Page 88 of Ghost Hunted

But then my brain glitches again.

Redheads don’t wear pink. But she chose it… doesn’t she look sweet?

Another glitch, just as I try to make sense of that image.

I don’t blame you for that. I blame you for fucking and marrying the first man who wasn’t me.

“Ahh!” I gasp, struggling against the bonds as the visions torture me.

Don’t take her from me. Please! Don’t take her from me!

Tears are streaming down my cheeks now. I can’t handle the images, but I can’t escape them. They push down on me, choking me.

I’ll never leave you, ghost girl.

“Logan!” I scream. “Logan! Save me! Logan!”

I’m far too out of it to do more than vaguely make out the sound of scuffling outside. Then, through my tears, a hazy, warped vision appears.

I blink them away until I can see him. It’s him. A tan, brown-haired man, with dangerous eyes.

“Logan,” I moan.

His eyes widen for the space of a second, but he doesn’t react more than that, hurrying to me, trying to undo the bonds that are tying me to the table.

“Look out!” I cry. “The black hole… look out!”

But the black hole doesn’t try to stop him from freeing me. He takes out a large object, and then I feel a sharp blade against my right ankle, where the dotted marks had been made before.

It’s an axe.

“Fuck!”

Logan falls on the other guy, and together they tussle, a mishmash of limbs and fists. I can’t tell who’s winning the fight. But I see the metal glint of the axe as they fight over it. And then Logan goes crashing down, his face oddly grey.

Anxiety overwhelms me. Logan untied enough of my bonds that I manage to wriggle out of them. I jump on the black hole’s back, squeezing his neck with one hand, my legs twisting around his waist as I try to wrest the axe from him. He’s far stronger than me, but adrenaline gives me the strength to cling on. Still, it’s not enough. So I find a bare stretch of skin on his neck, and bite down.

A shout leaves his usually mute lips. I bite harder, feeling a chunk of skin rip off. Blood fills my mouth, and I spit out the flesh. He reaches a hand to his neck, howling again when he feels the gaping hole.

Then he takes a swing at me, and I crash backward against the table, losing consciousness again.

_

“Lia. Lia!”

I blink awake, groaning in pain. “It… hurts, Logan…”

Then, I wake up all the way, and bite my lip. I’m back to complaining about a surface wound—about a bump on my head—despite the fact that Logan’s pain is so much worse. He stands above me, his shirt drenched in blood. “You’re hurt, Logan.”

“Shh, baby. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but you.”

I struggle into a half-sitting position and take stock of my surroundings. I’m back in Logan’s room, but not in the cage. It’s in the corner of the room, its bars sawed off.

I remember when the black hole sawed them off. I remember when he took me. I remember everything.

“Logan…”

“Good girl.” He grabs the hand I’m reaching out to him, and kisses my palm. “You remembered my name. I saw you didn’t write it a single time, but you remembered it all the same. I’m very proud of you.”