Page 127 of Obsession
I think of my mom, who’ll go insane with worry. My poor mom, who has spent my entire life trying to protect me from something like this.
Robbie opens the passenger door and shuts it behind me when I slide in.
His eyes scan the parking lot as I watch him round the car. My brain urges me to run, but my body keeps me rooted to the seat, afraid to aggravate him.
How many women has he killed? What did the news say? What does it matter anyway? His total makes no difference to me. This time tomorrow, I’ll be another smiling face on a newsreport, another young girl with her whole life ahead of her who was snatched off the street and brutally murdered.
The driver’s door opens, and he falls in behind the steering wheel. His cap is pulled low over his eyes, and his gun is held expertly in one hand. He pulls the door shut, sealing us inside.
His shadowed eyes land on me, roving over my face for long seconds. I shrink back against the seat as his deep baritone cuts through the silence. “It’s nice to meet you, Beatrix.”
Shifting beside me, he cranks the engine to life. His tattooed hand engulfs the gearstick, and he spins the wheel with ease.
Tears spill unbidden down my cheeks as he drives us into the night.
53
SAVANNAH
It’s snowing again outside, and thick flurries sail through the air, dusting the tip of my nose. I hurry across the parking lot to the tall, imposing library framed by fir trees.
A lone lamppost sits beside the stone steps leading up to a set of heavy wooden doors.
I cross the pavement and pause at the bottom of the steps, glancing behind me briefly at my shoe prints in the snow. Soon, a fresh layer of flurries will bury them.
A shiver runs through me when I peer up at the doors, and I tighten my coat. My stalker is waiting for me inside.
This is a bad idea, but I’m no stranger to those, nor dangerous men with a taste for murder.
My breaths puff out in front of me, visible in the air, while I try to talk myself into leaving.
It’s almost too silent, as if the shadows hold their breath, leaning in closer, waiting to see what I’ll do—waiting to see if I’ll take my stalker’s bait and ascend these snow-dusted stone steps.
Intrigue wins, propelling me forward.
I ascend, counting each step—fifteen in total. My shadow shifts from my side and slides in front of me. I hesitate with myhands on the wrought iron handles, and the chill bites into my palms. I should turn around. I should sayscrew thisand run back down the steps to the safety of my car. I shouldn’t be here in the first place, playing into a killer’s hands.
When I open the doors, the hinges creak, and the first thing that greets me is the scent of old books and a musty library, which I’ve come to love throughout the years but now sends cold shivers racing down my spine. I scan the dimly lit room, surprised by how quiet it is, and not a good quiet, not a quiet that invokes feelings of safety. There’s an eerie silence that tracks my every move, waiting and watching.
“Hello?” My voice echoes off the marble floors and the tall stone ceiling. The librarian’s desk is empty, and an abandoned book is splayed open next to a single lit lamp on the counter. I swallow hard, walking deeper into the room. There’s no one here. Not a soul in sight.
A sudden sound to my left has me spinning around. My stomach tightens with renewed fear while I wait and listen.
Nothing else happens, so I set off in the direction of the sound, weaving between two tables with upturned chairs.
I come to a halt at the mouth of two bookshelves set wide, with rows and endless rows of books. In the middle of the polished marble floor lies a paperback.
My eyes flick to the gap in the shelf where it had been before someone pushed it down from the other side in the hopes of spooking me.
“I know you’re in here,” I call out, setting off down the aisle, away from the single lamp on the librarian’s desk.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I whisper, “Fuck,” as I try to switch on the flashlight with my trembling hands.
When a harsh beam finally lights up the marble floor, I breathe a relieved sigh and hold my phone up.
I move it left and right, the light dancing across countless cracked spines. Shadows elongate and shift grotesquely across the shelves.
“You got me here. Now fucking show yourself.”
