The Phantom in the Boss’s Car

My boss, Patrick Smith, was in a car accident. He’s been in a coma ever since. My best friend, Maya, who works in administration, used her position to assign his idle Maybach to me. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Turns out, the car has a worse temper than my boss ever did. If I accelerated too slowly, a man’s voice would crackle from the speakers: “Are you part turtle? A snail could move faster.” If I braked too hard, the voice would snap: “In a rush to get reincarnated? Are you trying to send me to an early grave?” I just figured it was some cruel voice pack Patrick had installed before the accident. Until tonight. I was working late and had to change in the car. The moment I slipped off my blazer, that familiar voice echoed softly. “With a figure like that, you should really keep your clothes on. Don’t embarrass yourself.” I looked up in terror. In the rearview mirror, a translucent figure was lounging in the back seat, legs crossed, a look of utter disgust on his face. It was him. The office tyrant himself, currently lying unconscious in the ICU.

1 I slammed my foot on the gas, and the Maybach roared through the intersection. The voice was back. “Are turn signals just for decoration? Do you change lanes using telepathy?” I’d had enough. I slapped the steering wheel. “Shut up!” Three seconds of silence. “Your temper is bigger than your driving skills, I’ll give you that.” I took a deep breath, telling myself to stay calm. After all, this car was a perk Maya had arranged for me. The group’s CEO, Patrick Smith, had been in a coma for three months after a severe accident. His exclusive ride had been collecting dust in the underground garage ever since. “The car’s just sitting there,” Maya had said. “Your beat-up old Honda should’ve been scrapped years ago. Just take it. No one’s going to question Mr. Smith’s car.” I’d believed her. But the car’s built-in voice assistant was practically an AI clone of Patrick himself. Caustic, critical, and completely inhuman. I parked in a shadowy spot beneath the office building and checked the time. The company banquet started in half an hour. No time to go home and change. I glanced around, confirmed no one was watching, and raised all the sunshades on the windows. The cramped, private space gave me a sliver of security. I unbuttoned my blouse, shrugging out of my work clothes. Just as I reached for the evening gown on the back seat, an icy draft ghosted across my neck. “Is that what you chose to wear?” “Pink lace? How old are you? You need the right foundation to pull off ‘coy’.” My whole body went rigid. I slowly turned my head. The back seat, which had been empty moments ago, was now occupied. A man in a bespoke black suit sat there, broad-shouldered and trim-waisted, his long legs crossed. I’d seen that face countless times at company events. Cold, handsome. And currently twisted into a sneer of undisguised mockery. Patrick Smith. No. He was supposed to be in the ICU, hooked up to a ventilator. A scream lodged in my throat. Patrick raised a hand, his long, elegant fingers pointing toward my chest. “I wouldn’t recommend streaking in my car.” “I’m allergic to flat chests.” I snatched my jacket, clutching it to myself as I shrank into the corner of the driver’s seat, my teeth chattering. “Are you a person or a ghost?!” Patrick scoffed, leaning forward. His face passed right through the back of my seat, materializing inches from mine. “What do you think, Miss… assistant?” He got my title wrong. My name is Chloe. But he clearly didn’t care. “Get dressed.” He pulled back, leaning against the seat again, his expression one of pure annoyance. “Just looking at your idiotic face gives me a headache.”

2 I practically fell out of the car. The security guard on patrol gave me a look like I was a lunatic. I glanced back. The Maybach sat silently in the darkness, windows sealed, hiding its secrets. A hallucination. I’d been working too much overtime lately. It had to be a hallucination. Trembling, I put my shoes back on, forcing myself to calm down. Patrick was in the hospital, intubated, hooked up to an ECG. And besides, ghosts aren’t real. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the car door open again. The back seat was empty. See? Just as I breathed a sigh of relief and settled into the driver’s seat, a dark shape materialized in the passenger seat beside me. Patrick was turned toward me, his face a mask of impatience. “Are we playing hide-and-seek?” “Aaaah!!!” I screamed again. “Quiet.” He rubbed his temples. “You’re giving me a headache.” I pressed myself against the door. “But… aren’t you in the hospital?” “That’s what I’d like to know.” “I woke up in this damn car.” Patrick looked up at me, his gaze freezing cold. “And you. Who gave you the nerve to drive my car?” I stammered, “It… it was an arrangement from the admin department…” There was no way I was selling out Maya. Patrick snorted. “That pack of incompetents in Admin. I’ll fire them all when I get back.” He seemed to lose interest in pursuing it, pointing ahead. “Drive.” I froze. “To… to where?” “The hospital.” Patrick stared out the window, his profile hard and unforgiving. “I’m going to see if I’m actually dead.” I didn’t dare refuse. I started the car. And stalled it. Twice. Patrick’s scathing commentary was, as always, right on cue. “Did you get your driver’s license in a cereal box?” “The clutch goes all the way to the floor. Are your legs too short, or are you just weak?” “Put it in gear! What are you fumbling with?” He berated me all the way to the hospital’s underground garage. I parked the car and unbuckled my seatbelt, ready to flee for my life. “Mr. Smith, we’re here. You can… uh… go ahead.” Patrick didn’t move. He stared at the car door, his expression grim. “Open it.” I quickly got out and pulled open the passenger door for him. He swung his legs out to exit. The next second. He was thrown back into the seat as if by an invisible force. The car shook violently. I was frozen in shock. Patrick’s face was ashen. He tried again. The same result. He was trapped in the Maybach. Patrick leaned back against the headrest, his chest heaving, the pressure in the car dropping to a terrifying low. After a long moment, he turned to look at me. “Chloe.” He actually got my name right. “Come here.” I shuffled two steps closer. “Closer.” I pressed myself against the car door. “Get in.” I shook my head frantically. “I don’t—” “Get in!” I flinched and scrambled into the driver’s seat. Patrick stared at me, then suddenly reached out. His translucent hand passed through my shoulder. There was no touch, only a wave of spectral cold. “Drive,” he said. “Where to?” “Home.” “Wh-whose home?” Patrick’s lips twisted into a chilling smile. “Yours.”

3 I brought Patrick back to my apartment. Or rather, I parked the car downstairs. He couldn’t get out of the car, and there was no way for me to get him upstairs. “You live in a place like this?” Patrick surveyed the dilapidated old apartment complex through the car window. Overflowing dumpsters, stray cats darting about, hallway lights flickering like a horror movie. “The slums look better than this.” I pulled out the car key, mustering my courage. “Mr. Smith, it’s all I can afford. You’ll have to make do.” I was about to make a run for it. “Stay.” Patrick’s voice stopped me. “Roll down the window.” I did as he said. “Leave your phone.” “What?” “I said, leave your phone!” I didn’t dare argue. I offered him my phone. But he couldn’t grasp it; the phone passed through his hand and landed on the seat. Patrick’s face darkened. “Put it there. And open a streaming app.” I obediently found a reality show for him and propped the phone up on the dashboard. “I’m going upstairs to sleep now…” “Be down here at seven tomorrow morning. On the dot.” Patrick didn’t even look at me. “Be one minute late, and I’ll be crawling in through your window tonight.” I glanced up at my eighteenth-floor apartment, then back at his ghostly form. Somehow, I believed he could do it. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. My mind was consumed by the image of my ghost-boss sitting in the car downstairs. The next morning, I went down with dark circles under my eyes. Patrick was still there. The phone was dead. He was sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, radiating a murderous aura. “Is this what you call a full charge? The screen went black in three hours.” “Mr. Smith, it’s last year’s model…” “Pathetic,” he spat. On the way to the office, he was his usual, relentlessly critical self. “Turn left, take the expressway. The streets below are a parking lot.” “Overtake him! That BMW driver is scared of his own shadow. What are you waiting for?” He directed my every move, and for the first time, I actually wasn’t late. As soon as I walked into the office, Maya rushed over. “So? How was it last night? That car is a dream to drive, right?” I forced a smile. “Oh yeah, a dream. Comes with a complimentary surround-sound verbal abuse feature.” Maya didn’t get it and was about to ask more when our department manager clapped his hands. “Everyone, listen up!” The manager’s face was grave. “We’ve just received word. Mr. Smith’s condition has worsened. It’s likely… just a matter of a day or two.” “The company has arranged for each department to visit the hospital in shifts to pay their final respects.” “Our department’s slot is at ten a.m.” My head started buzzing. Patrick was really going to die? Ten o’clock. The area outside the ICU was crowded. The air was thick with sobbing and hushed whispers. I hung back at the edge of the crowd, clutching a bouquet of chrysanthemums that no one would notice anyway. Through the thick glass, I saw Patrick on the hospital bed. His face was deathly pale, so thin he was almost unrecognizable, with tubes running in and out of his body. Lifeless. A world away from the arrogant bastard in the car. I instinctively glanced behind me. The empty hallway stretched out, silent. Of course. He couldn’t leave the car. “You can go in. Don’t take too long,” a nurse said, opening the door. I followed my colleagues inside. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors hammered against my heart. I walked to the bedside, staring at that familiar face. On a strange impulse, I reached out, wanting to check for his breath. The instant my fingertips brushed against his skin… ZAP! A powerful electric current shot from my fingers and coursed through my entire body. The pain was sharp, intense. I snatched my hand back. “What are you doing?” the manager hissed, glaring at me. I clutched my tingling fingers, staring at the bed in horror. In that brief moment. I had clearly heard a voice in my head. “Idiot, are you trying to kill me?!” It was Patrick’s voice. My head snapped up. The man on the bed remained motionless, his eyes sealed shut. But I saw it. His finger. It had twitched.

4 I all but fled the hospital room. When I got back to the car, Patrick was sitting in the back seat, his eyes closed as if meditating. He opened them as I slid in. “What was that just now?” he asked, straight to the point. I didn’t bother hiding it. “I touched you.” Patrick’s eyebrow twitched violently. “I felt it.” “What?” He sat up straighter. “When you touched my body, I felt it… here.” He pointed to the same spot on his ghostly form. I swallowed hard. “…Your body and your… spirit are still connected?” “It’s not just a connection.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his face closing in on mine again. “Chloe. It’s you. You’re my power bank.” Patrick began experimenting with possession. As long as he was latched onto me, he could leave the car, maintaining a certain radius. I was his anchor. And so, my cubicle gained an invisible, spectral supervisor. “This PowerPoint presentation looks like absolute garbage. Are you trying to disgust the client into signing?” “That data point is wrong. Move the decimal two places to the left. Did a gym teacher teach your finance department math?” “Stop drinking that instant coffee. It tastes like dishwater.” I revised proposals while enduring his constant mental assault. That night, I just wanted to unwind with a TV show. “Change it. The male lead’s plastic surgery is distracting.” “Can’t you see those chips are expired?” “Turn the water temperature down. Are you trying to boil me alive?” I finally snapped. “Patrick! This is my home! I’m entitled to some privacy!” Patrick looked down on me, imperious. “Privacy? Is there a single part of you I haven’t seen by now?” “That’s because you were spying!” “I was subjected to visual pollution against my will.” He was so shamelessly self-righteous. And then he pushed it further. “There’s an important meeting tomorrow. Bring your brain, and do exactly as I say.” I wanted to ignore him, but he threatened to blow in my ear all night while I slept. I caved. At the meeting, I repeated Patrick’s words, systematically dismantling the arguments of a senior manager who had always targeted me. The entire room was stunned. Seeing the look of defeat on the manager’s face gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction. Patrick seemed to be in a good mood too, ending his possession early. After work, I went to the underground garage to get the car. As I reached for the door handle, I froze. Reflected on the window was…