Obsessed

by Jenn Faulk

  It wasn’t because she thought God was going to heal her: she knew she was going to die. She knew that it was God’s plan for her, and she wanted us to know it, too. She wanted us to be okay with it.

  But I’m not okay with it. I was never okay with it. And if God’s plan is to take Maggie and to take Emma, well, I’m just not okay with that, either. I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who can accept God’s will no matter what, but I’m not . . .

  And so I find myself fighting down the anger that wells up inside me when I pray to God for help, and this, this is what He gives me.

  I know the plans . . .

  The plans . . .

  Plans . . .

  And then it hits me.

  Neil planned this. He planned it for months. Maybe for years.

  I take my hand from my eyes and look at my computer screen again. And I search, one more time.

  ~Maggie~

  “Well, come on,” Neil says, a laugh in the words, as he takes the keys out of the ignition, grabs my phone and his both, and gets out of the car.

  I try to even my breathing as I stare at the yacht in front of us.

  Get on that boat, Maggie, and you may never get off.

  It’s the first thought I have.

  Will he kill me? If I don’t play this game well enough, if I don’t lie so authentically that he believes me, if I don’t manage to keep him happy . . . will he just kill me like he killed Brandon? Like he would have killed Tanner, had he not figured out another way to get to Emma?

  He could kill me. Easily. Without remorse.

  That means he could kill Emma.

  It’s that thought that propels me from the car and to his side, where he’s holding a hand out to me.

  “Is Emma . . . is she onboard already?” I ask, resolving to myself that nothing else in this world matters now. Just Emma. Just getting to her. Once she’s in my arms, I’ll figure out something. But for now, the only goal is getting to her.

  Making Neil happy is a means to an end.

  So, I hold his hand.

  This makes him grin wider.

  “She is,” he says, nodding that direction. “She has her own room on our yacht. I think she’s happy with how I’ve got it all set up for her already.”

  He’s been planning this a long while. Stealing Brandon’s fortune took a lot of work. Buying this yacht just as much. Kidnapping Emma not once but twice even more.

  “You went to a lot of trouble for us,” I say, forcing a smile. “You could have just asked me out, you know.” Then, remembering that he did and that I turned him down, “I mean, after Brandon and I were over. We’ve been over a long time, Neil. This was a lot of work when it could have been a lot easier.”

  Brandon could still be alive. Emma could still have her father. I could have been spared all of this, all that I’ve gone through.

  But no. I would’ve turned him down again. And who knows what a second rejection might have made him do?

  He considers my words for a long moment. Just as I begin to fear that I’ve inadvertently reminded him of a painful, angry memory, he stops walking, raises my hand to his lips, and kisses my fingers, one by one.

  “You were worth it, Maggie.”

  I swallow back the bile that’s creeping up my throat.

  Emma. All of this for Emma.

  She is worth it.

  “Well, show me, then,” I say to him, as we continue making our way down the docks toward the water and the huge yacht he’s pointed out.

  “I had a lot to choose from,” he says proudly. “There was a lot of money to work with, so there was a large range of options. I went with this one, though, because there was so much room and so many amenities. Maggie, we could live on this thing for months, out on the ocean, without needing to come back to land. If we store enough food and water, we won’t have to come back to civilization anytime soon.” He grins at this. “It’ll be like our own little paradise.”

  I feel sick just thinking about it.

  “I hope I don’t get seasick,” I manage. “I mean, I’ve never even been on a boat. Not since I was a kid, and we’d take trips to the lake back home.”

  Neil doesn’t even ask about where home is. He doesn’t want to know any of the details. I guess he assumes we’ll have plenty of time for all of those stories in those long months we’ll have at sea.

  “You won’t get sick on this,” he says, laughing and squeezing my hand tightly as he pulls me along. “It’s like a floating house. We put Emma on her end of the boat, and it’ll be like she’s not even there. Just you and me.”

  I glance over at him, even more terrified. Maybe it won’t take a rejection for him to do something drastic to Emma.

  Suddenly, I’m even more worried about her safety, about how she’s managed in these hours she’s been away from me.

  “Let’s hurry,” I say, and now, I’m the one dragging him.

  “Eager, huh?” he asks with a laugh, but I do my best to ignore him as we move even more quickly toward the yacht.

  Once we’re there, ready to step on board, he holds his hand out with a flourish.

  “Welcome home, Maggie.”

  In another context, this would be very different. It’s a beautiful boat. Insanely extravagant, even from the outside. I can imagine countless summer days, spent on the water, enjoying this kind of life.

  I look to Neil, and I imagine, in a different context, a very, very different context, what it would be like if this was Peter, offering me everything.

  I’d accept it happily, eagerly.

  But Neil isn’t Peter.

  Not at all, I note, as he roughly picks me up in his arms without any warning. I let out a panicked cry, which gives him pause.

  “Well, I have to carry you across the threshold,” he says, as though that explanation validates this entire bizarre scenario. “We have to do this thing right.”

  “Oh,” I say, blinking back tears, as he moves me onto the boat, as I think of all that is so wrong with him. I glance back at the parking lot, knowing that no one is coming for me but hoping still that I’ll see Peter’s car pulling in, hear him yelling my name, see him running toward us . . .

  “Hey.” I hear Neil say shortly as he sets me on my feet. He’s speaking to a woman who . . . wow. She looks rough. Tired. Sick.

  And she’s looking at me, then at Neil, her hand held out.

  “Where is she?” Neil asks.

  “Back in the room with the toys,” the woman says, flicking another glance at me.

  I stare at her, my eyes pleading. Doesn’t she know that this is wrong? Can’t she tell that I’m upset? Surely she knows that she’s part of a crime—

  “Here.” Neil slaps a stack of bills into her hand.

  Suddenly, she doesn’t care anything about me anymore. Done with her job and done with Neil, she squeezes past us both and leaves the yacht.

  “So,” Neil says, slipping his arms around me, “what do you think?”

  I want my baby. I want to take my baby and get off this boat.

  Does he have a weapon? Could I overtake him? It would be difficult with Emma in my arms, and once I get her there, I’m not going to chance letting her go.

  I can’t take any chances. I just need Emma, and then, I’ll worry about what’s next.

  “It’s perfect,” I say softly, genuine tears in my eyes.

  “Maggie,” he says, breathing the words into my hair. “You don’t have to cry. Just say thank you. That’ll be enough. For now.”

  I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t kill me first.

  “Thank you,” I somehow manage to say.

  “So,” he says, kissing me on the head. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

  “How about the room with the toys first?” I ask hopefully. “Please?”

  He smiles at me. “Always putting your baby first,” he says knowingly. “You’re a good mother, Maggie.”

  I am a good mother. Because all I’m thinking about as he wa
lks me to Emma’s room is how I’m going to make sure that he never so much as touches a hair on her head. I told Peter once that mothers are willing to die for their babies before they’re even born, but I know the truth more fully now.

  Mothers are willing to die for their children even after that. I’d die for Emma right now if doing so would keep her safe from Neil.

  “It’s just down here,” he says. “You see all the woodwork on this beauty?” He touches the walls in the narrow hallway appreciatively.

  “Beautiful,” I say, knowing that every step is bringing me closer and closer to Emma. “How far now?”

  “Right here,” Neil says, opening the door slowly, drawing out every bit of breath that I have in my lungs, waiting, hoping . . .

  There she is. Sitting on the floor with so many teddy bears and dolls and puppets and toys that she looks like one of them.

  But she’s not smiling.

  Even when her gaze meets mine, she’s still not smiling.

  Emma has learned fear in all of this. She’ll never, ever be the same sweet innocent baby that she was.

  “Emma,” I say, the word coming out as a sob. I push past Neil, even as my sweet baby flinches and begins to whimper, looking over at him as he tries to regain his balance.

  “Watch out, Maggie,” he chides. There’s a flicker of annoyance in his voice already. My best attempts to placate him with false affection won’t keep him satisfied for long at this rate. He’ll begin to get angry with me. I won’t be safe. Emma won’t be safe.

  This only makes me sob harder as I drop to my knees and begin pushing past toys to get to Emma.

  Emma, who is crying now, too.

  I take her up into my arms, holding her close, one hand around her tiny body, the other on her ear, as though I can shield her from all the awful words and thoughts and feelings that are floating around this room. She whimpers into my chest, and I just want to weep with her, forgetting everything else, never, ever going out into the real, scary world with her ever again.

  But we’re not alone. Not here.

  “We should put her down for a nap,” Neil says. The sounds of his voice startles Emma. I can’t imagine what she’s endured at his hands.

  I hate him. I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone.

  He’s done this to her.

  He’s done this.

  “Shhh,” I whisper to Emma, rocking her back and forth from where we sit on the floor, sobbing together. “Mommy’s here now. Mommy’s going to take care of everything.”

  ~Peter~

  Long before Brandon’s accounts were emptied, Neil did a lot of research.

  He spent time finding out how big of a deposit he could make into any one account without alerting the government. He practiced depositing and withdrawing small amounts of money into various Serra Travel’s client accounts to see if it was traceable. He learned how to switch numbers from one phone to another.

  But one search catches my eye above all others.

  How far can a yacht travel on one tank of gas?

  The answer, of course, depends on the efficiency of the particular yacht, and it depends on the size of the fuel tank onboard.

  But in general? How far did Neil find out that he could travel on one tank of gas in an average yacht?

  3,000 miles.

  That’s how far Neil can go. That’s how far he can travel with Maggie and Emma before he has to think about stopping.

  ~Maggie~

  I hold Emma for so long that she falls asleep in my arms.

  Looks like Neil got his wish after all. Nap time.

  I finally raise my eyes from her sleeping face to turn to look at him, but he’s not standing where he was. Just as I begin to appreciate at least this about him—that he left us alone for a minute, giving us some privacy—I notice that something feels off.

  We’re moving.

  Oh, no . . . we’re moving!

  I had at least a little bit of hope that we could escape as long as the boat stayed docked. If we’re moving, though, there’s no way that anyone will be able to easily locate us. Best case scenario is that someone will figure it out and come, but if we’re already going, there’s no way we’ll be found.

  Careful not to jostle Emma awake, I stand up and begin to make my way back down all the narrow hallways to the front of the ship. I have no idea how a yacht is laid out, so I don’t even know where to begin to look to find Neil, to find out where he’s guiding the ship from, to know what’s going on . . .

  Except there’s music. He has music playing.

  I shift Emma onto my hip and walk toward the music.

  I recognize it. It’s an old, mellow, alternative rock album that I know all the words to, even all this time later, as I make my way to where Neil is.

  “Brings back a lot of memories, doesn’t it, Maggie?” he murmurs from where he stands, steering the yacht.

  It does. It was one of the few albums we played at the coffee shop. This particular one was played so often that I always joked that our manager was keeping it on a continual loop just so he wouldn’t have to bother with it. Over and over again during the shift, with me laughing every time it would start again . . .

  . . . laughing with Neil.

  At the time, I’d thought of it as a soundtrack to Brandon, to being in love with him, because that’s what was playing all those times that he’d come in to flirt with me, then to wait on me to go home with him, then on that very tense morning when I’d called to let him know that I had some news, my stomach uncharacteristically turning at the familiar smell of coffee.

  I’d thought of that album as Brandon’s.

  Neil had thought of it as mine.

  I feel sick.

  I feel even worse when I see the clear outline of a gun, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, just underneath his shirt.

  This is it, then. There’s no escaping now.

  “Do you remember it?” Neil asks, looking over at me, smiling when he sees that Emma is content and asleep.

  “I do,” I say, finding a seat on the padded bench behind him, making space for Emma to rest comfortably while never taking my hands off her.

  “I like the way that sounds,” he muses, staring out far in the distance. “I might like to hear you say that again some day. Maybe after all the excitement of finding Emma dies down, you forget about Peter . . .”

  He knows that there’s more going on with Peter. I blink back tears as I watch the shore slip farther and farther away from us, knowing that I still have to lie.

  “He was just a friend,” I say softly, wondering what Peter is doing right now, imagining him going to my apartment with his good news, telling Tanner and my parents what he knows, all of them looking at their watches, wondering why I’m not back from my walk, panicking . . .

  “Don’t lie to me, Maggie,” Neil says.

  There’s warning in his voice. Very clear warning.

  But there’s also uncertainty. He wants to believe that Peter is nothing to me.

  “He is, Neil. He’s just a friend,” I say again, wondering if I can convince him to turn the yacht around, to head back even for a little while. “And I can totally see myself saying ‘I do’ to you, Neil. I can see myself saying it soon. Today, even.”

  He turns to give me a shocked look. “Really?”

  Wow. He is delusional.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling at him over Emma’s head, hating him even more in my heart. “I mean, you went through all of this for me. You bought me a yacht. A home. No one’s ever loved me that much.”

  Well, someone did. Someone does. He’s got to be looking for me.

  Keep looking, Peter. I’m trying to get back to you.

  “I know,” Neil says. “Brandon didn’t know what he had.”

  Maybe not, at least not when it came to me. But he knew what he had when it came to Emma. Thinking of him with her, of how much he loved her, of all the sweet memories they could have still made together, makes me angrier. It makes me angry
in a way I haven’t been before now, imagining Emma growing up without her dad just like I grew up without mine.

  The anger makes it easier to lie.

  “And you do,” I say. “Neil, I’d marry you today. I’m all in. If you’d find us a place and take me there now, I’d marry you.”

  He considers this for a moment, looking out at the water. Clearly, he’s really honestly debating whether or not to go for it, but he shakes his head, likely thinking of the police that must be aware of what’s going on by now. “It’s just a piece of paper,” he mutters. “We don’t need it.”

  Think, Maggie, think.

  “But it would be romantic,” I say, forcing myself to smile at him. “So romantic, you know. The two of us saying I do, then setting off into the sunset.”

  This seems to appeal to him.

  “Is that something you want?” he asks.

  No, what I want is to punch him in the face, throw him overboard, and drive the boat back to the shore. But I’ve already concluded that he’s the one who must have shot and killed Brandon, so I’m too scared to do anything, knowing that he has a gun, that he’s sadistic enough to turn it on Emma, and that he’s not above anything at this point.

  I study him for a long moment, thinking through the options. If I could just overpower him, get the gun . . .

  He catches me eyeing him.

  “Did you hear what I asked?” There’s a sharpness to his voice. It doesn’t escape my notice.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . tired, I guess. It’s been a long day, worrying about Emma. And I got hardly any rest.”

  His demeanor changes. He believes me.

  “You should go back and take a nap in our room,” he says.