Distant Obsession

Distant Obsession is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the workings of the authors’ imaginations and not meant to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the permission in writing from both authors.

Copyright
© 2012 by M. W. Davis and Ciara Gold

January 2012

Cover art by Ciara Gold

Produced in USA

Prologue

“I did it! I proved him wrong.” Lilah Randall couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Excuse me?”

The driver’s expression in the rear view mirror was enough to remind Lilah she’d had enough to drink, for the moment. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

Joy filled her again with thoughts of success.

Sold! Every last one.

 It had taken two years to capture two dozen masterpieces on cloth. She had worried each color, each stroke of camel hair; until the canvas transformed from mere white to a reflection of herself, as if it were a child.

 During the show, she experienced a strange confusion of emotions; jubilation at her final triumph, yet in the background, around the edges of her elation, a macabre sadness flavored the night. At the gallery in Chicago, while her creations, one by one, walked away in the arms of another, a faint emptiness drenched her excitement. No, not emptiness. A chill crept across her neck, like when the last rays of sun had been replaced by twilight.

No, it’s all good. No tears. No looking back anymore, only forward.

Tonight epitomized all she’d worked to achieve this past year under the very nose of her lord and master
.
To be freed from having your hopes dashed each time she sought praise, encouragement; she felt more than simple relief. The spark from her success tonight had ignited a new path of possibilities. Like the small canary that finally solved the puzzle to its enslavement, Lilah was now empowered to fly away.

For the next four blocks Lilah strained to peer through the fog of wine and blanket of near pitch black along the poorly lit street leading to her dwelling on the corner of Amber Street. “Oh, stop. Here. Let me out here.”

The driver pulled to the curb while she fumbled for the clasp on the seatbelt, yanked a few bills from her purse, and paid the fee. “Thanks.”

The lanky man’s eyes widened when he saw the large tip, and he smiled. “Call ole George anytime you want a lift. You need help getting to your apartment?”

Lilah swayed slightly, clutched the half empty wine bottle against her chest and fluttered one hand in the air. “No. I’m fine. You go on.”

He frowned but did as requested and drove off, leaving her alone.

The shadowed buildings, the invisible things she could hear but not see made Lilah doubt the decision to deny the driver’s offer and brave the last few yards to her doorstep, on her own.  

The unusually empty street in front of the Georgetown high-rise apartment provided the perfect backdrop for a Stephen King movie. The spotty streetlights illuminating the walkway and suspicious hedges banked along both side of the entryway provided a perfect hiding place. One glance at the departing tail lights of the cab let Lilah feel the eerie isolation of the moment.

Relax. There hasn’t been a murder here in years.

The attempt to bolster her confidence fell flat as a three-day-old soda. She studied the sparkling outline of her favorite constellation, Draco, the same celestial body she learned to admire from her mother. Lilah flushed the stall air from her lungs and marched beneath the footprint of the dragon’s tail. An umbrella of limbs from the urban planted sweet gum, scarlet oak, and zelkova foliage in the side courtyard danced in the mild breeze, the sound masking the distant street noises. She jerked sideways as the star shaped seedpods from the gum trees bombarded the canopy above the bricked stairway. Laughter bubbled from her throat. “God, Lilah. Get a grip.”

This is your night. Don’t let a few sounds spook you from enjoying your elation.

The purse teetered precariously beneath her arms as she balanced the wine bottle in one hand and searched for keys to the apartment with the other. Lilah berated herself for not having them ready when she left the taxi, but her preoccupation was understandable.

 No longer would Ben demean her talent, not with proof that others appreciated her artistic flair. She giggled, floating on a euphoric pillow of triumph. Not even Ben’s adulteress behavior could dampen her mood.

The loose change in her purse jingled from her fumbling attempts to retrieve her apartment key. Finally, she withdrew the prize and lifted her head, almost losing her balance on the second step to the building.

As she reached for the computerized keypad to the main entrance of the complex, the door exploded outward and crashed against the side of the building before slamming closed. The collision broke her concentration. She twirled like a top along the railing. The bottle dropped, crashed against the stairway, and splattered wine and glass shards across the cement steps as if they’d been fired from a shotgun. “My shoes!”

A man dashed past and ran down the sidewalk.

“Damn. You could at least say ‘I’m sorry!’”

The rudeness of some folks.

Before regaining her breath, the thin silhouette jumped into a faded gray van. The starter motor screeched twice then the engine engaged, spitting a stream of blue smoke from the dieseling engine. The decade old vehicle swirled to miss the oncoming bus before disappearing down Amber Street.

Lilah surveyed the abuse caused by the jerk. Her Prada designer heels bore the brunt of the man’s crude behavior. She’d paid a fortune for the pink satin, jewel trimmed fashion statement. “Ruined.”

She straightened and stole another glance in the direction the man had fled. No sense worrying over the damage now. The creep was long gone. Broken glass littered the path, a mess she’d clean during the light of day. A deep breath helped defuse the sudden anger. The minor setback would not dampen her spirits, not tonight. Regrouping, she punched in the lock code for the main entrance door.

The ride up to their suite provided a chance to rehearse the speech she planned for Ben. A bit tipsy, she leaned against the cool granite encasing the elevator outside their suite and pictured her husband’s surprise at her newfound fame. Her stomach dropped when her ride lurched to a stop.

Lilah reached to insert the key in the lock, but the door swung wide, already unlocked.

He’s never done that before.

Ben was never careless with security, and she knew he wasn’t home or he’d have answered the phone when she called earlier to share her success. Not that he would care, but she loved the idea of proving him wrong. He always had a subtle way of making her feel insecure about her talent.

A strong floral aroma lingered in the air. She rolled her eyes at the telling evidence of her husband’s perfidy.

You bastard. You swore, never again.

 Lilah sauntered into the kitchen and threw her purse onto the counter. Grabbing hold of the marble edging, she rocked back on her wine covered heels. “Damn you, Ben.”

Nothing should’ve ruined tonight’s happiness, but no matter how hard she tried to overlook his indiscretions …

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook off the sudden anger.

Find your happy place, Lilah. Don’t let him screw up your big night.
Besides, she’d gone to see a lawyer last week with the intent to file divorce papers. Now that the art show had been a huge success and her career was finally on its way, she felt more comfortable telling her no-good husband to take a hike. That he still had the power to hurt spoke poorly of her confused feelings for the man. After all, the first years had been blissful, the kind of marriage all women long for yet rarely enjoy.

What happened to us?

Pulling away from the counter, she noted the blinking phone.

 
So much for calling ahead.

Another bottle of wine sat opened near the sink. She lifted the container. Merlot and an expensive brand at that. “At least your current floozy has good taste.” With a bitter laugh, she poured a glass for herself, ignored the droplet crawling down her cheek, and lifted it high. “To selling every one of my paintings tonight.”

The semi-sweet fermented drink slid past her lips and made a smooth descent to her stomach. She closed her eyes to enjoy the blissful flavor. After swallowing, she opened them again and frowned.

 A dining room table chair lay on its side. She approached slowly and righted the furniture.

Her gaze fell upon the living area. CDs, DVDs, and books were scattered about the floor. Ben had a temper and was known for tossing things about when he didn’t get his way, but she’d never seen him this destructive. What had set him off?

The darkened hallway drew her forward. The reality of what lie ahead whispered,
caution, you know what’s there, you’ve seen it before.

Yet curiosity stiffened her resolve. This time, the signs were different. The fine hairs on her arm stood erect, yet still the bedroom beckoned,
come, tell the truth, how you’ve felt all these years
. She knew he could care less; his callus behavior had conveyed a lack of any commitment to vows or honor.

I don’t care. It’s my turn. I refuse to hold back like a frightened little rabbit anymore.

A light from the office beamed into the hallway. She tripped over a woman’s shoe and gave it a cursory glance while continuing to advance toward her destination. The room held another scene of chaotic damage flavored with a revolting scent; something hinting of human carnage.

The large, maple desk that usually epitomized the definition of neat and orderly looked as if an earthquake had struck. Loose papers and files were strewn across the lacquered surface and scattered about the carpeted floor. Drawers stood open and the file cabinet broken into, their contents strung out in haphazard formation. Heart racing with undefined fear, she gently touched the mouse attached to her husband’s computer. The screen popped alive to display numerous opened files. The DVD tray stuck out as if someone recently burned a copy.

Had Ben packed in a hurry and left? He’d threatened to leave before, but…

She ran from the room and down the hall. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it wide.