Obsessed

Chapter 11

Saturday morning broke cold and gray. The sky hung low with thick clouds, as if the world itself felt the weight of what was coming.

Mark stood near the entrance of the precinct, buttoning up his dark coat. Jackson adjusted his shoulder holster, balancing a thermos of burnt precinct coffee in one hand. The plan was simple: head back to the meat-packing plant with the full team, check that locked steel door they didn’t get into during the raid. Mark had a feeling—something was behind that door. Something they missed.

But just as they were about to walk out, the sharp click of shoes echoed down the hall.

“Hold up.”

Captain Reynolds appeared, face tight and eyes tired. He held a manila folder in one hand and waved them back.

“I need you both here. My boss is coming in this morning and wants a full rundown of the case,” Reynolds said. “We need to be ready to present everything. No fieldwork today.”

Mark frowned. “The plant—”

“Already sent another unit. They’ve got explosives and breaching gear. If that steel door's still locked, they’ll get it open.”

Mark exchanged a glance with Jackson, jaw tightening. Something didn’t sit right with him. But orders were orders.

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

Meanwhile…

Out at the abandoned meat-packing plant, the wind whistled through cracked windows and broken panels. A team of six officers swept through the darkened halls, flashlights cutting through the gloom.

“Here,” one of them said, motioning to the thick steel door.

They pried it open with hydraulic gear. With a groan and a screech of metal, it gave way.

The room beyond was jarringly pristine. White tiled floors. Stainless steel walls. A long table with a laptop sat in the center. It was powered on—screen flickering with a grainy black-and-white live feed of what looked like the holding cells the victims were in.

One officer stepped forward, heart pounding.

“Guys… over here.”

They turned toward the far wall—lined with a massive corkboard. On it were the faces of every known victim. Names. Dates. Short bios printed and tacked in neat lines.

At the very center was a single photo. A glossy shot. Veronica Summers. Her name written beneath it in red.

They barely had time to react.

One of the officers sniffed. “You smell that? Gas—”

BOOM.

The explosion rocked the ground, shattering windows miles away. A fireball rose into the sky, followed by black smoke that billowed like a storm cloud.

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

Back at the precinct, Mark and Jackson stood in Captain Reynolds’ office going over the files. Ronnie was in the interrogation room, still talking with Elise.

They were just handing Reynolds a timeline of events when someone in the hall shouted, “Turn on the news!”

All three rushed out as someone flipped on the mounted TV.

Breaking News: Explosion at Abandoned Meat Packing Plant

Five Detroit police officers confirmed dead.

Mark’s blood ran cold. The footage showed smoke spiraling from the twisted remains of the building, the fire department trying to gain control. Reporters swarmed the perimeter like vultures.

Jackson ran his hand through his hair. “s**t…”

Mark’s fists clenched at his sides. Without a word, he turned and stormed down the hall, each step louder than the last.

Ronnie sat across from Elise in the chilled interrogation room. She had been making slow progress—watching the subtle shifts in his body language, the flickers in his voice. There were moments where Elise seemed genuinely terrified of the man he called “Master,” and other moments… darker ones… where something cruel and giddy lived just behind his eyes.

The door slammed open.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two long strides and drove his fist into Elise’s jaw.

The man tumbled off his chair, crashing to the floor with a whimper.

“WHERE IS HE?!” Mark’s voice thundered through the room like an earthquake.

Elise crawled backwards, crying instantly, pressing himself into the corner.

“Don’t! Don’t! Big scary man! Big scary man!” he whimpered.

Ronnie jumped up, her heart pounding. She stepped between Mark and Elise, placing a gentle but firm hand on Mark’s chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice low and steady.

Mark’s chest heaved under her touch, fists still clenched. His voice was strained. “The warehouse. He blew it up. Five of our guys are dead.”

Ronnie’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flicked to Elise, who continued to sob in the corner.

She turned and knelt down, softening her tone. “Hey, hey… it’s okay. He’s just upset. Your master hurt a lot of people today.”

Elise sniffled, wiping snot on his sleeve. “Ronnie’s nice. I like Ronnie.”

She gave him a calm smile. “I like you too, Elise. But I need you to tell me what happened. What was in that room?”

Elise’s whole demeanor shifted. The sniveling stopped. His eyes gleamed with something cold, predatory.

He laughed. Low. Dark.

“They went through the wrong door,” he said. “They walked into the master’s room. Even I’m not allowed in there.”

Ronnie inched closer. “Why? Why aren’t you allowed?”

Elise licked his lips slowly. “Because the master said it’s only for special guests. Ones he loves most. Ones like you.”

Ronnie swallowed hard. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Then Elise sniffed the air and tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. “You smell sweet. I bet you taste sweet too…”

Before she could react, Mark moved.

He yanked Elise up by the collar, slamming him into the wall with a thud that shook the table. Elise screamed.

“I’m done playing your f****d up games!” Mark shouted. “TELL ME WHO HE IS!”

Elise screamed again, tears pouring down his face. “Big scary man! Big scary man’s hurting me! Don’t like him! Don’t like him!”

Mark let him go. Elise collapsed to the floor, sobbing like a child again.

Without a word, Mark turned and stormed out of the room.

Ronnie stood there a moment, heart hammering in her chest. Then she followed him out.

Ronnie found Mark in the hallway outside the interrogation room, pacing like a caged animal. His jaw was tight, his fists still clenched at his sides, and his eyes—usually calm, even behind the storm—were wild.

She approached slowly, careful not to startle him.

“Mark…”

He turned to her, the fury in his eyes flickering. “Five cops, Ronnie. Five people we work with. Dead. Because we waited. Because we weren’t there.”

“You couldn’t have known—”

"I should’ve known,” he snapped, then ran a hand over his face. “That freak knew it would happen. He wanted us to go.”

Ronnie stood there a moment, silent, then stepped closer. “And now he knows you lost control.”

Mark’s eyes met hers, sharp and unreadable.

She lowered her voice, gently but firmly. “Elise is terrified of his master. If you act like him—even for a second—he won’t talk to us again. He’ll just go deeper into those personalities until we lose him completely.”

Mark exhaled hard and looked away. “I just… I don’t like the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you. It’s not right.”

Ronnie’s heart stuttered at the quiet confession, but she kept her voice steady. “That’s why we need to break him down. Get inside his head before his master does anything worse.”

Mark nodded, tension still visible in his frame. “You’re right.”

Just then, Reynolds came down the hall with a grim look. “Mark, Ronnie. We’ve confirmed it—five officers dead. The sixth, Alvarez, is in critical condition. He’s being airlifted to Detroit Mercy.”

Jackson jogged over, face pale. “We got a full list of what they found before it blew from the body cams. Clean room, laptop showing live feed of the cell rooms, and a wall covered in victim profiles. And... Ronnie…” He hesitated. “Your photo was on the board. Front and center.”

She froze. “What?”

Jackson nodded solemnly. “You were the only one who wasn’t a victim yet. It looked like… like you were going to be next.”

Mark’s muscles tensed again. “Son of a bitch.”

Ronnie’s voice was quieter now. “He’s watching me.”

Reynolds sighed. “This confirms it—he’s targeting women with specific profiles. And now we know you’re in the crosshairs.”

Mark looked at her. “You’re not going anywhere alone. Not anymore.”

Ronnie gave a small nod.

Hours passed. The precinct had dimmed, the usual chaos subdued by shock and mourning. Ronnie sat at her desk, poring over notes, organizing everything into patterns, cycles, pieces of a puzzle that still felt incomplete.

Mark dropped a coffee on her desk and sat beside her.

“Black, no sugar,” he said. “You look like you need it.”

She offered a soft smile, accepting it. “Thanks.”

They worked in silence for a few moments, the weight of the day pressing on their shoulders.

Then Ronnie looked up. “So, you think this means he was going to come after me?”

Mark didn’t look at her at first. Then he nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know what his endgame is, but I don’t like the idea of him even knowing your name.”

She swallowed. “We’re close—closer than ever. And if I’m on his radar, I might be our way in.”

Mark’s expression darkened. “No.”

Ronnie blinked. “What?”

He leaned in closer, voice low but firm. “We’re not using you as bait, Ronnie. I don’t care how close we are or how much this freak might be watching. You’re not putting yourself in his line of fire.”

She hesitated, caught off guard by the protectiveness in his tone.

Mark shook his head. “We find him another way. Smarter. Safer. You’re too important to risk.”

Ronnie’s chest tightened, not just at the weight of his words, but the way he said them—like he meant every syllable.