Obsessive Compulsion

by C. E. Kilgore

  Dammit. She gave me a chance – heck, she gave me chances - and I blew every single one of them. I stand and nod, walking her to the door. I quietly help her put on her coat, then I put my last hopes on the table. “Thank you for coming over. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  Grabbing her purse, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I’m still doing those extra classes for Pamela.”

  “Right,” I nod and open my front door. I’m tempted to ask about Friday, wondering if she’s planning to go back to The Stables or if I’ve blown that, too. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

  She looks up and smiles, but her eyes are haunted. “Goodnight, Ian.”

  The door closes behind her, leaving me alone. Suppressing my uncertain emotions with routine, I clean the remains of dinner, begin unplugging my appliances and pick up the book I’d begun the night before. Instead of sitting down to resume reading it, I stand in the middle of my living room, with a hole in my sock and a crooked tie around my neck, staring at my Gallery of Never.

  Charlie

  ‘Say you won’t forget me, Charlotte.’

  ‘I won’t forget you, Neil, I promise. Now please, get down.’

  ‘At least one person will remember me, because I know you always keep your promises, Charlotte.’

  He’d called me Charlotte. Five years, eleven months and twenty-nine days ago, he’d called me Charlotte, and then he’d jumped off a bridge.

  Merry fucking Christmas.

  I thought maybe I’d gotten over it. I thought enough time had passed. I thought enough had happened in my life since then to fill in all the jagged cracks left behind by the parts of my spirit that had jumped off that bridge with him. I thought wrong.

  Ian had simply called me beautiful, and I proceeded to flake out on what had become a surprisingly wonderful evening. He probably thinks it’s his fault. I left him twitching so I could run away and hide before the tears started. I really like Ian, but I’m not ready to trust him with that part of me yet.

  I haven’t even told Emma why I don’t like hearing the name Charlotte anymore. Why I had to repeat a semester in university. Why I stopped drawing for so long.

  And my drawings? Ian has a gallery of my artwork on his wall. I think he’s had them there for a while, too. I guess that should creep me out a little bit, but it doesn’t. I find it kina flattering, like the way I kept catching him staring at me. He thinks I’m beautiful and he likes my artwork.

  Actually, now that I think about it, I think he said he fell in love with my charcoals. The man loves my art and I fled from his apartment after telling him I’d been checking into his mental health problems.

  Running is safer, Charlotte, or don’t you remember the bridge?

  Of course I remember. Bitch. And don’t call me Charlotte.

  How could I forget? Neil made me promise. Neil made me promise, and then he left me.

  I pull my car over to the gravel shoulder. I’m only a few miles from Brandon’s estate, but the tears are making it too hard to see the road. I’m just glad it’s a quiet little country road where no one will see the crazy redhead hitting her forehead against her steering wheel.

  Ow.

  Leaning back into my patched pleather seat, I take in large gulps of brisk winter air, rolling down the window with the manual crank. The gears protest and grind, threatening to get stuck again. This old car’s seen better days, but it was the best I could find on my budget when I came back to Dallas. My parents and Emma have both offered to help me get something better, but I’ve never been able to accept assistance, even when I know it really is coming from the heart.

  I glare at the check-engine light on the dash as it pops on for the third time this week. It’s a faulty oxygen sensor, or so the mechanic said. He also said the alternator is about to go, I need a new timing belt and I should really just consider taking the car out to a field with a shotgun to put it out of its misery. I affectionately pat the dash of my poor little clunker, and it chooses that moment to stop running.

  “No, no, no…” I turn the key. The dash-lights dim and the engine refuses to turn over. Pausing, I count to twenty, pump the gas twice then try the key again. The engine turns over, revs then promptly dies.

  I sniff the air from my open window. The country odors of cows and winter-wet hay fields has now been mixed with burnt oil. Getting out, a puff of visible frustration exiting my lips, I crouch down and look under the carriage. Sure enough, a nice, oily black pool has formed. With my luck, it’s the head gasket and I won’t even be able to get this car into a field for the recommended shotgun burial.

  A car horn startles me and I jump up, tightening the closure on my black trench coat. I’d already been running late, so I’d dressed at my apartment and packed my normal cloths in a duffle bag. I was now standing on the side of a country road with a coat covering bondage gear. Wonderful!

  Turning around to face the car, my gut drops. Of course it’s a cop car. No, wait, correction. It’s the damn Johnson County Deputy! Ten bucks says he takes me in for indecent exposure, twenty bucks says he hits on me and a hundred bucks says he’s gonna think I’m a prostitute.

  As he pulls up behind my car and gets out, I’m running through all the excuses I have. Costume party? No, it’s almost Christmas. Birthday party? Not unless I’m the one coming out of the cake. Well, that’s better than a bachelor party where I’m the one…

  “Need some assistance, ma’am?” he swaggers over.

  And man, does he swagger. The guy could give Kyle lessons. Putting on a smile, I hug my body tighter. “My car seems to have finally gone to pasture,” I joke with a nervous laugh.

  “I could call you a tow,” he looks down his nose at me, his grey Stetson shading my face from the fading sun. “Where were you headed? Not much out this way.”

  “The Peters Estate,” I offer. “Visiting some… friends.”

  He grins and tips his hat at me. “In that case, I can give you a ride to The Stables, ma’am, and I’ll call a tow to take your car to Emanuel’s garage. Best place for miles. He’ll let me know, by the time Brandon’s serving pancakes tomorrow morning, if the car can be saved.”

  I blink at him in stunned silence and that makes him laugh. He takes off his hat then holds his hand out to me. “James Darcy, Deputy of Johnson County.”

  His jet black hair and dark eyes are as unsettling as his tall height. He must be the same height as Brandon, though he lacks the bulk. I take his hand and give it a firm shake. “Charlie McCloud. Are you… I mean, you know about The Stables?”

  “Charlie, hu?” he tilts his head, ignoring my question, and gives me another look over. I’m not entirely sure I appreciate the way he’s examining my body with slow determination, or the way he dismissed my question by not answering. “You that debut last week by the name ‘a Scarlet?”

  “I am.”

  “Thought so,” he snorts, but it’s not cute like when Ian does it. He points his hat at my head. “Took a wild guess on account ‘a your red hair and me never seein’ you before. I’m also gonna guess by the way you’re holding that coat closed like you’re fightin’ the jaws ‘a life that you’re already dressed and ready to go?”

  Definitely don’t like this guy. But, he’s my ride, he’s a deputy and he knows about Brandon’s club. So, I temper my growing anger and give a coy little blush instead. “I was running late.”

  “Well, grab anything you need, sweetheart, and let’s get you to the club before you turn into a pumpkin.”

  I laugh at his dumb joke as I stick the keys in the glove box, futilely try to roll up my window then grab my duffle bag and purse from the back seat. He’s already talking on his radio to someone as I approach his car. “I put the keys in the glove box.”

  He nods and relays that info over the handheld CB microphone along with my cell number as I provide it to him. His eyes never leave my body and I’m fighting back the urge to shove his radio down his throat. Ian may have been staring at me for three months, he may have purchased my
drawings and he may have memorized my work schedule, but none of that pinged my creepy-stalker radar like this deputy. Deputy Darcy’s entire demeanor screams power-hungry, womanizing wolf.

  It’s a shame, really. He’d be kina handsome if he wasn’t oozing an aura as oily as the puddle now forming under my car. I know it’s wrong of me to judge, in five minutes, the cop that’s saving my stranded butt. Then again, Daddy always said first impressions tend to tell you all you need to know about a person if you listen to your gut. I’m not getting much of a reading from my gut, aside from creepy jerk, but my skin is itchy every place James lets his eyes wander.

  He opens the back door for me, stating I’m not allowed to ride upfront where the loaded weapons are. Fine by me. I slide into the back seat and buckle my seatbelt as he gets in and pulls back onto the road. Is it strange that I’m glad there’s a sheet of bullet proof glass between us?

  “Emanuel says he’ll get his boy out here to pick your car up, soon as they finish eatin’ dinner,” he glances at me through the rearview mirror.

  “Thank you, Deputy Darcy.” I attempt to keep it formal.

  “James is fine,” he fails to keep it that way. “Least till we get to The Stables. Most folks know who I am. Hard to keep a low profile when you’re one of only three deputies in a tiny county like this. But, at The Stables, Brandon’s rules are the rules, so I’ll call you Scarlet and you can call me Crow.”

  All my muscles stiffen at once, and now I want that bullet proof glass to disappear so I can claw my fingernails into his neck. Crow. This is the pencil-dick bastard that sold Kyle a crock of lies about Emma, put Emma into a mental hospital for a month and tore out Brandon’s heart.

  I’d wanted to hunt the mysterious Crow down and hang him from a tree by his balls. Now I finally get what Saul had meant when he told me Crow was untouchable. Crow is a damn deputy and could take Brandon’s club down in a heartbeat.

  Very well. I enjoy playing games, too.

  “It’s Miss Scarlet, actually,” I purr with a Cheshire grin.

  Both his eyebrows raise at me in the mirror. “Really, now? Well, I aint exactly been on my back before for no Mistress-in-training, but for you, sugar, I think I’d be willing to try just about anything.”

  “I’m sure Mistress Cat would let you help train me,” I shrug lightly, holding back a laugh as he coughs.

  “Vic..er, ah, Mistress Cat is trainin’ you?” He looks like he swallowed his CB radio.

  “She is,” I nod. “She’s a wonderful teacher. She helped my best friend, Baby Doll, get situated at the club three months ago.”

  I watch as his eyes dart from the mirror to the road then back again, his brain slowly putting the pieces together. That’s right, dickless. I’m that best friend, and I’m here to make your life a fucking disaster zone. “Are you alright, James? You look a little pale.”

  “Dinner’s not sittin’ well, that’s all,” he forces his lips into a smile and I smile right back like everything’s peachy as pie.

  “Oh? Well, I hope you feel better soon, sugar,” I coo. “I was hoping you and I might get better acquainted tonight.”

  His gaze leaves the rearview mirror as he goes quiet for the remainder of the drive. Pulling up to a large double gate, he rolls down his window and slides a card through a reader then drives through the gates as they open. I stare at one of the bronze, rearing-horse statues that top the gate’s support columns, remembering the first time I came here to help Brandon set up Emma’s room. She’d still been in the hospital, but he wanted to make sure she had everything she needed waiting for her when she was ready to come home with him. Brandon is such a good man, and that’s another reason to hate this Deputy Dickless sitting in front of me.

  Instead of parking in the front of the large, white farmhouse, he pulls around back to the kitchen entrance and parks next to Victoria’s SUV. After turning off the ignition, he sits in the darkness for a long, uneasy minute. I’m not able to get out because the back seat has no door handle. I’m trapped. Shit.

  “Miss McLeod,” the respectful tone of his voice startles me. Where’d Deputy Dickface go? “I’m gonna take a wild gander and say you know what all went down ‘tween me, Kyle, Brandon and Emma?”

  My eyebrow cocks up high as I try and figure out where he’s going with this. “I do. I know you told a bunch of lies to Kyle so he’d turn rabid on Emma and run her outta town.”

  He lets out a long sigh, running his hand through his thick, black hair. “I didn’t know all ‘bout Emma and her… troubles. I mean, yeah, I wanted to stick it to Brandon and Kyle, but we got us a history, me and those two, that don’t no one else knows about. Kyle and I made peace a while back, but me and Brandon… Don’t excuse what I did, though.”

  “You put Emma in a damn mental ward!” My temper flares.

  “And I’m very sorry about that, Miss McLeod, I swear.”

  He’s not looking at me, but for some strange reason, I’m starting to believe him. I’m supposed to be pissed at this asshole, but I almost feel sorry for him.

  No, Charlie! That’s just your stupid, sympathetic heart. Turn off your empathy for ten damn minutes. He’s a bastard named Crow. Remember that.

  I’ll never forget. I promise.

  “I didn’t get the paperwork from the Feds,” he continues. “Well, I did get some of it, but it was all blacked out. I didn’t get anything about her being autistic or the real story about what happened with her and that piece of shit Marcus. About Jacob… God, I feel so awful about that. If I’d known what kina abuse she’d suffered, I never would’ve… I would’ve found some other way…”

  He leans his head back against the seat and looks into the rearview. “Kyle explained all the shit I messed up before he punched my lights out, but I aint made peace yet with Emma. She’s never two feet away from Brandon.”

  “What about Brandon?” I narrow my gaze, trying to keep the anger on the surface despite the emotions in his eyes telling the truth of his regret. “Shouldn’t you make peace with him, too?”

  “I don’t think that’s ever gonna happen,” he shakes his head, grabbing his hat from the passenger seat and opening his door. Opening the back door for me, he offers me a hand and I take it. “Sometimes, Miss McLeod, cuts just go too deep, especially when broken promises are involved.”

  My breath hitches and I’m caught in his stare. Somehow, I get the idea that it was Brandon who was the one breaking the promise and that there is way more to their story than I know. I don’t think I’m ready to outright forgive James for what he did to Emma, but part of me wants to at least try.

  Before I can make heads or tails of my flip-flopping empathy, noises from the back porch catch our attention. Saul rushes through the screen door and pounds down the porch steps on his long legs before his wide stride marches across the gravel driveway. Austin rushes after him and the poor screen door gets slammed back against the house again.

  “Saul! Would you wait a damn minute!” Austin has to basically jog to keep up with Saul’s long stride.

  “No. Seen all I need,” Saul brushes Austin off and keeps marching towards the parked vehicles.

  “You aint seen nothin’, amigo,” Austin grabs Saul’s arm and yanks him to a stop.

  Saul spins with fist raised. “I aint your amigo! Thought I was, but now…” He lowers the fist and runs his hands roughly through his platinum blonde hair. “You just tell me straight, man. You and I is… was friends. You in love with my Vickie?”

  Austin puts his hands on his narrow hips, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. He has to crane his neck back to look Saul in the eyes. “I love her,” he nods, but continues. “I also love you, and…”

  “Bullshit,” Saul curses. “You stabbin’ me in the back is a good way ‘a shown’ just how much you care, I ‘spose?”

  “Dammit, man, why you never listen to a single word I say!” Austin’s Hispanic accent breaks through as his odd grey-blue eyes glare at Saul in challenge.

  “
’Cause I heard an’ seen enough tonight ta’ know all I needs ta’ know!” Saul fires back. I feel bad for spying on this conversation, but James and I are pinned in the shadows between his cruiser and Victoria’s SUV. Saul pivots and heads for his truck.

  “Estúpido,” Austin mutters before letting out a frustrated groan. “Saul, let me explain,” his words are cut off as Saul slams the truck door and starts the engine. Austin stands in the parking lot, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watches Saul back up and then pull out, truck tires tearing into the gravel. Austin kicks a rock with his boot, raising his eyes and cussing at the moon. “Hombre terco! Why can’t he just listen for once?”

  I have no idea what I just witnessed, but the hurt in Austin’s eyes is clear. James steps out from between the vehicles, the noise catching Austin’s attention. Austin looks from James to me, confusion replacing the hurt. I frown, feeling embarrassed for our intrusion.

  “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” I fist the strap of my bag. “Everything okay?”

  “Austin?!” Victoria calls out as she rushes through the screen door. “Where’s Saul?” She stops short as James and I come into view. She’s half dressed with a silk purple robe tied tightly around her, but it doesn’t remove the power from her presence. Her whiplashing gaze falls on James. “Crow. Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

  James sets his hand on my shoulder. “Miss Scarlet’s car broke down out on Oak Grove. Was just giving her a ride and got her car towed to Emanuel’s.”

  “That so?” Victoria huffs. “Well, how kind of you. She’s here, so feel free to get back to work.”

  James’ hand tightens on my shoulder. “I was actually thinking about stayin’ tonight. Maybe it’s time Brandon and I had some words. I wanna make peace, Vic.”

  “Not a good idea,” Austin shakes his head. “Boss-man isn’t in a good mood.”

  Ian’s voice enters the conversation out of nowhere. I guess he doesn’t slam screen doors like everyone else. “Victoria, Brandon was…” His words die off as his eyes move from James to me to James’ hand on my shoulder. A twitch stutters across his face before he looks back at Victoria. “Brandon was looking for you.”