Page 8 of Obsession

Robbie opens his mouth to speak, but the guard clears his throat and tells us our time is up for today. Dazed, I slowly rise to my feet and smooth down my pants while the guard puts Robbie’s shackles back on. They rustle loudly in the quiet, and I’m reminded once again that the man in question, who’s commandeered every beat of my heart for the last hour so effortlessly, is a condemned killer. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his long fingers around my throat and squeeze.

My core tightens as I flick my eyes down to his veiny hands.

The officer says, “Let’s go,” and leads Robbie out of the room. Every rattle of his chains and shuffle of his feet on the dirty floor has my anxiety spiking. I want to say something, but I don’t know what.

In the end, Robbie looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week, ma’am.”

And then he’s gone, stepping around the corner. The door stays open, and the muffled rustle of the guard’s keys cuts through the silence. Another door slides open and shut.

With my hand on the back of the chair, I fight a wave of dizziness. Now that Robbie is gone, oxygen rushes back into my lungs. I plop down onto the chair and place my hand over my chest. My heart races wildly beneath my palm.

“He’s just a man,” I whisper. But I know he’s not. Robbie is the closest I’ve been to tasting the sweetness of death. I was so close to freedom I could feel its soothing caress wrap itself around my fragile heart.

An officer pops his head inside the room. “Want me to escort you out, ma’am?”

Torn from my thoughts, I hurriedly pack the recorder and follow him down the narrow corridors. We’re buzzed through iron doors that clang loud enough to make me flinch. The officer’s keys jingle in his hand while he toys with them, two seconds away from whistling a tune.

Then he opens the final door, and I step outside the prison. The wind has picked up since I first arrived, and now the rain lashes against my face like a thousand poignant pinpricks. Using my bag as an umbrella, I hurry to my old, rusty Honda Civic, which is parked alone in the deserted parking lot.

Sliding inside and placing my bag on the passenger seat, I shut the door. Ahead of me, the prison looms, gray and miserable, like something out of a horror show. No other prison in the country executes more prisoners than this one. It’s notorious. If you enter through these gates as a condemned inmate, the only way out is in a coffin.

A shiver splashes down my spine. The sound of the heavy rain hammering the roof draws my attention away from the prison. Reaching for the handbag, I root through it until I locate my phone. I have one new message from the nurse to say that all is well at home. Dad is comfortable.

I stare at the message for a long moment before dimming the screen and placing my phone back inside my bag. After tossing it onto the passenger seat, I insert the key and crank the engine. It splutters to life after a few tries, filling the air with exhaust fumes.

The drive home passes by in a blur. I’m deep in thought, processing Robbie’s words and how he watched me. I can still feel his eyes slide over my face intently and purposefully.

I have never felt so seen in the twenty-two years of my life. During that hour, seated with Robbie Hammond in a high-security prison, I was laid bare.

My father’s nurse, Charlotte, smiles at me as I step into the kitchen, soaking wet and dripping water on the cheap rug. “How did it go?”

I place my bag on the kitchen table and comb my fingers through my ruined hair. I’ll catch a shower as soon as Charlotte is done for the day. “It was…interesting.”

Cloth in hand, she peers at me over her shoulder. Charlotte is a skinny woman in her forties with sandy brown hair and tired eyes. “Interesting?”

I take a seat on the kitchen chair. My damp, cold clothes stick to my body, but I’m too exhausted to care. Now that I’ve returned home to my shitty two-story house with its flaking paint and a wire fence that’s been in need of repair for the last five years, I just want to go to bed.

Charlotte makes me a coffee, and I drink it in silence while she wipes down the counters. She’s methodical and efficient. More importantly, I’ve always liked her.

“There,” she says when she’s done, the cloth neatly folded and placed over the faucet. “Will you be okay if I head off?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reassure her.

“Your father is watching a recorded rerun of the racing.”

“Thanks.”

She crouches in front of me and puts her hand on my arm. “You’re only one person, Savannah. Looking after your father by yourself is a big responsibility. It’s okay if you need more help.”

My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “I know.”

“Do you? You’re only twenty-two. Yet here you are, working every hour God sends to care for your father.” She squeezes my arm in a way I expect a mother would. “You should be out thereenjoying life. Now’s your time. Don’t let your youth disappear before your eyes.”

Flicking my eyes between hers, I draw in a sigh and swipe at the wetness on my cheeks. “Someone has to look after him. I’m the only person he has.”

Charlotte stays looking at me. But instead of giving me a lecture like I expected, she rises to her feet. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you,” I reply, letting my gaze drift to the cloudy window. The curtains are half-drawn, and the room is too dark. If I had the energy, I would open them.