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He shifted, cleaver in hand, his bones cracking as he moved. In my pale-faced terror, he looked confused.
"She went missing, remember? The police searched your aunt's neighborhood. You went to comfort her. It was just before October and made the news. Some thought she'd been dismembered."
"What?"
My face paled even more.
James leaned in, touching my forehead with his free hand, his eyes full of concern.
"Honey, you've been off lately. What's wrong?"
Cold sweat soaked my back.
"Earlier, when you came in, she was right beside me. Didn't you see her?"
"She said she'd take me out. You asked what I was doing."
He frowned.
"When I got back, you were muttering to yourself and gesturing wildly. It freaked me out, so I asked what you were up to."
"She was closest to you. Maybe she's come for you."
"My grandma said those who die violently seek their closest kin. Honey, are you seeing ghosts?"
I trembled and fled the kitchen.
Who was the ghost?
Who was telling the truth?
The living room was empty—no Sarah. The bathroom, bedroom—nothing.
Her bag was gone too.
Fear consumed me. I fumbled for my phone and searched for news.
"Willow Creek Woman Missing Since Sept.28, Still Not Found! Experts Suspect Familiar Perpetrator"
The article showed Sarah's photo: beige coat, brown pants, a small bow on the sleeve—exactly what she wore today!
Shaking, I searched for cliff accidents.
"Shock! Oct.2, Man Falls to Death Scaling Pine Ridge Cliff to Avoid Park Fee"
Panic overwhelmed me.
James and Sarah were dead—and both wanted me dead!
What could I do?
The chopping resumed outside, each thwack rattling my eardrums.
I couldn't wait.
We were on the fourth floor. I could climb down using the AC unit and pipes.
But then what? No ID, no money. If I told the police I saw ghosts, they'd think I was crazy.
ID, bank cards—James kept them, never let me touch them. I didn't know where they were, but I had to search.
It was evening, the sky dark, a faint red crescent moon hanging low.
The old lamp cast a dim glow.
Wonton aroma seeped through the door, scallions teasing my nose.
My hand paused. I turned, and James stood silently behind me.
"Honey, what are you looking for?"
I froze. He grabbed my hand, sat me at the table before a steaming bowl of wontons.
Green scallions floated in the broth, the thin skins nearly transparent, pink filling plump inside. The rich scent filled my senses.
It was mouthwatering.
But I was terrified.
James pressed chopsticks into my hand.
"Eat. Why aren't you eating?"
My hand shook. Under his urging, I tried to pick up a wonton, but it slipped, the skin tearing, clouding the broth.
James's face darkened.
In my panicked gaze, he lifted a wonton to my lips.
"Here, honey, open."
I opened my mouth mechanically. The chewy pork and fragrant skin burst with savory juice—a delight turned nightmare.
The meat felt like it had tiny hooks, lodging in my throat.
James was already lifting another...
