Obsession

by Harleigh Beck

“These are Daddy’s friends from school.”

“Why would Robbie Hammond, one of the most notorious serial killers in the country, refuse to be interviewed by anyone else but her?”

I took this job out of sheer desperation after an email dropped in my inbox one day advertising for a reporter.

How difficult can it be to interview a condemned serial killer, even if they prey on women like myself?

“Don’t let yourself be charmed by him. He’s a serial killer who murdered fourteen women,”

A small part of me also enjoys the thrill of knowing how deadly he is.

He nudges his chin to my name badge. “That’s a recent photograph. You must be in your early twenties. Less than six months into the job?”

“The victims’ families are out there. Families whose worlds were blown apart because of me. I owe it to them to tell the truth. My truth.”

I hated Mommy, but I still wanted her to love me. Other mommies loved their kids. So why didn’t my mommy love me?

“No one knew?” “No one cared.”

“You’re not asking the right questions.”

“On the contrary, it matters a lot.”

“I think you asked for me because I fit the profile of the girls you killed,”

“Brown eyes, long and wavy dark hair. Early twenties. Women who resemble your mother.”

“You’re too meek to resemble my mother.”

“The moment I set foot in here, you shivered like a leaf in the wind. You’re barely able to hold eye contact without a blush creeping up your neck, and your thumb is bleeding where you’ve picked at the nail bed.”

“Did you know,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, “that I haven’t felt the sun on my skin for over ten years?”

“You’re eager,” he replies with a small smile that somehow manages to be all sex.

“Who said anything about the death penalty? I was talking about the sun.”

Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his long fingers around my throat and squeeze. My core tightens as I flick my eyes down to his veiny hands.

Robbie is the closest I’ve been to tasting the sweetness of death.

No other prison in the country executes more prisoners than this one. It’s notorious. If you enter through these gates as a condemned inmate, the only way out is in a coffin.

I have never felt so seen in the twenty-two years of my life. During that hour, seated with Robbie Hammond in a high-security prison, I was laid bare.

Ever since the incident, he hasn’t been able to speak a single word. Now, he’s a severely brain-damaged, living ghost.

The killings should scare me, but I’m strangely intrigued—a morbid fascination that spells trouble. Especially now that I’ve sat across from him and had those ice-blue eyes on me and liked how his undivided attention felt.

Robbie is light and dark. His undeniable regard for detail and the care he takes in his killings clash with the vicious violence he possesses at the tips of his fingers.

“He’s a ruthless killer, Savannah. What do you think goes through his head when he looks at you? Do you think he imagines what you’d look like, bloodied and naked, tied up in his bed like the other girls?”

Robbie is a carefully crafted work of art and a cruel deception. He’s the flame I should stay away from, yet my fingers itch to reach out. My mind goes places it shouldn’t, like how his skin would feel if I traced those veins up his arm, skimming over the swirls of his tattoos and the soft hairs.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

His eyes burn into me. I glance down at his white knuckles, imagining my throat clasped in that brutal death grip.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“We’re running out of time here, Savannah. You either tell me what’s wrong, or I’ll have to carve the truth from you.”

“I’m not scared of you, Robbie. We’re in a maximum-security prison. You can’t touch me.”

“There are more ways than physical to carve open a mind. You think I don’t see you, Savannah? You think I can’t tell that a wisp of breath dances on your lips right now because you won’t dare inhale a breath.”

His voice is a seductive whisper that trails like calloused fingers over my heart before gripping the organ tightly—both a threat and a promise of relief.

“You’ve been drowning from the moment you set foot in here. I may be the one headed for the needle, but you’re already dead.”

“You’re a serial killer, Robbie. Of course, I don’t trust you.”

As if he can tell I’m folding, the left side of his mouth quirks. Robbie is playing games.

The intense way he holds my attention never wavers. Not a single emotion flickers across his face. “Did he touch you at all?”

I looked up from the tattered math book in front of me, and my eyes widened at the sight of the furry little kitten in her hands, which squirmed in her tight grip.

NOOOO

“I think anyone can be made into a killer given the right circumstances.”

“I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t in revenge.”

“I could ask the same of you. What have you noticed about me since we sat down?”

“Are you brave enough to find out the answer, Savannah?”

I want his tattooed hands on me. I want to feel the pleasure he can bring with those calloused fingers. I even want the pain he could inflict if he let his monster out to play. I want to taste death at his fingertips.

Those sinful lips reveal a hint of a smile, but there’s nothing sweet about it. “I know a lot of things about you.”

“Getting a little attached, are we?”

“Is that what you’re into, sweetheart? Dangerous men who would cut you into pieces and enjoy it?”

“I’d bet my yearly salary he knew about you long before he agreed to interviews. And it makes me wonder who has the real story to tell.”

We both knew she was nothing but a monster. But the bigger monster was me. The abomination of a son she was molding me into.