Page 138 of Obsession
My heart has ceased to beat. I stare, unblinking, as the gnawing dread thickens and grows inside me. The truth behind his words sucks the oxygen out of the air. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but take the weight of his look when he turns those knowing eyes in my direction, eyes that seem so familiar to me now. I can’t place him, or the sense of familiarity his smirk invokes.
I tear my gaze away, then frown.
Shifting in my seat, I strain to look out the window as we drive past my street. “You missed the turnoff.”
When he stays silent, I look at him. “The turnoff, Elliot. You missed it. Turn around.”
His face remains a blank mask, and he stares straight ahead at the road.
“Elliot?” My voice is weaker, shakier. Something is wrong. Studying his side profile, I swallow thickly.
My eyes skate from his face to the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror to the backseat. Craning my neck, half-turned in the seat, I scan the footwell and the leather upholstery.
The eerie feeling is back tenfold. I breathe in the scent of cleaning products and Elliot’s citrusy cologne before slowly easing back into my seat.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask carefully.
Instead of replying, he bangs his fist on the glovebox, removes a gun, and tosses me a zip-lock bag with a small, circular blue pill inside.
He aims the gun at my face, and I shrink back, heart pounding in my chest.
“Swallow it.” His cold and detached voice never wavers. He cocks the weapon in his hand. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“Why are you doing this, Elliot?” I blink back tears, then yelp when he jostles the gun impatiently.
His flashing eyes cut me to the core. “Swallow the damn pill. Now.”
I struggle to open the small zip-lock bag with my trembling hands. Seconds pass, in which his impatience threatens to suffocate me. I slip it out onto my sweaty palm, chancing a long look at the gun still aimed at my face. Then I throw the pill back, swallowing it down.
His lips slowly pull back into a satisfied smirk, and he levels those green eyes on me. “Do you know how many nights I’ve fantasized about this moment, of you watching me like you are now? You’re even more perfect than I could have imagined. Look at you. Your eyes are glassy with fear, and those pretty lips tremble with the effort of trying to remain brave.”
When I don’t reply, he peers back at the road before flashing me a nefarious smile, a smile so cold and sinister that shivers slither a slow path down my spine.
My heart thuds hard against my ribs. The world slowly fades at the edges, and the lights grow muted. Elliot’s smile is too wide. Distorted.
My chin meets my chest, lolling as the car rocks. My head is too heavy to hold upright.
Fingers braid through my hair, soothing and hurting. His voice is far away. “Sleep well, Savannah.”
56
SAVANNAH
The first thing I become consciously aware of is the sound of splashing in the distance. It comes and then it stops, only to start back up again. Shivers rack my body as I slowly lift my heavy head and blink to clear the haze.
Where am I? I scan the clearing, my head pounding from the movement. Elliot stands some way away, framed by a large train bridge, skimming rocks on the river’s surface. I’m lying on my side on a damp, creased tartan blanket, with my arms and ankles bound and my mouth taped shut with duct tape. I try to move, shuffling on the spot, wiggling like a worm. Pain radiates through my joints, and a small whimper rings out despite my best attempts at keeping quiet.
Elliot stiffens before he slowly spins around. His gaze lands on me, and he drops the rocks in his hand. He walks closer with measured, slow steps as he takes me in, eyes raking over my body. “Welcome back, Savannah. I was growing worried.”
Stars twinkle overhead, bright and clear; the smog of the city is nowhere in sight now. We must have driven a long distance.
I whip my head around to scan the snow-covered trees in the clearing and the bridge in the distance. Elliot chuckles underhis breath, looming over me. “I did a lot of research, you know. Scouting my locations beforehand.”
Defeated, I lie back down. The cold snow bites into my skin through the blanket’s damp fabric. I’ll die here tonight—another victim of a madman.
“No one will come for you, sweetheart.” He sits down on his haunches and brushes matted strands away from my cheeks. His eyes linger on my hair and the duct tape on my mouth, taking in my fear. He rips off the strip, and pain erupts over my lips like a thousand pinpricks. Then he grabs hold of my chin and drags his thumb over my mouth.
“I’ve dreamed about these lips,” he whispers, seemingly mesmerized. “About how they would feel wrapped around my cock.” His eyes flick up to mine, searching, warring. He slowly pushes his thumb past my lips and presses down on my tongue, watching my gag reflex kick in. “I’d come so hard down your throat.”
