Chapter Text
You thanked the prison guards as they opened the interview room for you, your shaky hands hidden behind your back.
If they knew how scared you were, they probably wouldn’t let you do this anymore, so you had to put up a good front.
You can’t fuck this up, after so many years, so much efforts deployed for this to happen.
You adjusted your pencil skirt on your thighs, and advanced slowly towards the chair, your chair.
It was sitting alone, no table or anything, a few meters away from bars. Behind the bars, there was another lone chair, right in front of yours.
Your heart was thundering hard against your chest, wanting to run away from this situation. It wanted to escape and run away, far away from this place and from that man.
You had never seen him before, but you knew who he was. Everyone knew who Ghost was. Ghost, the one man that had spent years terrorising the world.
Ghost wasn’t like any other serial killer. Ghost’s name alone was enough to strike fear into even the strongest. Ghost terrorised the city when he killed and when he didn’t. His silence never meant anything good.
But still, you had to do this. You were writing your thesis on serial killer and what better way to get informations than to go straight to the source?
Honestly, it had been a miracle they’d allowed you to do this. You had to pull so many strings and call out so many favors, but it worked out in the end.
You desperately needed this. You couldn’t mess this up. No matter how much Ghost terrified you, no matter how much you didn’t want to be alone with him in a locked place.
You forced your leg to calm down, not wanting to let any tell of fear or nervousness show in your body language.
Ghost still wasn’t here, and a quick check to your watch showed that you still had 3 minutes to yourself before he was supposed to show up.
You took a huge deep breath, willing your heart to settle inside your ribcage.
The interrogation room, because that’s what it was, was cold and large. It was bare of any decoration, and there were only the two chairs and the bars, as well as the protective glass.
You felt like you were about to meet a dangerous and ruthless animal. Not a human.
The cameras, the mics, the protections, the bars.
It almost felt like a cage.
Fuck I can’t do this.
The door behind the doors opened, and a massive frame, barely fitting in the door, swallowed the entire room in it’s gravitational aura.
You felt your breath hitch at your throat.
You watched Ghost. Your first look at him.
He was big. Huge even. His muscles barely even constrained by his clothes. He still had his mask. Even as a prisoner, Ghost was still the one pulling the strings. He always had the control.
This was a man capable of things unheard of. Things completely inhumane. Your grip tightened over your notebook, and Ghost’s eyes snapped up to that show of nervousness like a hawk, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Fuck. He knew you were scared, and now he was onto you like a shark in bloodied water.
Behind Ghost, four guards. Two at his arms, the other two completely behind, closing the march. Ghost, alone, at the top of the chain, leading the guard behind him like royal guards and he was king.
Ghost’s hands were behind his chest, obviously handcuffed. His arms, pressed and pushed tight against his chest, only made the muscles pop out more, straining against the fabric of his prisoner clothes.
You couldn’t take your eyes off him. And neither could he. He was looking at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes, amused yet bored.
The guards uncuffed him before cuffing him back, his hands in front of him this time, so that he could sit correctly. Ghost let them do as they pleased, and it felt like he could get out of those restraints whenever he wished; that he was merely humoring them by playing along with their little charade.
He sat down on the chair, unbidden, his legs spread far apart, slowly sliding on his back as he sat languidly, like a lion in his savanna, watching over his kingdom with almost bored eyes, because he knew he already owned everything he wanted.
His hands were spread between his knees, and he was the perfect picture of boredness and danger. Everything about him screamed of danger. Red alarms blaring all around him, his aura itself was a warning.
Every single stroke of his body, every single feature of his face, even when he was calm and quiet, spoke of his lethality.
You suddenly felt like a lamb, a sacrificial offer to a furious and insatiable lion. You, with your pencil skirt and your tight white shirt, your round big glasses protecting a set of brown doe eyes, sitting and waiting patiently for him to deign your presence.
He was immobile, yet it still felt like he was stalking you, slowly walking around you, checking you out.
You cracked your cold fingers, the sound loud and reverberating in the vast room.
You couldn’t see Ghost’s expression, but you didn’t need to. You knew he was smirking, a slow languid smile, that went with his bored yet intrigued eyes, watching you intently.
For some reason, you managed to keep up with the eye contact.
He spoke first. “You don’t like eye contact, do you?” He asked, yet still managing to sound bored and uninterested.
Your eyes widened slightly. “How did you know?” You replied, proud of the way your voice didn’t shake much.
Ghost shrugged one shoulder, barely even raising it, as if he was too lazy even just for that. “It’s obvious, my little lamb.”
Your fingers twitched at the humiliating pet name. “Don’t call me that. I have a name.”
“And what is that?” He asked. For some reason, you could clearly see him raise a brow beneath the mask.
“I’m sure you know.”
“Of course. I know everything. But I want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“Oh,” he said, a little surprised, perking up a little straighter on his chair, clearly intrigued.
Ghost was known to never be interested by anything, always apathetic and lethargic towards most things that didn’t directly relate.
You couldn’t tell whether catching his interest was a good or bad thing. What possessed you in that moment to talk to him that way?!
“I’m sor—“
Ghost interrupted you. “Don’t apologise. I don’t want fake politeness. I want you to be true to yourself. Everyone is always so fake, so hypocritical. It gets boring. But you, my little lamb, you’ve caught my attention. Tell me, are you a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Or are you truly just a sheep?”
You opened your mouth to answer, confusion clear on your face, but he shook his head.
“No, don’t answer that. I would rather find out on my own. Though, to be honest, I think I already have my little idea.”
You willed your fingers to stop shaking. “Ghost,” you started. “I am currently working on my thesis, about serial killers and—“
“So you thought what better way than to get the informations straight from the source, yeah, little lamb?” He interrupted again, and you bristled.
“Would you please stop interrupting me?” You snapped.
Ghost laughed. “Oh my dear little lamb. I am sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t very polite of me, was it?”
Instead of calming down, his condescending tone only made you angrier. But you took another deep breath, and tried to calm down.
Your entire life depended on this. You wouldn’t risk it just to yell at him.
“No. It wasn’t,” you replied, your voice straining.
You weren’t like this normally, and Ghost seemed to know that, because it was as if he was purposely taunting you, egging you on.
His eyes on you felt like the blade of a knife caressing your skin. Harmless for now, but ready to plunge at any moment.
He was right. You were a little lamb.
You were the one who requested to interview him, yet for some reason it felt like he was the one who pushed you to come here, right where he wanted you to be.
You didn’t like that feeling. He made you feel things you usually didn’t, and with the fear, you felt raw and uncovered, the gentlest breeze capable of setting you off.
You hated this. But you had to do this.
He was watching you now, the bored glint faded from his eyes. Instead now, he was completely focused on you, his eyes never leaving yours even just for a second, unblinking.
He wasn’t human, despite his body and his limbs and his heart. He looked like one, but didn’t feel like one.
The hair on your neck raised uncomfortably.
“I have a few questions.”
“Or so they said. Let’s hear them, shall we, little lamb?” He straightened up further, before leaning upfront in an illusion of scooting closer to you. “I might not answer, but I’m intrigued. What could a little lamb like you possibly be doing with someone like me?”
He was teasing. Mocking. You obviously didn’t look like you belonged here.
“I told you I was a student, and for my thesis, I am studying the minds of serial killers and trying to complete a psychological profile of one.”
“But that’s a little too dark for a little lamb, hmm?” He said.
Oh he was enjoying this.
“You don’t know me,” you replied curtly.
He laughed again. His voice rough like gravel on the road crunching beneath boots or tires.
“Oh but you’ll find that I do, my little lamb. I can read you like an open book.”
You upturned your face, chin up defiantly, in a silent provocation. “Oh yeah?”
Ghost’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. “For example, you’re addicted to… what is it again?” He said, though he already knew the answer. “Those sleep gummy bears. You can’t sleep without them. You’re haunted by something that creeps up at night and keeps you awake, and you can’t handle it. So you take those pills. But you’ve grown resistance to them, didn’t you?”
“Enough,” you said through gritted teeth, your fingers tight around the armrests.
He was completely right, and you didn’t like the feeling of being so easily read. You didn’t like being face to face with your own shortcomings.
“I didn’t come to get a profiling. I came to do your psychological profile,” you added.
Ghost raised the palms of his cuffed hands placatingly. “My bad, my little lamb. Didn’t mean to make you so mad.”
Even with the bars and the glass protection, it felt like you were at his mercy.
With a shaky breath, you realised you didn’t even get to ask one question.
“Why did you accept this interview?” You asked first, the question that had been burning your tongue ever since you’d been greenlighted. “You always refuse any kind of interview or even meeting with lawyers.”
Ghost shrugged. “Do I really need a reason to do what I want to do?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Fine, my little lamb. I guess you could say your mismatched eyes on your file intrigued me. Tell me, are those natural, or is it the result of an attack? With the grainy picture, I couldn’t quite tell.”
“I’m not here to talk about my eyes,” you replied defiantly. You wanted to hide your glossy blue eye from his inquisitive look. It had been a scar, and you were blind from it, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Fine. Start with your questions, little lamb.”
You hated that you actually kind of liked the endearment. Not that it was endearing in any way. But the way he said it…
You grasped the notebook on your lap once more and opened it. You had jotted down so many questions before coming, and you weren’t sure which one to start with.
“Are you okay with me recording our discussion? No camera. Just audio.”
Ghost looked a little surprised, even through his mask. “So polite,” he said, pleased. “Sure, little lamb. Anything for you.”
You ignored the chill that went down your spine at his last sentence, hating yourself for the way you had enjoyed it. It sounded… genuine.
“Thank you,” you said brightly, finally relaxing down a little bit. You’d been so uptight this entire week, stressing and worrying about the upcoming interview. But it’s okay now. It’s been ten minutes or more and you were still alive. It was okay.
You didn’t see it, but Ghost’s eyes seemed to soften at your bright answer, at the way your shoulders had relaxed. You couldn’t see it, but he had a small smile on his lips beneath the mask.
“Okay,” you said, gathering your courage. “Can I just start with the big questions?”
“Anything for you,” he replied again, with the same tone of voice that made you feel weird at the pit of your stomach. Weird in a good way.
“Was becoming a killer a choice? Or were you forced into it?” You asked.
“You don’t hold back do you?” He said, his grin heard rather than seen. “Yes, it is a choice. No one can force me to do anything.”
You nodded. “You said it is a choice in the present tense, but you’ve been in prison for the past five years and will stay here for the remaining of your life. Why?”
Ghost’s burned bright with what almost felt like pride. “Clever little lamb,” he praised with his deep smooth voice. “I knew I made the right choice. I think you can easily guess why I said that.”
You stopped the recording. “Are you sure you don’t mind saying that? The room has security cameras, as well as mics.”
“Aw my little lamb, are you getting worried for me?” He asked in a softer voice, almost cooing in a teasing manner.
You tensed. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”
He nodded, and you picked back up the recording.
“Do you enjoy doing what you do?”
“Yes,” he said instantly. “I love it. There’s nothing quite like it, in my opinion. Snuffing out the lives of people you deem worthy. The control you feel, the rush of power, it’s all exhilarating. But it’s not because of that that I do what I do. It’s just an added bonus.”
“Ah?” You asked, intrigued. “Why do you do it, then?”
Ghost shrugged. “I consider it my gift to the world.”
You nodded, although you couldn’t completely understand. But that was to be expected. You weren’t like him.
“Do you think other killers do what they do for the same reason?” You asked.
You hoped he wouldn’t notice your interest in other killers.
“I thought we were here to talk about me,” he said, chuckling, in an almost pouty voice. “Don’t make me jealous, little lamb. Don’t tell me you have other interviews with other serial killers?”
He had a dangerous edge to his voice, almost possessive. You couldn’t understand why.
You shook your head vehemently. “No, no. It’s just you,” you replied, and Ghost settled back against his chair, pleased.
“Good. Otherwise I would have had to go out and kill them all, and I was feeling lazy tonight.”
You froze at his words, wide eyes looking up to him.
“Wonderful,” he purred, leaning forward again, as if trying to get as close to you as possible. “Truly magnificent,” he praised, his eyes looking straight into yours. “[Name], thank you for coming to see me. It was like a ray of sunshine in this thunderstorm of a place.”
As if right on cue, the door next to Ghost opened, and 4 guards entered.
“Time is up,” one of them said.
Ghost stood up on his own, his eyes still locked onto yours.
“We will see each other very soon, my little lamb,” he said, like a promise.
Your eyes widened even further. “But my questions—“
“Enough,” one of the guards replied, his voice brooking no argument.
You flinched at the venom and hate in his voice, and Ghost saw it all. Saw the way you cowered at the voice.
Later that night, that same guard was found hanging from his own guts.
A few months later, you were walking briskly towards your flat in the dark, when a hand closed over your mouth.
You froze in fear as the body led you towards an alleyway, your eyes wide and already burning with tears. The hand tasted awful, like smoke and ashes.
You were pushed roughly against the wall, almost knocking you out.
And then, just as quick as it happened, the body behind you dropped, and a new body appeared in your vision.
“Told you we would see each other very soon, my little lamb,” he whispered.
Ghost.