70

Sierra's POV

The bedroom was chaos. Lyle on the floor, not moving. Louis bleeding. Two security guys talking fast on their radios. A broken lamp. The smell of the spilled bottle burning my nose.

I couldn't stop shaking. My teeth were chattering even though I wasn't cold.

Louis pulled me away from the doorway. "Sit down," he said, pushing me gently onto the edge of the bed. The bed Lyle had just been sitting on. Touching. I wanted to peel my skin off.

"What do we do with him?" I asked. My voice sounded far away.

One of the security guys, a big man named Derek, knelt by Lyle. He rolled him over. Lyle's face was pale. There was a cut on his forehead from where he fell. He looked so normal. Like someone you'd pass in the grocery store.

"He's coming around," Derek said.

Lyle's eyes fluttered. He groaned. Then his eyes focused. He looked up at the ceiling. Then at all of us staring down at him. His face twisted into something ugly.

"You ruined it," he whispered. "I was so close. She was right there." His eyes found me. Locked on. "I just wanted to be with you. To take care of you. He doesn't love you right. He never did."

Louis stepped forward. His whole body was shaking with rage. "If you even look at her again—"

"Louis, stop." I grabbed his arm. "Don't. He wants you to hurt him. It makes him the victim."

Louis stopped. He looked at me. The rage was still there, but he was listening.

Lyle's eyes went back and forth between us. Watching. Learning. Even now, even on the floor with blood on his face, he was watching.

"Call the police," I said.

"No!" Lyle tried to sit up. Derek pushed him back down. "You can't! They'll lock me up! I just wanted to be with you! I love you!"

The words hit me like a slap. Hearing a stranger say he loved me while lying on my bedroom floor with chloroform in his bag... it was the creepiest thing I'd ever heard.

"You don't love me," I said. My voice was cold. Colder than I felt. "You love an idea. A picture. You don't know me."

"I know everything about you!" He was getting frantic, struggling against Derek's hands. "Your favorite coffee order! The way you hum when you cook! The mole on your left shoulder! I know you, Sierra! Better than he does!"

I felt sick. The mole. He'd seen me. Changing? In pictures? The thought made my stomach heave.

Louis pulled out his phone. He called the police. "This is Louis Crowe. I have an intruder in my home. He attacked my wife. Send officers."

Lyle heard him. He stopped struggling. His face went weirdly calm. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. This is just another part of the story. The hero goes to jail. The girl visits. She brings flowers. She realizes she made a mistake."

He was living in a whole different movie. A movie where I was the love interest and he was the misunderstood hero.

Derek and another guy pulled Lyle to his feet. He didn't fight. He just looked at me the whole time. His eyes were wet.

"You'll see," he said. "When the trial comes. You'll see how much I love you. You'll understand."

They took him downstairs to wait for the police. The room felt emptier without him. But also grosser, like a bug had crawled across everything.

Louis came to me. He sat on the bed and pulled me into his arms. "It's over," he said. "He's caught. He can't hurt you."

But I couldn't stop shaking. Because Lyle's last words kept echoing in my head. *You'll see. You'll understand.*

The police came. A lot of them. They took Lyle away in handcuffs. He went quietly, but he kept looking back at the house. At me standing in the window. He smiled. A real smile. Like he was happy.

They took our statements. They looked at the cellar pictures (Louis sent someone to get them). They took pictures of the bedroom, the spilled chloroform, Louis's cut arm. An ambulance came for Louis but he refused to go. A paramedic cleaned and bandaged it right there.

Hours passed. Katie woke up. The nanny had to explain why there were police cars outside. Katie was excited at first, then scared. I held her on my lap the whole time they were there.

Finally, the last police car left. The house was quiet. The security guys were checking every door and window, again. Louis and I sat in the kitchen. Neither of us could eat.

"He smiled at me," I said. "When they took him away. He looked happy."

"He's insane," Louis said. "His brain doesn't work right."

"I know. But... what if he's not done? What if he has friends?"

Louis shook his head. "He worked alone. Guys like him always work alone. The police will find his place. They'll find more proof. He'll go away for a long time."

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

The next few days were a blur. The news got the story somehow. "Billionaire's Stalker Captured in Home Invasion." The pictures were everywhere. Lyle's yearbook photo from high school. Pictures of the creepy cellar room. Our names. Katie's name. I hated it.

But life kept going. Katie had school. Louis had work. I had foundation meetings. We moved through the days like robots.

At night, we held each other tight. We didn't make love. We just held on, like if we let go, we'd float away.

A week later, Louis got a call from the prosecutor. He put it on speaker.

"Mr. Crowe, we have a situation. The defendant, Lyle Norris, is requesting a meeting. With your wife."

My blood went cold. "Why?" I asked.

"He says he has information. About the case. About other... victims. He won't talk to anyone but Mrs. Crowe."

"Absolutely not," Louis said. His voice was iron.

"I understand your concern, sir. But if he has information about other crimes, we need it. And he's in custody. He'll be behind glass. Completely safe."

I looked at Louis. He looked at me. The same thought in both our heads. *What other victims?*

"Can I think about it?" I asked.

"Of course, Mrs. Crowe. Let me know."

Louis hung up. "You're not going."

"Louis..."

"No. Sierra, he's obsessed with you. Going to see him feeds that. It's what he wants."

"What if there are other women? Other families he did this to? What if we could help them?"

Louis was quiet. He knew I was right. It was the right thing to do. Even if it was the scariest thing.

"If you go," he said slowly, "I'm coming. I'm sitting right there."

"They might not allow that."

"Then you don't go."

I nodded. That was fair.

The next day, we called the prosecutor back. Yes, I would go. Yes, Louis would be there. The prosecutor said he'd try.

Three days later, we were in a cold, grey room. There was a thick glass wall. Chairs on both sides. Phones on the walls to talk through.

Lyle was already there on the other side. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit. He looked thinner. Cleaner. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

Louis sat right next to me. His hand was on my knee under the table, squeezing tight.

I picked up the phone. He picked up his.

"Hi, Sierra," he said. His voice was soft. Gentle. Like we were old friends. "You came."

"Tell me about the other victims," I said. No hello. No small talk.

He smiled a little. "Direct. I like that." He leaned forward. His face got closer to the glass. "There are no other victims."

I felt Louis tense beside me.

"Then why—"

"Because I needed to see you. One more time. To tell you something." His eyes were so intense. So focused. "I'm not sorry. For any of it. Watching you was the best part of my life. You gave me purpose. You gave me something to look forward to every day."

I wanted to hang up. To run. But my hand wouldn't move.

"They're going to put me away for a long time," he continued. "Probably forever. And that's okay. Because I'll have my memories. And I'll have this." He touched the glass where my face was. "This moment. You, here, looking at me. Really looking."

Louis grabbed the phone from my hand. "You're done. You don't talk to her again. Ever."

He slammed the phone down. He pulled me up and out of the chair. We walked fast out of the room, out of the building, into the cold air.

I started crying. Not sad tears. Angry tears. Scared tears. Relief tears. All mixed together.

In the car, I couldn't stop. Louis held me. He didn't talk. He just held on.

"He'll never touch you again," Louis said finally. "I promise. Never again."

I believed him. But part of me knew Lyle was right about one thing. I would never forget those eyes. That soft voice. That crazy, intense love he thought was real.

Some ghosts don't stay in cellars. They live in your head. Forever.

But I had Louis. I had Katie. I had our messy, broken, real family. And that was worth fighting for.

We drove home. The city passed by outside the window. Normal people doing normal things. They had no idea what just happened. They had no idea about the ghost who loved me.

And I hoped they never would.