Page 51 of The Obsession

Mr. Chan shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve never bothered to watch the feed. But the cop lady thought it was worth checking out. What a beauty, eh? I got it fifty percent off because my brother-in-law owns the store—well, he doesn’t actually own it, but he’s the senior manager—”

I barely heard anything he said. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the camera. It seemed to jeer at me with its all-seeing eye.

“Are you okay, hon? You’re looking a bit pale,” Mr. Chan said. “Wanna come inside? Priya is making chai.”

I recovered enough of my senses to shake my head. I blinked at Mr. Chan, my lovely neighbor who’d unwittingly set up my downfall, and it took everything to stop myself from bursting into tears. “I have to go,” I managed to say, and then I ran across the street.

Back in the privacy of my own room, I paced about, biting my fingernails ferociously,shitshitshit, what’s going to happen, what do I do, what do I do?I picked up my phone, scrolled through my contacts—nothing useful. I hurled it at the wall with an animalistic scream. While I spent the past few days worrying about Logan, Mendez had been working on this case, gnawing, digging at every angle. Did she know I was Brandon’s killer? Did she suspect that there was a link to the drugs business? Had she put two and two together? Did she realize I was a two-for-one deal—Draycott’s dealer and Brandon’s murderer? This was something else, something on an entirely different level. Logan was bad; Mendez getting hold of potential footage of me killing Brandon was catastrophic.

Calm down. Calm. Down!

I dashed down the stairs to the garage. I turned on the lights and paused. This was the first time I’d been in there since the accident. Mom had gotten the floor professionally cleaned, thank god, so there were no stains on it. She’d also gotten rid of the Camaro. In fact, aside from a few of Brandon’s old work tools, there were very few signs of Brandon having been in the garage. Still, a wave of nausea rolled over me, and I had to take a few deep breaths before going in. I retraced my steps on the day of the accident and looked out the window. From where I stood, I couldn’t see Mr. Chan’s camera; it was blocked by a tree. Did that mean his camera wouldn’t see me, either?

My heart beat out a desperate, hopeful rhythm as I made my way out of the garage and back across the street. I knocked on Mr. Chan’s door and plastered on a neighborly smile when he opened it.

“What’s up, Dee?” he asked, his expression mildly bemused.

“Hi, Mr. Chan. Um, I was thinking about your security camera and like, I was thinking of asking Mom to buy a few for our house. I mean, it’s just the two of us ever since Brandon died, and I’d feel a lot safer with cameras around. Can I take a look at the video feed? I just wanna check the resolution.”

Mr. Chan beamed with pride. You could tell he’d been dying to share the stuff with anyone who would listen. “Of course! Come on in.”

Moments later, I was seated in Mr. Chan’s study while he powered up his computer. He’d been talking nonstop about camera specs for the past few minutes. “I can probably get your mom a discount, too. Maybe not as much as the one I got, but you never know!”

“Wow, that’s great,” I said, doing my best to sound halfway enthused.

“Okay, here we go…” He waved me over and pushed the monitor toward me. “Look at that image quality. Crystal.”

“It’s very good,” I mumbled, my stomach sinking. His camera really was excellent. Everything was shown in high definition, down to the paw prints of some cat that had walked across the pavement before it had completely set. My garage was partly hidden by the tree in front of Mr. Chan’s house, but through the gaps between the leaves I could see inside the top garage window.

“Um, could you rewind to like, a few minutes ago?” I said.

Blood roared in my ears as Mr. Chan clicked open a menu. This was it. It would either reveal me as Brandon’s killer, or…

The video played. My breath hitched, my eyes glued, unblinking to the screen.

And there I was, on the screen. Or rather, there was the very top of my head.

“Could you zoom in?” I said.

I leaned close as the image enlarged. My face wasn’t visible from the vantage point, especially since it was obscured by a tree, but it was clear there was somebody moving around inside the garage. The knot inside my stomach tightened. Mendez would know someone was inside the garage. But maybe this checked out with my story? After all, I’d told them I’d gone down to see if Brandon wanted anything from the store, and then tried to lift the jack…so maybe not all was lost. Except I hadn’t run around all panicked like an innocent person probably would. I’d walked slowly toward Brandon, talking to him, and then bent over…

Dimly, I heard myself thanking Mr. Chan for his time. My mind churned nonstop as I walked home, twisting all sorts of different scenarios into shape. So many possibilities, ranging from Mendez completely missing the top of my head (unlikely) to Mendez zooming in endlessly, using some fancy image-enhancing software until she had irrefutable evidence that the person walking around in the garage right before Brandon died was me (more likely).

I was a bone caught between two dogs. If Mendez got her way, I’d be locked up for good. If Logan got his way, I’d be at his beck and call for the rest of my life or at least until he got bored and discarded me for his next obsession. I was nothing more than the passive object of their interests. All that time when Brandon was around, I’d cowered and tiptoed and tried to make myself as tiny as possible so he wouldn’t notice me. And I’d hated myself for being so weak, so docile, so powerless. But hadn’t I proven I wasn’t entirely helpless? Hadn’t I shown I had the strength and cunning to take charge? My life was diverging into two of the worst possible outcomes—Mendez or Logan, prison or blackmail. But maybe it was time I forged a change. Maybe it was time I carved out a new path for myself. Mendez was itching for a suspect. Logan was pining for a dead girl. Maybe, if I played it right, I could give them both what they wanted.

Part Two

girl loses boy

Chapter Sixteen

Delilah

The kitchen was a whirlwind of dirty pots and mixing bowls and flour and cocoa powder and spilled batter. It also smelled heavenly. I carefully crushed a few pills under a spoon and then poured the powder into a mixing bowl with whipped butter and sugar. Buttercream frosting, with a sprinkling of MDMA and Ambien. Just in case Logan might be able to taste the bitterness of the drugs, I heaped two more spoonfuls of powdered sugar and a shot of espresso into the mix before whipping it all up into a light, fluffy mass. The coffee should mask anything suspicious. I’d worked with Lisa long enough to know just how many pills would be enough to have the desired effect.

With any luck, Mom wouldn’t wake up until noon, and by the time she came downstairs, the mess would be—

“Baking again, are we?” she said, popping her head around the doorway. She was still in her pj’s.

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