Trapped By The Phantom: His Little Lamb

Over the next few days, I perfected the art of avoidance. I woke up at five-thirty in the morning, before Hannah's alarm, and showered in the communal bathroom down the hall. I left the dorm before she woke up and only returned after she was asleep. I spent my time in the library or the student union, hiding in the corners with a book.

It was exhausting. But it was necessary.

Hannah, however, was not easily deterred. She left sticky notes on my desk. Saw you left early! Have a good day! and Brought you back a cookie from the dining hall! and Movie night soon?

The guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. I couldn't afford to get close to her. The closer I got, the closer I got to Dean, and the closer I got to the plot that would ruin my life.

Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, headphones on, pretending to study. Hannah burst through the door, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She was talking loudly into her phone.

"Okay! See you soon!" She hung up and spun to face me, her eyes sparkling. "That was Dean! He's taking me to that new Italian place downtown tonight for dinner. The one with the truffle pasta? And you're coming!"

I pulled out one earbud. "I can't. I have a lot of reading to do."

"Chloe." Hannah's smile vanished. She walked over and stood in front of my desk, her arms crossed. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," I lied, looking down at my textbook. "I'm just busy."

"You're never in the room. You don't eat with me. You barely talk to me." Her voice trembled slightly. "Did I do something wrong? Because if you hate me, you can just tell me. I'm a big girl."

I looked up. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Her bottom lip was sticking out in a pout that looked childish but completely genuine. She looked like a kicked puppy.

A sharp pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. I was hurting her. This fictional character, who had done nothing but try to be my friend, was hurting because of my paranoia.

"I don't hate you," I said softly. "I promise."

"Then come to dinner," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please? Just this once. Dean is paying, and I really don't want to sit in a fancy restaurant alone with my brother.That's strange, I need your help.

I was trapped. Again. The tears welling in her eyes were a weapon I had no defense against. I couldn't be cruel to her just to save myself. That wasn't who I was, even in a fictional world.

I sighed, dropping my pen. "Fine. I'll go."

Hannah let out a shriek of joy, pulling me out of my chair and into a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best! Get dressed, he'll be here in twenty minutes!"

I changed into a simple black dress, the nicest thing I owned. It was still cheap compared to what Hannah was wearing, but it would have to do. I kept my makeup minimal, trying to look as invisible as possible.

At exactly seven, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb. Dean stepped out to open the door for us. He was wearing a dark suit this time, looking even more powerful than before. When I climbed into the back seat, I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. He was watching me. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something intense I couldn't decipher before he looked away.

The restaurant was dimly lit, with white tablecloths and candles. It smelled like garlic and expensive wine. A hostess in a black dress greeted us at the door.

"Reservation for three," Dean said. "Under Crane."

My ears perked up. Crane? His last name was Gibbs. Why would he use a different name?

The hostess nodded, her demeanor instantly becoming more respectful. "Right this way, Mr. Crane."

I glanced at Hannah, but she was busy texting on her phone, completely unfazed. This was normal to her. My mind raced. Dean Gibbs was using an alias. That meant he was hiding. Or he was involved in something he didn't want traced back to the Gibbs name.

We sat down at a private booth in the back. Dean handed me a menu, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up my arm. I pulled my hand back quickly.

"Order whatever you like," he said, his voice low. "Don't look at the prices."

I scanned the menu, the numbers blurring together. I settled on the cheapest pasta dish I could find. I wasn't here to enjoy the food. I was here to survive the evening.

Hannah did most of the talking, filling the silence with chatter about her classes and the cute guy in her English lit seminar. Dean listened patiently, nodding along, but his focus was clearly elsewhere.

"So, Chloe," he said, cutting into his steak. He didn't look up from his plate. "Hannah tells me you're from out of state. Where exactly is home for you?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and pointed. I took a sip of water, buying myself a second to think. This was the interrogation I had been dreading. He was digging into my background, looking for inconsistencies.

"Here and there," I said vaguely. "We moved around a lot."

"Your parents?" he pressed, finally meeting my eyes. "What do they do?"

My heart pounded in my ears. I had to lie. I had to make myself as boring and uninteresting as possible, so he would lose interest and leave me alone.