They call me Ghost because I don't talk. My parents tried everything when I was a kid, therapy, specialists, reward charts. The usual that people do. They were good people. They were patient.
I just never liked the sound of my own voice. Eventually someone labeled it selective mutism. That worked for me. I speak when it matters and only then. Sports kept the bullies off me in high school: Football, Wrestling, and Track. I did whatever it took to stay too useful to mess with.
But it wasn't the trophies that mattered. It was the brotherhood. So when Dead Line gave me the chance to prospect, I didn't hesitate. I'm thinking about that when we pull up to the house. Bear is not only the president of our club, but he is a father to all of us.
From the outside, it looks normal. They always do. We've pulled kids out of bad places before. I still remember the day we found Joker's mom slumped on the couch with a needle hanging out of her arm.
But something about this place… It feels worse. The second we step inside, the air changes. I know the smell of Old beer and sweat from the clubhouse. And underneath it all, faint, but unmistakable, Fear. I don't say anything. I never do.
But Blaze glances at me, and I see his jaw tighten. He feels it too. Marlowe moves ahead, checking the rooms like he always does, calm, methodical. But I already know which room is hers.
The hallway is colder, still. It is like the air hasn't moved in weeks. I push open the door with two fingers and stop. This isn't a bedroom. It's a closet. Harry Potter had more space than this. A single mattress lies on the floor. Thin as cardboard. The center is stained dark, soaked deep into the fabric. Above it, the wall still holds the shape of her body. Dried blood marks the outline.
Behind me, Blaze whispers, "Jesus Christ."
His voice cracks on the last word. I step inside. The carpet crunches under my boot where blood dried into the fibers. Someone tried to clean it. They didn't try very hard. I see the faint drag marks still cut through the stains. On the floor beside the mattress sits a stuffed animal.
Sunshine yellow.
A Care Bear.
The fur is worn down to threads. One ear is almost torn off, stuffing poking out like exposed bone. I crouch and pick it up carefully. It weighs almost nothing. It looks like it was loved too much and held too tight. This meant something to her.
Which means it means something to me now. I tuck the bear inside my cut and stand. A tiny dresser sits in the corner. When I open it, there's barely anything inside. Thin shirts full of holes. Pants meant for a kid half her age. There was n othing warm and nothing new. Nothing a child should be forced to wear. I continued to look and found no underclothes. My jaw tightens until it aches. By the wall sit her shoes, and they're falling apart. Cardboard shoved inside to cover holes. Duct tape wrapped around the soles like someone thought it was funny.
I pick them up and turn them over. Blaze watches silently. His eyes burn. I shove everything that looks like it belongs to Sunny into the duffel Marlowe gave us.
The clothes, shoes, and anything I can find.
Then I hear it. A car slowing outside. Blaze meets my eyes. No words needed. We're out of time. I sling the bag over my shoulder and take one last look at the blood-stained closet that used to be her world.
Whoever did this…
Whoever let it happen…
I may not talk much. But for them? I'll make an exception. We're halfway down the hall when the front door creaks open. Blaze freezes. I feel it too. It is a shift in the air, like cold breath sliding down your spine. A woman steps inside. I can hear her heels on the floor.
Clip.
Clip.
Clip.
Marla.
The social worker. She was the one yelling when we got to the hospital. I watched her. That is what I do, I watch and see things others miss. Her eyes sweep the room quickly. She was not worried. She was calculating. Then she spots the duffel in my hand.
"You shouldn't be here," she snaps, already lifting her phone. "This is an active investigation and—"
Marlowe steps forward before she can finish.
"You don't get to decide that," he cuts in. "I have jurisdiction here. Not you."
I move closer. My boots are heavy on the floorboards. Most people don't shut up when I walk toward them. Most people don't look scared. But she does.
"Put the bag down," she orders, voice sharp. "You cannot remove evidence or belongings from this property without—"
"Stop."
The word leaves my mouth before I even think about it. Blaze's head snaps toward me. Yeah. That's right fucker. I may not normally talk, not unless it matters. Marla blinks, thrown off. I take another step closer.
"You knew." My voice sounds rough.
"You saw the reports," I continue. "The bruises. The school calls. The complaints."
She straightens, trying to recover.
"Her mother explained—"
"Her room," I cut in, "is a closet."
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
"She sleeps on a mattress on the floor," I say. "No blankets. No clothes. Shoes held together with duct tape."
I step closer until she backs into the wall.
"She's twelve."
Marla swallows. "Everytime I was here, her room was large and she had everything she needed."
"Bullshit" My voice drops lower.
"You don't understand."
Her phone trembles in her hand. Blaze watches me like I just grew another head. Proud as hell.
"She's with us now," I tell her. Each word slow. Final. "Which means you stay away from her."
"You—you can't threaten me," she whispers.
"That wasn't a threat." I lean closer so only she can hear. "That was a fact."
Blaze exhales slowly behind me a combination of almost a laugh and almost disbelief. No one's heard this many words from me. Maybe ever. Marla tries to gather herself again.
"I have superiors," she snaps. "You think you can just walk in here and—"
I pull the yellow Care Bear from my vest. I hold it up.
"This," I say quietly, "is all she had."
The color drains from her face.
"We're done here."
I walk past her. Blaze follows. We don't stop until we reach the porch. Cold air hits my lungs. Blaze claps a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head.
"Ghost," he says with a grin. "You talking? Damn. I'm proud of you."
I don't answer. Don't need to. We got what Sunny needed.
And Marla?
She'll remember my voice for a long time. And I will remember her for a long time.