Page 16 of To Obsess

“Things were going good, so I invited him back here. I thought maybe we could watch a movie, have a couple drinks, and see where the night went. He had other plans.”

“Explain.”

With a steadying breath, I rush out the details from last night, not bothering to try to spare her any of it. She’d never allow that.

“I swear to the gods, if he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.” The anger radiating from her does nothing to mediate the shock of what she just said.

“What did you just say?” My voice comes out in a choked whisper, barely audible to my own ears.

“I didn’t stutter. That’s why I was so damn worried when you didn’t pick up! Josh called this morning when they found the body, and I knew you were with him last night,” she rushes as the pieces click into place. No wonder she’s livid with me.

Josh is her long-time on-again-off-again fling. With the size of the town, we really didn’t have a lot of options for dating in high school, so when they hooked up the summer of senior year, it became a fairly steady thing. Neither of them was ever ready for an actual commitment, but they’re more stable than most married people I know.

He also happens to be a half-ass cop who doesn’t follow any of the traditional rules. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he hasn’t been fired or worse yet, but it works out in our favor from time to time.

“What happened? Where did they find him? Are you sure it was him?” I ask in one breath, panic talking hold of my senses.

She shrugs as if she just told me it was going to rain this afternoon, not that the man I was with last night was found dead this morning. “All I know is they got a call this morning from his wife—yes, his whole ass wife—saying he didn’t come home last night. She was worried so she tracked his location on his phone but didn’t feel comfortable going into the woods on her own. She called the cops, told them where his phone was pinging, and they found his body pretty quickly.”

I plop down beside her on the couch, no longer able to stand on my own. “You’re kidding, right?” The look on her face left no room for doubt as she shook her head. “Holy fuck.”

“He was absolutely brutalized, according to Josh. Did you tell anybody what happened last night?” She swigs another drink from the wine bottle, wiping the drop that escaped her mouth as it rolls down her chin.

I shake my head. “I didn’t even answer your texts, remember?”

“The guy was beaten nearly beyond recognition. If we hadn’t gone to school with him, I don’t think Josh would’ve known who he was before they found his wallet,” she says, avoiding my eyes. She’s never been great with difficult conversations. “They did find his wallet with cash and credit cards still inside, so it doesn’t look like a robbery. He was fully clothed, so not a sexual assault gone wrong either,” she continues, trying to piece it all together on her own.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both contemplating what could have happened after Gunnar left here. “It seems personal,” I finally say, more to break the silence than anything.

“Maybe somebody found out he was cheating on his wife and took out the trash. Did the rest of us a favor as far as I’m concerned.” She shrugs, finishing off the bottle before heading for the kitchen. I hear the bottle clank into the trash can, the fridge’s squeaky hinges, and she’s back by my side with a fresh bottle, corkscrew in hand.

“Whoever did it was mad as hell, though. They think his head was beaten with a chunk of wood found a few feet away, covered in blood. There were even bits of skin on it. Before they were done, they plucked his eyeballs out and left them on the ground next to his head. Slashed his eye sockets.” She shivers as goosebumps crawl over her arms. “They haven’t found his hands yet.”

That one stops me in my tracks. What kind of psycho takes somebody’s hands?

A knock at the door makes Abby squeal, clutching the alcohol tighter against her chest. Doing my best to calm my racing heart, I make my way to the front door, pausing to look through the little hole this time.

“Can I help you?” I ask, opening the door wide when I spot the police car now parked in my driveway.

“Afternoon, miss. I’m Daryl Brock, head of the crime division,” he says, extending a hand toward me. I take it tentatively before crossing my arms over my chest again. “I need to ask you some questions regarding a Mr. Gunnar Hayes. Would you like to step outside?”

I nod, stepping over the threshold. “Have a seat,” I offer, nodding to the porch chairs.

“Thank you, ma’am. To start, do you know Mr. Hayes?”

“Only in passing. We met at the bar a while back,” I answer, arms still tightly covering my chest as if that could keep me from splintering into a million pieces across my front porch.

“What was your relationship like?” He looks up from the notepad he’s using to scribble down my answers, compassion in his stormy green eyes.

“Truly, we didn’t know each other super well. We went on a date last night. We were having a wonderful evening, so I invited him back here for a couple more drinks,” I recount, making sure to maintain eye contact with him. My heart rate is erratic to say the least. I’d be a cardiologist’s wet dream right now.

“How was that?” Try as he might, judgement seeps into his posture. He clearly doesn’t approve of bringing men home on the first date, but I’m guessing he’s seen plenty of that over his years on the force.

“It didn’t exactly go as I planned,” I explain, breaking eye contact to stare at the cracks in the wood floor of the porch. “I wanted to have some drinks and keep talking, see where the night might go. I had no intentions of hooking up with him the second we made it in the front door, but apparently that was his hope. When I pushed him away, he slapped me and shoved me to the floor before storming out.” Tears burn the backs of my eyes, shame coursing through my veins at the memory.

“Bastard.” I hadn’t even heard Abby come to the door, too caught up in telling my version of events to the officer.

He turns to her. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to go back inside the house while we talk. You’ll have time to talk with me once we’re done,” he states, gaze level as if she were an unruly child on the playground. His attention returns to me as Abby closes the door. I hear her heavy footsteps heading back toward the living room before I’m able to look up again.