Page 6 of Bound By Obsession

“I’m not your attorney and you’re not going home.” Charlton chuckles as the limousine lurches forward and speeds away from the precinct.

From then on, the man with beasty rings becomes the annoyingly silent type, not answering a single one of my questions. The drive is long, easily over an hour but I do drift into a light sleep somewhere along the way. I try to wake several times but my head is heavy on my shoulders, my eyelids refusing to obey the screaming inside my ears. I don’t know these men and I can’t trust them, but I clearly don’t care enough about what happens to me either. Another mile between me and my new sibling is nothing but a blessing in my eyes.

I finally manage to rouse as we pull into a curved driveway. The limo circles a fountain beside a huge mansion. Twice the size of the one I grew up in, judging from this angle. A curved doorway is surrounded by exposed, gray brick and framed by potted plants. The rest of the building is a rich wood color with darker gray tiles forming the roof, as visible on the garage we stop next to.

Following Charlton out, I stop on the concrete and stretch my neck. As soon as I close the door, the limo pulls into thegarage. Two muscled men, dressed all in black, exit the mansion and storm directly towards me. Charlton steps aside while I’m roughly patted down, although where or what they think I’m hiding, I don’t know. I removed my tattered shirt in the limo, so Mr. Handsy only has my trousers to grope, my phone hanging loosely in the side pocket. Grunting, he slowly rises to his full height and stares me down. His brown eyes narrow, then he gestures to follow as he turns away.

Either side of the main door, small lanterns flicker to life in the fading light of day as I pass. A vast staircase fills the center of the foyer, gold banisters complimenting the sparkling chandelier high above. Open archways either side lead further into the lower level, the same cream glossy wood flooring throughout. The guards guide us down a hallway to the right, Charlton’s shoes clicking loudly beside me as we stroll behind.

Meandering through a seemingly unused living room, Mr. Handsy knocks upon a mahogany door and waits to be permitted entry. Once a crackled voice sounds from within, he pushes the door open but nobody moves. All sets of eyes turn to face me, Charlton giving me a nudge with his shoulder so I enter the dimly-lit room.

I’m plunged into darkness as a click signals the door closing behind me. The beeping of a machine penetrates the strain of my eyes, guiding me forward. At the edges of the room, I notice the outlines of a sideboard and desk hinting that I’m in an office. Or what should be an office. I shuffle towards an armchair I noticed while I still had the light of the hallway to aid me. Finding the velvet material with my outstretched fingers, I round the chair and sit down to focus on the shadowed figure opposite. Only the occasional orange glow from a cigar and his heavy breathing alerted me to his presence, as well as the air of danger he’s shrouded in.

The silence stretches between us, my impatience starting to flare up but I bite my tongue. My instincts are yelling at me that despite the cloak and dagger routine, I shouldn’t be in a rush to piss him off. The routine beeping continues with each passing second, a rhythm I start to twitch my toes along with. Shifting forward, the man flicks on a lamp that burns my eyes.

Blinking to clear the spots from my vision, I spot the wires first, the figure before me hooked up to the heart monitor. A face mask hangs around his neck, linked to an oxygen tank that rests beside his high back wheelchair. His thinning slicked-back hair is a pale shade of gray, his skin scarred with years of drug and alcohol abuse. Also topless, blurred and faded tattoos litter his sagging frame that must have once held muscles to rival all of the guards outside put together. A horizontal scar lies across his upper left side, judging by his age probably from a pacemaker being inserted. Fear freezes my blood flow like liquid nitrogen as I consider that this man could be a future glimpse of who I’m going to become.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Wyatt. I must admit, I almost lost hope.” His croaky voice fills the air, shaking me from my internal panic.

“How do you know my name? Why am I here?” The answering chuckle I receive is anything but reassuring. Lifting the lid on a cigar box balanced on his thigh, he weakly attempts to hand it to me. I shake my head slightly, more focused on what he has to say.

“I know everything there is to know about you, my boy. Despite how desperately Nixon has tried to keep me away all these years.” Creasing my eyebrows, I wonder which one of those sentences to focus on first. Has this man had his goons following me, and if so for how long? And how does he know my father?

“Forgive me, you seem to know a lot about me but I’m unsure who I’m speaking with.” I tread carefully, not wanting to become one of his guard’s punching bags today. I didn’t mind coming here, but I’m starting to think I may be in over my head and don’t have a way to get back home. Hell, I don’t even know where I am.

“Where are my manners? Ray Perelli.” He announces, as if the name should mean something to me. My blank expression causes him to frown. “He really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

“Who?” I ask, utterly lost now. Fatigue is starting to seep into my bones, the headache I’d managed to shake taking hold again. A bath and bed would do me wonders right about now. Leaning forward into the light, his faded green eyes contain a surprising amount of venom for his age.

“The man who stole you from me.”

“Well, that was a bust,” Huxley slams the precinct doors open. He’s down the stone steps, his movements jerky and fists balled. I can hear what his mind is thinking as if he were screaming it in my face.I told you we should have come last night. We should have been here.

As if I was supposed to know Wyatt would be let out before eight in the morning and whisked away. The officers wouldn’t give us any information on what exactly happened, just that a lawyer had posted his bail and taken him ‘home’. I can’t imagine Nixon would send a lawyer with the instructions to take Wyatt to the one place he’s been telling us to avoid, but I’ve given up questioning these things. I’m just being pushed from pillar to post these days, along for the ride if nothing else.

Despite sleeping like the dead last night, exhaustion is heavy in my body. I’m lethargic, struggling to voice to those around me that I’ve had enough. I’m done. In the space of half a year, I’ve lost all of those I relied upon. I can’t even get in contact with Meg, her end of year responsibilities at college most likely keeping her busy.

And although the Shadowed Souls are doing their best to keep my spirits high, they’ve never known me like this. The girl who needs to take a step back and wallow in bed, to read and escape from reality until she’s resolute enough to resurface. It happens sometimes; a coping mechanism is what Keren would call it. I just know it as a young child who spent hours, sometimes days, locked away and needing to rely on her own imagination to keep going. Faced with the uncertainty I’m currently living in, I just need time.

“Well,” Garrett stretches his lower back by sticking his crotch too far forward, “I don’t know about you guys but I need to burn off some steam.”

“Where are you going now?” Axel groans as Dax mutters, “Someone get this guy a leash.” Now there’s a suggestion. Garrett has already started walking away, turning mid-step to face us still standing by the police station.

“There’s a gym nearby. What do you say, you sexy beasts? Fancy working up a sweat with me?” Garrett wags his eyebrows at us all. I bite down a smile, hating how easily he does this to me every time. One minute I’m contemplating falling into literary limbo, and now I’m biting my inner cheek and acting as if I wouldn’t follow Garrett to the ends of the earth. Wherever he goes, whatever he’s doing, it’s sure to be one hell of a ride.

I take a few steps in his direction, much to his delight, when Huxley’s sharp tone stops me. “You can’t seriously be going to work out at a time like this? Wyatt is fuck knows where and we need to be on high alert for…” I glance back at Hux. Hedoes his very best not to look at me and fails, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. For my apparent stalker to stop hiding and make his next move. The ball is in his court.

“Relax, big guy,” Garrett doesn’t seem to notice any tension between the rest of us. “The second those photos hit the morning papers, Nixon would have dragged Wyatt out of his cell so fast, he’ll need a chiropractor to fix his whiplash. I have no doubt Wyatt is getting an ear-full and drinking whiskey for breakfast. He’ll come back to us soon enough.”

Huxley doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t argue any further. His gaze returns to mine, as if to say,‘you should be on my side’. I cross my arms, my hip popping to the side.

“Have you got any better ideas?” I ask, preparing for this fight. It’s been a while coming, and as much as I’d hoped we could avoid it altogether, it’s becoming apparent we’ll need to hash it out soon. Garrett closes the distance between us, dragging me into his side.

“If it helps, this particular gym has a basketball court which I happened to reserve this morning. I thought there would be five of us to play, but it looks like you’ll have to substitute for us, Peach. I guess an unskilled Hughes is better than none.”

“Rude,” I purse my lips. Garrett’s smile grows wider. “I have a very particular set of skills which makes me a nightmare for people like you.” His laughter echoes around the street, a full bellied sound which dislodges the birds from the sidewalk’s planted trees. Turning, we’re then walking in time with each other’s steps.

“And what kind of person am I, Peach?” Garrett murmurs into my ear. His raw voice spirals through me, my core clenching on instinct.

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