Page 53 of Ghost Hunted

“No, she’s not.”

“She tried to end you with a bazooka, didn’t she?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t matter. She didn’t, and I can take a bazooka, anyway. I can handle it, Damien.”

“Right. Sure. I mean, you’d just die, but…”

“That’s fine. I deserve to die, anyway.” My voice breaks.

“Yeah, well, given how much you’ve gone behind my back recently for her sake, I’m pretty sure you don’t want Piper to die.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to answer.

“And that bazooka wouldn’t only have killed you, would it? The whole fucking place would have been blown to smithereens.”

“Damien, I…”

“And she didn’t shoot this time, but she could have. Right?”

“I…” I suck in a few breaths. “I won’t let her. I won’t let her have any weapons or anything. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Well, what would you do?” I question desperately.

“I’d probably keep her trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey.”

“Damien!”

“What? There’s no way you can keep an eye on her all the time. Where is she right now, for instance?”

“Oh.” I pause, the words sinking in. “Fuck!”

This time, I do throw my phone, though it’s out of panic, not anger. Then I open the door, or try to. It’s locked.

“Fuck. Lia!”

I can’t hear a sound inside. I know she didn’t leave the room. There’s no other door but the one I’ve been posted outside of.

“Lia! Open the door, please!”

Nothing.

Terror seizing me, I kick the door repeatedly, until it gives way with a loud cracking sound.

Lia’s standing in the center of the room, turned away from me, wearing only the t-shirt and panties she went to bed with. And in the reflection of the mirror, I see she’s holding… a pair of scissors.

Fuck!

She’s positioned the scissors so the tip is pointing at her stomach. She holds it about two feet away from her, before slowly but surely… driving it in.

“Stop! Lia!”

I rush at her, latching onto the scissors with one hand, but she’s surprisingly strong. I don’t even think before I shove my other hand between her and the blade, shielding her from it as she pushes it in.

Sheer adrenaline keeps me from feeling any pain at first. I see blood dripping down, and whip her away from me, my eyes not even meeting her glazed-over ones. I rip off her shirt, searching for any sign she’s injured.

But the blood comes from me.