The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 18

Logan

Cramped space. The hum of machinery my constant companion. I sit, a lone figure in the dim glow of computer screens. They cast shapes across my apartment, light and shadow dancing over walls cluttered with tech and takeout boxes. My fingers dance too, swift over keys, a skill honed under military precision, now repurposed for a darker cause.

Screens flicker. Code scrolls. My hands still. Eyes dart across lines of information – secrets not meant for me but pulled from the digital ether, nonetheless. Pulse quickens. They’ll come for me. The conglomerate’s dogs, with snouts for intrusion and teeth bared for blood.

A chill runs down my spine, ice where there should be bone. Danger, real and close. The click-clack of my typing had been confident, a rhythm to keep the creeping dread at bay. But fear seeps through. It knows the cracks in my armour, the chinks left by a system that spurned me when I needed it most.

I’ve crossed a line; there’s no stepping back. My breaths are shallow, rapid. The security team, faceless hunters in the cyber wilderness, they’ll track me down. No question. With every keystroke, I’ve etched my name onto their list.

“Damn,” I mutter to the quiet room. The word hangs, a plea to the gods of cyberspace or maybe just to the stale air of my sanctuary. Can’t stay here. Not anymore. Shadows once friends now whisper of betrayal.

The thought of capture sends another shiver crawling, a spider across my skin. The weight of my own body, heavy, a reminder of the physical world I so often escape but can never truly leave behind. Blonde hair falls into my eyes, a curtain against the harsh light. Acne scars itch, old battles with myself that never seem to end.

“Focus,” I command the reflection in the screen. He’s a man cornered, a wild thing with everything to lose. I know him well. We share scars, fears, and a desperate need to vanish.

“Move,” I tell him, “move fast.” And he listens because he has to. Because the alternative is a cage, a life lived behind bars crafted from his own genius turned against him. No. We won’t let it end like this. Not without a fight. Not without running hard into the dark embrace of anonymity.

“Time to disappear,” I say to no one, to everyone, to the silence that answers with agreement. Logan Robinson, once a man who believed in systems, in orders, in the rigid structure of right and wrong. Now? Now I’m a ghost in the making. A spectre about to slip away into the night, leaving nothing behind but whispers and the cold glow of abandoned screens.

I grab my jacket. It’s worn, familiar. The night outside calls. Meningie’s a small dot on the map, too small for someone like me now. They’ll come looking, and this town won’t shield me from their eyes.

“Out,” I mutter. The apartment feels smaller by the second, walls closing in. My safe haven turned prison. No more.

I can’t shake the image of black-suited security goons combing through my life with fine-toothed combs. My fingers tap out rhythms on the desk, rapid-fire plans forming. Got to be smart. Smarter than them.

“Can’t leave a trail.” The words are breaths in the dark. I picture the net, wide and unforgiving, ready to snare me if I slip up. Not going to happen.

“Bus station,” I say next. It’s a mantra to keep the panic caged. “Cash only. Stay invisible.”

I’ve played the game from this side of the screen too long. Now, I’m the target. Time to flip the script. Use what I know.

“Keep it simple,” I remind myself. “Eyes open, profile low.”

They taught me how to vanish in the RAAF, how to whisper through the wires without sound. That was for country, for duty. This is for survival.

“Back roads. Avoid cams.” Each step plotted with precision. A chess game where the stakes are my freedom, maybe my life.

“Trust no one,” I conclude. Friends are luxuries I can’t afford. Not when every shadow could be a betrayal waiting to happen. It’s just me. Always has been, really.

“Time to move.” The decision is steel inside me. The hunter becomes the hunted, but this prey knows all the tricks. Watch me run.

The screens go dark. One by one, I kill them. Each click is a goodbye to the world I’ve known. A world of data and secrets spilled across my desk like blood. I’m scrubbing away the stains now. My hands move with practiced ease, commands dancing from my fingers.

“Format C:\” I whisper to the void. It’s a funeral dirge for the bytes that once lived here. The hard drives whir, then silence. Clean. Empty. Like I’ll have to be.

I grab the hammer. It’s heavy, solid. A real thing in a life full of ghosts. I smash each drive. Metal screeches. Platters shatter. It’s over. The evidence is dust and shards. Can’t leave anything behind. Not when they’re this close.

Next, the bag. I think light. Think fast. Clothes. Just enough to blend in, to be anyone or no one. Cash. Untraceable, silent. My laptop. It’s an extension of me, but purged now. Safe. I zip up survival into a canvas duffel. It’s all I take from Meningie. From the life I’m leaving.

“Keep it together,” I mutter. My reflection stares back from the black screen. Acne scars, blonde hair, the weight I carry. They’re not just mine anymore. They’re targets.

“Can’t slip.” Every step has to be perfect. There’s no room for error when you’re playing against giants. I’ve been small before, in the RAAF, under their thumb. Now? Now I need that smallness. It’s my shield.

“Stay smart.” I remind myself. The darkness hugs me like an old friend. I’ve got to stick to shadows, become one with them. Out there, in the open, friendships are liabilities. In the shadows, being alone is what keeps you breathing.

“Time to vanish.” With the bag slung over my shoulder, I step into the night. Meningie fades around me. The hunt is on. But I’m no easy prey. I know their moves. And I’m writing new rules.

“Watch me run.”

The clock ticks. Loud. Urgent. My eyes flick to it. 11:47 PM. The red digits burn into my thoughts. Time’s slipping away, and so should I. They’ll be searching. Hunting for the ghost in their machine. That’s me. Can’t let them find me.

I kill the lights. Darkness swallows the room. It’s time.

One last look. My place. Been safe here. Too long, maybe. Memories claw at me, try to hold me back. Won’t work. Can’t work. There’s a wariness that comes from being hunted. It eats at the edges of my nostalgia.

Walls. Filled with posters, code snippets, a life of quiet obsession. Keyboard. An extension of my hands once. Now, just plastic. Carpet. Worn down where I’d pace, phone calls, frenzied ideas, late-night code sprints.

“Goodbye,” I whisper. No echo. Just the word, hanging there.

Sadness grabs at my chest. Tightens. Might never walk through that door again. Might never see the eucalypts outside my window. Smell that mix of dust and electronics. This apartment. My fortress. It’s nothing now. Or it’s everything. Hard to say.

“Focus.” I grit my teeth. Keep moving. Survive. Emotions are luxuries. Luxuries are for people who aren’t prey.

“Friendship,” I scoff. A chuckle without humour. Friends? Not here. Not in Meningie. Not when your closest ally is the silence of an empty room. Yet, that silence kept me alive. So far.

“Survival,” I correct myself. That’s the friend to hold onto.

Bag’s weight is familiar on my shoulder. Comforting. I reach for the doorknob. Cold metal. Last touch of home.

“Let’s go.” Door clicks shut behind me. Just another shadow now. That’s all I can afford to be. Logan the hacker? He’s gone. Just Logan the shadow remains.

“Stay sharp,” I tell the night. It doesn’t answer. Good. I don’t need answers. I need to disappear.

“Watch me run.”

The night’s cool. I’m cooler. Heart thumps, but not too loud. I can’t afford loud. The darkness is my cover, the streets of Meningie my path. It’s quiet, like a town holding its breath. My sneakers kiss the pavement, quiet as a promise.

I don’t look back. Looking back is for people with the luxury of nostalgia. The air tastes like freedom and fear. Both are intoxicating.

I reach the bus station. Neon sign flickers—open. The counter is empty, save for one sleepy-eyed attendant. I keep my head down. Blonde hair, a curtain over my eyes. Acne scars, a reminder of battles past. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m just another drifter.

“Ticket,” I mutter. Words clipped. “Robe.”

“Round trip?” the attendant asks, drawling.

“One way.” I slide cash across the counter. No paper trail. Cash is king when you’re on the run.

“Bus leaves in ten,” he says, thumbing through the bills.

“Thanks.” I take the ticket. His eyes don’t follow me. That’s good. People remember eyes that follow.

I find a bench. Sit. Wait. In my pocket, the ticket feels heavy, like a key to a door I’m not sure I want to open. But it’s too late for second thoughts.

Meningie shrinks into the background. A life paused. Friends? No friends here. Just shadows passing in the night. Friendship is trust. Trust is risk. And risk? Can’t afford that now.

“Survival,” I whisper to the night. “I’ll find new friends. Shadows like me.”

I board the bus. It groans, a beast ready to run. We pull away from the station. I watch the town slip by, a slideshow of memories and might-have-beens. Then darkness swallows it whole.

“Stay sharp,” I repeat to myself. It’s the only friend I need right now.

The engine rumbles, a low growl beneath my feet. The bus lurches forward, steel beast eating the miles between me and them. My pulse taps out a Morse code of fear and freedom. First steps taken. No going back.

Windows show the world slipping away. Fast. Too fast to catch. I’m a shadow now—a ghost in transit. Meningie fades in the rearview, just a smudge of memory against the night’s canvas.

Heart races. Mind races faster. Plan. Must stick to the plan. Every second counts when you’re playing hide and seek with a giant. I’m small. Agile. I can win this—if I don’t screw up. Can’t screw up.

Keep my head down. Eyes fixed on the cracked leather of the seat ahead. No contact. People remember faces. Faces tell stories. My story’s mine alone. Not for sharing. Not now. Not ever.

There are others here. Strangers. They chat, laugh. Lives intersecting at random points. Not mine. My life’s a straight line now. A bee line from danger.

I imagine their friendships—their easy trust. Once, I had that. Before the military. Before the codes and secrets. But those days are gone. Trust is a luxury. Friendship? A liability I can’t afford.

“Survival,” I whisper again, an anchor in the storm of thoughts. Friends are shadows. Shadows don’t cling. They don’t betray. They just are. That’s all I need. All I can have.

Every mile, every throb of the engine, it’s a mantra. Stay hidden. Stay safe. Live to see another day. The road’s treacherous, winding like a serpent through the dark. But I know serpents. I’ve played with worse.

I shift, uncomfortable. Rigid seats. Rigid life. But it’s better than the alternative—better than being found. The bus speeds on, a bullet shot into the void. And me? I’m the quiet passenger, the invisible man with a target on his back.

“Stay sharp,” I remind myself. No friends. No trust. Just the open road and the race against the clock. That’s survival. That’s all there is. For now.

The bus hissed to a stop. Gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped off. Coastal town, almost nameless to me. Just another place to hide.

“Room for one,” I told the motel clerk. My voice sounded foreign in my ears—too long since it carried anything but code and silence.

“Sure thing, mate,” he drawled, barely looking up. “Cash, right?”

“Right.” Notes passed across the counter, untraceable. I kept my head down, cap shadowing my face. “Something quiet. At the back.”

“Number 8. Down the end there.”

“Thanks.” Curt nod. Key in hand. I turned away. No eye contact. No connections.

I made it to number 8. The door creaked open. Spartan room. A bed. A table. A lamp. It would do. I dropped my bag and pulled out the laptop. The only friend that hadn’t yet betrayed me—if you could call lines of code and a glowing screen friendship.

Booted it up. Wi-Fi networks popped up. Public network. Perfect. Untraceable. Anonymous.

“Stay sharp, Logan,” I muttered. Click. Connected. Relief washed over me in a cold wave.

“Survival,” I said once more. A promise. A plea.

A new town. A cheap motel. And the same old paranoia. But it kept me breathing. Kept me one step ahead.

“Tomorrow,” I whispered to the humming machine, “you’re all I’ve got.”

The cursor blinked. A steady pulse in the sea of darkness. Heartbeat of my digital existence. I leaned back, chair groaning under the weight. Took a deep breath. The stale motel air filled my lungs, laced with the tang of salt from the distant ocean.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Keep it together.”

Mind raced. Thoughts like hounds chasing down prey. Evading the conglomerate’s security team was no small feat. They had resources. Skills. But I had something else. Will. Cunning. And a damn good head start.

Fingers cramped from hours at the keyboard. I flexed them, remembering drills from my RAAF days. Muscle memory. The tap-tap-tapping of keys spelling out secret messages I could never forget. Secrets that once defined me.

“Disappear,” I commanded myself. “Fade into the shadows.”

Shadows were friends that never betrayed you. They didn’t judge your acne or the weight you carried. They just hid you, kept you safe. That’s all I needed now. Safety. Anonymity.

I glanced around the sparse room. Flickering lamp light cast long shadows on the walls. Friends nodding in agreement. I’d leave no trace here. No way for them to follow.

“Survival,” I murmured. It was more than evasion. It was rebirth. Every new town, a new skin. Shed the old. Embrace the unknown.

“Tomorrow,” I said, voice barely above a breath. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Poised. Ready. “You and me against the world.”

Laptop hummed its low, comforting song. Companion in the solitude. My link to the vast, untraceable web. With every keystroke, I wove my disappearance, crafted my invisibility cloak.

“Into the shadows,” I repeated, a mantra to steel my nerves. Eyes heavy. Mind weary. But rest was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not yet. Not when they were inching closer, sniffing for my trail.

“Logan Robinson doesn’t exist,” I told the empty room. A statement. A hope. A lie I needed to survive.

“Time to vanish.” I shut the laptop with a decisive snap. Darkness welcomed me. Loneliness, an old friend. The path ahead uncertain, but I walked it nonetheless.

“Shadows,” I called into the night. “Here I come.”