The Obsession, page 8
“Thanks, see you tomorrow. Later, Dustin,” I say before sprinting into the downpour. Water droplets are falling thick and fast by the time I reach my car. I unlock it when I’m a few steps away and yank the door open. My soaked hair clings to my face as I dive inside, slamming the door shut. I lock up and peel off my hoodie, goose bumps spreading across my arms.
I start the engine and crank the heat. Rain pounds against the windshield, blurring everything. My wipers fight against the water, barely making a difference.
Slowly, I reverse out. My backup camera is murky, but I can see that no one’s behind me. I inch backward—then someone speeds past. My foot slams on the brake. I reach to lower the window and yell at them, but they vanish too fast. Not like they’d hear me over the storm anyway.
Heart thudding, I ease back farther until I can move forward.
Rosa and Seth must be gone, because I don’t see their cars as I drive through the lot. I strain my eyes, leaning forward to find the road.
I could wait it out, but the storm—arriving sooner than expected—is supposed to last into the early hours. Besides, everyone will be driving slowly. Well, except whoever just flew past me.
I pull up to a red light, watching cars creep through the intersection. The road to my house is tucked away, so once I get there I’ll be alone.
When the light turns green, I pause—just in case someone blows through their red. Then I press the gas, barely accelerating, passing the last few buildings in town. Fields stretch out to one side, forest to the other.
Relief floods me when I pull into my driveway unscathed. My front door sits under a wide porch—if I sprint, I won’t get drenched.
This could make a funny ending for the vlog—me looking like a soggy mess. I take out my phone and set it to record. Then I get out, slam the door, and run.
In seconds, rain trickles down my back. At the porch, I flip the camera and scrunch my nose, watching water run down my face.
I stop recording and step inside, a chill creeping in. The storm muffles everything—I wouldn’t even hear someone approaching.
No one is coming for you.
Locking the door feels like a win after an exhausting night. Now I look like a drowned rat.
Whatever’s going on with Dustin and Rosa, I want to know—but I’ve only just gotten back on decent terms with them. I’m not stepping into that mess.
I set the alarm and walk through the house turning on all the lights. Without Mom and Isla, the house feels twice as big, the silence stretching into every corner.
Go back to when that was a good thing. Remember how peaceful you were?
I move through the house, glancing up at the high ceiling, the circular glass at the top revealing the stars above. Mom was ecstatic when this house was put on the market and she finally had the money to buy it.
I think the skylight makes the house look like a submarine, but it sure made her happy.
Now all we have to do is sell our souls to the vlogging world so we can keep up this lifestyle.
My clothes stick to me, the cold making me shiver. I’m desperate to get out of them, but first, I check every door and window. Satisfied they’re locked, I dash upstairs, teeth chattering, fabric stiff against my skin.
I swing open the bathroom door, then peel off my clothes and toss them into the bathtub for tomorrow. I’m too tired to deal with them tonight.
Before bed, I throw together the short, layering music over it. With only a few shots, it doesn’t take long—besides, I’m a pro at this by now.
“You can’t complain,” I mutter, as if Mom can hear me, while I upload it to YouTube.
I slip beneath my sheets in my coziest pair of pajamas and close my eyes. No checking socials. No scrolling. Just instant sleep.
10
A slow flicker of light strikes outside. Rain pounds the glass as loud as hail. The thunderstorm has arrived.
What time is it?
The retro clock on my nightstand reads just past two in the morning, though three hours of sleep feel like none at all. I prop myself up on my elbow and watch for the next flash.
Isla helped me get over my fear of storms when she was seven and I was six, telling me the cracks of thunder are people we love in heaven playing baseball. I spent a full two years getting excited over every storm, believing our grandparents and uncle were having a blast up there.
It was a nice thought while it lasted, but I love it even more now. It was around that time when I knew how much I could count on my sister. Storms remind me of her and how we’ll always have each other’s back, no matter where Mom’s choices take us. Even if Isla is getting swept up in the lifestyle we have now, I know my sister will always be there. Some things outweigh money.
Minutes pass and I sit up, fully awake. Maybe I caught the storm’s tail end—just the last strike of lightning. No thunder, though.
Weird, since I’m the world’s lightest sleeper and thunder would usually wake me. I must’ve been in a much deeper sleep than I thought.
I check my weather alerts. There’s one from an hour ago, telling me heavy rain will start again in fifteen minutes—but no mention of a storm.
Kicking off the quilt, I move to the window.
Across the street, rain batters the asphalt, bouncing in the glow of the streetlight. The rest of the world is still, frozen in time.
The flash seemed brighter than a streetlight flickering or a car driving past, so it must’ve been lightning. What else could it be?
I need sleep. I get back into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, then open Facebook, checking the local groups for updates on Ellie. There’s nothing new, just hundreds of messages of support and prayers.
My mind cruelly replays the thud I heard when she fell.
I shut the app. The memory of her crumpled at the bottom of those steps will haunt me for the rest of my life. Seth hasn’t said much about it—maybe he thinks I’m fine because Ellie survived.
Don’t think about it.
Exhaustion presses down, but sleep won’t come. Something is gnawing at me. My mind races, tangled thoughts keeping me stuck. Partly about Ellie and partly about my friends. Seeing all those posts about her rattled me more than I expected.
Being home alone seems like an obvious issue too, but I’m kind of enjoying it.
Maybe I’m just overtired and emotionally spent.
No, there’s something…
A thought sparks, then vanishes before I can catch it.
What’s going on?
Light. It’s the light!
As it dawns on me, the joy of being home alone dissipates. I’ve seen that exact flicker at night before, dozens of times. The light goes out, flashes one last time for a second, then darkness.
It’s the security light. The one that usually goes off late at night when Mom comes home.
I sit up, gripping the quilt in a death hold. The security light’s boundary stops halfway along the path. Someone was on our property.
Could be an animal. Don’t panic.
The house is unnervingly silent, as if it’s been sitting empty for years. The only sound I can hear is the rain tapping on my window, asking to be let in. I don’t want anything from outside coming inside.
I sit taller, stretching my spine, but the thin gaps in the blinds reveal nothing. I’m not sure I want to take a closer look.
It was a bird or a large animal. Don’t panic.
Deer have been spotted in the neighborhood, peeking out from behind the trees to explore our gated community. But the gates only guard the front. There is nothing stopping someone from coming in through the forest at the back of my house.
Getting out of bed feels impossible. If I stay here, I can convince myself there was never anything—or anyone—out there.
I was doing so well. Now here I am, back in the world of paranoia. My least favorite place to be.
It’s just because you’re alone.
Sitting here and doing nothing is only going to prevent me from getting back to sleep. I’ve been brave before—and what choice do I have? No one is coming to my rescue.
You can do this.
Despite my urge to hide, I grip the edge of my cover, preparing to throw it off. Getting my legs to move feels near impossible. My body disagrees on the right course of action. I inhale deeply and toss the quilt aside.
Step two.
I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. My bare feet sink into the thick carpet—and I’ve done it. Though my bones feel like they’ve morphed into jelly and I’m going to fall straight back onto my mattress.
This is so ridiculous. If there was a burglar or murderer, they’re long gone by now. The security lights and cameras deter crime. Not one break-in or car theft since the houses were built.
Something Mom brags about whenever vlog safety comes up.
I tiptoe toward the window, as if walking normally will alert the killer, animal, or demon of my presence.
Because a demon is now also a possibility…
The light hasn’t just scared me—it’s stolen my ability to think critically.
Outside, the clouds are still spitting rain but not quite as heavy as it was a few minutes ago. As if the world itself is telling me not to worry. Too late for that—I won’t settle until I investigate.
There is no way I’m opening the blinds. It’s pitch-black in the house; no one outside will see me.
I peer through the tiny gaps in the blinds. The yard is swallowed in darkness. I give my eyes a moment to adjust and very slowly the outline of trees and the neighbor’s house comes into view.
I shift my head side to side for a wider view. Nothing.
It was an animal. Go back to bed.
The house is far too quiet for anyone to have gotten in. Not to mention the doors are locked and the alarm is waiting to scream at intruders. The cops would be here fast.
You’re completely safe.
Still, I step outside my bedroom door and listen until I’m satisfied no one has magically bypassed the security measures.
I grab my phone off the nightstand as I walk past and open the security system app. The alarm is still on, no activity since I armed it earlier.
Next, the cameras. One movement log, five minutes ago.
My heart leaps, scalp tightening like it might crush my skull. Before panic can take over, I remind myself: If it’s an owl, deer, or dog, I’ll laugh this off and go back to bed.
I click on the thumbnail and the footage plays. It’s so dark that I can only just make out the back of the house and, in the distance, the line of trees at the edge of the forest beyond it.
Then, a flash of black against the night.
Déjà vu ricochets down my spine. I’ve seen a flash like that before and convinced myself that it was an animal, like I’m trying to now, as if our gated community is a zoo.
I rewind five seconds and watch again. Then again. Each time the image sharpens.
It’s not an animal.
The stature. The movement. The speed.
This is a person.
Someone was just in my backyard.
My heart pounds, dizzying, blood rushing too fast. I steady myself against the wall, fingers pressing into the expensive wallpaper.
The direction they disappeared into suggests they took the path along the house and then into the forest. The privacy fence is high but jumpable. That must be it—no other movement is logged on any of the cameras. Still, I check each camera around the same time stamp, just in case.
My fingers tremble as I tap between feeds.
Nothing clear. Just a silhouette.
No other camera caught them. Maybe they just used my yard as a shortcut, slipping through town, cutting into the woods. But why?
I walk to the back bedrooms. Guest rooms, never used. When Isla and I have sleepovers, our friends stay in our rooms.
I don’t expect to see anything, but I check anyway. In the distance, I can see small squares of light from neighbors’ windows.
No flashing blue lights. No sirens. Nothing to suggest the police know a stranger is lurking. Though it’s only been ten minutes.
Dustin’s mom was talking about break-ins on the other side of town slowly moving this way.
Could someone online know where I live?
I try to think back to the times we’ve filmed outside the house, like Mom and Isla packing their bags into the car. Was the street in view?
I pull up YouTube. Mom’s posted two new videos since then. The latest one, COLLEGE road trip with my TEEN daughter, just went up.
Neither of them told me about it. I haven’t checked the comments yet.
The urge to read what people are saying almost overtakes the need to check if our location has been shared. Too many strange people watch our videos. Mom doesn’t care what they say or how often they say it, but she surely wouldn’t be careless enough to reveal where we live.
Jules has told her so many times to be careful. She used to listen.
I click one of the videos where we were outside—and there it is. Our house number, the street. In the background, the town and church. The town sign has been visible more than once—anyone could find their way here.
I crawl back into bed, the safest place. It’s mine. The panic room feels excessive. No one is here, and the alarm remains untouched.
Since I’m so wide awake, adrenaline preventing me from even thinking about sleep again, I open Insta and check my DMs.
There’s one from Blue from one a.m.
Love that movie
That’s kind of…off. Why come from YouTube to message me here?
Wow haven’t even posted on here yet, I type, calling them out but not expecting a reply since it’s the middle of the night.
I switch to Isla’s account. A mass photo dump—three separate posts. First, the road trip. Second, the hotel and dinner. Third, the college. Isla’s smiling so wide in each photo that I can’t help but smile too. I love that she’s having the best time. I want the perfect college for her.
“Are you kidding me,” I mutter, seeing the college name plastered everywhere, freshman dorms included. Just why? If she goes there, now everyone will know exactly how to find her.
Way to go, Isla.
I click away from her account before I message her something I’ll regret. The last thing I want is to argue. Instead I open YouTube. My short posted just before one o’clock that Blue was quick to watch and respond to.
As if they’re reading my mind, their username pops up on an Insta notification.
Didn’t want ur mom to see on yt
Well. Fair enough. I don’t want her knowing we’re talking either.
Good call!
The rain stopped?
For a millisecond, my heart stops. How do they know it’s raining where I am? Then I remember my last clip was in the storm.
Nope and now I can’t sleep
I never sleep well
Any reason?
Dunno just a light sleeper I guess
I should try getting back to sleep
Night connie
Chewing my lip, I plug my phone back into the charger and curl under the covers. Sleep comes slow and uneasy, but I eventually fall into a restless sleep, dreaming of a dark figure in my yard and Ellie’s thud onto the ground.
11
When the sun finally rises, I give up trying to sleep. I think I got about forty-five minutes total.
My mind has been relentless, replaying visions of someone breaking in, slaughtering me—my name scattered across condolence cards in a sea of flowers. No recovery, no second chances, not even like Ellie.
I drag myself into the bathroom like a zombie, my heavy legs protesting each step, and splash cold water on my face. My reflection looks like I’ve aged ten years and slept for none of them. The purple shadows under my eyes are going to be difficult to cover up.
I shower sluggishly and get dressed in the first sweatshirt and sweatpants I find. We’re going for comfort today.
Downstairs, I put a pot of coffee on, enough to make at least two cups since I need something to keep me awake. It’s not even like I stayed up doing something fun. If I’d been at a party, I’d probably feel fine. But I wasn’t. I was just lying there, desperately trying to sleep.
I pour my first mug. No creamer. No watering down the caffeine hit. If I could mainline it, I would.
I take a sip. Bitter. Burning. Kind of gross. But I’m too exhausted to fix it.
My phone is surprisingly quiet. No flood of notifications. Always unnerving when that happens—it makes me think something is wrong. Most people panic when they get a ton of messages. I’m the opposite.
Without thinking—because tired haze, hello—I open my DMs with Blue. Maybe I should ask their name. Fair, since they know mine.
But if I make them real, they won’t just be the stranger in my phone who has my back.
And if we get too friendly, they might start having opinions about everything. So far, their only criticism is Mom.
No new messages. I want to kick the part of me that feels disappointed.
What the hell is up with that?
Happy to report I got a whole three hours sleep last night
That’s casual enough.
Would Seth and my friends think so? I’m not too sure, but I’m not doing anything wrong.
U beat me—got two max
