Obsessed

Chapter 5

Ronnie pulled her burgundy Cadillac Escalade into the small parking lot outside of the after-school daycare center, exhaling a quiet breath as she put the vehicle in park. The sun had already started to dip behind the tree line, casting long golden rays across the grass. Her eyes scanned the play area until they landed on a small figure sitting alone under a tree, fiddling silently with a blue and red fidget cube.

Theodore.

He was cross-legged on the ground, his chestnut brown hair gleaming in the waning sunlight, head tilted as he examined the toy with quiet intensity. Ronnie stepped out of the car and smoothed down her blazer, her heels clicking gently against the pavement as she made her way over.

"Hey, little man," she greeted, crouching down beside him. "How was your first day of school?"

Theodore glanced up at her, his blue eyes thoughtful. "It was expected."

Ronnie pressed her lips together in an understanding smile. "I know it’ll take some time, buddy."

Just then, a young woman wearing a brightly-colored lanyard and a friendly, practiced smile approached them. "Hi there! Are you Theodore’s mother?"

Ronnie stood slowly, brushing her hands on her pants. The question always made her feel off-balance. "No. I’m his sister. And legal guardian."

The teacher’s eyes widened slightly with admiration. "Oh, wow. Well, good for you. That’s a big responsibility for someone as young as you."

Ronnie nodded politely, unsure how to respond.

"He had a bit of a rocky start today," the teacher continued. "Which is totally normal, especially for someone with... you know, Autism. But he’s very bright and incredibly sweet."

Ronnie smiled. "Yeah, he’s pretty special."

Theodore stood up then, tucking the fidget cube into his hoodie pocket and reaching for Ronnie’s hand. "I'm ready to go."

Ronnie nodded to the teacher. "Thanks for the update," she said, then walked Theodore to the car. She opened the backseat and helped him into his booster seat, fastening the buckle securely.

"Since you didn’t get into a fight today," she said with a small smirk, "I’m thinking McDonald’s for dinner."

Theodore arched a brow. "Is it because I was good? Or because you don’t have anything for dinner?"

Ronnie paused, her hand resting lightly on his buckle. Then she smiled. "Both."

She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. "Want to eat there or take it home to the new house?"

"Is the television set up yet?" Theodore asked.

"Yep."

"Then I want to eat at home."

Ronnie pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru ten minutes later. The line wasn’t long, and as they inched forward, she glanced in the rearview mirror to catch Theodore quietly counting the passing seconds under his breath.

"Can I get a six-piece nugget Happy Meal with apple slices and fries with a chocolate milk," she told the drive-thru speaker, "and a large iced coffee and Big Mac meal for me."

She paid at the first window and collected their food at the second. The scent of fries filled the car, and Theodore clutched the bag like it was made of gold.

Their new house was only ten minutes away.

The two-story home blended modern updates with classic neighborhood charm. The exterior boasted dark contemporary siding with a stone base and a warm, newly-built wooden porch. Natural wood columns held up a gabled roof, giving the home a rustic touch that contrasted beautifully with its sleeker elements. A large bay window at the front added to the charm, catching the sunset and reflecting orange and pink hues.

Ronnie pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. She climbed out, helped Theodore with the food and led him up the curved walkway. The lawn was small and neatly trimmed, a small planter with marigolds brightening the front step.

Inside, the house felt even cozier. The living room was partially furnished—plush gray couch, a few unpacked boxes, and a flat-screen TV already mounted on the wall above the fireplace. The walls were painted a soft white color, warm and inviting. Their shoes clicked lightly against the hardwood floor.

Theodore set the food on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, already tugging his sneakers off. Ronnie joined him after setting her purse aside.

She handed him his Happy Meal, unwrapped her Big Mac, and clicked the remote to start an animated movie he liked. As the sounds of cheerful music filled the room, Ronnie watched Theodore dig into his fries, more relaxed now in their safe, quiet space.

He glanced at her mid-bite. "Do I have to go back to school tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Yeah, buddy. It’s kind of how school works."

He chewed silently for a moment, then said, "Okay. But only if I get McDonald’s again."

Ronnie laughed. "We’ll talk about it."

Dinner continued peacefully, the kind of simple moment Ronnie treasured. Between her work, the pressure of the new case, and her constant worry for Theodore’s well-being, these calm nights were rare—and priceless.

After dinner, Ronnie cleaned up the wrappers and wiped Theodore's mouth with a napkin. He made a small sound of protest, but let her. Once everything was put away, she helped him into his pajamas and tucked him into his new bed upstairs.

The room was painted a soft blue, a night light glowing faintly in the corner. His shelves were lined with fidget toys and sensory items, some boxes still needing to be unpacked, and his favorite weighted blanket covered him snugly.

"Goodnight, little man," she whispered.

"Night," he murmured, already drifting off.

Back downstairs, Ronnie poured herself a glass of wine and sank onto the couch. Her phone buzzed with a message from Commissioner Reynolds—an update meeting first thing in the morning.

She sighed and glanced toward the stairs, then back to the bay window where the night had fully settled in.

Tomorrow, the case would demand her focus. But tonight? Tonight, she was just a sister—and that was enough.

Ronnie rinsed out her wine glass, placing it gently in the sink, before clicking off the kitchen lights and padding quietly through the house. The silence was heavier now—only the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards underfoot.

At the panel by the front door, she entered the code she had already memorized, arming all doors and windows. A quiet beep confirmed the system was active. She exhaled softly, reassured by the security, and made her way upstairs, the soft pads of her feet barely making a sound on the wooden steps.

Upstairs, the hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near Theodore’s door. She paused outside his room for a moment, listening. Theodore's Tonie Box inside playing soothing lullabies.

Her bedroom was still a work in progress. Boxes lined the walls, some half-opened, others untouched. A lamp sat unplugged in the corner beside a still-wrapped mirror. The only things fully set up were the essentials: her bed with dark gray sheets and a comforter, and a simple nightstand holding her phone charger and a worn paperback book she hadn’t had the time to open in days.

She pulled her hair out of the ponytail, letting the platinum waves fall across her shoulders. Undoing the buttons of her blazer and then the fitted top underneath, she stepped out of her clothes, folding each piece neatly and setting them on the nearby box she’d been using as a dresser.

Her body moved with an effortless grace—tall and poised, skin smooth and unblemished, the cool lighting casting soft highlights along the subtle curves of her shoulders and back. Down the perfect line of her spine ran a delicate tattoo: at the nape of her neck bloomed a lotus flower, its fine petals inked with gentle precision. Below it flowed a series of symmetrical, abstract symbols—some geometric, some ancient in design—lined vertically down her back in minimalist black ink. The entire piece was intentionally subtle, visible only in quiet moments like this.

She pulled on a black, silk nightgown. The thin straps rested delicately on her shoulders, the fabric cool against her skin. Lace traced along the neckline, dipping just enough to accentuate her collarbones. A single slit up the right side allowed ease of movement, brushing against her thigh as she moved to draw the curtain closed.

For a moment, she stood at the window, looking out onto the quiet suburban street. A lone car passed in the distance, headlights slicing through the darkness. Everything seemed still, peaceful even—but she couldn’t shake the crawling feeling that came with studying murderers for a living. It had made her hyperaware, observant, perhaps even paranoid.

She double-checked her lock, then moved back to her bed, slipping under the covers and exhaling into the darkness.

Just as she closed her eyes, her mind flashed—an image of the most recent victim's face. That broken expression, the subtle imperfections in the kill. She knew something was changing. Either the killer was unraveling, or someone else was stepping into his bloody legacy.

She turned onto her side, facing the empty side of the bed. Counting backward from ten in German, then in French, and finally in Latin—her fingers rubbing the edge of the blanket in a repetitive motion—she let herself drift into a light, wary sleep.