Page 24 of Obsession
Robbie’s mom was a monster.
Maybe even a bigger one than him.
I don’t care what he says. Would he have killed all those women if his own mother had kissed him goodnight? Held him? Sang lullabies to him, and made him feel safe and loved?
I jump when a rat scurries across the glass and dried leaves on the ground.
“Shit…” Clasping my chest, I breathe in deep through my nose, waiting for my heart to settle.
Why am I even here, entangling my heartstrings with a condemned man I know nothing about? A man I shouldn’t fantasize about at night.
I’m crossing so many professional boundaries, I’ve lost count.
Standing up, I root through my canvas bag for the item I packed in my rush to leave the house.
“Why am I doing this?” I mutter, feeling stupid. “You’re out of your damn depths, Savannah.”
I place the tattered teddy from my childhood down on the kitchen table. It looks out of place in this dank trailer, but a small part of me wants to bring the only sense of safety I had back then—the safety my perpetrators constantly ripped from my small hands—and place it here.
Robbie never had a teddy of his own.
Nothing to burrow his nose in and pray for better days.
I crouch down, bringing my nose level with the table, and stare at the teddy’s face. One of its eyes is missing. “Robbie needs you more than I do.”
But as I walk out of the trailer and head for my car, I wonder if that’s true. Maybe I just hide my darkness better than Robbie.
He seems to have caught on to what lurks behind the mask, and like a set of glowing eyes in the shadows, he coaxes me closer with that sinful smirk.
11
ROBBIE
Twenty-three hours a day. That’s how long I spend in this thirty-six square foot cell. The narrow window is too close to the ceiling to look outside.
I’m allowed one hour of recreation outside my cell six days a week. Unlike inmates with life sentences, I’m never allowed to be around other inmates. I eat alone, shit alone, and pace the square caged area outside alone.
Alone is all I’ve ever known. Even when I was a free man.
No one cared about me when I was young, and they sure as fuck don’t care about me now.
Not that I need pity.
But I have made useful contacts throughout the years while locked up inside this depressing cell, with its concrete slab to sleep on, steel toilet, and small writing table. Those contacts prove useful in moments like these.
A set of keys rattle in the lock, and I sit up in my bunk as the heavy door creaks open.
Officer Miller enters, peering around the barren space, and clears his throat as he holds out the newspaper.
Reaching out, I take it and place it down beside me before sliding my hand beneath the thin mattress. “You know what to do?”
“It’ll cost you. I’m already taking too many risks where you’re concerned.”
My deep chuckle fills the small space. “We both know no one cares around here, as long as we don’t cause riots.”
He gestures impatiently with his hand. “You have two seconds to give it to me before I change my mind.”
“Relax.” I place it in his hand, and he looks down at it, raising one of his dark eyebrows.
