Simon Ghost の小説・ストーリー

He held it out to me, but I hesitated in grabbing it. "What is it?" I suspiciously asked. "It's a potion for disguises," Simon said, and he couldn't hide the smile on his face. "Just trust me." I didn't trust him, though. I didn't trust anyone. Realizing that I wasn't going to take it willingly, he suddenly tackled me to the floor and pinned my arms down with his knees. I watched in horror as he took the stopper out of the vial and poured the contents into my mouth.

He's probably gone to his room to do God knows what with Simon. Is it even worth tracking him down and risk traumatising myself for life if I catch them in the act? I’m not against them but sometimes Stan was something dominant and I don’t want to know it. And Simon was something you can call a freak. Best Duo. Simon managed the cartel around the world specially the Virus met and he knew his deal so much. And he has a lot of ways to ‘negotiate’. I don't even fuckin' scare easily but Simon's a goddamn freak when it comes to that shit.

It wasn’t something she owned. In fact, the last time she had seen that dress was… Oh, fuck! ——— “Hm,” Simon hummed into the phone, nodding his head ever so slowly. “Alright. Thanks for letting me know,” he disconnected the call and patiently slipped the phone into the inside pocket of his suit. Then, he sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to look at the man on the floor. Beaten. Bruised. Bloody. But that was to be expected after what he had done.

Then, without a second thought, he joined her in the water, slashing at his own wrist. As the blood mixed with the water, Grayson's vision blurred. In his final moments, he saw me—there, standing at the edge of the bathtub. His face lit up with a wild, desperate joy as he tried to stagger toward me, calling my name. "Honey," he cried, his voice full of longing. I stared at him, my eyes cold and distant, a disgust so sharp it cut through everything. "I'm not your honey," I said. "Not in this life, not in the next, not in any life to come. Not ever."

None of that meant that I had to grow up a deadbeat Simon’s harsh childhood was not a ticket for him to cheat, or to spit on his wife any chance he got… No one asked him to be a criminal, or to kidnap Anika… no one told him to kill himself. These were all choices that he made and there is no one else to blame for that. I cleared my throat “while I sympathize with you, I know that you are not here to narrate to me the story of your life. What can I do for you?” He looked up at me with pleading eyes “without the company, I have nothing…. I need the money to at least give Simon one final burial” he said. “Do you want the company or money?” I asked.

“You have just woken up. You should not strain yourself thinking too much. Please rest. I will inform Mr. Oliver right away.” Adrian stopped trying to think. He closed his eyes and sank back into a deep sleep. In his haze, whispers flooded his mind. “I am all alone now. No one loves me anymore. Please, do not leave me.” “Can I give you my lifespan?” “I want to see you.” “Ms. Ghost, please save me…” “Can you take me with you to heaven? Living hurts so much… sob…” Who was she? Why did my heart ache so badly when I saw her cry? And who was Ms. Ghost to her?

She sighs, “Simon’s father was the head of the cult, couldn’t let any infraction with his family go unpunished or people would talk of favouritism or special treatment. So, he was particularly hard on Simon for his whole life. Simon was found by a Guild recruiter along with Ben and Connor. They’d all found each other and were running small scams on bad guys. Connor’s a Totem-Witch, with a particular talent for glamours, so he could change how they looked. Simon was the tech whizz, and Ben was the muscle.” “So, they were already running missions on their own.” She nods, “Which is why they were recruited.” She smiles and taps her nose pointing at him.

"Dante said eight. That's eight. We're good." "We're not good," Simon muttered, already pulling out his equipment. His fingers were moving over the small handheld device he used for everything — scanning frequencies, monitoring channels, patching into surveillance feeds. He was the quietest one of the group, which made it stranger when he spoke up. "There's chatter I don't like." "What kind of chatter?" Dante asked. "Encrypted, short-burst. Could be nothing." Simon didn't look up from the screen. "Could be a second sweep team. I want to go around the east block and check."

Simon drifted through the house, lights off, footsteps soft. Every room still carried her—her laugh in the hallway, her scent on the couch. He pressed his palm to his face, exhaled, and tried to shake her out of his head. His phone vibrated. Unknown number. He frowned and answered. “Hello? Who’s this?” “Damon.” Simon straightened. “Why the fuck are you calling me?” A pause. “Trust me, it’s not my pleasure either.”