Obsessed

Chapter 33

Ronnie fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves as the silence thickened between her and Mark. Her eyes were locked on the floor of the car, her lips parted slightly like the words were clawing their way up her throat but getting stuck. Finally, she inhaled sharply and spoke.

“We have to go to the prison… the one holding William. I have to know he’s still there.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “Alright,” he said, starting the car. “We’ll find out.”

The ride to the second correctional facility was tense and quiet. Ronnie stared out the window, counting backwards in German, then French, then Korean—anything to stop the rising panic in her chest. Mark occasionally glanced her way, his jaw tight, his fingers gripping the wheel just a little too hard.

They pulled into the secured visitor entrance of the prison, a grim brick structure surrounded by tall fencing and barbed wire. After some ID verification and explaining their reason for the visit, a guard escorted them to an administration room lined with security monitors and old filing cabinets. A young corrections officer pulled up the system and began typing.

“What’s the inmate's name?” he asked.

“William Granger,” Ronnie said, her voice level but flat.

The officer nodded and tapped a few keys. “Yup. He’s still here. Hasn’t had any visitors in a while. Let me pull up his current photo.”

Ronnie exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time that day. Relief threatened to overtake her—until the screen displayed the image.

Her breath caught. Her body tensed like a string being pulled taut. “That’s not him,” she said coldly.

Mark stood behind her, brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

“I would know his face anywhere,” she said through clenched teeth.

The officer frowned and double-checked the file. “That’s the man listed under William Granger’s ID number. He’s been here five years. You sure he didn’t change appearance?”

“No. That’s not William.”

Mark stepped forward. “Can you pull the intake records? Fingerprints? Anything that confirms his identity at the time of admission.”

The officer hesitated. “I mean… I guess I can check the logs from when he came in. It’s a little messy, but—” He scrolled deeper into the digital records and clicked on a few buried files. After a minute, his eyebrows raised.

“This might explain it,” he murmured, pulling up another page. “Five years ago, there was a release error. Someone named Peter Bennett was released… but this photo here—” he pointed to it, dragging it forward “—this is the man you’re describing?”

Ronnie stared at the screen. Her knees nearly gave out.

“That’s him,” she whispered. “That’s William.”

The room fell silent.

“Holy s**t,” Mark muttered.

The officer ran a hand through his hair. “This shouldn’t have happened… There must’ve been a glitch in the system or someone hacked it. The names were swapped. Peter Bennett was supposed to be released… but William was let out instead.”

Ronnie sat down hard in one of the plastic chairs against the wall, clutching her stomach. Her vision blurred.

“He’s been out… this whole time.”

Mark reached for the real William Granger’s file and scanned through it, flipping quickly through the documents. Then his eyes landed on something that made his blood run cold.

“Ronnie,” he said, voice low. “After he left your mom… he was arrested again.”

“For what?”

Mark swallowed. “Rape and murder. A young woman. It was about six years ago.”

He turned the file toward her.

There, clipped to the report, was the victim’s picture.

She had platinum blonde hair. Blue eyes. Fair skin.

She looked just like Ronnie.

Ronnie's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Mark's jaw clenched. “It’s him. It’s been him the whole time.”

William wasn’t just a rapist. He wasn’t just her childhood nightmare.

He was the serial killer.

Ronnie didn’t move at first—just sat there, staring at the photo of the girl who looked like her. Her breath was shallow, barely there, like her lungs had forgotten how to function. Then, without warning, her entire body jerked. Her arms wrapped around her stomach as if trying to hold herself together.

She rocked forward.

Then back.

Forward again, harder this time.

Her breathing became labored, panicked, erratic. She clenched her sleeves in her fists, pulling the fabric tight in her trembling hands. A low sound escaped her throat—half sob, half scream—as if something had cracked wide open inside her. Her lips parted, but the gasps came out too fast, too sharp. She couldn’t catch her breath. Couldn’t think.

All at once, it was like the world around her faded.

She wasn’t in a prison administration room anymore.

She was nine years old.

Alone.

Trapped.

William’s voice echoed in her ears, sickly sweet and full of menace. The feel of his touch, the way he’d spoken to her, the threats, the bruises, the nights spent counting silently in the dark so she wouldn’t cry and wake him—everything came flooding back with brutal clarity. She gripped her sides harder, body rocking violently as the weight of that horror buried her alive.

Tears ran down her face. She didn’t even feel them. She was too far gone.

Mark was in front of her in an instant, crouching down on his knees, panic flooding his voice as he said her name over and over.

“Veronica—hey, hey, I’m here, you’re safe. Look at me—breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

But she couldn’t hear him.

Couldn’t see him.

All she saw was William.

All she felt was his shadow swallowing her whole.

Mark’s heart twisted at the sight of her breaking like this. He’d seen people fall apart before—soldiers in the field, victims at crime scenes— family members breaking down from the news of their loved ones, but this was different. This was Ronnie. Brilliant, sarcastic, self-contained Ronnie. Watching her spiral like this cut him deeper than anything had in years.

Without thinking, he moved closer and pulled her into his arms.

At first, she flinched like he was one of the ghosts chasing her—but then her nose caught the scent of him.

Musky wood and the softest hint of sweet tobacco.

It was like an anchor.

Her hands slowly unclenched, her fists loosening from the death grip on her sleeves. The rocking slowed as her body registered the warmth of his embrace, the solid thrum of his heartbeat under her cheek. His strong arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her like he was shielding her from the world.

And it worked.

Bit by bit, she came back.

She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the heat of his skin through the fabric of his thermal shirt. Her fingers reached for him—instinctively—and gripped the back of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to the present.

Mark didn’t let go.

He stayed with her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, murmuring softly even if she couldn’t hear the words. He just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. That he was there. That she was safe.

Her breaths came in shaky bursts, but they were slowing. Deepening.

She inhaled again, burying her face in his chest. The scent grounded her.

Her tears still fell, but now they fell in silence. Controlled. The chaos in her mind was slowly retreating.

She wrapped her arms around him fully and held on, letting herself be held. Letting herself feel safe.

Little by little, piece by piece, she came back to herself.

Back to now.

Back to Mark.