Obsession

by Marie Robinson

  It’s all the warning he gives as suddenly he’s pulling me upwards and I realize we’re climbing narrow stairs. I’m thankful for the dark, because if I could see how thin these stairs are, I’m certain it would be more terrifying than now. I’m out of breath by the time we reach the top, and I’ve completely lost my sense of direction. He’s still, the only sound in the dark is my breathing. He’s breathing so quietly that if he wasn’t holding my hand, I’d think he’d disappeared.

  His cheek presses against mine and I startle, but there’s nowhere for me to go unless I want to fall backwards. I grab his waist out of instinct, terrified of the black drop behind me.

  “Wait here.”

  His voice is a low murmur that I feel more than I hear and then he’s gone.

  I thought it was dark before, but without him there—Crowsrest Manor begins to swallow me.

  “Malcolm?” I whisper harshly but there’s no response other than my thumping heart. Tentatively I stretch my hand out, groping blindly for any wall but all I feel is air. I feel as if I’m standing on a pedestal, miles in the air, surrounded by the darkness of the universe and only a breath will send me tumbling into an abyss.

  I stare into the darkness but all I see are strange orbs and shapes of colors—my brain trying to conjure anything familiar from the void, the same things I see when I close my eyes. I know logically I’m in Crowsrest Manor, but with every heartbeat, my sense of self abandons me. My heart is racing and now a pressure builds against my chest, making each breath labored.

  Malcolm abandoned me in this hell. I did something to Nikolai, or I saw something I shouldn’t have and this is their punishment. I crouch down against the floor, unable to stand, my legs turning to jelly. I don’t even have a sense of time anymore. Malcolm could have left me an hour ago, or less than five minutes.

  No wonder solitary confinement drives inmates insane.

  Grief overwhelms me as memories of my mother come back. I hiccup on a sob, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to try to stop them. Everyone looked at me with such pity and then almost disbelief as I didn’t act like a grieving daughter. I’d seen their sidelong glances at the hospital, or the traded looks between the social workers. They all were wondering why I wasn’t destroyed, why I wasn’t falling to pieces. Why was it that this sixteen-year-old girl who nearly died, who’d just lost her mother, is able to keep going as if nothing happened? As if she didn’t just have a part of her ripped away.

  I know they wondered if something was wrong with me. Their shrink tried to get me to open up but when I gave him all the right answers, he just told me it might take me awhile to process and that I can reach out if I need help when it finally hits.

  But they don’t understand. They can’t understand. My mother was the only thing that kept me safe from the monsters and now she’s gone. So I did what she told me to do if she ever disappeared. I focused on my next step, one foot in front of the other, and soon I was running again. Running the marathon she’d prepared me for.

  And now it’s not the monsters who get me, but the darkness.

  The gentlest draft of air touches my face and I’m blinking into the darkness. More movement and I’m reaching up, a cry of relief on my lips as Malcolm’s cool fingers wrap around my wrist.

  “I thought you left me.”

  He says nothing, his grip tight on my wrist. Sharp pain makes me gasp as he digs his fingers between the tendons of my wrist, my knees buckling as I try to pull back. something crawls over his hand onto my arm, followed quickly by more and I realize it’s insects. It feels like a hundred are swarming up my arm and towards my shoulder and I can’t even scream as I try to pull away from him. I take a step back, but there’s only air behind me and I’m tugged towards him, my other hand pressing against his chest. Then I feel the same thing, as if I’m being infested. I can feel them so clearly, it’s as if I can see them climbing over my shoulders, skittering around my neck, climbing towards my face. I want to bat them away but he won’t let go of me. I can’t even scream—

  “Mary.”

  A gentle touch on my shoulder sends air rushing back into my lungs and I stagger back, my foot slipping at the edge of the stair, the ground lurching out from under me as I fight gravity.

  “Shit.” Malcolm, the real Malcolm, grabs me at the waist and hauls me against his chest.

  My heart had stopped but now it races so fast I feel as if I’m going to black out. Malcolm is talking to me but I can’t hear anything he’s saying. He stops and just waits, his arms around me as I shake against him.

  “Get me out of here.” It’s all I can mutter and he doesn’t reply. He slowly lets his arms fall away, his hands seeking my elbows and then my wrists. How I ever thought whoever had grabbed me was him, I don’t know. My wrist still aches where it had, but Malcolm’s touch banishes the nauseating sensation of bugs. He guides me, walking backwards himself, through the darkness. If how hard I grip his wrists hurts, he doesn’t say anything. Three turns and then a few steps down, the passage widens, and the air feels less stale.

  “I have to let go of you to open the door,” he says, but before I can argue, he’s pressing my hands to his hips. I feel him turn, my hands sliding against him and then there’s a soft tick before the early sunset floods the cave, blinding me.

  He takes my hand, the one I’m not using to shade my eyes, and helps me onto the walkway. Then he closes the door and I’m out of reach of the darkness completely.

  “Where are we?” We’re facing west, that much is obvious, but as I look over the outside walls, I can’t quite tell where we are in the manor. We’re not even on the roof, though we’re close enough I bet I could climb the rest of the way if I had to.

  “One of the original balconies,” he answers, gesturing to the semi-circle shape. “The passages are the easiest way to get to here now. Got caught climbing down from the roof too many times. Here.” While I was looking around, he’d retrieved two cans from a small picnic basket. “It’s what took me a bit. Had to scramble up to the nook where we keep the beer.”

  My eyebrows go up as I accept the silver can. “How do you get beer all the way out here?”

  He snorts as he cracks his open. “Mrs. Browning is too indulgent.”

  “Wow.”

  He crouches down again to the basket and pulls out an ancient-looking tartan blanket and unfolds it about halfway before setting it down and sitting on it. Malcolm pats the bit of blanket next to him and I lower myself down, still processing the last hour. I roll the unopened can between my hands, unfocused as I stare out at the grounds. He lets me sit in silence, slowly sipping his beer. It’s not cold, but it’s not warm either.

  “Ever had one before?”

  We’ve been quiet for so long that I jump when he asks. When I look to him for explanation, he nods towards the can in my hands.

  “Oh.” I stare at it. It’s a cheap brand that I know is popular, or at least there are always signs for it at every store and gas station. “No.”

  I’m not ashamed, it’s beer. I’ve never felt interested in trying it, and my mom never drank any. She’d have a glass of wine every now and then, but never more than one.

  “There’s a lot you haven’t done, Mary.”

  His voice is a bane against the darkness behind us, soothing away the lingering traces of fear and madness. I feel dangerous, bold, and I rise to the challenge that I can hear in his voice. I hope the look on my face is more flirty than deranged. From the slow smirk tugging at his lips, I think I’m good.

  “I just haven’t found the right person.”

  That makes him laugh. If I wasn’t captured by how beautiful he looks, I think I’d be insulted. But Malcolm never shows much expression, he’s always the haunted-faced, quiet boy at the back of the classroom. I don’t even know if people other than Victor and Nikolai talk to him, though I know the rest of the students are drawn to him. He’s like a magnet, drawing the world around him closer. Or maybe he’s more like a black hole, pulling you
into his grip, bringing you closer to his darkness and never letting you escape.

  His laugh, though—he could use it as a weapon. Not even Nikolai would be able to resist the honest charm in it, or how Malcolm’s face comes alive with such a rare energy. I want to see him laugh again the moment he trails off, his dark eyes—usually so haunted-looking—now full of laughter and something more heated.

  “Is that so?” He takes another long drink of his beer, his eyes never looking away from mine. “I can say I’m definitely not the right person.”

  I try not to let him see how his words are like a cold bucket of water, dousing any confidence that had been growing. I stare stonily out at the sun dipping closer to the horizon. The sky is becoming marbled with reds and oranges as the night creeps in. I want to leave, but I don’t want to go back into those tunnels alone, and not just because I won’t be able to find my way out again.

  Malcolm tucks my dark hair behind my ear before moving my chin so I’m looking at him again. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to hold his gaze and not look away.

  “Just because I’m not the right person”—his thumb brushes over my lower lip—“doesn’t mean I’m not willing.”

  I’m rooted to the spot, so still that I could be mistaken for one of the stone gargoyles that line the roof of the manor, as Malcolm stares at my lips before meeting my eyes again. I pulse with heat, and I’m sure I’m blushing, as my brain sputters and my heart races. I have no idea what to do, or if I can even do anything, or if I need to say something.

  I used to think about my first kiss and how it might happen. I’d pictured the kiss with someone I was with, someone I had feelings for. My mother gave me an embarrassingly thorough sex talk, but she’d always emphasized that I have a choice and I should never be with someone I didn’t feel respected me.

  I don’t even know if Malcolm likes me, let alone respects me.

  His fingers move across my jaw and then he’s holding my neck, cradling the back of my head in his hand. He’s controlling everything and I’m grateful, because I’d probably do something wrong. I still might, I fear, as he leans towards me. He stops, a hair’s breadth away from my lips, just long enough for my heart to beat once, and then he’s kissing me.

  My eyes flutter closed as his lips are against mine. When his tongue teases me, I barely part my lips—half-afraid of the feelings coiling through me, and half-afraid of doing this wrong. That minor concession is all Malcolm needs though, and then he’s kissing me with such an intensity, I drop the beer. Both of his hands now are buried in my hair, controlling me as he devours me in his kiss. I’m helpless against the onslaught, and truthfully I’d willingly drown in him.

  He hums against my mouth with approval as I wrap my arms around his neck, needing to be closer to him. I kiss him back, pressing my tongue against his. I can taste the beer, and I know that, on its own, it could never live up to how it tastes in a kiss with Malcolm.

  His mouth slides from mine, and along my jaw. It’s all I can do to hold on to him as his lips leave a trail of madness along my skin, burning straight through and into my core. I cling to him, my eyes squeezed tight so all I can sense is him. When he shifts us, I don’t even hesitate, letting him guide me to my back, his own body angling over mine. He captures my lips again, swallowing my gasp as I feel his hips press into me. He’s as affected by this as I am, and knowing that makes me crave even more.

  I don’t care about messing up anymore; it’s impossible to care. All I can do is act on the natural drive that Malcolm is pulling from me. When one of his hands slips under my shirt, his touch isn’t cold. It’s electric against my bare skin, his fingers tracing the waistline of my jeans. The entire time, we’re kissing, desperately tasting each other as if we require it to survive. In fact, I fear if he stops kissing me, I might explode.

  When his thumb grazes along the zipper of my jeans, I know we should stop, that this was supposed to be just a kiss, but it’s like my body has taken the wheel. My hips buck upwards, and he presses his own hips harder against me, as if we are two magnets drawn together no matter how hard we resist.

  Then terrified screams fill the air between us and we rip apart, staring at each other in shock. His pupils are blown wide and he’s panting, his lips red and swollen from our kisses.

  The scream comes again and we scramble to our knees and look down over the grounds. Vanessa is running towards the manor, screaming even as other people pour from the house like bees.

  “There,” Malcolm says, pointing beyond Vanessa towards a massive hedgerow with a single entrance.

  Even from this distance, I can recognize Melissa lying in a contorted position. Blood stains the gravel around her head like a demonic halo. There’s no doubt that she’s dead.

  My monsters have found me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We scramble over the roof to get back into the main house instead of back through the secret passages. I’m not relieved though; I’m already planning my escape. Malcolm strides down the hall like a determined lion, focused only on his prey.

  It always starts like this, ever since I can remember. They start to kill people around me, no matter if we’re connected or they’re complete strangers. It’s a game to them, and their victims are expendable. The last time, the one that landed me here, was a truck driver refilling his tank at a gas station across the street. Suddenly his abdomen was rent open and he was dead before his knees hit the ground.

  We’d left before the police even arrived.

  I thought I’d have more time, that I could figure out why I could see these ghosts now. But I didn’t listen to my mother’s warnings—to never get comfortable and be ready to move, always.

  “I need to go.”

  Malcolm stops with one foot on the stairs and looks back at me. We can hear the commotion below us as people shout, students rush from their labs, talking wildly. But it all turns into white static, like a television without signal.

  “This is my fault,” I whisper, looking at my feet. “These are my monsters. The people I’ve been running from my entire life.”

  He’s quiet for so long that I risk looking at him. Malcolm isn’t looking at me, though, he’s staring out towards the massive window that dominates over the front doors down below us. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see it tick, but his eyes are glazed over, like whatever he’s focusing on is hidden in the depths of his mind.

  I can still feel his lips against my skin, his fingers teasing me under my shirt. Shame and longing play tug of war with my desires. He was right when he said he isn’t the right person.

  That isn’t stopping me from wanting him to kiss me again.

  Mr. Cornell appears at the base of the stairs, frowning up at us.

  “Everyone is to report to the dining hall immediately.”

  He doesn’t even wait for us to respond, striding away down another hall, searching out anyone who might be lost in their work.

  Malcolm doesn’t even look at me as he marches down the stairs, each step feeling like a nail of dread being hammered into my gut. I look down the hall towards my bedroom, where all of my stuff is. I could throw everything into the suitcase and leave… but then what?

  We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and there’s the supposed signal blocker for at least two miles. There are no cars, no taxis, no buses to take me away. I have some money from my mother’s banking account, but I’m sure if that’s being watched.

  How long can I survive without my mother?

  How long can I survive here?

  Closing my eyes, I take five slow breaths. There are no right choices, no best moves. So I’ll go to the dining hall and figure out a plan. I will not let my monsters win.

  I wish that my determination makes my trip to the dining room easier, buoyed by the confidence of a choice. But it doesn’t. Everything feels wrong. There’s something wrong with this school, I know that. But there’s something wrong with me too and this place seems like the only chance I’ll have to
figure that out.

  When I get inside, the students are all seated in their regular spots. My chair is empty… and so is Melissa’s. Cordelia is there, Vanessa and Karen on either side of her, all of their eyes red and cheeks tear-streaked. The room feels crowded because the entire staff is here too, lining the walls, looking towards Mrs. Browning and Mr. Cornell at the front. At least my entrance goes relatively unnoticed, only a few eyes watch as I slip into my seat and none of the gazes are suspicious.

  Malcolm is sitting with Victor and Nikolai, none of them look at me despite whatever Malcolm is saying. I study Nikolai, but there’s no sign on him or Victor that anything happened less than a few hours ago. Whatever it was, it’s settled at least.

  He must feel my stare because suddenly Nikolai’s brilliant blue eyes are pinning me down across the hall. Cold washes over me as his face is devoid of any hint of warmth, or the tension that’s been building between us. This time, when he stares at me, I don’t feel the tug of war between us, of the disdainful interest. All I feel is the freezing hatred in his eyes burning into my core.

  I look away first, unable to stomach his intensity any longer.

  “Melissa Culver has died from a traumatic brain injury.” Mrs. Browning’s emotionless delivery of the girl’s death makes the entire dining hall fall silent. I don’t even know if anyone is breathing as we watch the stern woman. She’s scanning the hall for something, her eyes briefly resting on me before dismissing me.

  “Each one of you will be interviewed as to your whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours,” she continues. “And the professors will have access to all of your private labs and each computer will be inspected.”

  That causes some murmurs, half out of surprise and half seeming unwilling. Did she think someone here killed her? I look around me, at the mostly male student body. There’s young Blake, his mustache still more of an ambition than reality. Could he have killed her? Or maybe it’s Zach, the quiet boy my age who keeps to himself, hardly able to meet anyone’s eyes.