Obsession (The Talisman series)

by Sofia Grey

  All of a sudden, the discussion had shifted gears. I sat up straight as my brain started working again. “I wondered about tracing the prostitute. Her story is a bit too slick. She bumped into him outside your room? That was convenient.”

  He nodded, intent and alert. “Gabe helped me into my room in the first place. What if he never left? What if he engineered the whole thing?”

  CHAPTER 11

  11.1 Gabe

  We flew back to Manchester that afternoon. I had a little surprise planned for Suki when we got home. While I sorted out a few things she disappeared to work in her study. I’d seen no further activity from her Hotmail account. With luck, she’d soon be arranging another of her analysis sessions and I could eavesdrop on the state of her mind.

  I nagged her to take her pills. She refused. She could be stubborn at times. I persuaded her to have some of my coffee, though.

  Going upstairs to find her, I tapped on the open door to get her attention, noting how she closed the lid of her laptop as soon as she heard me. “Don’t forget we’re going out tonight. Dinner and theatre in Manchester, we need to leave in an hour or so.”

  “We are?” Her face looked unnaturally pale, her freckles standing out in sharp relief. I walked into her room, and placed one hand against her cheek, the other on the back of her swivel chair.

  “You look tired. Don’t worry, we won’t be staying out late as we need to fly out to Belgium tomorrow afternoon.” I caressed her cheek, expecting her to rub cat-like against my hand, but she sat frozen in her chair. Hoping to put her at ease, I shifted my other hand to the back of her neck and played idly with her hair. “You’re coming with me for the practice and test cycles. There’s no need to stay behind since you’re off work anyway.”

  There was a flash of anger in her eyes and she started to rise, but I moved my hand to gently push her back down again. “Gabe, I’m fine now. I was planning to go back to work.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? The doctor signed you off sick for two weeks. I’ve already told your team. They’ve got cover arranged. You’re not needed there, sweetie, but you are needed with me.”

  I felt her tense beneath my hands, and I dropped a kiss on her temple. “Don’t be like that. You’ve no idea how bad I feel about everything that’s happened, how much I blame myself. We’ve been spending too much time apart, but that’s all going to change.”

  I shifted, spinning her chair round to face me, closing my legs around hers. With some reluctance, she lifted her head to look up at me. I chuckled. “Suzu, you never used to be so sulky. I was thinking about how much fun we could have together, like we used to. You’ll be there for the race and all the pre-race stuff. It’ll be good. Trust me.”

  She still hadn’t spoken and I took this as a good sign. I kissed her slowly, tenderly, drawing out the pleasure and feeling her relax just a little. That was better. I took her lips again, wondering if she was thinking about Craigowan when she kissed me… There was one solution to that. Make her forget him. “Come on, Suzu.” I tugged her hand and hauled her into the bedroom, dropping with her onto the bed. We didn’t have much time, but I was hot and more than ready for her. The show of reluctance made me horny as hell.

  Minutes later, pounding into her as she sprawled on the bed, I felt a surge of satisfaction. She was mine and I’d make sure she remembered that. Her quiet acquiescence was normal, Suki rarely showed enthusiasm in bed. One of these days, I’d find out what turned her on. For the moment I took selfish pleasure in stamping my claim on her body, and added a fresh love bite in place of the one that had almost faded.

  * * * *

  Showered and dressed in an elegant silk shift, her hair styled and wearing makeup, Suki looked more like her usual self. We met the others in the Cloud23 bar on Deansgate, looking down on the twilight Manchester cityscape from the forty-seventh floor. There was a decent sized gathering including my manager, the PR agent, a couple of selected journos and a small group of friends and acquaintances. It was good to schmooze occasionally, especially now that my name was back in the frame for Sportsman of the Year. It was also perfect timing to publicly scotch any rumours about Suki’s supposed affair with Craigowan. Everyone would see us as the perfect couple tonight, back in our rightful place in the spotlight.

  The women drank the signature Wild Berry Bellinis made at our table, while the men stuck with beers. Suki chatted quietly with the others. She was definitely subdued tonight. Normally, she’d be working the room like a pro, networking like mad. Walking up behind her, I rested my hand in the small of her back. It made her jump and her drink spilled on the floor, causing her to sigh in exasperation. I topped up her glass with a murmured reminder that we’d not be eating until after the show.

  Although it was only a short distance to the Opera House theatre on Quay Street, we’d arranged two stretch limos to take us as a group. Up to this point, Suki was blissfully unaware of the show we had tickets for. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

  Chardonnay, one of the bimbo wives, stared at the poster behind the ticket desk. I think she’d accompanied one of the financiers in the group. “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? What’s that all about? I don’t know anything about birds.” Everyone laughed, thinking she’d made a joke and she blushed, tucking her arm through her husband’s, and protested half-heartedly.

  “It’s about lunatics in an asylum,” her husband explained in a loud voice. “Jack Nicholson starred in the film version. It’s quite scary, they have electric shock treatment and lobotomies to control them.”

  I stole a look at Suki. If I’d thought her pale earlier, her skin now looked transparent. Standing in front of the poster, her tiny handbag held protectively against her chest, she looked nervous. Her bottom lip worked, her teeth worrying at it, her free hand stealing up to press against her throat.

  “Something wrong, darling?”

  “Nuh—no.” She gulped, her eyes beseeching me. I smiled broadly.

  “Let’s go find our seats, we don’t want to miss the start of the show.”

  11.2 Josh

  I stayed in Paris, working methodically through the newspapers, trying to track down the prostitute, La Monique. Even a photograph of her would be a starting point. Things only began to look up when I phoned Danielle to ask for help. I figured a native Parisian might be able to suggest a few local tricks, or at least some names of people that might be able to help. To my delight, she was already in Paris with her fiancé, Dev. We met over a jug of iced citron pressé in the Jardin des Tuileries, the public gardens close to the Louvre.

  Dev greeted me politely and with some curiosity, while Danielle air-kissed me on both cheeks, laughing in delight at our impromptu meeting.

  “You want our help with something, mon chéri?”

  I sat back in my chair, glad to see her so happy. She and Dev looked as though they’d been dressed by the same stylist, both wearing polo shirts with lightweight cashmere sweaters slung around their shoulders. I felt decidedly underdressed in my t-shirt and jeans.

  “I’m trying to find a woman—you might have seen her story in the news. La Monique?”

  “Oui.” Dani looked at Dev, her eyes sparkling. “I always thought she was a putain.” She used the French word for whore, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise at her venom.

  “You, er, know her?”

  Dev snorted in amusement. “She dated my cousin a few years ago. She was a student at the time, did some exotic dancing to pay her fees. Danielle never liked her.”

  Dani rolled her eyes. “Josh, if you’re seeking entertainment—” I laughed at her suggestion, waving my hands to interrupt her flow.

  “No, I’m not, but thanks anyway.” Once I’d explained why I wanted to find her, it all became much easier. Dev phoned a couple of people while I sipped my lemon drink and watched small children splashing in the nearby fountains. He moved away from our table, chattering into his phone at a speed I could not hope to translate. Dani watched him, a fond smile on her face.
/>   “You look happy, Dani. I’m glad.”

  Her smile was genuine, her touch on the back of my hand was affectionate. “He’s a good man. I’m glad I said yes this time.”

  Again, my thoughts flew to Suki, imagining I sat here with her, sipping drinks under a striped umbrella, with nothing more important to do than enjoy the sunshine.

  Dev pulled a face as he sat down with us again. “She’s gone on holiday and won’t be back until September. I tracked down her, uh, colocataire.”

  “Her flat mate,” supplied Dani, helpfully.

  “Damn. I don’t suppose you know where she’s gone on holiday?”

  “Oui. She’s gone to England. A touring holiday with friends. She could be anywhere.”

  I’d run out of options. Collecting as much information as I could about La Monique—real name Aimee Legier—I thanked Dev and Danielle and made my way back to the airport. Jon and Anita had left hours ago, but there were still plenty of flight options back to Manchester, where I’d left my car. It made sense to head back to Jon and Anita’s and I arrived just as the light was fading. I fought back a yawn. I’d spent the best part of the last few days shuttling back and forth between Anglesey and Manchester. At this rate, I’d be taking up residency in my Jeep. This time, though, I was invited to stay in their spare room, rather than going to the guesthouse next door.

  We ate together, swapped information and tried to figure out what to do next. They were due to fly out to Belgium in two days time. Anita said she’d spend time with Suki while they were out there, but apart from tracing Aimee Legier, there seemed little we could do. Although tired, I felt wired and edgy. I decided to go for a drive down to the grey mansion. It wasn’t late, not quite 10:00 p.m..

  The darkened roads seemed strangely familiar now, but as I parked on the grass verge, I could see something very different about the house. A flickering light downstairs. I squinted through the car window. From here I couldn’t tell if it was candlelight or a torch moving around. Either way, there shouldn’t be anybody inside.

  I went to investigate.

  11.3 Suki

  As I saw it, I had two choices. I could show Gabe how scared I was and run away, embarrassing us both in front of the rest of our party, or I could swallow down my fear and try to be angry instead. God knows how he’d found out, but this was my worst nightmare brought vividly to life. The temptation to feign illness was overwhelming. I just had to pretend I felt sick—little pretence was actually needed—and I’d be able to walk out. I’d do that. In the meantime, I held my head high and followed Gabe into the auditorium, discovering my seat was close to the wall. I’d have to barge past the entire row to get out. I groaned inwardly. Maybe I could just get drunk, blot it out with alcohol? One of our group was taking orders for the bar. I smiled and requested a bottle of champagne, my quickest option for getting hammered. Gabe smiled at me. It didn’t make me feel any better.

  I managed to sit through the first parts of the play, forcing a shaky laugh at the brief flashes of dark humour, and settling into my champagne. When the lights went up for the break, I was already well on the way to being drunk. With Gabe holding my arm, I carefully picked my way to the toilets and allowed him to escort me back to my seat. He chatted and bantered with the others while I pretended to be sending and receiving text messages. With a flurry of alarm, I realised the champagne was all gone, just as the play got into its stride.

  It was no good. I couldn’t subdue it any longer. As the tragedy unfolded in front of an enraptured audience, I found myself sucked into the story. Tears began rolling down my cheeks. This was what my mother had endured, what might ultimately happen to me. Gabe nudged me, shoving a tissue into my hands, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t take my eyes off the stage, but inside my head I was seeing different pictures. My mother in agony after shock treatment and behaving like a caged animal, like I did when I was trapped in the dressing room. Leather restraints around her ankles and wrists, she shrieked an unearthly, inhuman noise, her body bucking against the bed. I’d been staring from the doorway, watching terrified as the orderlies held her down, even more restraints, this time around her forehead, her shoulders, a gag in her mouth, a needle in her hand.

  My breathing faltered and my lungs struggled to pull in air, sharp pains like needles scattering across my chest. Black spots danced before my eyes, there was a sense of heavy pressure on the back of my head. Dear God, I can’t faint here. I gasped, my lungs rasping as I urged them to work, to help me stay conscious. I could hear Gabe’s voice from a long distance away and then a wailing noise much closer. The howling went on and on. My eyes were closed as I fell forwards, bumping my head on the row of seats in front of me, the noise abruptly stopping.

  Fragments of reality punctured my blackness. Gabe’s voice sounding concerned, his arms around me, a wash of cool air on my face and then traffic noises. I drifted away again, finally surfacing to find myself lying on the back seat of a taxi, my head in Gabe’s lap. He spoke over my head, directions I think, then spotted I was awake.

  “Welcome back.” He sounded grim. “I told them you had an upset stomach. I thought it would be easier than telling everyone you were drunk.”

  I lifted my head, a wave of nausea smacking into me. “Feel sick,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, for Chrissake.” He snapped at the driver. The cab immediately lurched to a stop and Gabe propelled me outside. I stood by the side of the road, shivering in the darkness and leaning against the cab with one hand while I tried to calm my stomach. It was no use. I vomited onto the pavement, retching harshly, feeling my stomach cramping as I did so. Gabe watched silently, and then passed me another tissue when he judged I’d finished. I wiped my mouth, dropped the soiled tissue onto the ground and stepped carefully around the steaming puddle, then climbed back into the cab.

  “You shouldn’t have drunk all that champagne, not after taking your pills.”

  “Pills?” I tried to focus on his face. “I didn’t take them.” My voice slurred badly.

  “Yes, you did.” He sighed, annoyed. “You took two just before we came out. Did you forget?”

  I hadn’t. I’m sure. I managed a shrug. “Dunno.”

  Everything seemed to be shimmering in front of me, so I closed my eyes and drifted again.

  11.4 Josh

  Carrying a heavy-duty 4-cell Maglite torch, I made my way down the path towards the gate. It was no longer locked and I eased through silently, closing it behind me. A jolt of common sense made me pause. Why was I so bothered about someone being inside the house? In the same way as I’d felt drawn to it earlier, I now felt compelled to go back inside. I kept the torch off, allowing my eyes to adjust to the low levels of natural light, and worked my way towards the door. From here, hunched on the back doorstep, I was confident the light came from the kitchen area.

  With one hand gripping the Maglite, I turned the handle and pushed gently on the door—not locked—sliding it open just far enough to slip through easily, then closed it behind me. Again I paused, waiting until I felt comfortable with the light available and reminding myself of the downstairs layout. Down the corridor, the kitchen would open out on my left. Creeping closer, I hesitated and held my breath. I could hear a noise, it sounded like someone humming a monotone tune. I guessed the person or people were in the kitchen. There was a sweet smell, slightly woody and fragrant. I drew the scent into my lungs and held it a moment. Sage. It reminded me of the herb, but overlaid with a smokiness. Burning sage leaves? I frowned and inched closer until I stood next to the open doorway.

  I prepared to peer into the dimly lit room, the humming louder now, and froze.

  “Hello. I know you’re here.” It was a male voice, soft and young sounding, followed again by more monotone humming. “Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.”

  As I considered whether it was a bluff, the voice spoke again. This time my heart almost stopped.

  “Raphael. Please show yourself to me.” What the fuck? How did he know the name inscribed on my Talisma
n? Who the fuck was this?

  All attempts at hiding forgotten, I stepped into the doorway, rapidly scanning the kitchen. One occupant, a man sitting cross-legged on the floor, his head bowed. I frowned. Five tea light candles were arranged across the floor, the guy sitting in the centre. I found it difficult to contain my surprise. The grubby kitchen floor had been swept and a five-pointed star was marked out in white with the candles at each point.

  He didn’t appear to be carrying any kind of weapon and I could see his hands resting lightly on his knees. Apart from the pentagram and the candles, you would think he was indulging in a spot of meditation.

  I spoke curtly. “Who are you?”

  His head jerked up, a look of surprise flashed across his face followed by an excited grin. “My name is Dante. I thank you for appearing.” He spoke slowly, courteously, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight as they raked me up and down. While he didn’t look like a threat, I wasn’t taking any chances. I slapped the Maglite casually against my palm, once, twice, three times. His eyes opened wide. As I opened my mouth to speak, he did some more of the humming. “Hmmm. Hmmm.” That was really annoying.

  “Quit the humming. Who are you and how do you think you know me?” I moved a step closer.

  He swallowed and bobbed his head. “I am Dante and I summoned you.”

  Summoned me? Maybe that sweet smell was some kind of obscure marijuana, one I hadn’t come across before. “You summoned me?” I struggled to keep the amusement from my voice. “And just why did you want to do that?” I moved closer again, standing inches away from the pentagram. I could see it was created with a fine white powder, rather than the chalk lines I’d first assumed. “What the fuck is going on?”

  This time, there was a flicker of uncertainty on his face. “You look different this time, Raphael. Younger. I thank you for—”