Deadly Obsession

by Jaycee Clark

  No. No. She wouldn’t risk it. They meant too much to her.

  Maybe she could move. It worked before. And unlike before, this time she had funds.

  God, why was this happening?

  Oldshopkeeper: What is going on? Can’t we even talk anymore?

  Her eyes slid closed. Sighing, she typed.

  Broadway_Babe: I wish we could. God knows I wish we could.

  Oldshopkeeper: We can. Tell me.

  Her fingers hovered over the keys and she stared at her screen.

  Oldshopkeeper: Tell me. If you don’t, I’ll just call you.

  And the man would.

  Broadway_Babe: I can’t.

  Oldshopkeeper: Why?

  Broadway_Babe: It’s nothing, really. I’m just stressing about work.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then she saw he was typing a message back.

  Oldshopkeeper: You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.

  Christian chose to just let that one go. She’d learned that often she could just wait him out and he’d change the subject. Or let her.

  Oldshopkeeper: Does this have to do with your new neighbor?

  New neighbor?

  Broadway_Babe: Drayson or Geoffery? How do you know them?

  Oldshopkeeper: More guys? Why couldn’t you have found some female neighbors?

  She smiled.

  Broadway_Babe: Do I detect a hint of jealousy? And if not them, then who did you mean?

  Oldshopkeeper: Jealous? Of course not. I’d just feel better knowing you were safe. Females are safer.

  She quirked a brow. Where did he come up with this? Shaking her head, she set to typing.

  Broadway_Babe: Not jealous? I’ll leave that one. And my next-door neighbors are nice, polite gentlemen. And as far as safety and females, need I remind you of the female a few months ago that made all our lives hell? But don’t worry, you can rest your little mind. I have a cop.

  A full minute passed before she got a reply on that one.

  Oldshopkeeper: A cop?

  He knew. She would bet her condo he knew.

  Broadway_Babe: Morris. Remember him? He lives a few doors down.

  She thought for a moment. What the hell.

  Broadway_Babe: Gabe’s been really helpful.

  Oldshopkeeper: Gabe? Helpful? What the hell does that mean?

  She could all but see the bite in his words. If he’d asked the question aloud, his voice would deepen and gruff over words when something got to him more than he was willing to admit.

  Broadway_Babe: Just that he’s helpful.

  Someone knocked at her door downstairs. She glanced at the clock and saw it was almost three. Who the hell would be knocking this time of night? A chill danced down her spine. He knew where she lived.

  Oldshopkeeper: And that means what?

  Again thumping echoed from downstairs. Should she answer it? No. No, definitely not.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The sound reverberated through the quiet night. At this rate whoever was knocking would wake the entire complex. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not going to let the man reduce her to hiding under the covers.

  Broadway_Babe: Brb. Knock on door.

  She noted he was typing as she stood and hurried downstairs, leaving the lights off.

  Another small yet looming nightly war. Lights or no lights? Lights allowed her to see if anyone were in her condo. After all, she could hardly see in the dark. But lights also allowed those outside to see in.

  Carefully, she looked through the peephole.

  No one.

  "Who’s there?" she called.

  Silence.

  Gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip, she stared out the distorted view of the night, then dropped back down onto her heels, staring at the door. Christian drummed her fingers against her thigh. Who knocked? She was tempted to fling the door open to prove to herself she was only letting him get to her.

  Reason won out. She might be paranoid, but that didn’t mean someone might not be out there.

  Carefully, she looked out the side window beside the door. The sheers really didn’t do much in way of blocking her view, but still she shoved them to the side. She saw no one.

  Goose bumps pricked her skin.

  It was nothing and no one. Probably just some kid out knocking on doors.

  Sighing, she turned and headed back upstairs.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  She jumped, almost losing her balance on the steps. A glance out the side window showed her a blur moving quickly past.

  "Who’s there?" she yelled.

  Licking her lips, she thought about what to do. If she opened the door, what? What would happen? And if she didn’t, would he continue to knock?

  He?

  Who was he? Was it him?

  Stop it. Stop it!

  She took a deep breath and walked to the door. This time she hit the outside light. Nothing happened.

  Had her bulb burned out?

  Grumbling about her fate in general, she craned a look out the window again. And saw the package sitting at her door.

  Her chest tightened. No. No. No. She was not going to let him do this to her. Damn him. Closing her eyes, she counted, concentrated on her breathing. She could win this, she could.

  Sighing, she sat on the floor and stared out the window. It was a big package. What had he sent her this time?

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Enough! Blowing out her tension, or what she could of it, on a huff, she grabbed the door handle and pulled herself up.

  The man was not going to reduce her to the terrified girl he’d controlled years ago. She’d gotten away from that once; there was no way she was going to let him drag her back. He wanted her afraid and she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.

  If she didn’t open the door, she let him win.

  Cool metal rested against her palm as she cupped the doorknob. With her other hand, she flicked her lights on. If her porch light didn’t work, she’d illuminate the stoop with what she had.

  On another inhale, she unlocked the bolts and opened the door.

  Cold night air blew in and chilled her where she stood. Whatever it was almost fell on her. The package was wide, tall and thin. She caught it as it fell into her entryway.

  Terrified that at any moment someone was going to leap out of the dark at her, she pulled the awkward package in. It wasn’t too heavy, but weighed enough that when she lost her grip, it slammed loudly against her door and inner wall. Cursing, she heaved until it stood upright in her entryway.

  She turned to close the door, when an outer light pierced the stoop and she heard the door next to hers open. The condos were set up so that two doors stood side by side and her entry, living room and part of the kitchen shared the wall with her neighbors.

  "Christian?" a voice asked, faintly British.

  Drayson.

  She thought about pretending she hadn’t heard him, but he stuck his head around her doorframe and knocked on the open door.

  "Luv, what in the Almighty are you about at this bloody hour?" he asked.

  Propping her hand on her hip, she said, "Exercising."

  "What in the world have you got there?" he asked, still leaning into her doorway.

  She looked from the robed, handsome man to the brown-paper package leaning lopsided against her wall. It went over halfway to the ceiling.

  "Actually," she said on a sigh, "I have no idea."

  "Where did you get it?"

  From a monster? "Someone knocking on my door left it."

  "Did you-- " He broke off as she heard a muffled yell from next door.

  Great. Wake everyone up.

  "Yes, Geoffery," Drayson said. "She’s right here." He stood in her doorway. "Sorry, luv, we were worried about you. All that bumping and thumping. And it looked like you had every light in the place on."

  So she did.

  Shaking her head, she motioned him in,
might as well have a drink with some friends. She could open the thing later. As he crossed over her threshold, another man joined him from next door. Drayson was young, in his mid thirties with blond hair, fair eyes and a long narrow face ending in a perfectly trimmed goatee. Drayson was a director with the University theater. Geoffery on the other hand, was a bit older with gray-streaked dark hair and crinkling eyes. He worked one of the many government jobs in the city.

  Both stood in her entryway wearing navy robes.

  "I called Gabe. I told you to wait before just barging over here. The world is not the place it used to be, Drayson. Hello, Christian. What’s that?" Geoffery asked.

  Gabe? He called Gabe? Well, hell.

  Just then the phone rang.

  Three a.m. and she was having a party. At least it took her mind off of other things.

  It rang again.

  "Are you going to get that?" Geoffery asked her.

  "No, I’ll just let the machine pick it up."

  On the third ring, her voice echoed from the kitchen. When it clicked, the condo blared with the strains of an opera distorted from the volume. But she recognized it. His song. His song for her, of her. An aria from Puccini’s Tosca.

  Chills raced down her spine as her own voice filled her condo.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  She whirled around to see Gabe standing in her doorway, the music softened, silenced until she heard a chuckle and a click.

  Her eyes looked away from the three pairs of questioning ones that stared at her.

  "Hello? Did anyone hear me?" Gabe asked again.

  Christian fisted her hands to keep them from shaking, but it was no use.

  "Not now, Gabe," Drayson said, walking to her and putting his arm around her. "Can’t you see she’s upset? Christian, luv, you need to sit down. You’re looking a bit pale. Who would call and leave that on a phone machine at this ungodly hour? And that chuckle was beyond polite."

  She stopped and stared at the package against the wall. Shrugging off Drayson, she walked to the present and ripped it open, the brown paper rippling and giving under her nails. The sound of tearing paper rent the air overshadowing Geoffery’s quiet voice as he tried to explain things to Lieutenant Gabe Morris.

  A cop, she had a cop in her house and....

  "What is that?" Geoffery asked.

  That was a painting.

  The last of the brown wrapping paper fell to the floor. One large canvas. The colors were dark: grays, blacks, and blues. In the center was an angel, standing with long flowing hair and too-large gray eyes.

  The angel’s mouth opened on a scream, her arms thrown high and wide. Framing the figure were faces, hands, shoulders, elbows, body parts, bare and naked. But it was the face, the same face. Her face.

  Gray eyes looking down, looking out, looking back, wide in shock, or narrowed. Her body parts. The macabre disjointed appendages alone were bad, painted strategically together they framed the canvas and the solitary figure in the center. A morbid frame painted on the canvas.

  Black roses fell from the angel’s hand. At first glance, it seemed the angel was standing on orange, red and yellow flowers, but a closer look showed they were flames. And in the flames were faces.

  Danny.

  Susan.

  Papa.

  Christian jerked back, her hands flying to her mouth. The trembling started as she stared and understood.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brayden pulled away from the window and looked back at the monitor of his notebook. Still nothing from Christian.

  What the hell had she been thinking? Answering a door this time of night. It was after three now, and she still wasn’t back on.

  Worry fueled his anger.

  He strode to the phone and snatched it up. What if everything was fine? What if he made a fool of himself? The phone weighed in his hand.

  Did she even have another phone line? Or was she using it for her computer? He’d never thought to ask.

  Now that seemed really important.

  Quickly he punched her number and waited as it rang, and rang, and rang.

  Brayden hated not knowing what was going on. And where Christian was concerned, he was learning there was a whole hell of a lot he didn’t know.

  His grunt filled the silent room as he stared at the clock.

  Fine, he’d give her a few more minutes. He was probably just overreacting anyway. But the worry didn’t go away. He thrummed his fingers on his thigh.

  Forget it, he’d call her again on the way to her place, then head to the hotel and finally, over to the shop.

  If everything were fine, he’d simply say he decided to get an early start on the day--it was hardly important that it was only after three. Who the hell needed sleep anyway?

  First, he left a note for his parents on their apartment door to please see Tori got to school. One good thing about living in the same house with family, there was always someone there when needed. He checked the clock in his room. He’d give her two more minutes. He’d be dressed by then anyway.

  * * * *

  "It’s almost beautiful in a contradictory, morbid sort of way," Drayson commented.

  "Part celestial, part pagan," Geoffery agreed.

  Evil. It was evil.

  She looked to them and noticed they were studying the picture.

  Gabe, however, was zeroing her with his dark eyes. "It’s weird as hell to me."

  Christian looked back at the painting. A painting she knew he’d done himself. There were others in his private collection. She’d seen them, been forced to pose for them.

  But this one was different. This one was new; a reminder of who he was, what he could do, and how he controlled it all.

  Her chest vised and she gasped for breath. This time when she closed her eyes, the breathing exercise didn’t help. Her lungs tightened, until she wheezed a breath out.

  Patting her side, she realized she didn’t have her inhaler.

  "Luv, you’re scaring us. Come on, calm down. Come sit down in the kitchen." Drayson took her arm to steer her there.

  She needed her inhaler. Looking to the stairs, she shrugged him off as her hand rubbed her breastbone.

  All she could hear was the pound of her heart and the wheezing of her own breath fighting out as her expanded bronchial tissues closed off the escape of carbon monoxide.

  "Christian?" Gabe was in front of her.

  God, she needed to breathe. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Her gaze locked over his shoulder to the painting standing obscenely against her white walls. The faces in the fire. Black roses from her hand.

  Gasp. Wheeze. Gasp. Wheeze.

  It was as if he were squeezing the breath from her.

  "Calm down," Gabe said.

  She motioned that she needed her inhaler.

  "Asthma?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Where is it?" he asked.

  She pointed upstairs. His feet pounded up the steps. Geoffery and Drayson led her into the kitchen. Just as they sat her in a chair, Gabe handed her the metered dose inhaler.

  The mist hit the back of her throat and within seconds she felt the bands loosen around her bronchial tubes. Though she was still breathing too hard, she could at least take a breath and not wheeze. She held the inhaler tightly between her palms to try and calm the shakes. But it didn’t help.

  The painting.

  Her body. His angel bringing death and destruction to those she’d loved.

  Susan. Danny. Her own father.

  Oh God.

  Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone, let her go?

  She hated this. Hated it!

  Someone handed her some water and she sipped the cool liquid.

  Drayson cupped her hands in his. "Luv, it’s only a painting. I take it, you didn’t choose it?"

  She just glared at him.

  "No," he continued, "I didn’t think so. Someone’s sick idea of a joke. Don’t let it get to you, so. I’m sure they didn’t mean for you
to become so upset."

  Oh, yes. Yes, they did--he did. She could see him, sitting calmly in his chair, that smirk playing on his mouth, while his eyes held that look.

  A shiver danced down her spine, chilling her blood.

  "I’ll take care of this," Gabe said. "Why don’t you two go on back to your place."

  Christian just wanted everyone out, but she also wanted them to stay. She wanted them gone so they wouldn’t see how upset she really was, but didn’t want to be alone either.

  She looked at Gabe, and for the first time really saw him. His simple jeans and a T-shirt molded his muscles. And though he had a very nice chest, it was the gun shoved in his waistband that held her attention.

  The cops.

  What if he was watching and knew there was a cop here?

  The faces in the fire.

  She’d gone to the police before and no one believed her. No one, but Danny. No one but Susan. And if they had...

  They should all leave. All of them, before she hurt any of them. Or someone else she cared about.

  "Did any of you see who delivered that package?" Gabe asked.

  She shook her head, as did Drayson and Geoffery.

  "We just heard all this knocking," Geoffery offered. "And then thumps and we noticed Christian’s lights were on. Drayson decided to make certain she was all right. And in this day and age, you can never tell."

  Gabe’s eyes cut her where she sat. "You didn’t see anyone either, I presume?"

  Again she shook her head. Clearing her throat, she tried, "No, I just--someone just knocked on my door. When I went to answer, no one was there, but I saw the package through the window."

  That was mostly the truth.

  Though her heart raced and blood pounded through her veins, she held Gabe’s inquisitive stare.

  "I don’t think we should leave you alone," Drayson told her. "After that note on your car tonight at the theater and now this."

  "What note?" Gabe asked.

  Damn it.

  Drayson shrugged his shoulders. "All it said was ‘My Angel’. Reminded me of The Phantom, but it was weird. Maybe a jealous undergrad you beat out in casting." He patted her hand and smiled.