Deadly Obsession

F
or Sarah
and Maddie for taking me to Xanadu with their friendship – “an idyllic, exotic, luxurious place”

A
my Hart knew
the dead couldn't talk. And they certainly couldn't put pen to paper. But there they were. Words from beyond the grave ... In black and white. As real as they were terrifying. As terrifying as they were mystifying.

Her dead husband's writing was staring up at her from the letter gripped tightly between her trembling fingers. The man whom she'd cremated earlier that year and cried a lake of tears for as she'd scattered his ashes. Riley Hart – the love of her life, the man who had helped her gain everything and then been so cruelly snatched away six months ago. Taken before his time. Killed by another – murdered. Leaving her a widow at the age of twenty-nine. But now there was this, a letter from him ...
So how could a dead man write anything ...?

Her hands sweating, her mind racing, Amy tried to make sense of it. Just as life had finally seemed to be getting back to some sort of blurred normality, the letter had arrived that very morning, falling innocently through her apartment letter box and now she was back to square one, side-lined into a fathomless pit of despair, worry, and fear.

Why now? What would she gain from the words she'd scrutinised over and over again? How could an intelligent woman like her read something that was set out so clearly yet still make no sense of it?

Amy had spent months after Riley's murder poring over countless articles in magazines and ploughing through self-help books about ‘rebuilding your life'. She had listened to a string of counsellors and therapists telling her she was on the ‘right track', though she was not even sure where that particular track was supposed to lead.

They'd all told her how life would seemingly slot into place as time went by. But not one of them, swivelling in their highly polished leather chairs in their fancy offices with their framed certificates on every wall had prepared her for
this.
Every ounce of strength that Amy had managed to reap since Riley's untimely death had been destroyed in a matter of seconds.

T
he day had begun
as every single day started lately; following another restless night of intermittent sleep in a lonely bed, broken and fitful, peppered with vile images she'd tried to obliterate. It was horribly predictable, as if she'd pre-recorded her dreams from the night before onto a disc and inserted it into the DVD player in her brain before hitting the sack. Like the night before, and the night before that,
ad lib
to fade. Endless and bloody. It wasn't an adventure she would have chosen to watch again if she had any choice. She knew the ending and it was never a happy one. Fairy tales were a thing of the past for Amy. This was an ‘18' certificate movie, a full blown horror. And Amy was playing leading scream queen.

She had eaten breakfast on auto-pilot; tea and some bland cereal while watching TV. It was another world to Amy, one that still seemed so alien. Crass, trite news stories she'd seen before – disgruntled boybands deciding to ‘take a break' and duping their fans into believing that they still all loved each other like the happiest of siblings, collagen-obsessed wannabes spending thousands on fake tits and trout pouts to grotesquely turn themselves from looker to hooker, another Hollywood Z-lister telling the world how she'd shifted the baby weight mere minutes after cutting the umbilical cord ... blah, blah, blah ... words and pictures but none of it wormed its way into Amy's psyche. She had no room. It was still full of her own horrific headlines. The tragic leading stories of her own personal blog. Headlines of heartache.

Before, her world had been full of glamour-packed pap-flashing celebrity sound bites about the popular idols of the day – movie stars like Gosling, Tatum, Redmayne and Efron, the hotties tearing up Hollywood with their poster boy looks and million dollar pay demands or the latest vacuous TV talent judge spouting nonsense about her heartfelt quest to find the next five-minute-wonder. Stars that not so long ago she would have done anything to entice into her laser-lit nightclub world. Back when she was strong, self-assured, when life seemed to have a purpose ...

Amy had switched from the TV to radio, as she often did these days, hoping the songs she heard would transport her to places she longed to revisit, but feared she never could. Pharrell, Sia, Kanye as well as home grown talent like George Ezra, Florence and the Machine and Paloma Faith. She'd been part of their scene, at the epicentre of what was current. And they had been part of Amy's, keen to hang at the trendiest of haunts. As joint-owner of the UK's most respected new nightspot, The Kitty Kat Club, Amy had been the Queen Bee at the honeypot to which they flew, clocking up air miles from around the globe to be seen in the VIP area of choice. But that was then.

It was only when she'd flicked off the radio that late November morning that she'd heard the sound. The swoosh of the letterbox and the gentle slap of an envelope as it landed at her front door. Real post had been infrequent lately, an increasing sign of the twenty-first century. In a world of emails, Tweets and shared Facebook statuses, an actual handwritten letter was rarer than a footballer who could keep his cock in his pants. Amy was used to huge amounts of junk mail; offers of free casino memberships and kebab shops for the south London borough she now attempted to call home, but an actual handwritten envelope that was addressed personally to her ... no, that was rare.

It had been the handwritten envelope that first grabbed Amy's attention. The Christmas stamp featuring a donkey and shepherd had momentarily caused Amy to smile, transporting her to Christmases past. Then she saw the postmark, which read ‘Manchester', her former home. This reminder of a life she had tried to forget when she'd headed south had wiped the smile away in a second.

She'd stared at the handwriting for what seemed like minutes. In reality it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The curling of the letters and the looping of the numbers sparked thoughts inside her brain. There was something comforting about them, yet a vein of dreaded doubt ignited and ran through her.
Why? What was stopping her from just ripping the letter open and reading the contents?
Why the fear?
Who was it from?
She'd pretty much cut herself off since ... well, since
it
had happened. Since she'd disappeared for her own sanity.

Taking the letter to the kitchen she sat down, her legs like jelly, and began to tear at the flap of the envelope. The letter inside was handwritten too. Her tears had started by the end of the first paragraph. So had the trembling. As she read through, word after word chilling her to the bone, her skin pricking into goose bumps, she tried to take in what was written on the page. It seemed impossible – something incomprehensible like from one of those TV shows – an
X Files
or a
Sherlock
. There was no explanation for it, but there had to be.

Fruitlessly wiping away her tears as they snaked down her nose and dripped onto the letter she scanned her eyes to the date at the top of the page. There was no address, but the date was clear, 26
^th
November. Two days ago. She checked the date on the envelope's postmark – it said the same.

Amy hesitated before looking at the signature at the bottom of the letter again. She'd read it once, but maybe she'd been mistaken, maybe her crazy mind was playing tricks on her. God knows it had been through enough to have a season ticket booked for the nearest padded cell. But no, she hadn't been duped ... there it was, in his own unmistakable handwriting. ‘
Love Riley x
'. Marked with a kiss. After all that he'd said in the letter, he'd still marked it with a kiss.
How could he?

How could he mark it with anything?
Riley Hart. Her dead husband. The man she had hoped to grow old with. The other equal half that had made her complete, the person who had effortlessly matched her ambitions and dreams. Back then before his death ... before
all
the deaths.

A
my loved
that moment when she first opened her eyes in the morning –as the clarity of a new day formed into glorious shape before her. Lying in bed, enjoying the soft cocoon of the sheet around her, it was easy for her to count her blessings, to be grateful for what life had given her. To know that life was on her side.

For Amy, it was all about being part of the right team and she knew that she definitely was. As she gazed across at the wedding photo of her, Riley and her bridesmaid (and best friend) Laura, sitting on the dressing table on the other side of the room, a broad unstoppable smile stretched across her face. It was the first thing she saw every morning and she adored it. She'd positioned it deliberately. She'd wake up, spooned by the man she loved, his sleepy breathing hot against the back of her neck, his own awakening leading to the brush of a tender, loving kiss on her skin, the stubble on his chin scratching slightly, his arousal pressing anticipatorily against her back. Often as she stared at the photo, Riley would turn her to face him and they would make love, his expert sexual skills riding her to a crescendo of nerve-tingling orgasms. The prelude to the symphony of another happy day in the life of Mrs Riley Hart.

Some mornings he wouldn't be there, where meetings at work had kept him from her side. But her bed never felt cold. The warmth of their love was evident, even in his absence.

As Amy watched the early morning rays of light seeping in across the bedroom she felt nothing but joy bubbling inside her as she stared at the photo. To her it was everything.

Laura Cash, her bridesmaid, was her closest friend, the girl she shared so much with, the one she could turn to in any crisis. The one who had always picked her up and dusted her down when life had thrown her a mental grenade. Laura had shared her tears and then found the strength to mop them up. They were poles apart in so many ways – Laura was brash, effervescent, an ever-burning flame of excitement, always looking for the next high. She had never done a decent day's work in her life. The basics of survival like finding money to pay your bills or working behind a bar on a Saturday night to fund your next fashion fix had never applied to her. Nine-to-fives were for losers. Who needed a skillset when everything you needed to coax a man into flashing his cash was skilfully set down her blouse and under the fabric of her thigh-skimming skirt? It also helped that Laura's parents, both rich and now living their life out at a villa in the Spanish Costas, were happy enough to foot the bill for Laura's passage through a top boarding school and a swanky studio flat in Manchester's fashionable Northern Quarter.

Amy's humble upbringing could not have been more different, her parents grafting for every penny. She muddled her way through comprehensive school, floating around the middle of the class for all of her six years there and bagged a Saturday job as soon as she could in order to buy CDs and the clothes she wanted to wear. Amy had always been much more diligent and thorough in her ways, thinking things out beforehand. The sensible one. Something that Laura certainly wasn't. Yet despite this, both of them had ambition, a yearning to succeed in their own way. Two different facets on the same gemstone, both shining bright in their own unique ways. And they loved each other dearly.

A nuzzling on her neck interrupted her thoughts, a ripple of desire passing through Amy's naked body as she felt the exploration of her husband's lips. ‘Hello, my sweet angel ...' he whispered in between kisses. 'And how is my sexy little entrepreneur this morning?'

Amy turned to face him, allowing her lips to find his, silencing his words. She could feel the hardness of his body, an immediate ripple of warm, lustful expectation flowing freely from the folds between her legs. 'Business is good, my
boss
is looking after me nicely, in every way possible ...' she replied with a playful smile.

Amy wrapped her arms around Riley and pushed back the bed sheets as they entwined their bodies beneath them. Nothing would stand in her way. Riley had taught her that, in all areas of life. He was strong. A force. Someone to respect and admire. Some would say ruthless, but Amy saw his business prowess as a major turn-on. It was petrol to her own burning desire to succeed.

Not that she'd realised he was such a captain of industry when she'd first met him. It was his softer side that had initially melted her heart.

S
he had been
eighteen when she had first met him. Strikingly handsome in a rugged Indiana Jones kind of way, Riley had been the only man for Amy ever since the moment he'd offered to buy her a drink in a dive of a pub in North Manchester eight years earlier.

She was instantly smitten, even if their spit and sawdust surroundings had given no indication of Riley's wealth. The owner of a lucrative plastics business in the north of England, bequeathed to him by his late father, it was only once they'd been together for a good year or so that Riley had actually revealed how monied-up he was. Up until that point, Amy had assumed that when he said he worked for his dad's company he was just helping out with the family business. In fact Riley owned one of the most successful plastics factories in the north. Sexy it wasn't … money-making it most definitely was.

But Amy didn't care about the cash. She would have fallen for Riley if he'd have been an out-of-work bum without a penny to scratch his peachy arse with. At four years her senior, he was charming, caring, dynamic, sexy and had a body that proved he looked after himself as well as looking after those he loved. They'd moved in together eighteen months after meeting, their love shared in a palatial pad in well-to-do Sale in Cheshire.

It was all Amy had ever dreamt of; a WAG-worthy lifestyle that her humble upbringing had only ever allowed her to stare wide-eyed in envy at on the TV. Near to her family, yet a million miles away from the grime and graffiti she'd grown up around. As a child she'd barely had a paddling pool but now she owned a swimming pool of Beckham-esque proportions, a sound system that made her favourite songs, from her love of retro classics by Cyndi Lauper, ABBA and Michael Jackson through to modern beats by Taylor Swift and Rihanna, sound like she was seated front row at The Manchester MEN Arena in her own living room. There was also a hot-tub in the garden that still tickled her skin with delight every time she immersed herself into the frothy bubbles. But beyond the riches, the designer brands and the walk-in wardrobe, it was home. The sanctuary that she shared with Riley. The man who matched her own desires. Made them a reality. The man she loved. Love between them in equal measures.

It was a love that had mercifully proven to be as strong as it was true. Especially when Amy had needed it most. Amy's parents had both been killed in a car crash when she was only twenty. If it hadn't been for Riley's love and support when her parents had died she could have easily spiralled out of control. He was her rock, formed from many layers, each of them attractive in their own way, as if sculpted from the experiences that life had placed before him. He played and worked with an equal zest for life. Daring and dangerous yet puppy-soft and doting when necessary.

'
S
o
, I'm the boss, am I?' quizzed Riley as he clasped Amy to his chest, a thin slick of glistening sweat still evident from their early morning love-making. His smile revealed the humour behind his question.

'Yes, oh masterful one ... without you I am nothing,' fawned Amy. 'Merely a poor, helpless woman unable to function without the guidance of a good strong alpha male.' She giggled at the notion, knowing it to be light years from the truth.

'Well you're no use to me then, are you? The woman I fell in love with was strong, intelligent, an individual, someone who wanted to take on the world. How can a poor, helpless woman deal with the day-to-day workings of a nightclub? Monies in, monies out, VIP nights, bar orders, employing workers and security … no, you're no use to me. Better get a man in ...'

Grinning with mischief, Amy stared Riley straight in the eyes and kept his gaze as she allowed one of her hands to travel down his body and cup his balls. She gave them a firmer than comfortable squeeze. 'Well, for your information, mister high-falutin mogul, this little lady is more than capable of doing everything this club needs and more. The business plan is done, I have agencies scouting for the right staff for me and the decor is going to be cool enough to blow any other club in the country out of the water. Got that?'

'I think me and my knackers are more than aware that you're the woman for the job, if you'd like to give them back to me in one piece!' He indicated her clenched hand and sighed slightly as Amy eased the pressure. 'Your strength and drive are two of the many reasons I adore you. I can't wait to see the club come to life.'

'I'll fill you in on the business plan tonight if you wish. I want to bounce some ideas off Laura today – share some rather fabulous thoughts I have for the club with her. If there's one thing that Laura and I have always loved doing together over the years it's strutting our way across a million dance floors so we know what makes a good one. And seeing as she doesn't exactly have a lot of other things on her plate right now, she is more than keen to help. Plus we work well together. I'll fill you in over dinner this evening.'

Riley slipped his body out from beneath the sheets and stood naked at the side of the bed.

A crease of worry streaked across his face. 'It might have to wait until tomorrow. There's some business at the factory I need to attend to tonight. Trouble with some of the workers. I've had to call an after-hours meeting so I may be rather late. Very late in fact, if they don't play ball. Club talk will have to be postponed. I'm sure you're capable of not fucking it up on your own,' he laughed, turning away from Amy and heading towards their en-suite bathroom.

'You cheeky bugger,' laughed Amy, swiping at his naked ass with her hand as he walked away. 'This club will be amazing. You just wait ...'

It was true, she knew it would be. It was something she had always dreamed of, ever since she'd first gyrated her teenage hips to the dance tunes at her school disco. Music made her happy and more so if it made other people happy. And if Amy could make other people euphoric then she would have fulfilled her mission on earth. She would always remember how she felt as the DJ segued from one up-tempo slab of hi-BPM joy into the next. Her senses would fly and her spirits soar as she realised the tune that she would be dancing to next. Music was the ultimate power as far as she was concerned and the DJ was able to play God. It was a feeling that she still adored today, a sense of heaven, and running her own nightclub, employing the best DJs to play the best music, filling it with the rich and famous, the designer and the decadent was what she had always craved.

When she had suggested it to Riley, he had leapt at the chance, ready to let her realise her ambitions. It would be the finest club Manchester had ever seen. She knew it would work, she wouldn't let it be otherwise. She even had the name for it. In her mind she could already see the neon sign, beckoning party-goers nationwide. 'The Kitty Kat Club'. An homage to her favourite musical film,
Cabaret
, changing it from
Kit
to
Kitty
to give it a more modern and cutting edge feel. It was sassy, frothy and legendary and she was sure that it would have the allure to become the sound-filled destination of choice for those who had the right look.

As she watched Riley's majestic ass move out of sight, Amy pulled the pillows towards her, squeezed them tightly and buried her head into their softness, stifling an excited squeal as she did so. She knew that the club would work.

She wasn't wrong …