Page 10 of Obsession

She had been a high-achieving child. Her parents had immigrated here, worked hard, and made something of themselves. It was clear she wanted to follow in their footsteps. And she had. Winning awards for grades, attendance, sports. Going on to an Ivy League university before settling here for residency.

I wondered if Lark had known what Sayton City was before she’d moved. Did she know it was the criminal hub of the Midwest? That the city hid its dirty underworld with tourist attractions and the boardwalk? That the streets weren’t as clean as they looked? Is that what had drawn her? The excitement?

Or did she simply desire proximity to her parents?

I had too many questions, not enough answers. My heart raced as I stepped into her entryway. It was a nice apartment in a good neighborhood. A table to my right held a lamp and a bowl for keys or other odds and ends. A mirror hung above it.

A coat closet and a small hall were to my left. I opened the closet first. My stomach tumbled as I noted her coats neatly hung and her shoes lined up on a rack.

I wasn’t nervous about being caught. Or worried about what I was doing. It was being in her space that made my skin tingle. That had my heart jerking about. My mind racing.

It was the thrill of knowledge. Of feeding my new fixation. Or maybe it was being close to her.

I closed the door and moved down the hall. There was only one room; a guest bath with a decorative towel.

Retracing my steps, the front door to my right, and her kitchen on the left. A long island bar held three stools and gave the tiny kitchen plenty of prep space. I set my bag on top of it.

Dishes were stacked in the cupboards. Food in a cramped pantry. I found nothing interesting until the last one. My brows furrowed as I saw two shelves; the whole cupboard was full of water bottles. Or to-go cups. Whatever they were called.

They had a straw and a screw-on lid. There were at least thirty in different designs. Christmas and Halloween patterns. Shimmery ones. Bright pink and with a coffee shop logo.

I picked up one that had sparkles floating in between the layers. Why would someone need this many cups? Shrugging, I put it back and closed the cupboard. I added it to the growing list of things I knew about her. Trying to make sense of the girl who’d captured my attention.

Walking through the kitchen into the living room, I noted the doors to a small balcony straight ahead. A TV and entertainment center made of light-colored wood was to the left. A coffee table that matched and a cream couch were to the right. A floor lamp in the corner made it easier to read while lying on the sofa.

She had a ladder leaning against the wall by the balcony, but it held plants. The vines tumbled down, tangling with the rungs. There was another next to the TV, being used as a bookshelf. There was also a brightly colored rug.

Everything in here told me a little more about her. The space was comfortable, without being expensive. Even though I knew from my research that she came from money and made a decent salary at the hospital. The colors were warm and inviting. Like her.

I felt Lark in every decorative touch. In the scent lingering in the air. As I walked down another small hall, colorful, bold artwork adorned the walls.

She left the door to her bedroom ajar. It was a one-bedroom apartment, so there was nobody to keep out.

Except me.

I pushed it open, inhaling a deep breath as I stepped into her most intimate space. Immediately, I was hit with the scent of vanilla. My eyes closed, savoring the smell. It lingered in my senses. Made heat pool in my gut.

I pried them open again, forcing the unfamiliar feelings down as I focused. Berating myself for even being here. For allowing this fixation to take hold. But I couldn’t stop it.

Her bed was sloppily made. It sat in front of me, in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. There was a nightstand on the right side. It held an e-reader, a stack of books, one of those water bottles; purple this time, a lamp, and a bottle of lotion.

I crossed the room. My fingers curled around the lotion before I could stop myself. I brought it to my nose, but there was no scent. Next, I checked the dresser beside the door. Picking up perfume bottles, I sniffed each one, but none of them gave me what I needed.

A quick glance at her closet told me it was just as neat as the other. I moved into the bathroom. There were two sinks, a shower with a tub, everything you’d expect to find. Her shower curtain was like a painting. Bold colors made to look like brushstrokes.

I picked through the bottles on the counter. Face lotion, eye cream, toner, but none held her scent. Shoving the shower curtain back, her smell hit me like a drug. I finally found it as I grabbed her body wash.

The bottle was brown with an image of a flower and a vanilla bean. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I took a picture before giving it a deep sniff. I wanted it to stay inside me as long as possible. With that urge satisfied, I made my way back to the kitchen.

I pulled out a small camera from my bag. It wasn’t any bigger than a dime. I had it secured to her television in a matter of seconds. It only took a few minutes to adjust the wires, so the TV powered it.

An hour later, I had one placed on her bedroom TV. The balcony, using an outside light as the power source. In her kitchen, using the under mounted lights on her cabinet. And on every lamp in her tiny apartment. From my computer at home, I would now see every inch and angle of it.

My obsession was just shy of putting them in her bathroom. I’d already wired her office at the university. I slung my bag over my shoulder again. My fingers wrapped around her front door handle. My heart smacked into my ribs. I took one more deep breath, savoring being in her space.

Then I was gone. And it was as if I’d never been here.

7

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