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Six Years Paying For A Ghost

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 931    |    Released on: Today at 14:07

Coope

e to my apartment in his workout clo

cheek. He didn't a

ght to the phone on

er to Bryson?" he asked,

r over the back of a stool. "I need

ed and cross

rouble, Cassie. Wha

ryson is t

rying that moral superiority he had rehearsed so often it came out smoot

out of the paper bag and

he patisserie on the other side

wn at the p

on the lid sai

picked this up after rolling ar

d bout of pneumonia, I deve

in the emergency room when the

e bite of mango would swell my

said, and didn'

mer sublet," Kellan said, watching me. "You know your s

trace of sarcasm in it. "I'll have it all

th, relieved at how e

my shoulder from above, the

Bryson finishes school, w

on my finger - the one he had bo

e up for what happened, C

I said, and held his ey

h and grabbed his k

al real estate broker in the nort

won

humming something under h

Crumb and dropped it in the bin u

bag, locked the door

e door of Marcus Vance's offi

esk and gestured to the lea

ou could move a

arcus. I'm ready to cros

document acros

r's contract for ou

ance in Kensington, and full authority

ight to the s

blue ink. My hand did not sha

on board wants you at your desk Monday morning. Which mea

" I pushed the f

iancé? Will he be

id. "I'm g

rt man and never asked abou

dollars in relocation to your over

you,

ment I stepped out o

fat

d the elevator

didn't bother with a greeting. "Effie and

t a dealership?" I ste

n yesterday. He needs something reliable for his last semester. Effie has picked out a certified

n as gu

y. Your credit is excellent. If you don't help him, how is he supposed to get to class? If Kinsley were still here,

d used that line on me do

dealership on my lunch

be late. Bryson has lunch

o my desk, and filed for

pecialized in fast all-cash

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Six Years Paying For A Ghost
Six Years Paying For A Ghost
“That rainy night I was in a car wreck with my stepsister. Only I came out alive. Kinsley vanished in that pileup, and I became the scapegoat the whole city could point at, carrying all of it. Then yesterday, a routine audit at work turned up the truth - she never died. I followed the trail to her new address and found her living in a house with a yard. Beside her were my fiancé and their three-year-old daughter. In the children's photography studio she runs, my father and stepmother were laughing over coffee, dressed in things my salary paid for. Then the fiancé who had postponed our wedding again and again to make me "atone" walked in and bent down to kiss Kinsley. "Daddy!" the little girl crowed, and threw herself into his arms. For six years they watched me drive a car that stalled at every light and hand over eighty percent of my income every month to pay down their debts. They turned my survivor's guilt into a business. They let me believe I was a killer, and bled me dry to fund a life they could never show anyone. I didn't scream. I didn't walk in and confront them. Instead I quietly accepted the executive posting to London, liquidated every apartment in my name, and drove the engagement ring straight through Kinsley's smiling face in that photograph.”