Chapter 9
1556 Words
Chapter Nine
The Voice in the Dark
The gunshot echoed through the abandoned bus station.
Emma felt Ghost’s arm tighten around her.
“Stay down.”
“I’m down.”
“Don’t move.”
She could barely see him in the darkness.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Then she heard it again.
A whisper.
“Emma…”
Her blood turned cold.
“Ryder…”
“I’m here.”
“No.”
She grabbed his arm.
“Someone said my name.”
“I heard it.”
The emergency lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then came back on.
Marcus Vale was gone.
So was the box.
Emma stared at the empty space where he’d been standing.
“Where did he go?”
Ghost immediately checked the exits.
“Bishop!”
No answer.
He pulled out his phone.
Nothing.
“No signal.”
Emma looked around.
“Ghost…”
“What?”
“The notebook.”
He turned.
The red notebook was still lying on the floor.
Emma rushed toward it.
Ghost grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“Because someone wanted us to find it.”
He carefully kicked it toward himself.
Nothing happened.
He picked it up.
The cover was old and cracked.
On the front were three initials.
T.B.
Emma’s breath caught.
“Thomas Brooks.”
Her father’s initials.
Ghost opened the notebook.
The first pages contained names.
Dates.
Locations.
Payments.
Then Emma saw a familiar name.
Silas Callahan.
Below it:
Marcus Vale.
And finally:
Ryder Callahan.
Her heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Ghost flipped through the pages.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t.”
He stopped at a page near the middle.
There was one sentence written across it.
Ryder was never supposed to know.
Emma looked at him.
“Know what?”
Ghost stared at the words.
“I think my father was keeping something from me.”
“Something about Cole?”
“Something about you.”
She swallowed.
“What?”
Before he could answer, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Ghost immediately raised his weapon.
“Who’s there?”
A familiar voice answered.
“Don’t shoot.”
Bishop stepped into view.
Ghost lowered his gun.
“Where the hell were you?”
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw somebody leave.”
“Who?”
Bishop’s face was grim.
“Marcus.”
Ghost stiffened.
“Where?”
“North entrance.”
“Did you follow him?”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
Ghost cursed under his breath.
Emma looked at Bishop.
“Did you hear the voice?”
“What voice?”
“The one calling my name.”
Bishop’s expression changed.
“What did it say?”
“My name.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head.
Bishop looked at Ghost.
“That’s not possible.”
“What?”
Bishop hesitated.
“Your father’s voice was on the recording, right?”
Emma nodded.
“Then maybe…”
He stopped.
Ghost stared at him.
“Maybe what?”
Bishop swallowed.
“Maybe somebody has another recording.”
⸻
They returned to the clubhouse just before midnight.
The red notebook sat on Ghost’s desk.
Nobody touched it.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Emma broke the silence.
“Open it.”
Ghost looked at her.
“You sure?”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“But I’m tired of being afraid of what’s inside.”
Ghost opened the notebook.
The first several pages were financial records.
Then names.
Then dates.
Then something that made Emma’s stomach twist.
A map.
Three locations were circled.
The Iron Saints clubhouse.
The old mill.
And her childhood home.
Ghost leaned closer.
“These are all connected.”
Emma pointed at the final location.
“Why my house?”
“That’s where your father lived.”
“Before he died.”
Ghost nodded.
Bishop looked at the map.
“There’s a fourth location.”
Emma frowned.
“Where?”
Bishop pointed to a tiny mark in the corner.
“The cemetery.”
Ghost looked at him.
“Your father’s grave.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“Why would that be marked?”
Bishop turned the page.
A single sentence had been written beneath the map.
What was buried wasn’t Thomas.
Emma stared.
“What does that mean?”
Ghost didn’t answer.
Bishop did.
“It means your father’s grave may not contain his body.”
Emma felt dizzy.
“No.”
Ghost caught her arm.
“Emma.”
“No.”
She pulled away.
“My father was buried.”
“I know.”
“I saw the casket.”
“Emma—”
“I was there.”
Her voice broke.
“I watched them bury him.”
Bishop lowered his head.
“There are ways to fake a death.”
She looked at him.
“Are you saying my father might be alive?”
Nobody answered.
That silence was enough.
⸻
Three hours later, Emma couldn’t sleep.
She wandered into the clubhouse kitchen.
Ghost was sitting alone at the table.
He looked exhausted.
She poured herself a glass of water.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I.”
She sat across from him.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then she asked,
“Did you really love me?”
Ghost looked up.
“Yes.”
“Even after I left?”
“Especially after.”
She looked down.
“Why didn’t you come after me?”
“Because I thought I’d get you killed.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
She swallowed.
“Did you ever stop loving me?”
He shook his head.
“Not once.”
Her eyes filled.
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to say things like that after everything.”
“I know.”
She laughed softly through her tears.
“You really only have three answers, don’t you?”
“What?”
“I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”
Ghost’s mouth twitched.
“Those are usually the important ones.”
She looked at him.
“You forgot one.”
“What?”
“I’m scared.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
This time she didn’t get angry.
Instead, she reached across the table.
Her fingers touched his.
He looked down.
Then back at her.
Neither moved.
Finally, Ghost turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered, “I’m not leaving you again.”
Emma squeezed his hand.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I intend to.”
She smiled faintly.
Then the clubhouse lights flickered.
Both of them looked up.
The lights went out.
Ghost immediately stood.
“Stay here.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Ghost drew his weapon.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a voice.
“Ryder.”
Ghost froze.
Emma knew that voice.
Cole.
The hallway remained dark.
Ghost moved toward it.
Cole spoke again.
“Come alone.”
Ghost looked back at Emma.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“I have to.”
“You’re not going alone.”
Cole’s voice came through the darkness.
“Emma can come.”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because she deserves to know.”
A pause.
Then:
“Bring the red notebook.”
Ghost looked at Emma.
She nodded.
He picked it up.
Together, they walked into the darkness.
At the end of the hallway, the back door stood open.
A motorcycle engine roared outside.
Ghost stopped.
Pinned to the door was a photograph.
Emma pulled it free.
Her hands began to shake.
It was a picture of her father.
Standing beside a young Cole.
And behind them…
was Emma.
A little girl.
Maybe eight years old.
She stared at the photograph.
“I don’t remember this.”
Ghost looked at the date.
His face went pale.
“Neither do I.”
Emma turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were six words:
YOUR FATHER WAS PROTECTING YOU.
Then, beneath them, in different handwriting:
FROM HIS OWN FAMILY.
Emma looked at Ghost.
“My father was protecting me from your family.”
Ghost stared at the photograph.
“My father…”
His voice broke.
“…may have been protecting both of us.”
A motorcycle engine roared in the distance.
Cole was leaving.
Ghost grabbed his helmet.
“We’re going to the mill.”
Emma followed.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because Cole just gave us the one thing we needed.”
“What?”
“A reason to stop running.”
Ghost started the motorcycle.
Emma climbed behind him.
This time, when she wrapped her arms around his waist, she didn’t hesitate.
And as they disappeared into the darkness toward the old mill, neither of them noticed the figure standing across the road.
Watching.
Waiting.
Holding a second red notebook.
One that contained a single name.
EMMA BROOKS.
And beneath it:
TARGET: ACTIVE.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD