Page 66 of Abundance of Obsession

When I return to the small bedroom, I stand in front of the window. Dawn is breaking, and I haven’t slept a wink. I couldn’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot papers scattered across her desk. Right in front of the monitors she works on.

A piece of a printed photo is sticking out from under one sheet of paper. Curiosity burns within me.

Don’t do it. These are her things. Don’t be a hypocrite.

Fuck it. I’ve been called worse.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I take that one step. I slide the document aside, and my gaze falls on a picture of a man in a suit. He resembles so many others working long hours in a corporate office. He’s glancing over his shoulder, expecting to find someone behind him.

I’m unfamiliar with this guy. His face doesn’t ring a bell. But why does Zoe have his photo? Who is he?

There’s something else there. Underneath is another picture. Or rather, a printout from some newspaper. In the small black-and-white photo, a man is standing in a courtroom, guards flank him on both sides. He has his hands cuffed in front, and he’s looking into the camera, smiling like a madman.

I scan the brief article. Jeremiah Wilcox was convicted of a series of crimes. He ended up in state prison.

“What the fuck?” A whisper escapes me.

What does all this mean?

I push the photo aside again. My eyes widen as I see another guy. The third photo shows a man in a boxing ring. He’s huge, with a furious glint in his eyes, clenched fists wrapped in bandages. No gloves. If he took any punches, you can’t tell from the pic. His opponent, conversely, appears to have suffered the worst beating imaginable. Barely standing. Covered in blood.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zoe’s weak voice interrupts me. My head snaps her way.

She’s sitting on the bed with the comforter pulled up to her neck, trying to hide from me. Or maybe she’s embarrassed. Her eyes are wide with surprise, still hazy from her broken sleep.

Something else flashes across her face. It crosses her features in a split second. Fear? Terror?

“Answer my question,” she presses, angry.

“What the hell is this, Zoe? What are these photos?”

“It’s none of your business. Have you been going through my things?”

“I didn’t plan to,” I say, taking a step toward her. It’s not well received, I gather, as she squeezes her fists tighter. It doesn’t escape me that she’s hiding from me while I stand here naked. “The photo caught my eye, and that’s why I took a peek. I swear to you I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Zoe’s rapid breathing slows. She lowers her gaze and, after a moment, her tense shoulders relax. Something inside me tells me this is something big and important. It’s just a hunch. So I approach her slowly, like a wounded animal. Lying down where I was before, I pull the blanket up to my waist and wait.

I don’t say a word, only watch her. She takes almost five minutes to gather herself and lie down next to me. We’re facing each other, staring. In her eyes, I see a mixture of everything in small doses. Pain, shame, hatred, terror, anger…

Still, I wait for her to make the first move. No questions.

“Those are pictures of the people I grew up with in the foster home,” she murmurs.

“Those three men?”

She nods before answering. “Yes. That’s Nathaniel, Jeremiah, and Owen.”

I have some knowledge about Ash’s and Zoe’s childhoods. I’ve heard they didn’t have an easy start in life, but I’ve never pried into it. In the same way that I wouldn’t want anyone to meddle in my childhood.

“Are you in touch with them?” I ask.

“No… we didn’t have a good relationship.”

The throbbing in her neck quickens again, just like her breathing. But I don’t comment on it.

What does that mean?

I’m not immune to the ugliest face of this world. I know what great dangers lurk for small children, how cruel the times we live in are.