Page 34 of To Obsess

I force deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. Over and over again until my heart slows, returning to its normal rhythm. The melted beads of the turtle’s back are smooth beneath by thumb. As creepy as the whole thing had been last night, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it in the trash this morning when I found it still lying on the floor.

Abby was supposed to be here an hour ago to record the next episode of the podcast, but she hasn’t made it yet. She texted about ten minutes before she was supposed to be here to let me know she was going to grab some food and be here as soon as she could, but nothing since then. I toss the turtle onto the coffee table and slowly begin to dissociate, losing myself to thoughts of what the keychain could even mean. It seems like such a kind gesture, even if it’s more than a little weird that he knew mine broke a while back. I still haven’t been able to recall even mentioning that to anyone. How had he known?

Reeling myself back in slightly, I take in the room. The dusty entertainment stand with the tv I hardly ever bother to turn on, the pile of shoes in the corner, and the stack of books I haven’t found the energy to put away yet.

The books! Motherfucker, I think. The bookstore. I talked to Abby about the keychain a few weeks ago when it first broke. Honestly, I’m surprised the thing made it as long as it did, but it was still devastating when I looked at my keys and realized the little turtle that had been with me through so much was missing.

“Sorry I’m so late!” Abby half-yells as she bursts through the door with fast food bags in hand. After kicking the door closed behind her, she makes a beeline for the kitchen table before the bags spill from her hands. “I ran into Josh at the coffee shop. You’ll never believe what he told me,” she rambles, hardly stopping for a breath.

“Hmm?” I make a noise in the back of my throat, mind not fully focused on her words.

“They found an easel in the woods.” She pauses, waiting for me to gasp in amazement or something apparently.

“Okay?”

“You don’t think an easel in the woods is a weird thing to find? Anyway, it was what was painted on the easel that was so concerning.” When I don’t respond, she rolls her eyes and continues. “Somebody left it there on purpose, they think. Josh said there was this gruesome scene painted on it that looked just like Gunnar’s murder.”

“That’s definitely odd, but maybe somebody just has a twisted sense of ‘art’ and heard about his death. It was all the town talked about for weeks, remember?” The attitude spills from my lips before I can catch the words and swallow them back down.

“Right. You’re right about that, but it was left exactly where the murder took place. Who would even know where that was except the guy who did it?” Abby is nearly out of breath by the time she finishes, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the food haul or her excitement over the story.

“Oh, I don’t know, Abby. Just the police, the EMTs, the coroner. Hell, they even had half of the firefighters out there that night!” Even as I say the words, I know that isn’t what happened, but she can’t deny that I’m right about this. There are a lot of people who know about Gunnar’s murder and have been out to the scene since it happened. Any one of them could have painted that easel.

“You’re such a downer sometimes,” she complains under her breath, digging through the bags to find her food as I join her at the counter. “Josh said they’re trying to pull some prints from it, but they’re not feeling super hopeful about it. Nothing else was left there. Just this creepy ass easel in the middle of the woods. Gives me the creeps.” She shudders for emphasis before sliding into one of the chairs.

“Maybe they’ll finally catch the guy,” I concur, taking the other seat. I’ll say about anything to appease her so we can end this conversation right now.

She nods, taking a bite of her burger. “What’s new here? How’s Mason?”

I glance at the coffee table and the turtle that lays atop it. “He’s fine, I guess. Nothing new to really report here.” For some reason, I suddenly want to keep the turtle to myself.

I left it out to show Abby after I made the connection to the bookstore and our conversation there, but, out of nowhere, it feels too personal. It’s not like she even cared about it when I told her it had broken anyway. She doesn’t need to know about the new one.

She chats through the rest of our lunch, and I do my best to keep up, throwing in ‘oh really’ and ‘of course’ every now and then. All the while, I can’t manage to keep my mind off of the cards for more than ten seconds at a time.

“I’m going to go put on some real clothes,” I interrupt. “Before we start recording,” I add, looking down at my pajama pants and tank top.

She waves me off, shoving the last bite of her burger in her mouth as if she hadn’t been in the middle of some dramatic story about one thing or another.

I sweep by the table, sliding the little turtle into my pocket as I go, and head up the stairs to my bedroom to find more suitable clothes. When my door is closed behind me, I slip it from my pocket and place it on my nightstand with a grin.

When I’m dressed, hair and teeth brushed, and deodorant on, I make my way back downstairs to find Abby already sitting cross-legged on the couch with the equipment out all around her.

She smiles when she finally looks up, taking in my fresh appearance. I take my seat on the opposite side of the couch, not at all ready to do this recording but knowing it’s got to be done. We’ve gained more listeners over the last few weeks, and they will not be kept waiting on new episodes.

We learned that the hard way when Abby got a stomach bug two weeks ago and our episode was postponed by one day. I swear, I kept looking out my front windows, waiting on a mob complete with pitchforks and torches to come marching up my driveway. That day, we decided the podcast wouldn’t be postponed come hell or high water.

“Before we start, did anything ever come of your little challenge to your stalker?” She tries for a nonchalant tone, but it doesn’t quite come across that way. She’s much more worried about it than she wants me to believe, but we’ve been friends for an eternity. She can’t hide it from me, no matter how much she wants to.

“Eh. Not really,” I say with a shrug. “Nothing major anyway. Just the usual cards and such recently. I haven’t noticed anything with the cameras, and he hasn’t broken into the house again, so that’s a win, I guess.”

The look Abby throws my way lets me know she isn’t fully convinced of my BS story, but she’s willing to let it slide, at least for now. “Right. Let’s get this podcast started, shall we?”

With that, she hits record and the next hour flies by as we chat about this and that, hardly even touching on the cards this time. It’ll make about an hour of finished content to upload tomorrow morning, bright and early.

Abby disconnects all of the gear and packs it all into her car as she prepares to leave. I’ve offered to keep the equipment here, but she insists on taking it with her every time so she can take over the editing. I’ve also offered to just record at her place, but she swears the acoustics in my house are better than hers, so we’ve settled into this routine over the past months.

I wave as she turns her car around and drives down the gravel drive, dust boiling up in her wake. When she’s out of sight, I close the front door and nearly sag against it in relief.