Obsessed

Chapter 34

Mark sat on the floor with Ronnie for several minutes, holding her until her breathing evened out. The room was quiet now, save for the occasional shuffle of guards or distant voices echoing through the halls. Ronnie's fingers clung to the back of his shirt like a lifeline, and her face was still damp with tears, but the tremors in her body had lessened.

He gently pulled back just enough to see her face. "You with me?"

She nodded. Her voice was hoarse. "Yeah. I think so."

Mark helped her up, guiding her to a bench nearby. He grabbed a bottle of water from the vending machine and handed it to her. She took it with a shaky hand, twisting the cap off and taking slow sips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Mark shook his head. "Don't. Don’t apologize for anything. You’ve been through hell. Anyone would break."

She glanced down at her lap, fidgeting with the sleeves of her coat again. The fabric was stretched from years of doing this. A habit. A comfort.

"He used to call me that," she said softly. "His little angel. That’s what the note meant. The photos. He signed it with that for a reason."

Mark’s jaw clenched. He sat beside her, close, his thigh brushing hers.

"I always wondered why I couldn't breathe sometimes," she continued. "Why I get so angry and scared over things that don’t make sense. It’s like… I’m still there. Still that little girl, hiding in the closet, praying he wouldn’t open the door."

Mark said nothing. He let her talk. She needed to talk.

"He got out. And he came back. He got with my mom again just to see me. But the restraining order stopped him. Then Theo came along and he left. I thought it was over. I thought… I thought he finally gave up."

"He didn’t," Mark said quietly. "He never stopped."

Ronnie nodded. "No. He never did."

After a pause, Mark stood. "We need to tell Jackson. Let the team know what we found."

"We need to do more than that," she said, wiping her eyes. Her voice had a sharpness to it now, controlled but urgent. "William isn’t just watching. He’s planning something. He never just watched. He acted."

They left the prison, the sunlight almost blinding after the sterile, dim interior. The moment they got in the car, Mark pulled out the file they’d been handed at the prison. The photo of the man listed as William inside the jail was not William. But the picture attached to a different release file—Peter Bennett—was.

"A system glitch doesn’t just happen," Mark muttered, staring at the papers. "Someone did this deliberately. They hacked the records, switched identities."

"William’s smart," Ronnie said. "Manipulative. He used to charm everyone. He made my mom believe she was special. Made me believe that if I told, everything would fall apart."

Mark flipped through the criminal history of William’s real record, the one filed under Peter Bennett.

"Six years ago he was arrested again," Mark said. "Rape and murder."

He turned the file to show her. A young woman stared up at them from a glossy evidence photo. Platinum blonde hair. Blue eyes. Porcelain skin.

Ronnie’s hand flew to her mouth. "She looks like me."

"They all do," Mark said grimly. "All of his victims. Blonde. Blue eyes. Some even shared behavioral traits with you or Theo."

Ronnie’s expression went pale.

"He’s been using you as his blueprint. Every single woman he hurt... it was about you."

She closed her eyes, pain etching across her face. "They all died because of me."

"No," Mark said firmly. "They died because he is a monster. Because he chose to hurt them. Not you. Never you."

She nodded slowly, but the guilt didn’t leave her eyes.

A sudden thought struck her. "Theo. What if he goes after Theo next?"

Mark reached for his phone. "We’ll call Marvin and Gale. Warn them."

Ronnie's heart pounded as Mark placed the call. Marvin picked up, and Mark calmly but clearly explained the situation. Ronnie could hear Marvin’s voice rising in panic on the other end before Mark reassured him.

"We don’t think he knows where you are, but don’t let Theo out of your sight. Stay in Florida. We’ll keep you updated."

Ronnie let out a breath when the call ended. Her shoulders sagged a little.

"He won’t get to Theo," Mark promised. "I won’t let him."

Ronnie looked at him. "What if we used his obsession against him? Set a trap?"

Mark tilted his head. "You mean... use you as a trap?"

"It sounds reckless. I know. But if we control it, if we monitor everything closely, maybe we can draw him out. He wants me, Mark."

Mark's expression darkened. "I don’t like the idea of using you as bait."

"We don’t have time to be gentle."

He hesitated. Then nodded. "We take it to Jackson. Lay it out. Carefully."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Ronnie finally spoke. "I always knew he’d come back. Part of me always felt it. He was the monster under my bed, in my closet. Every shadow. Every creak of the floor. He never really left."

Mark reached over, his hand finding hers. "Then it’s time we drag him into the light. And finish this."

Ronnie gripped his hand tightly.

And this time, she didn’t let go.

Ronnie sat cross-legged on the floor of Mark’s apartment, her laptop perched on the coffee table, surrounded by papers, photos, and printouts. The envelope of stalker photos sat sealed in a plastic evidence bag beside her. She hadn’t looked at the pictures again—not because she was scared, but because she already remembered every detail.

Across from her, Mark leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her closely. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since they left the prison. He didn’t hover, but he was always near—like a shadow with a heartbeat.

“I’ve been going through every detail,” she muttered, more to herself than him. “Dates, locations, the girls, Elise, Milo… even William’s fake identity as Peter Bennett.”

Mark stepped closer. “Anything?”

She hesitated, brushing her thumb over the corner of a newspaper clipping. “They’re all similar. Blonde hair, blue eyes, all either on the spectrum or somehow vulnerable. But that’s not the only link. I think William’s been using other people—puppets—to help him.”

Mark lowered onto the edge of the couch. “You mean like Elise?”

She nodded. “Elise, yes. But also… someone else. Think about it. The photos of me—taken from inside my house. The package got past the security system. You said the alarm system wasn’t tripped. That’s not William’s style. He’s reckless, obsessive, but not... technical.”

“You think he has help again,” Mark said.

“I know he does.” She reached for a sheet of notes she’d scribbled on last night. “There’s always someone who preps the space. Someone who makes it look perfect—like that house that exploded. That wasn’t just a trap, it was a message. He’s watching us. He’s always watching.”

Mark looked down, jaw clenched. “I want to kill him.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked.

A long pause fell between them. Ronnie’s fingers drifted to the hem of her sleeve, fidgeting.

“I think I should talk to Milo again,” she whispered. “I know he said he didn’t remember what the man who visited Elise looked like, but maybe I can trigger something. A phrase, a smell, a sound.”

Mark hesitated. “You sure?”

“No.” She glanced up. “But I need to.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I’m going with you.”

---

They stopped by the station to file an official request to visit Milo Cullen again, and as Ronnie turned in the forms, Jackson limped into the bullpen, looking pale but alert.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a crooked smile.

Ronnie’s lips twitched. “Should you be out of bed?”

Jackson shrugged, rubbing his side. “Doc said I could leave. Figured I’d be more useful here than binge-watching cooking shows.”

Mark clapped him on the shoulder—lightly. “Glad you’re okay.”

“Barely,” Jackson muttered, then glanced between them. “You two look like you haven’t slept.”

“We haven’t,” Ronnie replied. “There’s a lot going on.”

Jackson’s expression sobered. “I heard about the glitch at the prison. And that it was William all along.”

Ronnie nodded stiffly.

Jackson lowered his voice. “Ronnie, I know this is... brutal. But if there’s anything I can do—”

“Find out who helped him,” she interrupted. “Go through all the names connected to Elise. Friends, family, doctors, nurses, guards, everyone. There’s someone else in play, and I want to know who.”

Jackson gave a short nod. “You got it.”

As he walked off, Mark turned to Ronnie. “You ready?”

She stared down at the pen in her hand, then slipped it into her pocket and stood tall.

“Let’s go see Milo.”

---

The asylum was the same—stark, white, and cold, like time didn’t exist inside its walls. Ronnie’s boots echoed across the linoleum floor as they were led down the familiar hallway. Milo Cullen’s room was still the same number. 307.

The nurse gave them a polite nod before unlocking the door. “He’s calm today. Chatty, but calm.”

Ronnie nodded, her stomach tightening as the door creaked open.

Milo sat on the bed, folding pieces of paper into delicate little cranes. He looked up with a slow smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.

“Angel girl,” he whispered. “You came back.”

Mark’s jaw ticked beside her. Ronnie stepped forward. “Hi, Milo.”

He held up a paper crane. “I made you this. Birds don’t get trapped. They fly. You should fly too.”

She took the crane gently. “Thank you, Milo.”

He glanced at Mark, narrowing his eyes. “The soldier. Strong hands, soft heart.”

Mark gave a slight nod. “You remember me?”

Milo hummed, tapping his temple. “Like music. You two hum loud.”

Ronnie sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Milo, I need your help. I need you to think back to the man who used to visit Elise. The one who said nice things. Do you remember anything about him?”

Milo tilted his head. “He brought him dolls. Always clean. Never dusty. Smelled like peppermints and plastic.”

Ronnie blinked. “Did he have a name?”

“Names are tricky,” Milo murmured. “But he called him ‘Him.’ Or sometimes, ‘Master.’ He said he had eyes like mirrors.”

Ronnie’s breath caught.

Mark stepped closer. “What did he look like?”

Milo stared at the ceiling. “Ordinary. Plain. Dark. Like wallpaper. You don’t notice wallpaper until it peels. Then it’s ugly.”

Ronnie reached into her pocket, pulling out one of the stalker photos. She turned it around and showed Milo the writing on the back.

“Did you ever see handwriting like this before?”

Milo leaned in, squinting. “Yes... Yes! That’s his writing. He wrote Elise letters. Pretty letters. Poems.”

Then a nurse came in and said it was time for Milos therapy session.

---

Back in Mark’s apartment, the silence wrapped around them like a weighted blanket.

Ronnie sat on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees. She hadn’t spoken since they left the asylum. Mark brought her a glass of water, set it on the coffee table, and sat beside her without saying a word. He didn’t need to.

Her voice was a whisper when it finally broke the silence. “He made poems out of the things he did to me.”

Mark’s heart clenched. “Ronnie…”

She looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “He called me his little angel. Said I was special. Pure. And when I cried, he said angels weren’t supposed to cry unless it was beautiful.”

Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I do,” she said, gripping her sleeve tightly. “I have to talk about it because I need to remember. I need to remember every sick thing he said. Every twisted phrase. It’s the only way we’re going to get ahead of him.”

Mark watched her for a long moment before asking gently, “What else did he say?”

She sniffled, her eyes far away. “He used to ask me if I wanted to fly. He said if I behaved, he’d give me wings. But if I didn’t, he’d clip them. And I never knew what was worse—the flying, or the clipping.”

Her voice cracked.

Mark reached over and took her hand, grounding her again. “You’re not that girl anymore, Ronnie. You’re stronger than him. Smarter. And you’re not alone.”

Her bottom lip trembled, but she nodded. “I just... I don’t want Theo to ever know. I don’t want him to carry that weight.”

Mark nodded slowly. “He won’t. I promise.”

A long silence passed. She looked down at their joined hands. “Do you think Theo’s like me?”

Mark’s voice was steady. “Yeah. But that’s not a bad thing. It means he sees the world differently. You both do. That’s what makes you special.”

Ronnie blinked rapidly and took a shaky breath. “He’s all I have.”

“You’ve got me now, too,” Mark said softly.

She looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, the haunted expression faded.

Then she whispered, “We have to find him, Mark. Before he takes another girl. Before he gets to me again.”

“We will,” he promised. “We’re going to end this. For good.”

Ronnie leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Mark didn’t speak. He just held her, steady as a mountain.

And for the first time in hours, she let her eyes close.

She didn’t feel safe—but she felt safer.

And for now, that was enough.