Page 45 of Obsession

“What are you doing here?” I ask, rubbing the space between my eyebrows. I’m sporting a headache now. Just fucking great.

“I owe you another apology.”

Letting my hand drop, I lift my gaze. “I’m on a tight deadline, Elliot. No offense, but spare yourself the energy. No apology needed. You were a dick, and I slapped you. We’re even.”

He walks past me, turns around, and leans back against my desk with his fingers curled around the metal. Staring down at his crossed ankles, his jaw clenches. I wait him out.

“Why are you naive?” he asks, surprising me.

“Excuse me?” Laughter bubbles up from my chest. “No apology?”

He shrugs, peering at me. “You don’t want one. I’ll take it as a hint to save my pride.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You mumbled something about being naive.”

“It was nothing,” I reply on a sigh, rubbing my left temple. “Jeanine told me James will want me to attend Robbie’s execution. And well…I guess I saw it coming, but I’ve never witnessed anyone die before. I’m not sure I have it in me to sit back and watch something like that take place. Say what you will about capital punishment, do I want to watch someone die?” I chance a look at him, wondering why the hell I’m confiding in him. “No, I don’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

I pause, watching him watch me.

“James can’t force you.”

“He’ll fire me.”

Elliot uncrosses his ankles, drawing my eyes to his shiny oxfords. “I guess there’s no right answer for once. While Jeanine can treat someone else’s execution like it’s a cinema date with herself as a treat for working hard, not everyone shares that same level of callousness.”

“She’s not callous.”

He stands up and grabs my armrests, bringing us level. “Maybe it’s not up to you. Robbie asked you to interview him, remember? No matter how attached you’ve grown to him, the facts remain the same. Robbie Hammond is a convicted serial killer. His execution date is set. When that day comes, arepresentative from our newspaper will be there. Maybe he’ll request it to be you. Has the thought ever crossed your mind? Can you put your own feelings aside and be there for him when it’s time?”

He walks out, leaving me blinking back treacherous tears.

Standingat the end of my father’s bed, I peruse his medicine chart before dropping it back down to study him. These days, I feel like we exist in a vacuum. I can’t look at him without my mind flooding with painful memories. It’s hard to place the monster from my childhood with this vegetable of a man in front of me. So helpless and unable to hurt a fly. Somehow, the roles have reversed.

I rest my hands on the bed frame and stare at him for what feels like hours. Keith Campbell will never talk again. Never utter a single word. I’ll be waiting forever if I want an apology for everything he put me through. I have to learn to live without the longing for one. It doesn’t matter how old we get. We always want to hear those magical thoughts.

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have hurt you.

I regret what I did.

Or maybe I just want to see him suffer.

Is he suffering? He better be rotting away inside that head of his.

“Do you fear me, Dad?” Letting go of the bed frame, I walk up beside him and stroke his graying hair away from his clammy forehead. “I think you should fear me, Dad. Especially now when you’re so helpless and vulnerable.” I hum, readjusting his pillow behind his neck. “Sometimes I fear myself, and I blame you for that. Do you think this darkness inside me would exist if you hadn’t hurt me like you did? Would life have turned outdifferently if you had loved and protected me?” My fingers linger on the pillow, stroking the soft cotton. “Do you want a drink, Dad?” I slowly walk around the bed. “How about some fizzy cola? It’s your favorite, remember?”

He begins to gurgle, the only way to get his distress across. It grows in volume, choked and panicked.

I return with a glass of cold, sparkling cola minutes later and offer him a bright smile. I bet if he could scream, he would. Instead, his chin is drenched with drool, and his eyes are blown wide.

“Relax, Dad. It’s just cola. I wanted you to have a treat, so I bought it, especially for you.”

Sitting down beside him, I place the glass to his lips, tutting disapprovingly when it spills down his chin. “Such a messy boy.”