name on it. Do you open it?" Mia let one second pass. "No." "Why not?" "Because if it's mine, you'll give it to me. And if you don't, it means you weren't ready." She tilted her head. "I'd rather keep your trust than read your secrets." Ethan went quiet. It was a perfect answer. It was also the most dangerous lie she had ever told, and it tasted like ash. "New question," he said, slower now. "You find a gun under my bed." "I dust around it." "You don't tell anyone?" "Who would I tell?" she said softly. "A house keeps secrets better than people. That's why people let strangers in." Something flickered across his face and she felt it. A tiny c***k. "Last question," he said. "Why do you want this job?" Mia opened her mouth. She had a perfect answer, polished for weeks but her voice came out different. "Because I've never had a home. Only other people's so, I thought if I looked after one well enough, it might start to feel like mine." The words fell into the silence like stones. She hadn't planned them, she wanted to snatch them back. Nobody in the Black Circle would forgive her for telling the truth. Ethan looked at her for a long moment. His face was unreadable. "You passed the test," he said. Her heart jumped. "But I'm not hiring you." Mia's smile stayed exactly where it was. Inside, everything cracked. “No. No, I can't go back without this. They said failure has a price.” Her mother's face rose in her mind, thin and gray and far away. "I'm sorry," Ethan said. And he was, which surprised him. "You're very good but I like being alone. I've been alone a long time and it's easier." "Of course, Mr. Cole." Her voice didn't shake. She was proud of that. "Thank you for your time." She lifted her bag, turned and walked toward the gate. “Think. Think, Say something. Anything.” Her hand touched the cold iron and she said the only thing she could. "Mr. Cole?" Ethan had already turned to go. He stopped. "Your house is very clean." He frowned. "Is that a problem?" "No." She didn't look back. "It's just that only people who are waiting for someone keep a house that clean." The courtyard went silent. Ethan didn't move. He couldn't because the words went straight through him like a blade. “Six years.” Six years since Daniel died and still, some mornings, he put two cups on the table. He told himself it was habit. He never told anyone. Not Marcus, not his supervisor. Not a soul. "Good luck with the plant," she said softly and walked out. She had gone four steps down the road when he heard his own voice, rough and strange. "Mia." She stopped. "Come back." She turned. She looked stunned, hopeful and terrified all at once. It was the first honest expression he had seen on her face. "Three months' trial," Ethan said. "Room and board. Don't go into the basement." "Yes, sir." "Ethan." "Yes, Ethan." She smiled, tiny and shaking. And for one bright second, the whole gray morning seemed lighter. In the small room at the end of the east hall, Mia locked the door. She checked the vent. The lamp, the smoke detector. She found three tiny cameras and killed them with a silver pick from her hair. Only then did she sit on the bed and let her hands tremble. “I'm in.” She knelt and slid open the false bottom of her bag. Beneath her clothes lay a plastic ID card, a few crumpled papers and a folded note. The ID showed a laughing girl with red hair. “HANNAH BRIGHT. Domestic Placement Agency.” Mia's stomach twisted. The Black Circle had sent two girls to this gate. One real applicant, nineteen years old, who thought she was going to a job interview and one assassin who needed the job more. “Only one gets through”, her handler had said. “The other is a loose end.” Mia had met Hannah on the road at dawn. They had shared a bus seat. Hannah had told a bad joke and Mia, who hadn't laughed in years, had laughed. It had taken less than a minute. Afterward, Mia had taken Hannah's bag and rewritten the references in her own name. She'd used the agency's letterhead. She'd forged the signatures and in one hour, a nineteen-year-old girl had become a name no one would ever look for. Now, with shaking fingers, she unfolded the note from Hannah's bag. “Mama, if I get this job, I'll finally pay for your surgery. Don't worry, I'll be home soon. Love, Hannah.” The paper blurred. Mia pressed the letter to her chest. Her whole body shook, silent and awful. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Her phone buzzed under the pillow. “Well done. Hannah will not be found.” Then a second line. “First order: get into the basement. Seven days. Your mother is counting.” Mia stared at the screen until the words went dark. She wiped her face. She slid the letter and the ID under the mattress, then she stood, straightened her dress and smoothed her hair. Then, from somewhere above her, she heard a voice. The vent in her ceiling ran straight through the floor of Ethan's study. It carried every sound, low and clear. She froze. A chair scraped. A long, tired breath. Then Ethan's voice, quiet and rough, speaking to an empty room. "I don't care how long it takes. I don't care where you're hiding." A pause. "I will find you, Ghost." Mia stood in the dark with her hand against her mouth. Then she looked up at the ceiling, at the small square vent and she whispered so softly that no one on earth could have heard. "I'm already here."