The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 2

Logan

Cables and flickering screens transformed the room into a jungle. I sat in the middle, king of my digital domain. My fingers danced across the keyboard, a staccato rhythm only I understood. The glow from the monitors cast strange shadows on the walls of my childhood bedroom, turning it into a hacker’s cave.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath, eyes fixed on the cascading lines of code.

Servers were fortresses. Firewalls, their moats. I was the cunning invader, sneaking past guards, scaling walls. This one was tough—a government database, no less. They said it was impenetrable. They hadn’t met me yet.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. Acne flared up like angry red signals of my struggle, but I didn’t care. Not about looks, not about girls—just the code, the sweet victory of infiltration. My heart raced as I typed, commands flowing from my brain to the screen.

“Access denied.” The words flashed, a red taunt.

“Denied?” I scoffed. “We’ll see about that.”

Memories of the RAAF surfaced—messages labelled Secret and Top Secret, whispering of things that should have made my blood run cold. But they fuelled me, taught me the language of secrets. Depression lurked in those memories, too, a dark pit. I skirted its edges, keeping my mind on the task.

“Denied” turned to “Access granted.” I’d done it. Breached the walls. The digital vault lay open before me, classified information now mine to peruse. A grin split my face—the same thrill, every time. The power. The control.

I leaned back in my chair, victorious, every muscle singing with triumph. This was my world. Here, I wasn’t the outcast; I was the master. Here, in the dead of night, with only the hum of machinery as my companion, I was alive.

“Logan Robinson,” I whispered to myself. “Remember this moment.”

—

Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, slicing the darkness of my office. Dust danced in the beams like lazy ghosts. Tech everywhere. Screens alive with code. Towers humming. Papers cluttered the desk, the floor—everywhere. Notes scrawled on them in a manic shorthand. The past was splayed out in front of me: operations, hacks, victories. I lived for this—the silent rush, the crackling tension of bending systems to my will.

A knock at the door. Soft. Persistent.

“Logan?” Her voice, weary with concern.

“Come in, Mum.” My words, a reluctant invitation.

The door creaked open. Patricia Robinson—Mum—stepped in. She looked smaller somehow, framed by the chaos of my life’s work. Sadness carved deep into her face. Eyes that had seen too much loss.

“Your breakfast’s getting cold,” she said, glancing around. “You’ve been at this all night again, haven’t you?”

“Lost track of time.” I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Happens.”

She sighed, her eyes scanning the digital fortress that was my sanctuary. Wires snaked across the floor like electronic vines. Monitors flickered—a beacon of my obsession. Mum didn’t get it. To her, it was a mystery. A dangerous one.

“Can’t you take a break, Logan? Just for today?” Her voice held a note of pleading.

“Too much to do, Mum.” I swivelled back to the screens. “Can’t stop now.”

She lingered in the doorway, a silent sentinel of worry and care. She didn’t understand the codes, the data streams, the need to dive back into the abyss. But she understood her son was drifting further away, lost in a world she couldn’t enter.

“Alright, then.” Resignation laced her words. “Just… don’t forget to eat something, okay?”

“Okay, Mum.” I didn’t look up.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone with the hum of machines and the ghosts of my past.

The door creaked open again. Mum.

“Logan, we need to talk.” Her voice was firm, not the usual softness.

“Talking’s cheap.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“Please.” She stepped closer, the smell of home cooking with her.

“Mum, I’m busy.”

“Busy tearing our family apart?” Her words stung.

“Family’s gone because -” I bit my tongue. Couldn’t go there.

“Because of choices, Logan. Choices you’re making now.” She was pleading.

“Choices that need to be made.” I didn’t believe my own words.

“Your father, your brother… they wouldn’t want this.” Her eyes were wet. “Neither do I.”

“Can’t bring them back, Mum.”

“Can’t lose you too.” Her fear was a living thing in the room.

“Mum, you won’t—”

“Already have.” She cut me off. “Every day you’re here, but not here.”

“I’m trying to make it right.”

“By doing wrong?” She shook her head. “This isn’t justice.”

“Feels like it has to be.”

“Revenge eats at the soul, Logan. Leaves nothing but pain.”

“Got plenty of that already.” I stared at the screen, seeing nothing.

“Let it go. Let us heal.” She reached out, hand trembling.

“Mum, I—” Words failed me. The guilt, sharp and heavy, lodged in my throat.

“Promise me, Logan.” She was close to breaking. “Promise me you’ll stop.”

“Mum, I—” I looked into her eyes. Pain mirrored pain.

“Please.” Her whisper barely reached me.

I nodded, silent. A promise without words. A vow to find another way. For Mum. For me. For what was left of us.

—

The world blurred. A rush of images, sounds, smells. I was back there. The farm. Dad’s shouts. Luke’s screams. Metal screeched against metal. Horses panicked, bolting. Dust clouds rose.

“Logan, help!” Dad’s voice cut through chaos. I ran, heart hammering. The tractor had flipped. Pinned them beneath. Steel beast on their bodies. Crushing.

“Get it off!” My hands were useless against cold iron. Dad’s eyes met mine. Pain. Fear. Luke was silent now. Too silent. Blood mixed with earth.

“Save him,” Dad gasped. But I couldn’t. Machinery mocked me. Time ran out.

“Stay with me!” I shouted. They didn’t. Couldn’t. Darkness swallowed their faces.

I woke up to nightmares. Every night. Their last moments haunted me. My fault. Should’ve been stronger. Faster. Smarter.

“Should’ve saved you.” Whispered to ghosts in the darkness. Determination festered. Turned to obsession. Justice or revenge? Didn’t matter. I needed to do something. Anything.

Hacking became my weapon. Keyboard clicks were my battle cries. I’d expose the corruption that led to the faulty equipment. To their deaths. I’d make them pay. They’d see what it felt like to lose everything.

“Never again,” I vowed. “I’ll make this right.” For Dad. For Luke. For the life we should’ve had.

—

The silence hung like a shroud in the office. Patricia, ghost-pale, slumped in the chair opposite me. Our eyes met. Pain there. Mine too. We didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. The air thick with unshed tears and unsaid words.

“Logan,” she finally murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “This has to stop.”

I looked away. Monitors blinked. Blue light on my face. Fingers itched for the keyboard. For control. But I stayed still. Her presence anchored me. Reminded me of what was at stake.

“Mum,” I started, but what could I say? ‘Sorry’ wasn’t enough. Not for this. Not for the sorrow carved into her features or the years stolen from us by grief.

She reached out, hand trembling. Wanting to touch. To connect. I flinched. Not worthy. Not after dragging our lives through the mud of my vendetta.

“Your father and Luke wouldn’t have wanted this,” she said, voice cracking like dry earth.

I knew that. Hell, I did. But knowing and feeling were two different beasts. My heart raced. Mind spun. A war inside me. Between the burning need for revenge and the love for the woman before me.

“Revenge won’t bring them back, Logan.” Her eyes searched mine, begging me to understand.

“Neither will sitting here, doing nothing,” I shot back. But even as I said it, doubt crept in. What had my crusade accomplished? Nothing but more pain. More darkness.

I leaned back. Closed my eyes. Images flashed. Dad’s laugh. Luke’s grin. Now just echoes. Ghosts in a digital graveyard of my own making.

“Patricia…” The name felt foreign on my tongue. Mother. Stranger. Victim of my obsession.

“Logan,” she corrected gently. Always reminding me of who we were. Who we still could be.

“Mum,” I tried again, a knot in my throat. “I… I don’t know if I can stop.”

“Then we lose you too,” she whispered. Her worst fear laid bare.

I couldn’t bear that. Couldn’t add to her losses. No more.

“Maybe…” I hesitated. “…maybe there’s another way.”

“Find it, Logan. Please.” Her voice held a fragile hope.

Eyes open now. Seeing her. Really seeing her. Broken by my choices. By the path I’d chosen in blind grief.

“Okay, Mum.” Two words. A promise? A lie? Time would tell. I had to believe there was another road ahead. One where justice didn’t mean vengeance. Where healing could start. For both of us.

“Okay,” I repeated, more to myself than to her. Revenge wouldn’t fill the void. Wouldn’t heal the wounds. It was time to try something new. For them. For her. For me.

I stand. The room is still. Dust motes dance in a shaft of light. I look at her. She’s small, huddled in the chair. Her eyes are tired. So tired. But there’s something else. Hope? Maybe.

“Mum,” I say. My voice, it’s steady. Surprises me. “I’ll fix this.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t frown. Just watches. Waits.

“I mean it.” My gaze doesn’t waver. “No more hacking. No more ghosts.”

She nods once. It’s enough.

I move to my desk. Start pulling plugs. Screens go dark. One by one. Silence grows. Feels right. Feels like a beginning.

“Be careful, Logan,” she says. Her words are simple. They hit hard.

“Always am.” A half-truth. Or maybe a new truth.

I keep my back to her. Can’t let her see the doubt. The fear. What if I can’t do it? Shove that thought away. Hard.

“Goodnight, Mum.” My hand on the doorknob. A pause. I don’t look back.

“Goodnight, son.”

I step out. Close the door behind me. My chest tightens. It’s done. The promise hangs heavy in the air. Like storm clouds. Like fate.

Outside, stars prick the night sky. I breathe. Air cold and sharp. Clean.

A dog barks in the distance. Life goes on. People survive. Even here. In the sticks. Where friendship means you’re never alone. Means someone’s got your back.

I’ve got to move forward. Not just for her. For me too.

The chapter ends. The story doesn’t. Redemption isn’t just a word. It’s a road. Twisting. Uncertain. Mine to walk.

Choices loom. Hard ones. The kind that defines you. The kind that can break you.

But not tonight. Tonight, I made a promise. Tomorrow, I start keeping it.