Page 82 of Obsession

The moment the door shuts behind me with a deceptively soft click, I rush into the kitchen and place the parcel on the table.

I pace, chewing my thumbnail.

What do I do?

Whatever is in that box isn’t good. There’s blood on it, for fuck’s sake.

Robbie is unhinged—a true monster behind his sinful ‘set your panties on fire’ smile.

And I let myself forget.

I slide my fingers into my hair and pull the strands until my scalp prickles like sharp needles, then resume pacing, debating what the hell to do.

Should I tell Chapman? No, absolutely not. Whatever happens, I tell no one.

I pause and glare at the box. Why am I protecting Robbie? Why? Because he fingered me in the snow?

I chew my lip before rushing forward and ripping the box open. The cardboard tears, allowing me a glimpse of its contents.

Shocked, I stumble back and slam my hand to my mouth to muffle the scream that’s fighting to escape. Stinging tears burn my eyes as the truth settles.

I’ve never seen a mutilated body before, and this makes it all too real, like a curtain that’s been pulled back on Robbie’s past to showcase his true colors.

Panic digs its sharp claws into my fragile heart, and I bend at the waist, hyperventilating

This is why they kept him behind lock and key for short of two decades. This is the horror that sat across from me every Wednesday for months.

This is the sadist.

The monster.

My villain.

I straighten up and inch closer to the table. My heart is pounding so violently that I can barely hear the car driving past outside the closed curtains.

I peel away the lid and look down at the decapitated head inside, littered with cigarette burns. The nose is gone, and so are the ears. His tongue is gone, too. I stare at it, where it lies beside the head.

A deep chuckle rumbles in the man’s chest before he takes another long suck on his cigarette. Ash sails through the air. “You milked the cows at the farm, didn’t you?”

Eyes downcast, I nod, focusing on how soft my teddy is. Of course, he doesn’t let me keep it. They never do.

He rips it from my hands, then grabs my bony wrist and shoves his jeans down. “Show me how good you are at milking cows.”

My small hand trembles. I try to yank it free, whimpering, but Daddy’s friend grips me tighter, moving his sweaty, large hand over mine.

“That’s it, princess. Long strokes, just like with the cows.”

It’s definitely the same man. I would remember that face anywhere, even without the ears and the nose and the tongue that spewed such filthy words.

“You milk it so good, little girl.”

Turning around and gripping the table’s edge, I throw up.

35

ROBBIE

Isit straddling the back of the metal chair while patiently waiting for the fucker to wake up. Despite the decades that have passed, one of my favorite abandoned warehouses still stands untouched, as if it’s been awaiting my return this entire time. And here we are, watching the last moment of peace this man will ever know. From here on out, all he’ll know is pain and suffering.