Page 9 of Obsession
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
Charlotte leaves, and I sigh tiredly. Deep down, I know she’s right. I’m running myself into an early grave, but I don’t want my dad to be shipped to a care home. I also can’t afford it. I can barely scrape by now. The meager savings my father had are almost gone. But I can’t let myself think about what I’ll do when I can no longer afford his healthcare.
I find him in the living room, his bed raised slightly so he can see the TV better.
“Hi, Dad.”
No response. Ever since the incident, he hasn’t been able to speak a single word. Now, he’s a severely brain-damaged, living ghost.
Reaching for a packet of tissues on his bedside table, I slide one out and wipe away some of the drool that’s formed at the corner of his mouth. He mumbles something incoherently.
After placing the tissues back down, I plop onto the armchair in my wet and cold clothes. I should have a shower, but I’m too exhausted to get up. Instead, I fall asleep to the soothing, repetitive sound of the sports commentator.
4
SAVANNAH
I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve stayed up late to scour every news article I can find on Robbie. The more I read, the more obsessed I become. I can’t stop. The killings should scare me, but I’m strangely intrigued—a morbid fascination that spells trouble.
Especially now that I’ve sat across from him and had those ice-blue eyes on me and liked how his undivided attention felt. How it licked across my skin like a trail of fire.
He’s a ruthless man who derives sexual pleasure from torturing his victims and violating their corpses. He takes his time, handling their bodies with due care. There’s a twisted gentleness and thoughtfulness, something akin to his brand of love, behind every action.
I imagine him stroking his calloused, blood-soaked fingers over their tear-streaked cheeks, comforting them with hushed whispers before pressing down on the swell of their trembling bottom lip. Robbie is light and dark. His undeniable regard for detail and the care he takes in his killings clash with the vicious violence he possesses at the tips of his fingers. He’s a ruthless monster who carves unconventional beauty with his blade.
In his own twisted mind, his victims were carefully picked for their youth, beauty, and ability to satisfy the beast that dwells inside him. It’s an act of reverence on his part.
I jump when my colleague, Elliot, clears his throat behind me.
“How many news articles have you read now? Ten? A hundred?”
Spinning around in my seat, I fake a smile. “Are you spying on me, Elliot?”
“Not at all.” He walks up beside me and angles my laptop screen farther back to read the article currently taking up my screen. His curly blonde hair flops over his forehead as it creases in concentration. “Victim number five.”
I stay silent, clicking my pen while he continues reading. Elliot has always been competitive. His bitterness toward me conducting Robbie’s interviews has still not abated, despite our boss assigning him the highly coveted string of bank robberies in recent weeks.
His assessing emerald eyes slide from the screen to the side of my face, and the longer he watches me, like he wants to peel my skin open to look inside, the more my scalp prickles. “I’m trying to figure out why he was so insistent that you had to be the one to interview him.”
Avoiding his gaze, I shrug and shut the screen before scooting the chair back and rising to my feet. “I don’t know, Elliot.”
It’s a lie. A serial killer like Robbie Hammond is nothing if not calculating. There’s definitely a reason he insisted on seeing me out of all my colleagues. I have theories, but that’s all they are.
Elliot moves back when I straighten up and reach for my bag slung over the back of my chair. I pick up my laptop, trying tomove past him, but he holds his ground, narrowing his green eyes.
“You’re out of your depth. You should let me handle this story.”
“What about the robberies?”
With his hands in his pockets, he scoffs, looking casual, but we both know he’s anything but. “Don’t play dumb. A string of robberies fades in comparison to Robbie’s confession.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I start, but he takes a step closer, forcing me back against my desk. There’s nothing friendly about the look on his face or the sneer curling his lips. “You’re nothing special, Savannah. Don’t get ideas. James wouldn’t have looked twice in your direction if Robbie hadn’t demanded you.”
He’s not wrong. Our boss has always favored Elliot over me. Maybe that’s why I need this chance to prove to James that I’m just as good, if not better, than Elliot. Maybe Robbie Hammond has done me a favor.
“Yeah, well…” I struggle to keep my voice strong. “The story is mine.” I try to move past him again, but he’s as immovable as a brick wall. “Let me pass, Elliot.”
Sucking on his teeth, he slides his hand from his pocket and tugs on a strand of my hair, stroking it between his fingers. I hold my breath, refusing to show weakness.
