Obsessed

Chapter 20

The precinct was a storm of chaos. Elise had vanished without a trace after the attack, and the department was working tirelessly to find any leads. Mark and Jackson were hunched over their desks, eyeing the accident reports again, hoping to find something they might have missed the first dozen times.

"The construction site was a setup," Mark muttered, tracing a line on the map with his finger. "There were no permits, no equipment logs. Nothing. Just fake signage and strategically placed cones."

"Yeah, but we already knew that," Jackson replied, rubbing his temple. "We're missing something else. Something about the timing."

Before Mark could respond, a younger officer, Officer Reilly, strolled up with a cocky swagger. He leaned casually on Mark's desk, a sly grin on his face.

"Hey, Marshalls," Reilly said, "since you've been watching the new therapist so closely, you know if she's seeing anyone?"

Mark's jaw flexed, but he kept his face neutral. "Not that I'm aware."

Reilly chuckled. "I'd gladly develop a split personality if it meant getting some time on her couch."

Jackson let out a laugh, shaking his head. "You can try, kid. I’ve been working on her for weeks and she still hasn’t given me the time of day."

Reilly raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you, like, fifty? Your old enough to be her father."

Jackson huffed. "I’m forty-three."

"Still a good twenty-year difference," Reilly said with a smirk. "She’s what twenty-four?"

Jackson leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Age is just a number. Women like maturity. Experience."

Reilly scoffed, "Not when you could have a heart attack mid-fuck."

Just then, the bullpen doors opened and Ronnie walked in, reading a file. Her outfit turned heads—she wore a sleek black pencil skirt with tasteful slits at the side, and a lavender blouse that hugged her figure without being too much. Her platinum hair was styled in soft waves that bounced with every step.

Reilly straightened up and licked his lips. "Well, let’s ask the expert herself."

He called out, "Dr. Summers!"

Ronnie looked up, brows raised. She walked over with the same poised calm she always carried, file still in hand.

"Morning," she said. "You need something?"

"Yeah," Reilly said with a grin. "We need your professional insight. See, a friend of mine is in his mid-forties, and he’s interested in a woman who’s around twenty-four. What do you think? Acceptable or creepy?"

Ronnie tilted her head, considering. "Well, if your friend genuinely likes her, and she feels the same way, I don’t see a problem. Age is just a number. As long as both people are consenting adults and there’s respect, it can work."

Jackson smirked and nudged Reilly. Reilly wasn’t done though.

"Okay," he said. "But what if he doesn’t actually have feelings for her? What if he just wants to fool around?"

Ronnie’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened slightly. "Then that’s different. If he’s only doing it to feel young again or avoid his own issues, that’s not a relationship—it’s exploitation. A classic midlife crisis move. There’s usually no real connection, just lust and impulse. In that case, no—it’s not okay. It’s manipulative."

Reilly chuckled while Jackson shifted uncomfortably.

Ronnie offered a polite smile. "Anything else?"

"Uh… no, thank you, Dr. Summers," Reilly muttered.

She nodded, turned, and walked away. Mark had been quiet the whole exchange, his eyes not leaving Ronnie for a moment.

"You could have to defend me," Jackson said under his breath to Mark. "I appreciate it partner."

Ronnie turned back around and walked to Mark, then held up the file. "I found something. Elise’s intake notes from the institution he was in before he got transferred. There’s a mention of someone signed him out in their care."

Mark frowned. "Sibling, family? Elise didn’t have any family on record."

"Exactly," Ronnie said. "I think we should look into the other patients he was close to."

Jackson nodded. "That could be our lead."

Ronnie looked back toward the younger officers, who were pretending not to stare. She lowered her voice. "Also, we need to talk later. About Thanksgiving."

Mark gave a curt nod, his jaw still tight. "Yeah. Of course."

As Ronnie walked away again, Jackson leaned over. "You gonna keep playing it cool or are you gonna tell her how you feel?"

"Not the time," Mark muttered.

Jackson chuckled. "It never is with you."

------------------------

Later that day, at the Ridgeview Psychiatric Facility...

The scent of antiseptic and cold, recycled air clung to the halls. The lighting buzzed faintly overhead as Mark and Ronnie were led by a nurse down the quiet corridor. Doors lined the walls, most of them locked and sealed with heavy bolts. Some had reinforced glass panels—through which pale, watching eyes followed them.

The nurse stopped in front of Room 212.

“He’s harmless. Mostly,” she said, her tone uneasy. “But he hasn’t had a visitor in over six years. So, just be patient.”

She opened the door.

Milo Cullen sat cross-legged on the bed, rocking slightly, eyes unfocused as he muttered to himself. His wiry frame was swallowed by a thin hospital gown, and his dark hair stuck out in erratic tufts. The walls were covered in drawings—childlike sketches of faces, some with slashes through the eyes, others surrounded by flames or cages. One drawing looked eerily like Elise.

Ronnie stepped in cautiously, Mark close behind her.

“Milo?” she said gently. "I'm Dr. Summers and this is Detective Marshalls."

Milo’s head snapped toward her like a puppet on a string. His lips curved into a wide grin.

“Well, now,” he said, voice hoarse with disuse. “A pretty girl. Very pretty. You smell like vanilla and fear.”

Mark tensed immediately, but Ronnie stood still, her hands calmly in front of her.

“Milo, we’re here to ask about your old roommate. Elise Smith,” she said.

Milo’s eyes darted toward the ceiling, then back to Ronnie. “Ellie-belle... oh, Ellie was a hummingbird. Wings always fluttering, even when they were clipped.”

He laughed to himself, a strange, breathless sound.

“He had no family listed when he was here,” Mark said, trying to bring the conversation to something solid. “But someone visited him. Do you remember who?”

Milo’s head tilted, expression dreamy. “A man, yes. He came with pockets full of lies and smiles like knives. He said he was no one, but he called him ‘Master.’ He never gave his name.”

Ronnie leaned in slightly. “What did he look like, Milo? Do you remember?”

Milo blinked slowly. “No face. Slippery. Like dreams you forget when the sun comes.”

He reached for a drawing from the pile beside him, holding it out to Ronnie. It was a crude sketch of a man—tall, broad-shouldered, but the face was scribbled over in thick black ink.

“But he was nice,” Milo added with a low giggle. “Brought candy once. Told me I was special.”

Mark stepped forward. “Did you ever hear them talk about plans? About anything... after Elise got out?”

Milo’s eyes glazed over again. He began to rock.

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The rabbit’s late and the queen’s bleeding.”

“Milo—” Ronnie started.

“He was scared. Always scared after he came. He started sleeping with the light on. Even the voices stopped talking to him then.”

Mark and Ronnie exchanged a glance.

“Thank you, Milo,” Ronnie said softly.

He grinned again, then said in a sing-song voice, “You’re a pretty girl. Pretty, pretty... He won’t like that, you know. He doesn't share well.”

Ronnie froze.

Mark stepped between them immediately, his body stiff with instinctive protectiveness.

Milo just kept rocking and laughing.

As they left the room, the nurse silently closed the door behind them.

Mark looked down at Ronnie. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her arms were tight around herself, and her eyes stared ahead.

“I think we’re closer to something,” she whispered.

Mark nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t think we’re going to like what we find.”