Chapter Thirty: Ghostly Grins and Photo Bombs

I stared at the hospital ceiling, my brain foggy from the neck injury and a mild concussion that made my head spin like a bad carnival ride. Sleep was a no-show, but exhaustion was creeping in when a faint scuffing sound broke the silence—like slippers sliding across the floor. Probably some guy hitting the john, I thought, rolling over in my shared ward. No biggie.

But the noise didn't quit. It looped, closer now, circling my bed like a shark sniffing blood. I tried to open my eyes, curious if someone needed help, but my lids were glued shut, heavy as concrete. My thoughts blurred, yet my ears were sharp, picking up every sound. The scuffing turned to thud-thud-thud—bare feet sprinting across the room. What the hell? I grumbled internally, annoyed. Who's playing track star at this hour?

I forced my eyes open a crack, and bam—a pale, grinning face loomed inches from mine, hovering by my bed. My body locked up, paralyzed, that familiar dread washing over me. Not again! Another ghost, and this one I knew. Not Emily, not Lila, but… someone. Her creepy smile burned into my brain, but my concussed noggin couldn't place her. I tried to scream, to move, but I was a statue, trapped in a waking nightmare.

"Yo, time for meds!" A nurse's voice snapped me awake, her hand shaking my shoulder. I bolted upright, gasping, sweat soaking my gown. Dawn's gray light filtered through the window. The nurse raised an eyebrow at my wild-eyed stare. "Nightmare, huh? Watch that neck—mild concussion. No funny business."

I clutched the blanket, heart still racing. "Yeah… nightmare," I mumbled, not buying it. That face was too real, too familiar. "Can I bounce today?"

She didn't look up, scribbling on her chart. "Doc's call. Lie back, let's patch you up." I obeyed, but the dream—or whatever it was—clung to me like damp socks. Too vivid for a brain hiccup, too weird for reality. Who was she?

I dozed fitfully, exhaustion and fear wrestling in my skull. My phone's buzz jolted me awake—Ryan. "Yo, lab results are in," he said, all business. "Bucket meat's Lila's, DNA-confirmed. We're officially on a serial killer case now—task force, the works. Heading to Lila's place. You in?"

I swung my legs out of bed, ignoring the throb in my neck. "Hell yeah. Pick me up." Ryan hesitated. "Your neck's okay? You looked like roadkill last night." I lied through my teeth: "Doc says I'm golden. Let's roll."

Ryan scooped me up, and we sped to Lila's apartment—a modest setup with signs of a live-in boyfriend, though it felt like she'd been solo lately. Mike never mentioned her, and us IT nerds weren't big on gossip, so Lila's existence only hit our radar post-mortem. We'd bought her "grieving girlfriend" act hook, line, and sinker. But her place? Not a single trace of Mike—no photos, no hoodies, nothing. "Thought she was two-timing Mike with Jasper," I said, poking through drawers. "But this? Looks like Mike wasn't even a blip on her radar."

Ryan called from the bedroom. "Jake, get over here!" I hustled over, and he held up a faded photo, his face grim. Three girls beamed on a grassy field, all smiles and sunshine. My blood ran cold. "That's Emily, Lila, and… Claire," I whispered, my voice cracking. Claire—Ethan's wife—was the face from my dream, grinning like a possessed Cheshire cat. "She was in my hospital bed nightmare," I blurted. "Staring, laughing, the whole horror show. Why her?"

Ryan's eyes widened. "Emily and Lila knew each other? And Claire? This ain't a coincidence." He jabbed the photo. "Three besties, all tied to you, Ethan, and Mike—your lovers, no less. That's some Bachelor-level plotting."

My head spun, Claire's ghostly grin haunting me. "Emily mentioned her college once, but I blanked on the name. Bet they were IT majors, maybe roommates. If Emily's in this photo, she's not just a victim—she's involved in the game."

Ryan crossed his arms, his cop brain in overdrive. "Check this: three women, all dating you, Ethan, and Mike—studio colleagues. They're best friends, their boyfriends are coworkers. Coincidence? Hell no. Lila had Jasper pulling strings, so what if Emily and Claire had their own puppet masters? This game's a setup, and we're the suckers."

My chest tightened, Emily's smile in the photo stabbing my heart. "You're saying Emily played me?" I croaked, the thought like a punch. "Used me, like some pawn? Why? What's the endgame?" I wanted to drag her back from the grave and demand answers, but the truth was a jagged pill. If she'd lied, if I wasn't her only guy, how would I face it?

Ryan clapped my shoulder, his voice soft. "Sorry, man. Just throwing out theories. Could be wrong." But his eyes said he wasn't. "Lila and Claire's guys—Jasper, Mike, Ethan—are dead. Emily's guy? That's you, Jake. You're the last man standing."

His words hung heavy, a warning bell in my gut. I was either the key to cracking this—or the game's next target. "Screw feelings," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "I want the truth, no matter how ugly. Let's tear this case apart."

Ryan nodded, his gaze steady. "Then we dig deeper—starting with these three. If they're the game's architects, we're closer than ever. But watch your back, Jake. Something's circling you, and it's not friendly."

As we left Lila's apartment, Claire's ghostly laugh echoed in my mind, a taunt from beyond. The game was tightening its grip, and I was running out of lives.