Page 76 of Ghost Hunted

It’s a black mask, so black that its features are barely distinguishable. A Puicin mask. Lia’s right—it looks exactly like a black hole.

Somehow, the police must have overlooked it, probably because it’s been blown quite a distance from the rubble.

I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. It’s a lot heavier than I would have thought, made of thick metal molded into the features of a face.

“They were here.” Damien states the obvious as he stares at the mask. “That mask must have been blown out of the building from the force of the explosion. I guess we’re not the only ones smart enough to know how to trace a bazooka-wielding girl.”

“Damien.” I grit my teeth in exasperation at his unseriousness, before fear takes hold of me. “Do you think it means… they got to her first?”

“No.” He shakes his head with certainty, and even though I have no idea how he reached that conclusion, I let it reassure me. “If they had, they wouldn’t have abandoned this mask. They may have found her, but they’re dead. They’re among the bodies the police transported out of the building.”

“Yeah.” I stare at the police still milling around the building.

“What are you going to do with that?” questions Damien, glancing down at my hands.

I look down too, at the mask I’m still holding firmly in my hands.

“Well…” I hesitate. “I’m not entirely sure.”

_

“I don’t know about this, Logan. It strikes me as kind of a stupid idea.”

“Well, fuck it. I think I look good.”

“Yeah, I didn’t say you didn’t, but… damn, don’t look at me, man. You’re creeping me out.”

“I just don’t want her to recognize me. If she does, she’ll go running in the opposite direction or shoot me with that motherfucking bazooka of hers. Which I wouldn’t mind, but it means I won’t be able to stick her in my cage.”

“I gotta say, man, that cage is really doing wonders for you. It’s like Prozac or something. I haven’t seen you looking so cheerful in a while.”

“The mask helps too.” I drum my fingers against the object I’ve just removed from my face and stuffed into the front of my pants, because it’s far too bulky to fit in one of my pockets. Oh, well. It’ll have the smell of my cock on it. Maybe that’ll jog her memory and remind her of exactly what kind of man she’s trying to run from.

“Yeah, about that mask,” says Damien. “Lia won’t recognize you, you idiot, because she’s lost her memory. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be on the run, shooting up places with her rocket launcher. But since she’s hunting for Jane, that means she remembers her, which means she remembers them. The masked bikers. She’s going to freak out.”

“Good. I want her to be scared. I want her to be helpless. I want her to be mine.”

Damien shakes his head. “You know, sometimes it scares me how well I understand you... shit!”

A siren wails out, and the sound of scurrying footsteps tells me that once more, we’re too late.

Not because Lia’s escaped again. But because the police have gotten to her first.

22

Lia

“You have exactly three seconds to give me that file. Three… two…”

“Okay, okay!”

The pudgy man with his toothbrush moustache raises shaking hands to the sky, speaking English with a thick French accent. “Please, please. I’ll tell you. Just give me a second. Give me a second to think. Oh, putain de merde…”

“No swearing,” I tell him, nudging my bazooka at his chest. “Not even in French. I’ll start the countdown again. Three… Two…”

“Okay! Fuck! I mean... Darn! I mean… Please tell me the name again. Please. I’ll find the file.”

Large tears squeeze out of his eyes, giving me a sudden feeling of déjà-vu. Vaguely, I remember someone who liked tears. But I can’t think who it was. It’s probably just one of those strange dreams that have been haunting me lately. I cast the thought aside.