Obsessed

by Aleatha Romig

  “I told you to eat.”

  My gaze stayed fixed on the outside scene.

  His steps neared. His voice came closer, deeper, his sentences more concise. “I also told you to come to my office. Apparently, my statement about disobeying went unheeded.”

  Clenching my teeth, my nostrils flared, yet I didn’t move, didn’t take my eyes away from the patch of trees in the distance. Conifers, I could hardly disassociate one with another, yet as I counted, I decided there were twenty-seven.

  I decided to count them again.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  My count ended as Kader blocked the view, standing near the end of the chaise. His chest and waist were before me as I stubbornly refused to look upward, not wanting to see the icy stare from this morning.

  “Your pouting session has gone on too long,” he said as the long legs before me bent.

  The chaise moved as he sat, settling near my legs. My body stiffened, and yet I still didn’t look up, didn’t speak, not until his large hand came to rest on the blanket covering my lower leg.

  “Don’t touch me.” My words were a growl coming from between my clenched teeth.

  “That’s not how that rule works.”

  I twisted my legs to the floor on the opposite side from where he sat. Standing, I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and began walking. “Fuck you.”

  The bathroom door was not far away, maybe ten or fifteen feet. I’d almost reached my temporary escape when his long fingers wrapped around my upper arm, yanking me to a stop.

  “Stop it, Laurel. You’re above petty behavior. We have work to do, and then you can get what you want—away from me.”

  I spun on my bare heels toward him, pulling myself free from his grasp. “Above?” I asked louder than I wanted. “No, Kader. Dr. Laurel Carlson was above petty behavior. She was renowned, respected, and had a life that kept her too busy to sit for hours staring out a window.” I gestured toward the large panes. “Remember, that’s not me any longer. I’m a thief, a runaway, and oh yes, a sex toy. So what is a bit of petty behavior over the cataclysmic change in my life? I’m not above pouting. Obviously, as you so eloquently pointed out to me this morning, I’ve reached an all-time low.”

  “If this were a contest for the most despicable bio, yours doesn’t even come close.”

  As I looked up, I concentrated on his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the cords under his skin grew taut, protruding and pulsating.

  “It’s not a contest,” I said, making myself look higher and meet his green gaze. “You wanted me to see you as a killer. Fine, that’s what I see. That’s what you do. You didn’t kill Russell. I know that. So now you’re a killer, a liar, and a kidnapper. I see it. That’s what you wanted. You’ve got it. I hope you’re happy.”

  His head shook. “Not even close.”

  “Good. That makes two of us.”

  “I want you downstairs in my office. We have—”

  “Not until,” I interrupted, “I have clothes to wear.” Before he could speak, I added, “...clothes that don’t include your shirts.”

  “I told you, I liked—”

  “Go to hell. Get out of my bedroom and from now on the touching rule goes both ways. We can work together to get me my life back, and then you’ll be happy and I’ll be gone. Other than that, I’m done. I’m done with your DID—dissociative identity disorder.”

  He lifted his chin. “The great Dr. Carlson has made her diagnosis. Too bad you’re fucking wrong. And just so you know, as for hell, I’ve been there.”

  I scoffed. “My diagnosis has merit. You don’t know why you named your house after a female. You don’t know why you have furnished, decorated extra bedrooms. You keep yourself isolated. One minute you can be caring and comforting, the next you’re a total asshole. Have you named your personalities as well as your house?”

  “Stop it, Doc. You don’t know what the fuck you’re saying.”

  “And then there’s the obsession with being touched. Did you know that in most cases of DID there was a traumatic or chronic event such as being abused repeatedly as a child? The young mind can’t handle it, so it separates that trauma and compartmentalizes the fear and lack of control to a weaker personality, the one who endured the incident. Then the mind creates a stronger personality to protect the other. In most cases it’s two or three different personalities with one in charge. That was part of our research. We wanted to separate the traumatic event, not by compartmentalizing a personality, but with our compound allowing the victim to live without the trauma the memory evoked.

  “Was that it, Kader, were you abused as a child?”

  The blanket fell to the ground as Kader’s hands came to my shoulders, shoving me backward until my back was against the wall. He didn’t let go. His fingers dug into the flesh below the cotton of his shirt as flames shot from his green stare. “I said to fucking stop analyzing me.”

  I should listen to his warnings. I should be terrified of his hold.

  I wasn’t.

  I was energized, believing that I was on the road to learning more.

  With this discussion, I’d melted the ice and now the fire was back in his green orbs. What I saw wasn’t desire as I’d witnessed last night; nevertheless, it was emotion.

  “It is nothing to be ashamed about,” I said, ignoring the pain in my shoulders. “You have no control when you’re a child.”

  His grip intensified.

  “Is that why you want control now?” I wasn’t doing this questioning by the textbook. My parents, as well as every other psychologist or psychiatrist, would probably ream me for my current approach. A therapist should never lead memories. Yet because of his expression, I couldn’t stop.

  “Laurel...” Kader stood straighter, loosened his grip, and took a step back. “...I heard the dryer. Change clothes and come downstairs.”

  “My dad,” I said, grasping at straws. “...when I was a kid, used to volunteer.”

  Kader’s hand ran over his hair. “Give it up.”

  “I was just a kid,” I said, reaching for his hand, trying to keep him from leaving. “...but we would drive to different neighborhoods around the city, ones not like Wicker Park.”

  “Your dad took you slumming as a kid? Interesting parenting.”

  I shrugged. “I think it was a good thing. I saw life differently than many of my friends did. I even made friends I never would have made. We went to after-school programs and places like Boys and Girls Clubs.” Since he hadn’t taken it back, I held Kader’s hand between both of mine. “I didn’t learn in books about things that happened to other people. I saw it. At the time I didn’t understand the gravity of their plights or...” I shook my head at the stowed memories. “...the severity. I never imagined some of the situations, and my dad didn’t give me details. He respected the children’s privacy and encouraged them to talk and share. He didn’t take me with him to be traumatized. I was with him because I wanted to be.”

  Kader’s lips straightened. “I’m sure those kids were thrilled to have a rich bitch grace them with their presence. Did you go home and shower afterward?”

  Dropping his hand, I swallowed as tears reappeared. “No...” My shoulders slumped forward as I bent down to retrieve the blanket. “...that wasn’t... You know what? You’re probably right. I never saw myself that way. I saw myself as their friend, maybe even more. They were always polite around my dad and seemed happy when we arrived or if we were there when they arrived, but maybe I was a joke to them. It would explain why...” I blinked away the tears. “Go downstairs. I’ll get dressed and be down. The sooner we do what needs to be done, the sooner you can be rid of me.”

  Kader turned to leave but stopped short of the door. He didn’t turn my way or look back my direction. “I don’t think anything like that happened to me.”

  With that he picked up his pace and disappeared.

  What did that mean—he didn’t think it
did? Could he have DID?

  Laurel

  Stopping at the closed door to Kader’s office, I knocked. As I waited for the royal decree bidding me entrance, I ran my palm over the denim of my blue jeans. They were covering my panties while the long-sleeved top I wore covered my bra. I looked down as I wiggled my sock-covered toes.

  It wasn’t as much anticipation pent up inside of me as it was the desire to get this over with.

  “Who is it?” Kader’s voice came from the other side of the door.

  Was that an attempt at humor?

  Sorry, dick. I wasn’t smiling.

  Instead of answering, I knocked again.

  “Come in.”

  As it had the night before, the cold decor of his office hit me. Taking another step, I left the warmth of the hardwood floor and stepped upon the gray surface. Looking up, I noticed the large screens overhead were again dark.

  “What did you turn off so I couldn’t see?”

  “You.”

  My chest inflated as I took a deep breath. “You were watching me?”

  “It wasn’t exactly spellbinding viewing. You don’t move much when you sulk.”

  “In the bathroom...dressing?”

  Kader shook his head. “No, Laurel. I know what you look like naked. I don’t need that image on a recording. It’s one I’ll never forget.”

  Definitely DID.

  Maybe I should name the different personalities so I could familiarize myself with each one I encountered. Or I could take a more clinical approach and number them. The mystery man set on doing his assignment who I met at the gathering could be number one. The protector who came to my house and wanted to save and later feed me would be number two. The man who talked seductively and delivered me to new sexual heights could be number three. And finally, number four was the threatening asshole from this morning.

  Sitting in the chair beside Kader, I tilted my head, taking him in. I wondered on my new scale of one through four who I was seeing. I scanned his handsome features—his protruding forehead, high cheekbones, and chiseled chin now covered with the beard growth since last night. His arms and chest were covered by his long-sleeved shirt, the same one he’d been wearing this morning. The collar circled his thick neck, not allowing his colors to show. Like me, blue jeans covered his legs. On his feet he wore his customary black boots.

  As his long fingers moved quickly and efficiently over the keyboard, Kader concentrated on the screens. His green eyes narrowed, producing small lines at their corners. His full lips straightened.

  Which personality was he now?

  Kader tipped his chin toward the screen.

  I didn’t look. Instead, I said, “I thought you were going to set me up with my own computer?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Watching me.”

  “Learning things,” he replied. “First I want you to look at this news article.”

  Number one, I decided. Not my favorite, but a hell of a lot better than number four.

  When I turned away from him toward the screen, the headline jumped out at me.

  * * *

  UNIVERSITY IN INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, HALTS RESEARCH PROJECT AS FBI JOINS INVESTIGATION INTO MISSING RESEARCHERS.

  * * *

  I rolled the chair closer as I read. With each word, my stomach twisted, and my current displeasure with Kader became less important. Pouting because he upset me was trivial compared with the reality that my life’s work and reputation were being dismantled on a public forum.

  The article didn’t go into detail about our compound or our research and development. It concentrated more on me and Russell, discussing our administrative roles at the university. According to this publication, we’d orchestrated a recent gathering to bring attention to our work. Prominent attendees at that gathering were listed, many offering statements about the two of us.

  There was one statement by Damien Sinclair of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals. “Drs. Carlson and Cartwright are true pioneers in their line of study. Sinclair Pharmaceuticals is still eager to work in conjunction with both of them and the university. This unfortunate development (the sudden disappearance of Dr. Carlson and Dr. Cartwright) will no doubt negatively impact the university for years to come. It’s my hope that if the unspeakable has happened and Drs. Cartwright and Carlson are never located, we at Sinclair Pharmaceuticals can and are willing to assist the university with continuing what has been started. As we speak, negotiations with the university are underway. Without giving too much information, I believe we at Sinclair owe it to the people who Drs. Carlson and Cartwright’s work will benefit to continue and fulfill their goal.

  “I also hope that Drs. Carlson and Cartwright will return to join us in this endeavor.”

  I shook my head. With each word my life was slipping farther and farther away.

  The article went on to give statements from Dean Oaks, Dean Olsen, Stephanie Moore, and Jennifer Skills, Russell’s assistant. They all talked about our dedication and how worried they were about us. When asked if there was anything between Russell and myself beyond work, both deans denied any knowledge. Stephanie and Jennifer withheld their comments.

  I stopped reading and turned to Kader. “Jennifer. I forgot about her when you asked who would have known enough to write that first email.”

  He nodded.

  Near the end of the article was the mention of the FBI’s involvement. While the bureau offered no official statement verifying or negating its role, there was a statement from the chief communications director of the Indianapolis Metro Police Department confirming that the department was not working alone and went on to urge anyone with any information as to our safety or whereabouts to contact the department immediately.

  Once I was done, I leaned back in the chair and let out a long breath. There were too many emotions, thoughts, and questions to sort through. I wanted to move forward.

  “You read it,” I finally said to Kader, my statement wasn’t formed as a question. “What do you think?”

  “I wanted your thoughts first.”

  “It sounds like without saying the things my parents and Stephanie discussed in my house, this article is leaning the same way: Russell and I were involved beyond the scope of our work. Together, we drew attention to our research and development and then absconded with the data.”

  “Are,” Kader corrected.

  “Are what?”

  “According to this article you two are involved beyond your work. That means they believe you both to be alive.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t want to think about Russ. “Moving on, I also think it’s interesting that they quoted Sinclair. Eric told me that Sinclair asked Dean Oaks to attend the gathering, and then after it was over, the same night he was with Dean Oaks back at the university. Sinclair told both deans that there was a deal in the works. He said Russell had verbally agreed to take an offer from Sinclair Pharmaceuticals and that Russ promised that he’d convince me to do the same.”

  Kader leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t true. Russ came to my house after the gathering.” When Kader nodded, I asked, “Were you watching? So you already know what was said.”

  “Not in real time, but yes, I watched. He wanted to fuck you and talk about the offer.”

  My head shook, thinking back to that night. Although it had happened only a little over a week ago, it seemed like another lifetime. Maybe it was. “Russ said he wanted to talk to me about Sinclair Pharmaceuticals someplace without ears. He meant not at work. He mentioned that Damien Sinclair had made him an offer, and said he’d told Sinclair to stick it up his ass.”

  Kader’s lips twitched. “He also wanted to fuck you.”

  Ignoring his comment, I continued, “I asked Russ if he had a price. It was what you’d asked me.”

  “This would have been much easier if you would have given me one.”

  “And what? You would have paid me with your own money an
d I would still be me. The person who hired you would know that I wasn’t dead.”

  “Your death was to guarantee ceasing the research. I thought if I brought them the data with a guarantee that you wouldn’t continue...I hoped.”

  “I want to know more about the negotiation between the university and Sinclair. The university has incomplete data. Are they bartering that? What about the bidding on the dark web?”

  “Currently, it’s stalled at 1.2 billion.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Shit. What does stalled mean?”

  “It means there haven’t been any additional bids recently, but the site isn’t closed.”

  “What will happen when you put the up-to-date R&D on the dark web? Whoever has the external hard drive will be upset to lose that kind of money.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” Kader shifted in his chair. “I have some more interesting findings. Do you want to watch the videos?”

  I shook my head. “CliffsNotes please. I had enough watching my parents.”

  “All right,” Kader said. “Prior to your parents’ arrival to your house, earlier that same morning, an IMPD forensics crew went inside. They dusted for prints and searched for signs of foul play. I verified that they were IMPD. It’s impossible to know until they file a report, but I don’t think they found anything, well, except for Mrs. Beeson’s fingerprints. Before she let herself in, I had that place spick-and-span.”

  “Poor Mrs. Beeson,” I sighed. “Wait. If they’d been inside already, why did the detective and officer with my parents enter first? They should have known there was nothing there.”

  “You’re starting to think this through. Very good. I had the same question. And before you freak out, your parents are still in Indianapolis. They’re staying downtown. I’ve breached the hotel’s security and have verified their safety. Your father likes Starbucks.”

  Though my lips turned upward at Kader’s observation, my fingers gripped the arms of the chair. “Why am I going to freak out?”

  “Your parents were summoned to Indianapolis by Eric Olsen. I found the telephone logs. His first call to them was on Tuesday after he couldn’t reach you or Cartwright. The day the lab was closed. By the way, I found an internal memo. The lab wasn’t closed because of you or Cartwright. It was closed due to a safety issue, a reported gas leak.”