Page 17 of Shadowed Obsession

“I should get checked out. I’ll say I came home late, scaredmi beba, and you greeted me with a gun like a good girl,” I add with a wink, but she isn’t amused. “It’s Texas. This shit happens all the time.Buenas noches,Deirdre Klarke,” I bid her adieu, tugging the front door shut behind me.

Not the meeting I imagined, but I survived.

7/

deer crossing

César

12:57 a.m. | 15 minutes after ‘the incident’

The drive home is the most agonizing thirty minutes of my life, and it has nothing to do with the gunshot wound in my arm. I’ve assessed the damage and thankfully I can avoid a hospital visit. The last thing I need is to go there and run into my sister, who is doing her PA clinicals in the emergency room in the nearby hospital.

I wouldn’t know where to begin explaining this unique relationship with Deirdre, and I’d rather not try. It doesn’t help that I don’t even understand what it isIam doing anymore. What happened tonight could’ve been avoided, had Iactuallybeen doing my job.

What I did instead was reckless and extremely unprofessional.Estupido. I’ll admit a lot of my recent actions have been unprofessional and invasive, but I can’t explain it. I can’t tell anyone either, because it feels so wrong and so right all at the same time.

I have this aching need to know everything there is to know about her; things I shouldn’t be allowed to know and aren’t my business. Like why can’t she sleep at night? What makes her soanxious and why are her eyes full of sadness?Noneof that is my business, yet I can’t shake it.

Deirdre Klarke isn’t someone who hides from danger. She embodies it, and you cannot fear what you are. However, I’m to blame for the fear in her eyes tonight. My stomach churns at the thought of this unfortunate first impression.

I came straight home from the airport, itching to check her camera feed, and decided to keep myself busy with tasks around the house instead. Once I completed them, I showered and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would take me. But I was wrong.

I couldn’t sleep in Puerto Rico while surrounded by photos and memories in myabuela’shome. The realization became more apparent as I prepared the space for her to spend her final days in hospice care.

Eventually, I gave in and checked Deirdre’s cameras, relieved to find her sleeping soundly in bed. As I paced my home, I stared downAbuela’spilónthat no one else wanted. The thought crossed my mind, and before I knew it, my keys were in hand, and I was heading for her house at two in the morning.

It was bold of me to stride inside as if I lived there, but at least I wasn’t empty handed. I’d been quiet enough, and have done this countless times without disturbing her. Except the layout was different; she’d moved her vast collection of plants from the kitchen, nearly filling her spacious living room. I toed around, thinking I’d been being careful, but my size often complicates things.

I’m not usually a clumsy guy. But I was, and at the wrong time tonight, I stubbed my toe on a planterhard. Then I jumped back and knocked overanotherhuge planter with a loud crash. If the crash didn’t wake her, cursing to myself did. It made a huge mess with soil and shattered ceramic all over the floor.

Thinking quickly, I rushed to toss the shards, not wanting her to get hurt, attempting to clean it herself, and the hunt for abroom is how she spotted me. The least I could do was clean up after myself, and I would’ve taken care of it if she hadn’t shot me.

The fact that she lives alone, has an arsenal of weapons, and doesn’t go anywhere without a gun, would make a wise man wait for a vacant home before breaking and entering. Except I never said I was wise.

I’ll admit I hadn’t considered that she’d really shoot me until she actually did. Silly me for thinking all of our inside jokes meant she changed her mind. Let that be a lesson: you can’t laugh yourself out of a death sentence.

At the time, it felt like a grand gesture and so necessary, but instead I earned a reality checkanda gunshot wound.

I’m ripped from my thoughts when a white-tailed deer darts out in front of me. My feet slam on the brakes in time to avoid a collision, and she stops in her tracks to pin me with a stare. The familiarity of this standoff sends a chill over me, and my gaze doesn’t waiver as I wait anxiously for her to either pass or lunge toward my truck. The latter seems impossible, but the Doe in my lifedidjust shoot me. So maybe I ought to have more respect for quarry.

I roll down my window slightly, clicking my teeth to encourage her to move along. She breaks our gaze, staring into the woods as if she’s waiting for someone. Moments later, a fawn emerges from the rustling brush to join her. She glances at me once more before they retreat across the road.

“What a fucking night,” I say, taking a deep breath as I resume my drive.

Thankfully,I had everything I needed at home to clean my wound and wrap it. I lean over the sink as I swallowsome acetaminophen for the pain and remove my blood-soaked hoodie, tossing it aside.

I examine the graze wound before rinsing it with saline and cleansing. It looks like shit, but at least I’ll have another cool scar. I’m turning off the water when I hear my front door open followed by a familiar voice calling out. My sister’s timing couldn’t be better.

¡Maldita sea!

My eyes dart around at the bloody towels surrounding me, and I glare at the ceiling, mouthing,you think this shit is funny, huh?

A lie isn’t going to convince her once she walks in to see all the blood-soaked towels. The floorboards creak as her footsteps grow closer, but I remain silent as I frantically scramble to clean up. Of course, she finds me…as I’m shoving bloody towels under the sink. What do I even say? My girlf—subjectshot me?

How did I end up here?

“What the fuck happened, César?” she exclaims, and before I can respond, she’s at my side assessing me.

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