Walking back through the living room, she notices a row of three framed photos, all at 45-degree angles, each spaced from the other with equidistant precision, all in the exact same frame: A beautiful blonde woman, probably Italian, holding a newborn baby in her arms; two men in foreign uniform in front of a military base, under a sign written in a language she didn’t recognize; a pale, snaggle-toothed toddler with curly reddish-brown hair, smiling against a light-gray studio backdrop.
She takes the bottom part of her sleeve and pulls it down over her hand, picking up the photo of Ghost’s son. She smiles. She places it back on the table, then moves to the kitchen. A pile of dirty dishes rests in the sink. Next to the messy kitchen is a small table with two place settings, each arranged as if an elegant dinner were about to be served. A bright yellow-and-black book titled “Home-Schooling for Dummies” rests on the chair just next to the table.
She turns around and walks to the desk next to the window. The computer is open but asleep. Again, she pulls her sleeve out to cover her hand and she clicks on one of the keys. It awakens.
Confess. I have the letter, she reads on the open Internet window.
She glances above the body of the email to see the address of the sender.
She moves the mouse to the “sent folder” and clicks. A bevy of emails sent to Frenchy228 appear, one after the other.
Just as she’s about to click on the first email, she hears footsteps climbing stairs echoing through the hallway outside. Lily moves the mouse over the top of the screen to put the computer to sleep. The screen does not fade. She stands up and walks out the door and into the hall. She peeks out over the stairwell just in time to see the wiry hair of the man she had come here to confront, making his way up the steps very quickly. Too quickly.
She goes back to the door, almost closes it and knocks on it, as if she’s just arrived.
“Mr. Morrell? Are you there?” She begins to enter again just as Ghost arrives at the door.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” He barges in, switching places with her in the process.
“Yes. Are you Mr. Morrell?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Lilith McGuire of the Seventh Precinct,” she says, flashing her badge. “I’m sorry to bother you. We were just doing some follow-up on a Mr. Lennox Holcomb and wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Lenny? Of course, come on in.” Ghost turns on the single ceiling light. “I’m just in and out today, I only have a few minutes.”
“Oh, this won’t take long. I really appreciate it.”
Lily enters and looks over at the computer. It is still glowing. She looks for Ghost and finds him in the kitchen, washing dishes in the sink.
“I’m sorry. We’re not used to guests,” he says, turning on the kitchen faucet.
She walks away from the sightline of the computer, so when Ghost looks at her, he will not see the evidence that she has already been in his apartment.
“We?” She plays dumb.
“Yes, my son and I live here. He’s at school right now.”
Lie, she thinks, remembering the yellow-and-black book.
“Oh? How old is he?”
“He’s ten.”
She looks at the computer, which has gone black. She exhales.
“Ten. That’s such a precocious age, isn’t it?”
She sees three bags of heroin on the bookcase. She recognizes the logo, walks over and picks one up with her sleeve-covered hand.
“Yes, it is,” Ghost says, chuckling. “Very much so.”
“And how about his mother?” She runs the bag along the edge of the bookcase.
Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns off the faucet and turns around to find Lily holding the bag of heroin with a ghost emblem on it. He drops a dishtowel in the sink with such force that it knocks over a small pile of plates. “Why did you come here, Ms. McGuire?”
Lily jumps, but continues to hold the bag of heroin. “Where is your son, Mr. Morrell?”
“I took him to the airport to fly him to my brother overseas.”
“Overseas?”
“It’s none of your business where I took my son, bitch.”
Lily moves her hand to her gun. A loud voice from her belt echoes through the room.
“12-42 for 7-28. Requesting 10-7. Repeat 10-7.”
Fuck, she thinks. They can’t find me. She realizes her mistake.
“Actually, sir, let’s calm down,” she says, turning down her radio. In the same motion, she clicks her call button three times, hoping dispatch will figure out she means Building C. She then reaches to make sure she has quick access to the gun if she needs it. “I only want to know about your relationship with Lennox Holcomb.”
Still dressed in damp clothes, Ghost tries to make himself look comfortable by picking up the dishtowel and wiping his hands. He gently places it on the counter.
“Ah, the saga of Bastien and Lennox.” He yanks a chair out from underneath the kitchen table and sits. He interlocks his hands and pounds them on the table. He takes a breath to calm himself down. “Well, Lenny was an addict. A whore of an addict. One of my best customers, if not the best. When he stopped using, hell, dealing and using, it kinda fucked me. I mean, I got a son to support.”
Armed with little knowledge of what may or may not be happening in this moment, Ghost begins to think through his responses. “I may have overreacted a bit, threatened him, scared him and his friends a little. It was a hard time for me. Shit. He threatened me back, told me he’d written a letter identifying me, saying if anything happened to him, he’d hidden the letter someplace secure, and it would lead everyone directly to me.”
“So when something did happen to him, why didn’t you run?”
“That’s where the saga takes an interesting turn. You see, I got clean. I mean, really clean. I got a whole year under my belt. No drugs, no dealing,
