Frayed Obsession, page 8
I don’t know much about his father’s company, but I know it’s the biggest international shipping company in the Pacific. And from what I’ve overheard, I suspect they aren’t always on the legal side of business.
I suppose it’s Sebastian’s company now. A pang stabs my heart when I think of his loss, and I close my eyes.
Everything seems to catch up to me at that moment. Above the city, locked in the apartment of someone who believes me an enemy, and I’m the safest I have been in the past seven years.
The pressure in my chest tightens until I throw the blanket off and stumble to my feet, not even feeling the pain from the sudden movement.
Shadow startles awake from his place by the end of the couch, his ears perked and eyes sharp, but the only danger is the crushing feeling inside me.
I stumble in the direction of the room I’d slept in last night whilst using the walls for balance, but it’s what’s hidden in my backpack that’s my main target. Fumbling with the handle, I manage to open the door, but before I can shut it behind me, I pause. Shadow approaches from the other side, and instead of closing the door, I back away, choosing to leave a gap in the doorway. He lets out a low whine but doesn’t come any further, even though he could easily push his way in.
My backpack sits exactly where I’d left it under the bed, and I pull it out. After unzipping it, I hold my hand over the carefully tucked away journal, my mind warring with itself. Minutes trickle by—or is it only seconds—before I reach for it. Taking a pen from one of the pockets, I make my way to the round chair in the corner by the glass wall. After pulling my good leg up, I cross it under me and position the pillow in my lap before undoing the binding of my journal.
The photographs sit inside the cover, like always, and I take a moment, brushing my fingers over each one before flicking through the journal. Without even reading the words, the coil around my chest starts to loosen. I don’t need to read them to know what they say, but I can’t help but glance at the pages as they flick by one by one. Until I catch sight of that entry from four years ago, and my fingers falter, letting the momentum stop. The night everything changed, and this journal became something else entirely. The twisted reality of one night that bloomed into a life of its own and allowed me to find an escape from my nightmare. I know which entry comes before this one—the words of a broken girl who had nothing left to live for. But before I can be pulled into that dark past, I turn the page, effectively leaving it behind. Page after page is filled top to bottom with my words, and the further I go, the more I immerse myself in them in a world that doesn’t exist outside of my mind or this journal.
The last entry is dated February 5, almost three months ago.
The day before I ran from him.
I keep turning the pages until I come to a blank one towards the end of the thick book, and as soon as my pen hits the paper, my mind begins to slip away.
Dear Diary…
The words flow out of me, spinning those silver webs, and with them, my worries, the heartache, the fear—it fades away.
A sense of freedom washes over me, and I don’t fight it. I let myself be taken to this other place—a place where I can be the girl I was supposed to be.
Carefree.
Happy.
Safe.
Loved.
I’m drawn even closer to the man who captured my heart. The same man who, until yesterday, didn’t know I existed, but that doesn’t matter here. Am I crazy? Delusional? Maybe, and as much as I might regret it later, I let myself fall further into him.
Somewhere deep down, I know this isn’t real and that a different reality exists.
A darker one. One where I’m scared and on the run. Where no one whisked me away, leaving me to endure an extra four years of suffering at the hands of a man who was supposed to be family. The one where the man I love hates me.
I’m not ready to go back there. I’m never ready.
I can no longer see the journal or the words I’m writing—just the world they create. I only wish I could stay here forever.
“Shadow.”
I jolt awake.
Even with light streaming through the large window, it takes a moment to get my bearings. The journal lays open on my lap, the pen cradled in its crease. I always find myself in this almost lethargic state after an entry and everything that comes with it. It’s not something I can just snap out of, and at times, especially since I escaped him, I struggle to differentiate between the fictitious reality and the truth. Each time is different, but it seems with every entry, the longer the haze lasts.
“Shadow, come here, boy,” a gruff voice that doesn’t sound at all like Sebastian’s, calls out.
My head snaps up, and my heart starts to pound. Someone’s in the apartment.
Shadow stands at the command and heads for the door but doesn’t leave the room. His ears perk, and his tail swishes lightly, but when he lets out a small bark, my heart jumps into my throat.
So much for keeping people out. He’s leading them right to us.
Sebastian said he wouldn’t be home until late. I don’t know the time or how long I was out—my mind is still foggy—but a glance out the window shows the sun still high in the sky. Who would be here? Sebastian mentioned something about the penthouse being watched, and there was the guy with the gun this morning, but even with this information, my mind goes straight for the worst.
What if he found me?
Scrambling out of the chair, I clutch my journal to my chest. Footsteps sound down the hall, and my body starts to shake, my feet frozen to the carpet. Move! This can’t be happening—how could he have found me here so quickly? It hasn’t even been a whole day.
Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the nearing footsteps along with any hope of logic. I hate that he has the power to reduce me to this fearful, weak version of myself, but somehow, I manage to regain control of my body, and I start to move on unstable legs.
“There you are. What are you doing down here, hmm?”
My legs falter before I’ve barely made it two steps, and I take in the scene before me. A man with dark hair leans down to scratch behind Shadow’s ears, half blocked by the door, and I stand still while he continues, not noticing me. Shadow’s tail starts swishing faster, and my fingers tighten around my journal. Instead of being a guard dog, he laps up the attention, and I want to yell at him to do something.
As if only now realising someone else is in the room, the man lifts his head, and his movements pause. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone was here,” he says, shock evident on his face.
I try to speak, except my voice is trapped in my throat. He doesn’t appear threatening, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could have been sent here for me, though that doesn’t explain how he knows Shadow.
The man’s features soften as if he can sense my uncertainty. “I’m Mason, Mason Taylor. I work security for the building.”
My gaze lowers to the badge on the left chest of his plain black suit jacket that seems to corroborate his story, but I don’t let go of my wariness.
“I take Shadow here out when I can while Mr. Reed is at the office,” he says, giving Shadow another pat, and the large dog’s tail thumps on the ground in response.
He looks to be maybe in his early-forties with a spattering of salt and pepper at the temples of his dark hair. Similar in age to what my father would have been now, and not for the first time, I wonder what he would look like today. Would he have the same salt and pepper running through his hair? His hair was lighter than mine, my dark brown hair a feature from my mother. He would always comment on how much I resembled her, but I had his eyes, though as much as I wanted to hold onto that connection to him, they were tainted now.
“O-okay,” I say, thankful it doesn’t come out as shaky as I feel on the inside, but it’s still missing the strength I like to hold onto.
He gives a soft smile, showing off the lines around his mouth that come with age. His calmness and kind hazel eyes tell me I don’t need to worry, and my instincts tell me I can trust him, but how can I be sure?
With a tap on the door frame, he says, “I’ll bring him back up shortly. Sorry again for disturbing you.” He doesn’t wait for a response before encouraging Shadow out of the room. Shadow hesitates for a moment but seems happy enough to go with the man, Mason.
He was surprised to find me here.
Does Sebastian bring women home often?
I’ve never seen him with another woman, but that doesn’t mean anything. The few times I was out late enough to see him come home, he was alone. Although not liking to stay out after dark, those times were few and far between. I didn’t even know about Shadow, so it’s entirely possible.
I can’t help the sharp ache those thoughts bring, especially while my mind struggles to return to reality so soon.
The fall is harder each time.
It’s one of the reasons I try to avoid my journal because I dread the day the silver webs of fantasies aren’t enough to catch me, and I don’t know what I’d be without them.
Chapter Fourteen
Sebastian
Ian Ross.
Flipping through the folder Easton dropped on my desk earlier today, I study the information yet again, regardless of the fact I already have it memorised. The mug shot stares back at me, dirty brown hair flopping over his forehead as he gazes carelessly into the camera.
It doesn’t make sense.
There are a few misdemeanours on his record—possession of illicit substances, a couple of assault charges, but nothing close to armed robbery and murder. Sure, it’s possible it was a crime of opportunity, but everything in my bones tells me there’s more to the story.
Slapping the folder closed, my gaze drifts to the camera sitting on my desk for the umpteenth time today, its cracked lens mocking how I feel inside. I don’t need to see the photos again to be reminded of how this girl was able to get so close, for months, without me realising. Shaking my head, I try to jolt the thoughts free.
I push up the sleeve of my suit jacket and check my watch.
Four o’clock.
God, this day couldn’t be any longer.
Taking a sip from the mug on my desk, I cringe at the taste of stale coffee long gone cold. In a last-ditch effort to keep me sitting upright, I take a big mouthful, emptying the mug, and force the bitter liquid down my throat.
I barely slept last night—my mind racing with regrets and thoughts of my parents.
Then worse. Thoughts of the girl sleeping down the hall.
When I did sleep, it was broken.
Eventually giving up on sleep, I’d rolled out of bed, hoping my morning run would clear my head, but the half-open door of the guest room had stopped me in my tracks.
Reaching the entryway, I push the door open fully, but my plans to hunt her down dissolve when I see Grace asleep in bed, and I just manage to grab the door before it slams into the wall.
I don’t notice Shadow lying on the floor by the end of the bed at first. Did she know he was in here? His head is up, and he’s focused on me but doesn’t make any moves to get up.
My gaze drifts back to Grace’s sleeping form, but my insides twist when I get a better look at her. Without conscious thought, I hedge further into the room until I’m standing by the bed. Her brows are pulled into a frown, the early dawn light peeking through the curtains allowing me to see the little creases in her forehead and the light sheen of sweat on her skin.
Shadow moves to my side and rests his head on the edge of the bed. She looks so young like this—she is young—but something pulls at my chest seeing her this way.
What is she afraid of?
I reach out, wanting to soothe the lines between her brows, but I stop before I make contact, my hand hovering above her.
I shouldn’t be in here.
I certainly shouldn’t want to comfort her. My mind tries to remind me that we don’t know if she had anything to do with their deaths, but it doesn’t change anything.
Shadow whines, and Grace flinches, her fist tightening around the sheets, but she doesn’t wake up. I pull my arm back and retreat from the room, pulling Shadow with me.
Closing the door, I leave the unwanted feelings behind me.
It feels like it’s been so much longer than one day since everything that led to Grace being in my penthouse. Maybe having her stay with me wasn’t the best idea, but how the hell could I trust her enough to let her go. Sure, she’d need to come back to get what I owed her, but if everything was a lie? This was the only way. She knows something, and if she hasn’t given me the truth, then I’ll pry it out of her.
Since giving me the folder this morning, I haven’t heard anything else from Easton. Being patient is killing me, but this is the first lead we’ve had, and I know Easton wants the bastard as bad as I do.
The address in the file was Easton’s first stop, and if the meeting I’d had earlier weren’t important, I would have been right there with him, but as more time passes with no word, I lose hope that anything came of the information. Maybe I should have rescheduled the damn meeting. At least then, I’d know one way or the other.
I run my hands down my face, hating the situation and the exhaustion weighing me down.
I wanted this.
I wanted answers.
I just didn’t think they’d come in the form of a stalker I now can’t get out of my head.
My gaze once again finds the camera sitting in the same spot on my desk as the last time I stared at it, only this time, I can’t resist the pull towards it. I push the file on Ian Ross away and grab the camera.
For a moment, I fiddle with the device, trying to figure out how to get the memory card out. Once I get it free, I open my laptop and slip the SD card into the reader on the side, not wanting to risk any chance of the photos making their way onto the company server by using the desktop.
When the folder pops up, I click on it to open it, then click on the first thumbnail.
Why the hell am I doing this?
I stab the arrow key to change the picture, using more force with each push of the key as photos of myself flash across the screen.
It’s so much worse this time compared to the small display screen I saw them on the first time. I still don’t know why Grace was taking these photos, and it frustrates the shit out of me. Maybe Easton is right in the idea of her working for someone. Ian Ross? How else would she have known about him? I never actually asked her how she knew anything. I was so focused on who she was naming rather than her connection to him.
Photos keep flashing on the screen, and I rip my hand away.
That’s enough.
I’m about to slam the laptop shut when the photo on the screen catches my eye. Because it’s not me.
No older than five or six, a girl fills the image—a bright yellow flower clutched in her small hands. Her hair is only a couple of shades lighter than Grace’s, but it’s her bright smile as she looks down at the flower like it’s the most precious treasure that sends a warm light through my chest.
If it wasn’t for the brown eyes, I might have thought it was Grace, but beyond first glance, the similarities end. Still, I can’t help but imagine her like this, carefree and happy, innocently unaware of a darker world.
I press the arrow key again, and the next image is almost identical to the first—the out-of-focus tree in the background, the yellow flower. Except this time, the girl is directing her smile towards someone out of the shot. Even though she’s not facing the camera, her absolute joy shines through the photograph.
But the warmth disappears when the next photo is another one of me. This time, instead of stopping, I continue flicking through them.
I don’t know how many I go through until I come across another one that doesn’t belong.
The ones of you don’t belong.
I should be worried with how quickly I dismiss the thought, but every remaining scrap of energy is focussed on the screen in front of me.
How did I miss these?
Instead of the bright happiness of the other photos, trees cast shadows while the sky glooms with graphite tones and patches of blue trying to peek through the clouds. A lone park bench sits to the left, and I can almost put myself there, in that moment, watching the rolling storm come and go. Only I can’t help but feel like I’m not alone on that bench. The vision of Grace with her dark hair tangled across white sheets, framing her face, flashes back to the forefront of my mind.
That’s when I see it.
A splash of colour.
A ray of light trying to break through the shadows.
The rainbow is only partially visible, hidden mostly behind the thick haze of clouds, but it’s there—a veiled brightness fighting to be seen, to be free of the darkness imprisoning it.
My attention shifts away from the unwanted images, focusing solely on hunting for the hidden gems buried within. And every time I find one, another crack forms in the ice surrounding my heart.
“Mr. Reed?”
I slam the lid of the laptop down, moving so fast I’m barely aware of what I’m doing.
Lauren gives me a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. I knocked and called out, but there was no answer…” She pauses, then her eyes widen, and she scrunches up her nose. “Were you watching porn?”
“What? No, I wasn’t fucking watching porn,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Lauren blows out a relieved breath.
I clear my throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else before I head off.”
Head off?
“It’s six o’clock,” she says, reading the confusion on my face.
My gaze flies to my watch.
