The Ghost’s Obsession

4

RAVEN

I froze, my eyes locked on the name stitched across his chest.

GHOST.

The dream flashed through my mind so vividly my fingers tightened around the edge of the door. The man noticed where I was looking and gave a short, almost embarrassed laugh.

"It's just a nickname, miss."

His voice was deeper than I'd expected, calm rather than threatening, but something about not being able to see his face behind the mask and dark safety glasses unsettled me.

"I'm the maintenance technician," he added, lifting the toolbox in his hand as though it explained everything.

He must have noticed the hesitation written all over my face because he reached into his pocket and produced an employee ID.

James Garfield.

The photograph showed the same broad shoulders, but without the mask I could finally understand why he wore one. A jagged scar stretched from his jaw to his cheekbone, the skin pale and uneven, as if chemicals had burned it years ago.

Heat crept into my face.

Here I was judging him when he was probably just trying not to frighten people.

He seemed to read the guilt on my expression because he removed his mask and glasses completely.

"My face tends to make people uncomfortable," he said with a small shrug. "Occupational hazard. People usually stare a little longer than you did." He smiled behind the scar. "Don't worry. I get it."

The comment only made me feel worse. "No... that's okay."

Stepping aside, I held the door open. "You can come in."

He thanked me with a nod before slipping his mask back into place. The moment he entered, he paused. His head tilted slightly. "It smells like something burned."

My stomach tightened. "The rat."

He looked over.

"It got electrocuted in the bathtub."

"I see." There wasn't an ounce of surprise in his voice.

"My guess is the water heater shorted out. I'll replace the wiring while I'm here."He set his toolbox on the floor before glancing toward me again. "And don't worry. Nothing else will be dying in that bathroom."

Something about the way he said it made my skin prickle. I forced myself to nod."It's through there."

He looked at me for a second, almost as if expecting me to follow. When I didn't move, he simply shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

Minutes crawled by.By the time half an hour had passed, I started wondering whether he'd somehow passed out there.

I finally walked over and knocked. "Mr. Garfield?"

No answer. I slowly pushed the door open. He was kneeling beside the bathtub, packing his tools.

He glanced up only briefly. "I apologize for whoever installed this unit." His gloved hand tapped the heater.

"The wiring was exposed behind the panel. If you'd stepped into the water while it was running..." He looked at the dead rat sealed inside a garbage bag. "You'd be the one in that bag."

A cold spread through my chest. He hadn't said it to frighten me. If anything, he'd sounded almost... matter-of-fact.

The blood. The fur. The filthy water. Even the smell had disappeared.

"The new heater switches automatically," he continued. "You won't need to touch it anymore."

"I... appreciate it."

Although, if I was being honest, I wasn't sure I'd ever step into that bathtub again.

"I'll also place a few bait stations around the apartment," he said, closing his toolbox. "Mostly behind the refrigerator, under the sink, and behind large furniture. Just try not to move them. If the rodents are getting in through the walls, we'll know within a day or two."

That sounded... normal. Comfortingly normal.

He crossed the living room before stopping in front of the balcony. His eyes lingered on the chair wedged beneath the handle. "You should have this lock replaced." He gently tested the handle. "It doesn't catch properly."

I folded my arms. "Can you fix it?"

"Tomorrow." He straightened.

"I don't have the replacement hardware with me today. If it's urgent, you can hire someone privately ."

"I'll wait."

He nodded once. "Keep the chair against the balcony tonight."

For some reason, hearing that made me feel slightly better. "Have a good day, Miss Raven."

"You too."

The apartment suddenly felt quieter after the door closed.

*

I spent the next few minutes making a list of everything else that needed fixing. The kitchen sink was draining slower than it should.

One of the bedroom sockets sparked whenever I plugged something into it. The hallway light flickered every few seconds. I sent the list to Mr. Martins, who replied almost immediately.

James will take care of everything tomorrow.

Setting my phone aside, I collapsed onto the bed. That's when something caught my eye.

My tactical pen. It rested neatly on the nightstand.

I frowned. I was almost certain I'd left it inside my backpack. Had I taken it out earlier?

I honestly couldn't remember. Shaking the thought away, I slid it into the bedside drawer and focused on unpacking the boxes I'd ordered.

By the time I'd folded the last shirt, my stomach growled loudly enough to make me laugh. I hadn't eaten since yesterday.

After a quick shower, I caught the bus to the nearest supermarket. The trip itself felt strangely... freeing.

I'd never gone grocery shopping alone before. Not in the orphanage. Not while working for William. Someone had always been watching me. Telling me where to go, telling me what to buy, how long I could stay and now, the choices were mine.

I grabbed bread, eggs, instant noodles, rice, chicken breasts, fruit, bottled water, milk, coffee, canned tomatoes, cooking oil, and enough seasonings to last a month before rewarding myself with a hot meat pie and a chilled bottle of malt while walking the aisles.

For the first ten minutes, it almost felt like an ordinary afternoon. I stood in front of six different brands of coffee for almost a minute. Nobody hurried me along. Nobody told me which one to pick. It felt ridiculous how foreign that freedom was.

But then the feeling started. That unmistakable sensation of being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright. I glanced over my shoulder.

Nothing.

A woman comparing cereal brands. A father arguing with his toddler over chocolate. An employee stocking shelves. No one was watching.

But then I turned another corner and the feeling followed, stronger this time. Someone was behind me. I spun around. Nobody. Yet my heartbeat refused to listen to reason.

By the time I reached the checkout, my hands were trembling so badly I almost dropped my wallet.

The moment I stepped outside, I abandoned the idea of taking the bus home. I ordered a cab instead. The ride felt endless.

When I finally reached Sterling Towers, I hurried toward my apartment, grocery bags cutting into my fingers. Just as I reached my floor, another apartment door clicked open.

The man who had sliced my wrist the day before stepped into the hallway.

His back was to me.

He was tall, broad, and athletic. Without looking back, he locked his door and walked toward the stairwell.

For reasons I couldn't explain, I stood there watching until he disappeared. Only then did I unlock my own apartment.

I had barely set the groceries on the kitchen counter when my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number. A slow chill crept through me as I opened the message.

‘You smiled when you saw the strawberries. You should've bought them too.’

The grocery bag slipped from my hand. Apples rolled across the kitchen floor. My apartment suddenly felt much too small.