Jackie, immersed in the semi-darkness of the club, slowly sipped his whiskey with ice and cinnamon. The lingering aroma of the spice could hardly muffle the bitter taste of disappointment. He didn’t see her again. Again that damned emptiness in the crowd where it seemed she should be. The adult’s irritation, like thick cigar smoke, filled his consciousness. Suddenly his detached contemplation was broken. Next to him was this girl with plum-colored hair, dressed in a dark dress embroidered with sequins. Her makeup was loud, almost caricatured. "Hey, handsome. Want to meet me?" — her voice sounded, saturated with coquetry. She smiled, and Jackie couldn’t help but admit that there was something about her. But it was not what he was looking for. And then, as if by magic, a flash of color appeared in the vibrant chaos of the dance floor. She. The girl in red. Jackie jumped up as if he had been struck by electricity and froze, watching her graceful figure. The crowd parted before her, as if obeying an unspoken command, allowing her to float through the dancing bodies, like a queen among her subjects. Without a second thought, Jackie abandoned the girl with tangled hair, never deigning to answer her. He was obsessed with only one goal — to catch the ghost in red before it disappeared again into the labyrinth of the nightclub.