Beneath The Mask

Chapter 4

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Cameron: The Phone Call

       My phone rings, signifying I have a phone call. I look at the ID. It's Jim? This is new. I answer it. "Yes?"

       After a brief pause, I hear him say, "How's this afternoon for another time?"

       Does he really think I care about him being a 'ghost'? Get real. Then again, it is the perfect opportunity to find out what is really going on here. I finally reply. "Alright."

       "The park, 12:30."

       Yes, sir. I hang up and roll my eyes. Honestly though, the thought of  confrontation makes me a little nervous. I ignore it and force myself  to remain calm so I can get ready. I let Ray know where I'm going and that I have my phone on me. Just in case anything were to happen.

       When I do get there, I see Jim Moriarty sitting on a bench, watching and waiting. I take a deep breath and walk up to him.

       "Hello," I say as stoically as possible.

       "Hello," he says in a relaxed voice.

       Okay, here goes. "Why did you choose to tell me your biggest secret?" I ask, still being careful to not show anything.

        "What makes you so sure that's my biggest secret?"

       "Don't trifle with me." Okay, maybe I'm a little mad. "I never asked or required you to tell me you're dead. You told me a serious secret and you don't even know me. Why?"

       "Because you have a confidentiality policy." This is not the time to be joking with me, mister. I want to wipe the smirk off his face.

       "You never signed the paper and I certainly hadn't," I say very plainly.

       He smiles. He actually has the nerve to smile. "Alright," he says. "I told you because I wanted to be sure."

       "Of what?"

       "I wanted to be sure I was right about you," he says with a surprising amount of genuineness in his expression.

       What on earth is that supposed to mean? That I'm not an idiot, that I'm  perfect for some stupid game, that I'm the right girl to have a relationship with or what? Failing at guessing, I just ask candidly, "What do you expect from this?"

       "Like I said," he says slowly, "I don't have friends."

       "Yes, I remember." What is he trying to insinuate? "Having friends is a matter of choice." I add, "And trust. For someone so intelligent, you seem awful desperate for my trust."

       "Is that wrong?"

       What kind of question is that? "If you were an actual client, I'd say no.  But even then, many of my not-so-bright clients refuse to entrust me with their serious secrets until they've known me for a long time. And that is  with the contracts signed."

       "That may be true, but it's more fun this way." He pauses for effect,  which is lost on me. "What do you do with a big, bad, scary secret?"

       "You mean like the reasons your dead?" I say incredibly plainly. I'm so done with this.

       "Maybe."

       I study him carefully. He is still guarded and nearly unreadable. "No, tell me."

       He kind of chuckles, which is annoying. "Oh, don't worry, it's not a  trick question. You keep them," he says with this really annoying smile.  "If you're smart you will. What does that tell you, miss 'psychotherapist'?"