Page 20 of Obsession
Charlotte makesnotes of my father’s medication before placing the patient file back in the holder attached to the end of my father’s bed. “He has seemed more distressed lately.”
“Distressed?” I’m listening with half an ear, seated at the small table in the corner of the room. Plastered on the laptop screen is an article about Robbie’s final murder.
The most gruesome of them all.
While he always showcased sadistic tendencies, he escalated with each kill.
Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him because it’s hard to place the man I sit across from every week with this monster on the screen—every gory detail laid out for me.
“He hasn’t been himself.”
I look away from the screen. My father’s attention is solely on the racing. “What makes you say that?”
Charlotte walks up to the table and pulls out the chair beside me, enveloping me in a cloud of flowery perfume. “He’s more thirsty than usual. And he gets aggravated easily.”
“Huh.” I drag my eyes away from my father.
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I don’t mean for it to come across as defensive, but it does.
“I’m sorry… I overstepped.”
Normally, I would try to soothe her. But as she stands up and squeezes my shoulder before walking out, I can’t find it in me to pretend anymore.
As soon as the front door clicks shut, I look over my shoulder at my father.
“Savannah, baby girl, come here!”
Trepidation chokes me as I hesitate in the living room doorway.
My father and three of his friends are seated around the table, smoking cigars. Their predatory eyes follow my every step as I slowly enter the room, with my tattered teddy clutched to my tight chest. Fear ripples across the exposed skin on my arms. I’ve been here before, at the mercy of Daddy’s friends.
“There’s a good girl,” Daddy says, lifting me beneath my armpits and putting me on his lap.
Across the table, Mark reaches for another card, puffing on his cigar. His dark eyes land on my face, and I burrow my nose in Daddy’s neck, seeking safety, as elusive as the dying light outside.
Bad things happen in the dark.
I don’t like nighttime.
Next to Daddy, Andy stubs out his cigar. His voice is gruff when he gestures toward me, “Come here, little girl. Sit on my lap instead.”
My head shakes desperately, but no one cares, and somewhere in the ensuing struggle, my teddy falls to the floor. Strong, suffocating arms wrap around me as Andy’s scratchy mustache brushes up against my tear-streaked cheek. “Good girls stay quiet, don’t they, sweetheart?”
My father laughs, picking up more cards and tossing one on the table. “Take it easy on her; she has only just woken up.”
“But she’s so precious.” His fingers smell of tobacco as they stroke my hair away from my shoulder. “Isn’t that right, sweetie? You’re precious?”
I nod because I’ll get into trouble if I don’t.
His hand comes to his belt, and he slowly unbuckles it before reaching forward to grab his beer bottle. He takes a swig, puts it back down, and grips my hand. “There’s a good girl, stay quiet for me. No crying.”
Shooting up from my seat, I storm over to the bed where my father drools. I grab the remote and shut off the TV.
“You don’t fucking deserve it.” Tears prick my eyes, stinging like hell as I whisper shakily, “You don’t deserve any of this.”
My hands flex, clenching tight. Suddenly, the image of Robbie with a baseball bat pops into my head, hovering by his mother’s bedside.
