Obsessed

Chapter 49

The walls of the county jail were gray, lifeless things—chipped paint and flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like mosquitoes in the ear. Mark Marshalls had been in places like this before, places that reeked of stale regret and hopelessness. But today, the smell burned hotter—anger, desperation, fear.

He stood still for a moment as the guard unlocked the visitation room. Inside, a steel table waited, bolted to the floor like a confession that wouldn’t be moved. There were two plastic chairs, equally cold and unwelcoming. Mark didn’t sit.

The guard stepped aside. “She’s all yours, Detective.”

The door opened again moments later, and Alice Summers was led inside in her bright orange jumpsuit and cheap slippers. Her wrists were cuffed to the chain around her waist, her platinum blonde hair—so similar to Veronica’s—pulled back into a messy bun. She looked tired, but not broken. If anything, she walked in like she was about to audition for a role.

When her icy blue eyes landed on Mark, a slow, sly smile curled on her face.

“Well, well, well,” she cooed, raising an arched brow. “Detective Marshalls. What a surprise. Back for another chat, or just couldn’t stay away from little ol’ me?”

Mark didn’t so much as blink.

Alice let out a soft, sultry hum and leaned slightly forward, her wrists clinking lightly against the cuffs. “You’ve got that look again,” she said, voice low and purring. “That tortured, brooding soldier thing. It’s very attractive, you know. Reminds me of someone I used to—”

“Who’s Victor?” Mark cut in coldly.

Her smile faltered.

The change was subtle but sharp—her shoulders tensed, and the glimmer of flirtation drained from her face like color from a corpse. A long silence passed before she answered, eyes no longer playful.

“Where’d you hear that name?”

“Answer the question.”

Alice clicked her tongue against her teeth and leaned back in the chair, her expression flickering into something cooler, more calculating. “Victor,” she echoed with a dry chuckle. “Jesus, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Is he related to William?”

She hesitated, then nodded once. “His twin. Older by maybe ten minutes. Two sides of the same rotten coin. William was quiet, soft-spoken, creepy in his own way. But Victor? He was—” She glanced up at Mark, giving a mocking smirk. “He was one of you. Military. Top-secret agent man. Like your type.”

Mark’s brows furrowed.

Alice waved a hand lazily, chains rattling. “Except he was crazier. Mean. Cold. I met him once, years ago, when he came to visit William. I got the chills. That man had a darkness about him, even worse than William.”

“What happened to him?”

“Dishonorably discharged,” she said, picking at a chipped nail. “Rumor was he raped a female officer. Couple civilians too, overseas somewhere—Middle East maybe. They buried the whole thing, but he vanished after that. Last I heard, he’d gone off the grid. Even William didn’t talk about him much. Said he was too unstable.”

Mark stepped closer. “We think Victor and William took Veronica, any idea where they would take her?”

Alice’s face twisted at Ronnie’s name. A dark scoff escaped her throat.

“That brat? Why would I know where she is?”

“Because they trust you,” Mark snapped. “Or they trusted you. And you let them near her.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I didn’t let anything happen. That little w***e—”

Mark slammed his hand down on the table, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. Alice jumped, flinching as the cuffs bit into her wrists.

“She was a child,” he growled. “A child. And it was your job to protect her.”

Alice sneered, snarling like a cornered animal. “Oh, spare me the righteous act. Where was her father, huh? You think this is all my fault? He walked out! I was alone with a screaming baby and addicted to pills. I had no money. No support. Just me.”

“You still had a choice.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “You think I wanted this life?” Her voice rose now, cracking with something sharp and bitter. “I was a damn good therapist. Ask anyone. Top of my class. You know where Ronnie got her brain from? Me. Not that coward of a father she had. Me.”

Mark didn’t say a word.

Alice laughed, cruel and hollow. “Then one day, this military man walks into my office. PTSD so thick you could smell it on him. Charming, broken, mysterious. Sound familiar?” She arched a brow. “I fell for him. Hard. He got me pregnant. And then everything fell apart. I had to take care of him, a baby, and a career. I started taking a few pills just to cope. Then a few more. Next thing I know, I’ve lost my license, my job, and he was gone.”

She leaned forward again, bitter now. “I did what I had to do to survive. To get high. And if I had anything left over, I spent it on her.”

“Then you met William.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “He said he’d take care of us. Me and the brat.”

Her voice turned mocking again. “But he always wanted her. Always hugging her, kissing her, calling her his ‘little angel.’ She’d act like she didn’t like it, but I saw it. The way she flinched, looked away. I knew she wanted the attention. How could you not? Look at her. Prancing around in her stupid tutus, little dresses, bathing suits…”

Mark's entire body went still. The air around him felt heavy with tension. His jaw clenched so tightly, he could hear his own teeth creaking under the pressure.

“She was a child,” he hissed again, each word laced with fire.

Alice just shook her head.

That was when it hit him.

“Where it all began… where the stories live in the walls, where the bad things go to be born…”

Mark’s mind raced. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“Where did you live when this happened?” he demanded.

Alice frowned, caught off guard.

“Where were you staying when William came into the picture? When he started… watching Veronica?”

She blinked, trying to remember. “Uh… it was a cabin, I think. Belonged to his father. Some rundown place near Stony Creek Lake. Out past the reservoir, near those woods.”

Mark pushed back from the table so fast the chair screeched against the floor.

The guard outside jumped to attention.

He didn’t wait for the elevator. He took the stairs two at a time, flew down the hallway, yanked his phone from his pocket, and hit speed dial.

“Commissioner Reynolds,” the voice answered.

“It’s Marshalls. I know where they took her.”

“What? Where—”

“An old cabin near Stony Creek Lake. William’s father’s property. Alice confirmed it.”

“Alright, I’ll call it in. Stay where you are—wait for backup—”

Mark didn’t respond.

He hung up.

He was already running for his truck.