Obsession a thriller rom.., p.16
Obsession : A Thriller Romance, page 16
James finally hangs up, tugging on his tie, and sits back in his seat. His assessing gaze falls down my body and back, but not in a sleazy way. I get the distinct sense I make him uncomfortable now that I’m apparently the latest obsession of a serial killer.
Maybe he thinks he’ll end up chopped into pieces for breathing the same air as me.
“You wanted to see me,” I remind him when the silence stretches on, and his eyes widen in response.
“How are you holding up?”
“Well, my dad is dead, and I can’t leave the house without a police escort.” I give him a sarcastic thumbs up, then chuckle at the expression on his face. “I’m sorry. I use humor as a deflection when I’m stressed.”
“Very questionable humor,” he mumbles, rubbing the space between his eyebrows as though my joke induced a headache.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him. “I’m happy to be back.”
He levels me with a look. “Are you sure you’re ready to be back at work? I meant it when I said you can take as much time off as you need.”
“With all due respect,” I reply. “I don’t want to stay at home any longer.”
He nods, lost in thought, and then he shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’m not comfortable with you writing about Hammond now that…” He drifts off, clearing his throat. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
I sit upright. “But it’s my story. I have worked hard on it. You can’t just give it to someone else.”
“I know you have grown attached to this story, but Hammond has an unhealthy obsession with you, according to the police. I can’t allow you to put yourself at risk. I have asked Elliot to take—”
I shoot up from my seat. “Absolutely not. Elliot goes nowhere near my story.”
“Campbell—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Robbie Hammond refused to let anyone interview him but me. I have spent months interviewing him and analyzing the information.”
“Elliot will take over from now on.”
My head shakes as angry tears prick my eyes. I won’t accept this. That fucker has been after my project from day one. This was my chance to write something that would get me out of this small town.
“Savannah,” James starts, rising to his feet and smoothing a hand down his tie. “Maybe you need to ease back into work. Paula has phoned in sick for the duration of the week. Maybe you want to take over the horoscope section for now.”
“The horosco—” A sudden burst of laughter rips from my throat, but then it dies just as fast. I scoff. “You’re joking, right? The horoscope section?”
James says nothing. He has made his mind up, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I stare at him for a heartbeat, blinking away stinging tears of anger.
Shaking my head, I press my lips together. “Unbelievable.”
“I think it’s for the be—”
Fury clouds my vision, and I point an accusing finger in his direction. “Fuck you, James. Fuck. You! You’re a libra, right? Well then, here’s your horoscope for the day: You can take your horoscope section and shove it up your backside. I’m done.”
I storm out before he can say another word. The door slams shut behind me with such force that some of the ladies squeak in their cubicles.
Elliot got his fucking wish, after all. But I’m not staying around to see his smug face. It’s not wise. I might punch him.
After entering my cubicle, I pack my items. If Elliot thinks I’ll let him have access to my hours of recordings, he can go fuck himself. For once, I’m relieved to have used an old-fashioned recorder—no electronic files for him to steal.
I’m wiping away tears with my sleeve, trying to get the fucking laptop to fit in my bag when the man himself makes an appearance in the doorway.
It takes everything in me not to throw my desk lamp at him.
He leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “You don’t have to leave.”
I give the laptop one last, violent shove, then whirl around so fast strands of my hair stick to the tears on my cheeks. “Are you here to gloat? Well, you won. Happy now?”
My jaw clenches while he studies me in silence for a beat too long before holding out a parcel. “This came addressed to you.”
Confused, I look down. I was too angry to notice the parcel before.
“I’ll throw it away if you want,” he says.
I snatch it off him. “You can leave now.”
He looks down, scuffing the ground with his oxfords, and then he peers back at me. A muscle works in his jaw. “I’ll admit that I wanted this story… But not like this.”
“Does it matter?” I search through the clutter on my desk for scissors. “It’s yours. Meanwhile, I’ve been downgraded to the horoscope section.”
“Really?”
The disbelief in his voice pisses me off even more, and I sneer at him.
“What did you expect, Elliot? I’m new to the paper. No previous experience to speak of. Not like you. In fact, I’d been with the paper for how long? Less than two months when Hammond asked me to interview him? I was never qualified for the task in the first place. James would have never considered me if Hammond hadn’t asked for me specifically.” My anger is quickly draining out of me. “Just…leave. I’m already ashamed.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Elliot hovers, looking as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know what.
I finally locate a pair of scissors beneath all the clutter and use it to tear open the package, removing a sea of packing peanuts.
“I can talk to him if you want. There’s still The Bridge Killer. I can’t cover both stories…” He falls silent when I stiffen.
My hands shake violently as I remove the bottle of cola. It slips from my fingers, and I press my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. I can’t even look at the remaining item. I’m going to be sick.
“Are you okay?” Elliot’s voice is a symphony of distorted sounds, a blend of high and low notes that fade in and out.
I’m vaguely aware of him walking up to me and removing my bag from the chair. He helps me to sit before he crouches in front of me and removes the parcel from my hands. He sets it on the floor, and I try to stand, but he forces me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Savannah? What’s wrong?”
When I fail to answer, he looks from me to the offending items on the floor and back. With his hand on my upper arm to steady me, or maybe to comfort me, he picks up the item and reads over the text. His eyes find mine, and his brow furrows in confusion.
“I need to leave.”
Before he can say a word, I shoot to my feet and rush from the room.
“Savannah,” he calls out after me, but I don’t wait for him to catch up.
I run like my life depends on it.
31
ROBBIE, AGE 16
Miss Knox, who was supposed to oversee this exam, turned another page in her romance novel, ignoring us all.
“You’re such a freak, Hammond,” Keith Campbell whispered behind me, and my grip tightened on the pencil until it snapped. I squeezed my eyes shut, counting to ten in my head to keep my emotions under control. Now I couldn’t finish my test in time, or at fucking all.
Story of my life. I just couldn’t catch a fucking break.
“Jackson saw your mother in the town square yesterday, begging anyone who would listen for money. Think she’d be down for a fuck in exchange for some cash or beer. I’m sure I can steal some from my dad’s stash.”
Never mind the fucking fact that his girlfriend was seated a few rows ahead of us. Keith was an asshole who refused to leave me the hell alone. He’d been the bane of my existence at school since fucking kindergarten.
“Are you listening to me, freak?” He shoved my shoulder, and I tensed them in response, but he wasn’t done, shoving me again. “Are you deaf or something? Did your mom damage your hearing when she beat you? Yeah, we know,” he taunted. “Everyone fucking knows that your mom beats you black and blue, and you’re too chicken shit to hit her back.”
I whirled around in my seat. “Shut the hell up, Campbell.”
“Ooh,” he laughed, looking to his friends for backup. “The freak can hear, after all.”
As I faced forward again, my eyes landed on Keith’s girlfriend, Samantha, who was already watching me with a sympathetic look in her eyes. She was too nice for someone like him, and it was a mystery why a girl like her would put up with the likes of Keith Campbell.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment. I glanced down at my broken pen and gnashed my teeth. Why did I even try anymore? Two weeks had passed since I walked out on Mom. I slept beneath a bridge with some other homeless locals, and then I went to school an hour early to catch a shower in the changing rooms, hoping no one would spot me. I’d had to sneak into the trailer once or twice to pick up some clothes and something to eat, so at least there was that. But I didn’t have access to a washing machine, and the river didn’t do a good job of removing the stains.
And now this.
Picking up the broken pen, I tossed it to the floor, grabbed my bag off the back of my chair, and walked out. Miss Knox turned another page, ignoring me.
The bell rang just as I exited the room. Chairs scraped against the floor, and I hurried down the hallway, with tense shoulders and fisted hands.
I was never lucky enough to get away.
“Hammond!”
I slowed to a halt, briefly letting my eyes fall closed before I turned around. Keith and his posse made a beeline for me. Cruel intent oozed off them in waves. Everyone else stayed out of their way. I caught sight of Samantha behind them. She clutched her books to her chest, looking uncertain and ashamed. But it was the sympathy in her hazel eyes that hurt the most.
I didn’t want others’ sympathy. It was already hard enough to survive in this world.
Keith, Mark, David, Michael, and Andy circled me like I was an injured animal that they couldn’t wait to sink their teeth into.
I stared at Samantha across the hallway, grinding my teeth so hard that I worried they might pulverize. Campbell noticed, following my line of sight. He let out a delighted chuckle. “My girlfriend, Hammond? Really? You think she’d ever stoop so fucking low?”
The others laughed too.
I noticed her a lot. I couldn’t help it. She had the most breathtaking smile, and her blonde hair shimmered when the sun hit the curly strands. She was shy, but she pretended otherwise. She wanted to fit in, but she wished others would see her. Truly see her.
I saw her.
Campbell was right. Girls like her didn’t notice boys like me.
Campbell spat on me, and the others copied. Then I was shoved back against the lockers by their ringleader, who got in my face. He was a few inches shorter than me, but his diet was better, so he had more muscle than I did.
I wasn’t just a freak. I was a skinny freak, and they wouldn’t let me forget.
The first punch was always the worst. It got easier after that. After all, I was used to physical abuse. I could block the pain, but what I couldn’t do was put a lid on the shame I felt, knowing others were watching me get kicked and punched.
I shoved Keith away, but he came back for more, clocking me in the jaw. My teeth slammed together so hard that I got dizzy for a moment. My lip was cut, and the taste of copper assaulted my tongue. I flashed him a bloody smile, refusing to let him see the war raging inside me.
I was two seconds away from retaliating, and I feared there would be no stopping the darkness inside me once I did.
They finally left, and their rowdy laughter followed them down the hallway. Keith stopped to try to convince Samantha to go with them, but she shook her head, making some excuse I couldn’t hear from over here.
Her eyes darted my way when the others turned the corner, but I’d had enough of that pitying look.
I set off down the now-empty hallway and pushed open the door to the stairwell. I was just about to descend the stairs when Samantha’s soft voice cut through my pride.
“Robbie…”
With my hand on the metal railing, I peered at her over my shoulder. She seemed scared of me, but she didn’t run.
Shifting on the spot, she clutched her books closer to her chest and worried her bottom lip. “Are you okay?”
I turned fully, standing on the second step, with my left foot on the top. She hesitated, so I hesitated too.
What did she want?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered apologetically. “Of course, you’re not okay. You’re bleeding.” She took a step toward me but stopped, unsure of herself.
The silence stretched on. She fidgeted, but she didn’t leave.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” She peered up at me through her wispy lashes.
I walked up the final step, and her eyes widened in response. No one had ever made me feel like a wild circus animal before, until her. While Keith called me a freak, she made me feel like one.
But I didn’t leave.
She barely reached my collarbones.
“I’m sorry about Keith. He can be a—”
“A what?” A muscle twitched in my jaw. “An asshole?”
“Yes.” Her voice barely carried, and she struggled to look me in the eye. Maybe because I couldn’t take mine off her.
Her pulse fluttered in her neck, coaxing my attention to trail down the slender, pale curve. “He’s not an asshole,” she said, trying to defend him, but her voice lacked conviction.
I took a step forward, and she inched back, step by step, until her spine met the concrete wall behind her, eliciting a gasp from her lips.
“Robbie?” Her voice had taken on a new edge, laced with a hint of fear in response to the shadows gathering like a storm in my eyes. She wasn’t Samantha anymore. She was Mom.
“Why are you here?” I asked suspiciously, bringing my hand up to trail the backs of my fingers over her pulse point.
My heart beat harder in response to her sharp intake of breath. “You think I’m a freak, like the others. I can see it in your eyes. So why are you here?”
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
Caging her in with my hand braced on the wall, I wrapped my fingers around her throat and watched every flicker of emotion that crossed those beautiful, frightened eyes. I liked her fear. It thrilled something suppressed inside me. Something that shouldn’t be allowed to live. Something dark and dangerous.
But I was too far gone to fight anymore.
For once, it wasn’t me that was afraid. I held the power.
“Robbie?” Her voice was louder now, so I tightened my grip until all sounds ceased, and her eyes bulged. She clawed her pink, long nails down my arms.
“You’re fucking useless, Robbie. That’s why your father left. He couldn’t stand the sight of you either.”
“What a pathetic little shit you are. Stop being a baby and stand up; I didn’t hit you that hard.”
I squeezed tighter, blood rushing through my veins.
“Baby, yes, keep doing that. Harder.”
I was sick.
Sick, sick, sick.
Twisted. Evil!
Samantha’s struggle weakened, and capillaries burst in her eyes. I watched it all, listening to the demons in my mind.
“She doesn’t really care for you. No one does. She’ll tell her boyfriend how pathetic you are for running away. She’s a bitch. She deserves to die. It feels good, doesn’t it? To be the one who’s in control for once. I bet her pussy is warm and tight now.”
Leaning in, I buried my nose in her coconut-scented hair. I was hard. My fingers twitched on her neck. She’d stopped struggling.
“Fuck,” I rasped, breathing her in again, noting the scent of her sweet shampoo. Easing back, I studied her face and empty, bloodshot eyes. Her lips were blue and so fucking perfect that I almost leaned in and kissed her. I wanted to taste her in death. At least now, she couldn’t tell me what a freak I was. This way, I wouldn’t have to see the look of disgust in her eyes. How disappointed she was in me. Now she was mine.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I let my lips hover a hair’s breadth from hers. I stayed like this, with our noses brushing and my every breath gusting over her blue-tinted mouth.
I was just about to taste her when the sound of approaching footsteps drifted through the hallway. Laughter followed.
Spooked, I let go of her and stared in shock as she slid down the wall.
She was dead.
Dead...
What the fuck did I do?
Clawing at my hair, I freaked out.
I killed someone.
I was a monster.
As the voices drifted closer, I bolted.
32
SAVANNAH
After placing the last plate on the dish rack, I wipe my wet hands on a towel.
I peer out the window. A lone lamppost lights up the unmarked cop car across the street, which sits in the shadows. I’m starting to suspect they’re not here for my safety. No, they’re hoping Robbie might seek me out. The twinge in my heart tells me I do too. In fact, I’m willing to say screw it all and do something really fucking reckless.
I bet Robbie is out there somewhere, waiting and watching. I also bet he’d come after me if I left the house.
It’s a bad idea.
The worst.
Why am I even contemplating this?
The responsible thing to do would be to stay here, where it’s safe. Not leave the house and coax a serial killer out of the shadows.
Discarding the towel, I reach forward to pull the curtains closed, then turn and lean back against the counter. I stare at the fridge, the floor, the broom propped against the wall.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I pining after a psychopath? Why do I hold on to some ridiculous notion that we shared a connection?
What kind of a connection is it possible to have with a cold-hearted murderer? Is he even capable of emotions? Though the rose on my bed has me clinging to hope. Why would he leave a rose if he had no feelings? Why go through the trouble?
