Page 14 of The Obsession

With his Camaro.

His car that crushed him.

With a bit of help from me.

Which made me a killer.

When the shock from killing Brandon stopped overwhelming me, I staggered back inside the house and sat on the sofa. I picked up the phone and called 911.

The ghost of sirens wailed in the distance. They were soft at first, and then they were suddenly loud, suddenly here, suddenly my life was over. I stood up to let them in.

I recognized the cop who stood at the door. He was someone I’d seen when Brandon had the department over for a barbeque. Derek. Or maybe Dennis?

“Hey, Delilah. We received a nine-one-one dispatch call.”

I stared at him.

“Delilah? Is your mom home? Brandon here?” Derek-Dennis peered at me. “You okay?”

I stepped aside and pointed toward the garage.

Derek-Dennis stepped inside and walked in that direction. He paused and looked over at me. “You wait there, okay?”

I continued staring at him.

He opened the garage door. Pink Floyd flooded the living room. “Brandon? It’s Davian.”

Ah, right. Davian.

“Brandon—oh, shit. Control, officer down, over.” His walkie-talkie crackled a response. “It’s Brandon Jackson. There’s been an accident. He’s under his car. It looks bad. I’m gonna need an ambulance.” He paused. “Negative. I’m at his house. Her kid’s here. She seems pretty shaken up. I don’t blame her. Jesus. All right.” He walked over to Brandon’s stereo and turned it off.

Sweet, blessed silence. It revived me, brought me back to my senses. I blinked. Davian’s words trickled through my consciousness.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that, Delilah,” he was saying, and his eyes were full of pity for me. There were no traces of suspicion or anger that I’d killed one of his colleagues.

It hit me then—Davian’s first assumption was that Brandon’s death was an accident.

I’d assumed that when the cops arrived, they’d immediately know what had happened, how I had murdered one of them on what was pretty much a whim.

“Don’t worry, the ambulance will be here soon,” he said, his eyes full of pity. “Where’s your mother?”

“She went to the farmers’ market,” I heard myself say hollowly. “To buy anchovies for Brandon—” The feel of his name rolling off my tongue made bile rise up my esophagus. I cleared my throat.

“Do you want some water?” Davian said.

My immediate reaction was to say no, because it had been so long since anyone thought to offer me something as simple as water, when I realized that yes, I did. I was parched, actually. I nodded and sat there watching as Davian went to the kitchen and looked in the cabinets for cups. I couldn’t summon enough energy to tell him where they were. When he came back with a full glass, I chugged it gratefully.Takes a lot out of you, murder.The thought made me choke, and I coughed while Davian said, “Take it easy, you’re in shock.”

I nodded slowly, wondering how rotten my mind was, that it would think up something so irreverent right after I killed somebody.I killed somebody.Jesus. That was a reality I was going to have to live with. But the thing was…I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt bad in the general sense ofoh, shit, I might go to prison, but there was no remorse. In fact, I was just now realizing that if I had the chance to do it all over again, I would.

“You’ll have to give the team an official statement when they arrive,” he said when I finished coughing. “I know it’s the last thing you want to do, but keep it concise and you’ll be done before you know it. Have you called your mom?”

“Oh, shit. I didn’t even—I totally forgot.” The thought of Mom finding out what I’d done, the gruesome remains of Brandon, after everything that’s happened, after Pa, tipped me over the edge. Suddenly I was crying, huge ugly sobs that wrenched their way out of my guts. They were so strong, it felt like they might rip me apart. But they weren’t tears of sadness. Not over Brandon, anyway. They were tears of shock. I couldn’t believe that I’d finally done it, finally broken out of my frozen, terrified hamster state and killed the asshole.

Davian patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll get your mom.” He walked out to the porch, and I heard him radio for someone to contact Mom.

I forced myself to take a deep breath. And exhale. I was okay.

Right before I tripped the lever, my entire future had rolled out before me and I’d seen myself in that orange jumpsuit and I’d been okay with it. I’d really been okay. If that was the price to pay for the satisfaction of pushing Brandon out of our lives, I’d take it. But now, unexpectedly, I had so much more to lose. Now that I knew prison wasn’t a given, suddenly I had my freedom to fight for. If I played this right, if I didn’t screw things up, I might actually get to walk away from this.

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