Obsessed

by Devon Scott

  Michael will be relaxed and in a great mood. He’ll be happy to see her. He’ll take them out for a late-night snack afterward. Zack will say he wants to sleep in his own bed, and Michael will consent. He’ll follow them home in the Range Rover. Help tuck Zack into bed, and then trail Kennedy to their room, where she’ll undress him, and lead him to bed.

  Kennedy smiles.

  The thought is alluring.

  What she wouldn’t give to put this horrible mess behind her.

  Become a family once again.

  She’d give anything to have her family back together.

  Kennedy angles toward the rink. Couples with their young children are loitering by the entrance, laughing and carrying on, their breath visible in the air.

  “MOMMY!”

  Kennedy turns and grins.

  Zack is stampeding toward her.

  Michael stands twenty yards away, smiling as he observes his son. Zack barrels into his mother, who scoops him up in her arms.

  “How are you?”

  “Good,” Zack answers breathlessly. “This is so cool, don’t you think, Mommy?”

  She’s not exactly sure what he’s referring to: the fact that they are out as a family again, or this ice-skating rink, or the fact that he’ll get to stay up late tonight.

  Kennedy grins.

  “Absolutely! Are you ready to go skating?”

  “Yup!”

  “Zack, ‘yup’ is not a word. Say ‘yes.’ ”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  Michael comes up and says hello.

  He’s looking scrumptious in his stonewashed jeans and boots, thin sweater under a sport jacket. She stares for a second longer than she should at the spot where his legs come together.

  Spies the bulge, which she knows all too well.

  Forces her eyes to creep upward and meet his gaze. Kennedy smiles back.

  “Hey. You ready to do this?” she asks innocently.

  “Let’s do it,” Michael says.

  “All right!” Zack chimes in.

  Inside and to the left is the counter where they can rent skates. They go over; Michael speaks to the attendant and fishes out his wallet to pay for the rentals. Moments later they are sitting on a long, narrow bench, lacing up their skates.

  Kennedy attends to Zack, then dons her own skates. By the time she’s done, Michael is standing beside her, ready.

  They walk carefully toward the ice.

  Christmas music is playing.

  The trees surrounding the rink are decorated with thousands of tiny white lights.

  The moon is rising into a nighttime sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” Kennedy murmurs to Michael, who is alongside her.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Zack gets to the ice first, steps on it unsurely, and once both feet are no longer wobbling, he takes off.

  “Zack, wait for us!” Kennedy yells, but her words go unheeded. Michael shakes his head.

  “He’s your son,” he muses.

  They begin to skate.

  Slowly, not in any rush, following the current of folks gliding around the smooth white ice. Overhead the stars are out, twinkling in the moonlight.

  “Haven’t done this in a while,” Kennedy says to Michael, who nods silently. She almost adds with a smirk, “There are a few other things we haven’t done in a while,” but holds her tongue.

  An African-American couple glides in front of them. They are in their mid-thirties, bundled up, and holding hands.

  Kennedy resists the urge to reach out and take Michael by the hand. She’s hoping he is focused on them as well.

  Thinking about the connection between two people when they are in love.

  The bond that is strong as steel.

  And as long lasting.

  She hopes her husband is contemplating the same thing she is.

  Damian Rein is lacing up his skates.

  His long overcoat is heavy from what’s deep in his right pocket. He’s been watching Mocha and Dude for the past twenty minutes.

  And their cute little son.

  For a moment Damian forgets why he’s here. Instead he simply watches them skate together as a family.

  And he considers: This could have been me.

  If only she hadn’t turned deceitful and rotten.

  It would be him with his family right now.

  Under a cheerful moon.

  Holiday music playing.

  Lights blinking.

  But it is not to be.

  Damian shakes away the mental picture.

  Stands awkwardly and takes a moment to get his balance. Slowly, he makes his way to the ice.

  There’s a throng of people out on the ice, and a bunch of youngsters who are showboating, whipping in and out of the crowd like aggressive drivers as they glide on steel.

  Plenty of cover.

  Plenty of distraction.

  Damian steps onto the ice and enters the traffic flow.

  He doesn’t glance around or do anything to draw attention to himself.

  The Handley family is in front, a good fifty yards away.

  Perfect.

  Arms held behind him, fingers interlocked, looking completely relaxed, Damian hastens toward them.

  Chapter 70

  After Zack calms down from the initial excitement of being at the skating rink, they fall into a nice groove.

  Zack glides between them, holding the hands of his parents.

  “This is so cool!” he says to his father.

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that several times already,” Michael responds with a smile.

  “I should call Jeremy and ask if his mom can bring him here. He’d have so much fun, don’t you think? I bet Jeremy is a good skater. But I don’t know if he knows how to skate or not. Mommy, do they have lessons here that Jeremy could take? In case he’s never skated before?”

  Kennedy is grinning at her son. Her eyes flick up to Michael, and she makes eye contact with her husband. A heartbeat later, Michael looks away. She wonders what he’s feeling inside.

  Is he happy to be here?

  Does he still love her?

  She tries not to answer those questions.

  Instead she continues smiling at Zack and declares, “I don’t know if this place offers lessons, but perhaps they do.”

  Zack is reaching down into the lower pocket of his cargo pants for his cell phone when Kennedy adds, “Let’s not call him right this minute, Zack. Let’s instead enjoy our time together as a family. This was your idea, remember?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  “You can tell him all about it tomorrow at school, okay, kiddo?” Michael adds.

  Christmas carols are emanating into the nighttime air.

  Kennedy changes the subject by encouraging Zack to sing along, but he just stares up at her like she’s insane. At that moment Michael’s cell phone rings. He pulls off a glove and fishes the phone from his jacket pocket, holding it to his ear. He begins to speak, but the details are lost on Kennedy. She glances over at him as he puts one gloved finger to his ear, attempting to blot out the ambient noise. He mouths to her “Work,” then continues to talk. Michael receiving business calls in the evening is not unheard of, so she nods and catches up with Zack.

  A minute later, Michael skates up to Kennedy, phone still attached to his ear. She hears him say “Hold on one second,” and then he speaks to her.

  “I need to run to the car for a second. Left some paperwork in my briefcase that I need to see. I’ll be back in a few. Can you handle Zack until I get back?”

  Kennedy’s forehead furrows.

  “Of course I can handle him.”

  What did he mean by that? she wonders. For a second she feels herself getting angry, but then discards the emotion. She waves him away.

  Michael turns, returning the phone to his ear.

  Kennedy and Zack skate away.

  About ten yards from them, Damian watches them go.

  Perfect.

  He’d been wonde
ring how he was going to accomplish it.

  He wants Mocha all to himself.

  Having Dude around is a deal breaker.

  On the other hand, the kid tagging along is a problem, but not an insurmountable one.

  Damian puts his hands in his pocket as he casually increases his speed. He feels the weight of the weapon, the coldness of the steel. Moments later he’s ten feet behind the bitch, skating to “Oh Holy Night.” Zack is out in front as they take a curve. Damian glances back in the direction Dude has gone.

  He’s nowhere in sight.

  Perfect.

  Couldn’t ask for more.

  His heart is pounding.

  The pain is roaring.

  Mocha is eight feet from him.

  Dude could return any moment now.

  Damian may not have another opportunity.

  Six feet.

  Five.

  The pain threatens to render him unconscious.

  Months and months of scheming and planning have come down to this moment.

  Four feet.

  If he reaches out his hand, he can stroke the bitch.

  The way she did to her.

  Three.

  One final glance back toward the entrance.

  The coast is clear.

  Two feet.

  One.

  Damian slides until he is shoulder-to-shoulder with Kennedy. She glances to her right as he enters her personal space, for a split second thinking it’s Michael returning but instead seeing a tall, good-looking man with a black wool cap and a long wool coat beside her. He is smiling as he speaks.

  “I have a gun in my pocket, and if you so as much as raise your voice I’ll shoot your son in the back of the head.”

  Kennedy’s eyes grow wide.

  It takes an instant for her to grasp that her worst fears have just been realized.

  Everything, every bad thing that has happened to her over the past few months, has been building toward this single horrific moment.

  A mother’s worst nightmare.

  Someone intent on harming her son.

  Kennedy’s mouth opens as if to scream, but Damian shakes his head slowly.

  “Don’t yell. Don’t you dare scream. If you value the life of your son, then you’ll do exactly what I say.”

  They are coming up on the covered entrance. Using his left hand, Damian reaches for her elbow as he cocks his head to the side.

  “Let’s go. Call your son over. Do not make a scene. I will not hesitate to shoot him dead without blinking an eye, and then I’ll put a bullet in your brain in front of all these people if you fuck with me.”

  His eyes are unblinking.

  “So do not try me.”

  Kennedy stares at him, trembling. She sees only blackness staring back.

  Lifeless.

  It’s what scares her the most.

  “Zack, come here.”

  “What, Mommy? I’m not done skate—”

  “Zack!” She modulates her voice so there is no mistaking her intent. Zack skates over to her at once and comes to a halt.

  “Mommy, you said—”

  Zack stares up into the eyes of this stranger beside his mother. He pans from the man to his mother and then back again.

  “Hello,” Damian begins, keeping a tight hold on the gun inside his right pocket with one hand and on Kennedy with the other. “We’re going to take a walk, you, me, and your mommy. Tell him, Kennedy.”

  Zack’s forehead creases.

  Something does not compute.

  He stares up at his mother, who is trembling.

  “It’s okay, Zack. Do as he says. We need to go now.”

  “But what about Daddy?” Zack asks, his arms becoming animated.

  Damian shakes his head.

  “Now.”

  The way the man utters that one simple word while boring his stare into Zack’s eyes makes him shut down any further struggle.

  The attendant behind the counter is staring up at the sky while rubbing his earlobe. Damian leads them over and captures the young man’s attention. Their skates are exchanged for boots and shoes. Damian, who still has his hand on Kennedy’s elbow, leans in and whispers, “Put your boots on quickly and then get your son’s on. I don’t want any delay. We are going to walk out of here quickly and quietly, before your husband returns. Understand?”

  Kennedy nods.

  “Good girl. Keep your head on, and you’ll live through this. I promise you that. But underestimate me and what I’m capable of doing, and you and your son are as good as dead.”

  He tightens his grip on Kennedy’s arm, digging into her coat.

  Tears spring from her eyes.

  “Do we understand each other?” Damian asks, his voice nearly a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  Damian grins.

  “Excellent. Now, wipe your eyes. We don’t want to upset the little one, do we?”

  Chapter 71

  Less than three minutes later they are on Ninth Street, walking away from Constitution.

  Damian walks briskly, keeping Kennedy’s elbow in his clutches. Zack struggles to keep up even though he’s holding his mother’s hand.

  “Can we slow down, please?” she asks.

  “Shut up,” Damian hisses.

  More tears spout from her eyes, but Damian wipes them away unsympathetically with the back of his gloved hand.

  “Stop crying. You are bringing attention to us, and that’s not healthy. Especially for your son.”

  Kennedy blinks back further tears.

  “Good girl.”

  They meet no passersby.

  The street is tree-lined and quiet. Christmas music can still be heard in the distance, but it fades as they walk away from the source.

  He smiles to himself when he considers how easy it was to transport a gun to the nation’s capital.

  Locked gun case in his checked baggage for his most prized possession and the mags.

  He didn’t break the rules; in fact, he double-checked with TSA prior to planning his trip.

  So slick!

  A block up is Madison Drive, a street that abuts the Sculpture Garden. Damian forces them to the left and toward a black Chevy Impala. He unlocks the driver-side door, pushes Kennedy into the seat, and opens the rear door, gesturing for Zack to get inside.

  He does so, quietly.

  Damian goes around to the passenger side, opens the door, and climbs in. Once the door is closed, he turns in his seat, producing a menacing black handgun. He makes sure Zack can see it as he points it at Kennedy’s right kidney.

  “Just so everyone’s on the same page, this is the Heckler & Koch HK45. One of the finest .45-caliber handguns ever produced. It holds ten bullets in the mag and one in the chamber, and I’ve got another magazine in my pocket. You get hit with one of these—well, your limbs get blown off—”

  “Please!” Kennedy pleads. “Not in front of my son. Tell me what you want!”

  “Hand me your cell phone. Slow and easy.”

  Kennedy reaches into her pocket and extracts her phone. She hands it to Damian. He gives her the keys and tells her to drive.

  Damian rolls down the window and casually tosses the BlackBerry into the bushes.

  Kennedy grits her teeth but says nothing.

  Damian, while holding the gun at Kennedy’s kidney, turns to face Zack.

  “You’re doing good so far. Keep it up and nothing will happen, okay? But if you scream or try to jump out of this car, I’ll shoot your mother. Do you understand?”

  Zack is shaking, but he manages to nod.

  “Good boy.”

  Kennedy steers past the Museum of Natural History. It’s closed, but there are people out and about on the Mall. She keeps her head straight ahead, not trying to make eye contact with anyone. She hangs a right onto Twelfth Street and crosses Constitution, passing the Internal Revenue Service and Department of Commerce buildings.

  Damian settles into his seat for the short ride to their house.
/>
  He’s pumped.

  He’s on fire.

  Soon now, the pain will cease to be an issue.

  He can already feel its power diminish.

  Throttling back, losing steam.

  He wants to whistle.

  Wants to scream out to her.

  Show her all that he’s accomplished.

  Everything that’s transpired due to her actions.

  He’s here, to finish what she started.

  Can you hear me?

  Can you see everything you’ve made me do?

  Can you, bitch?

  But she no longer hears him.

  Damian has made sure of that.

  They pull up to a vacant space halfway down Taylor Street. Kennedy parks while Damian glances around.

  No one on the quiet street.

  Perfect.

  “We’re all going to get out nice and slow like we don’t have a care in the world. Then we’re going to walk to your front door. One wrong move—”

  “We get it,” Kennedy says, cutting him off.

  Damian’s eyes rage for a brief moment, but he says nothing other than “Let’s go.”

  He grabs a roll of silver duct tape from the passenger-side floor.

  They exit the vehicle.

  Kennedy grabs her son’s hand, while Damian keeps his right hand in the deep pocket, his finger coiled around the trigger of the H&K. He nods for her to move.

  Moments later they are walking up the stoop to the front door. She fumbles for her keys in the chilling air.

  Drops them on the top step.

  Damian watches her silently, glancing around only once to see that Taylor Street is devoid of any activity.

  Zack clutches her left hand, keeping his body as close to her as humanly possible. He refuses to look at the stranger with the gun, and Damian likes it that way.

  Kennedy puts the key to the lock, turns it, and opens the door.

  “In we go,” Damian says as they move inside.

  The warmth assaults them.

  “Kill the alarm, and don’t even think about pressing the panic button or putting in a panic code. I’m too smart for that. I work in security, and I’m familiar with your alarm system. But I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

  Kennedy deactivates the alarm on the wall.

  Chapter 72