Page 43 of To Obsess

Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I leisurely make my way to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. I take my time, listening to the birds and the sounds of the woods lining the drive on both sides. There’s nothing distinct, but the sounds bring a comfort to my soul that I haven’t ever found anywhere else.

I look both ways as I step out past the gates, turning my back to the road. Despite my best efforts, a smile takes over my lips as the lid drops and clangs against the brick. At the forefront of the box, there’s another letter, neatly folded.

A car whizzes by behind me, making me jump. I quickly grab the letter, flip the lid closed, and step back past the false safety of the gates—not that they would protect me from anything. They’re hardly even closed anymore. I stopped going through the trouble of shutting them over a month ago now.

Hard as it may be, I force myself to wait to read the note until I’m back to the house. I unfold it the moment the door closes behind me.

VIOLET,

HAPPY TO KNOW I’VE PIQUED YOUR INTEREST, HOWEVER TEMPORARY.

FIRST FACT: I LOVE TO PAINT. MOSTLY lANDSCAPES.

ALWAYS YOURS,

-K

“Paint?” I say aloud to the empty kitchen, furrowing my brows. I would’ve never taken him for a painter, not that I even know enough to make that judgement. Something about the knowledge doesn’t sit right with me, but I have no clue why. There’s nothing wrong with painting. Landscapes can be beautiful when done properly.

I put the note aside, taking a mental note to write back to him later tonight when I’m back home. First, I have a podcast to record with Abby, who should be here any minute now.

To occupy my mind, I begin setting up the equipment we’ll need to record the podcast. Hopefully Abby has some material ready for today’s session. I have no desire to talk about the notes and what’s going on there. In recent weeks, I’ve talked less and less about it, though I know that can’t last long. Our listeners are hellbent on getting a resolution for the story, as if it’s just some work of fiction and not my real life.

The sound of the front door swinging open and smacking the wall interrupts my pity party as Abby calls out from the entryway. Moments later, she’s strolling into the living room, dumping her armful of stuff into the recliner across from the couch. I cringe as I spot the paperback she asked to borrow nearly six months ago among the pile of belongings.

Choosing to save that particular fight for another day, I opt for a different conversation. “So, I was thinking,” I begin, checking to make sure everything is plugged in correctly.

“I knew I smelled something burning when I was coming up the drive!” she shoots back, flashing her brilliant smile my way.

I roll my eyes with a smile. “Anyway, asshole. I was thinking maybe we could cover something a little different today. Still weird, just not about my personal life. I’m getting a little burnt out with the comments from random strangers. Plus, I don’t really have anything new to tell them this week anyway.” I mentally cross my fingers, hoping my reasoning is good enough without having to explain further.

I share damn near everything with Abby. We have very few secrets. It’s hard to have many when you’ve been friends as long as we have, but there are a few things I keep to myself. The depth of my depravity happens to be one of them. She wouldn’t judge me for the thoughts, but she wouldn’t ever let me forget them either.

“Oooh, we could talk about the painting in the woods! We haven’t covered that yet, and the cops are confident it’s connected to Gunnar’s murder. Not connected to you, of course, but still an interesting tidbit of true crime that we can use. Spin it to give them a sense it could be connected without actually saying that.” The excitement in her eyes has relief washing over my nervous system. Thank the gods.

It takes two hours, but the episode is done by one o’clock, leaving me plenty of time to get ready for my date with the guy from the bookstore. Now, if only I can get Abby out the door so I can actually get ready.

“Let’s go get Mexican tonight,” she suggests. Nothing puts Abby in a good mood quite like accomplishing something on her to-do list, and the consequence of a good mood is almost always Mexican food and margaritas. Any other time, I’d jump at the opportunity to spend more time with my best friend, but not today. It must show on my face because her smile dims a bit.

“Ooooooor we can go another time?” I offer, giving her my best pout. “I’m so exhausted from the whole week. I don’t feel much like going out tonight.”

Her smile falters further, not quite a pout but nearly there. “Oh. For sure. Maybe we can catch up Wednesday after you get off work if you decide you actually love me again by then,” she pokes, only half joking. She’s always been one to take things personally.

“I do love you, so very much. I don’t want to be around a bunch of people tonight, though. How about tomorrow? Let me know when you’re done editing the episode, and we’ll get Mexican to celebrate the new upload.” That does the trick, bringing the smile right back to her beautiful face. Abby has always been pretty, but her late twenties have hit a new level.

I usher her out the door, all but pushing her. By the time she starts her car, it’s nearly 1:30, leaving me about an hour to get ready. When I’m sure she isn’t going to turn around and come back, I lock the door and take the stairs two at a time, hitting play on my current favorite playlist as I go.

The Bluetooth speaker blares as the water warms up, filling the bathroom with steam. I shampoo, condition, exfoliate, shave from head to toe, then wash my body thoroughly. Just in case. You never know. I even opt to moisturize my entire body after drying off and throwing my hair up in a towel.

I apply a light layer of makeup, enough for it to be obvious I put in the effort, but not enough that I’m unrecognizable. I’ve never been one for much makeup, but a little goes a long way now and then.

It takes twenty minutes to decide on a hairstyle, simple but cute, and another fifteen to execute it to perfection. By the time I make it to picking out my outfit, I’ve got ten minutes left before I need to leave.

I opt for a pair of shorts that fall to my midthigh, an old band tee from high school, and a black pair of sneakers. Cute yet casual. Also convenient for getting out quickly should the need arise. I roll my eyes at my own stupid thoughts, but it is a fair point if I’m truthful with myself. There are some crazy people out there in the world.

Chapter 40

KILLIAN