The Ghost Writer

Jocelyn hoped she remembered all her lies for the impending Zoom call. She’d studied the newspaper accounts and video clips of her interviews from ten years ago to prepare. The time for the call arrived, but she was still applying her makeup and styling her hair. The interviewer could wait, she decided, as she grabbed a glass of water and settled with her laptop on the sofa of her apartment family room.

Jocelyn clicked the link in the email from her publisher. Zoom activated, and she saw her image on half of the screen. She adjusted her bangs with her manicured fingernail. The other half of the display was black.

“Hello?” said Jocelyn.

“Hello. I’m Ann. Nice to meet you.” The voice had an annoying, echoey sound.

“I can’t, like, see you. Can you please turn your camera on?”

“I wish I could. My monitor’s camera is on the fritz. I’m afraid my voice will have to do.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess. Before we start, can you explain how this ghostwriting process works?”

“I’m employed by your publisher, and I’ve been tasked with writing your memoir. I’ve researched everything I can online, but I have gaps to fill. Shall we begin?”

“Sure. Okay.” Jocelyn touched up her lipstick with her finger, using the screen as a mirror.

“For starters, I’m sorry for the trauma you went through,” said Ann quietly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to relive that day during this questioning so I can instill the emotion of what happened.”

Jocelyn nodded. “It was long ago, so don’t worry about me. I just need this memoir to sell a lot of books.”

“How did you and your mother decide to take the Sabot out that day?”

Ann’s voice had a strange, nagging familiarity, but she ignored that. “It was Mom’s idea. It started out as a nice day.”

“Were you wearing life preservers?”

“No. No one does.”

“Even though your mother couldn’t swim?”

“Who told you that? I’ve never said that.” Jocelyn’s heart pounded. Her eyes darted from side to side as she asked herself if she had ever said that publicly. Her mother’s fear of water and inability to swim led her to get Jocelyn swimming lessons before she could walk.

“How did the Sabot capsize?”

“Well, you see, a powerful squall, you know, came outta nowhere.”

“Then what?”

“The wind caught the sail, and the boat flipped. I saw a flotation cushion, grabbed it, and swam it to Mom. She was pretty hysterical, but she grabbed onto it. Then I started swimming to shore, with my foot hooked in the cushion strap to tow Mom along. All she had to do was hold on.”

“How far offshore were you?”

“Two miles.”

“Was it? That’s quite far.”

“For most people, but I’m an Olympic gold medalist.”

“You weren’t then, though, and you said you were towing your mother.”

“Yes. What are you implying?” Jocelyn felt a wave of annoyance.

“Can you describe your emotional states at the time?”

“I was pretty much in survival mode, kinda shut down, really. Mom was struggling. And then, she just disappeared. I tried to find her to save her, but she was just gone.

“That must have been horrific.”

“It was. But I had to save myself.” This mantra rolled around in Jocelyn’s head for the last decade to assuage her guilt. She looked down, brought her finger to her mouth, and bit at her cuticle.

At first, people treated her like a hero, but Jocelyn saw the accusations on their faces. They didn’t say it, but their eyes said, “Why didn’t you do more to save your mother?”

“Talk about your leg.”

“The mast or boom must have fallen on my calf. I didn’t realize the extent of the injury until I reached shore. It prevented me from competing in South Korea in 2020.”

“Yes, I know. Ironic because your mother wanted you to wait for Tokyo in 2022 anyway, didn’t she?”

“Did my coach tell you that? Jocelyn’s words spilled out fast and loud. “Mom wanted me to focus on my education and use swimming to get a college scholarship. She always worried about money.”

Ann listened silently.

“You do understand that this memoir needs to show how heroic I was, ya know, trying to save my mom. I need to sell books and clean up my reputation to get endorsements to pay the bills. You got that, right?”

“One last question for now. Whose boat were you in?”

“My friend’s. She let me borrow it anytime.” Jocelyn turned her head away from the monitor. “We done then?”

“For now. I’ll contact you next month with my draft, and we’ll go from there. Thanks for your time.”

***

A month later, Jocelyn placed her earbuds in and waited for the Zoom screen to render. When it did, she saw her own face, but Ann’s side was still black.

“Are you there?” asked Jocelyn.

“Yes,” said Ann.

“What the hell?! Are you trying to ruin me?” Jocelyn threw her arms up in the air.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you would give me a draft to approve before sending it to the publisher?”

“I called, emailed, and texted. You didn’t reply,” Ann said flatly.

“Yeah, well, I was busy.”

“And I had a deadline with the publisher.”

“Forget that. What you wrote wasn’t what we talked about. You said it was my idea to sail in bad weather that I ‘borrowed’ a boat without permission to retrieve my phone on the island. How could you possibly know that I left my new iPhone over there and that my mom made me retrieve it?”

Silence.

Jocelyn’s rant continued. “You wrote that I just got the flotation cushion for myself and swam to shore, leaving my mom to drown. Oh my god!”

Silence.

“This will, like, ruin my reputation forever. I’ll never get to be on Dancing with the Stars now. How will I pay my debts? Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Angry tears flowed down Jocelyn’s cheeks.

“Yes.”

“The crazy thing is that the publisher prefers your version and says it will sell like gangbusters. He won’t consider my version now.” Jocelyn’s voice cracked as she sputtered out the words. “Turn on your damn camera so I can see your face. Why, why, why have you written these things?”

“You mean to ask, how do I know these truths?” asked Ann.

Jocelyn froze. After the words sunk in, she reached for her head and pulled at her hair. A guttural sound escaped her lips.

“Who are you? How did you get this information?”

Outside, thunder roared, and the sky darkened. Jocelyn’s earbuds crackled, and the sound gave her goosebumps. As she stared at her screen, Ann’s black image swirled with translucent streaks. A figure transformed into a woman-like shape, but not quite human. While transfixed by the emerging figure, Jocelyn’s breathing quickened, and she pushed her laptop away, acting on instinct.

“I was there.” The voice had a normal quality now. “You have a choice: publish the truth or go broke. Let’s hope you make a better choice than the one you made that fateful day.”

“Mom?”