{"product_id":"the-obsession-isbn-9781101987605","title":"The Obsession","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe riveting novel from the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Liar\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e“She stood in the deep, dark woods, breath shallow and cold prickling over her skin despite the hot, heavy air. She took a step back, then two, as the urge to run fell over her.”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Naomi Bowes lost her innocence the night she followed her father into the woods. In freeing the girl trapped in the root cellar, Naomi revealed the horrible extent of her father’s crimes and made him infamous. No matter how close she gets to happiness, she can’t outrun the sins of Thomas David Bowes.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Now a successful photographer living under the name Naomi Carson, she has found a place that calls to her, a rambling old house in need of repair, thousands of miles away from everything she’s ever known. Naomi wants to embrace the solitude, but the kindly residents of Sunrise Cove keep forcing her to open up—especially the determined Xander Keaton. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Naomi can feel her defenses failing, and knows that the connection her new life offers is something she’s always secretly craved. But the sins of her father can become an obsession, and, as she’s learned time and again, her past is never more than a nightmare away.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Obsession\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Roberts retains her impeccably high standards in this excellently executed tale, once again dazzling readers with a sophisticated blend of edge-of-your-seat suspense and sexy romance.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Roberts has an unparalleled ability to paint a picture with words—readers will easily picture Naomi’s photographic art and her rambling home with its beautiful view—and the story is expertly executed. Sizzling romance, affable characters, and enticing suspense make this a read to be savored.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This riveting tale benefits from an immensely likable supporting cast and its rewarding blend of suspense and romance. Brief glimpses into the killer’s mind add a chilling touch to a story you won’t be able to put down.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eNora Roberts\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of more than 200 novels, including \u003ci\u003eThe Liar\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Collector\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWhiskey Beach\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Witness\u003c\/i\u003e, and many more. She is also the author of the bestselling In Death series written under the pen name J. D. Robb. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCopyright © 2016 Nora Roberts\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAugust 29, 1998\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t know what woke her, and no matter how many times she relived that night, no matter where the nightmare chased her, she never would.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSummer turned the air into a wet, simmering stew, one smelling of sweat and drenching green. The humming fan on her dresser stirred it, but it was like sleeping in the steam pumping off the pot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStill, she was used to that, to lying on top of summer-moist sheets, with the windows open wide to the relentless chorus of cicadas—and the faint hope even a tiny breeze would slither through the sultry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe heat didn’t wake her, nor did the soft rumble of thunder from a storm gathering in the distance. Naomi went from sleep to awake in an instant, as if someone had given her a good shake or shouted her name in her ear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe sat straight up in bed, blinking at the dark, hearing nothing but the hum of the fan, the high pitch of the cicadas, and the lazy, repetitive hoo of an owl. All country summer sounds she knew as well as her own voice, and nothing to put that odd little click in her throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut now, awake, she felt that heat, like gauze soaked in hot water and wrapped around every inch of her. She wished it were morning so she could sneak out before anyone was up and cool off in the creek.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChores came first, that was the rule. But it was so hot it felt like she’d have to part the air like a curtain just to take a step. And it was Saturday (or would be in the morning) and sometimes Mama let the rules slide a little on Saturdays—if Daddy was in a good mood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen she heard that rumble of thunder. Delighted, she scrambled out of bed to rush to her window. She loved storms, the way they whirled and swung through the trees, the way the sky went spooky, the way lightning slashed and flashed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd maybe this storm would bring rain and wind and cooler air. Maybe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe knelt on the floor, her arms folded on the windowsill, her eyes on the bit of moon hazed by heat and clouds.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wished for it—a girl who’d turn twelve in just two days and still believed in wishes. A big storm, she thought, with lightning like pitchforks and thunder like cannon fire.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd lots and lots of rain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe closed her eyes, tipped her face up, tried sniffing the air. Then, in her Sabrina the Teenage Witch T-shirt, she pillowed her head on her hands and studied the shadows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAgain she wished for morning, and since wishes were free, wished it were the morning of her birthday. She wanted a new bike so bad, and she’d given out plenty of hints.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe knelt, wanting morning, a girl tall and gawky, who—though she checked daily—was not yet growing breasts. The heat had her hair sticking to her neck. Annoyed with it, she pushed it up, off, let it hang over her shoulder. She wanted to cut it—really short, like a pixie in the fairy-tale book her grandparents had given her before they weren’t allowed to see each other anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Daddy said girls were supposed to have long hair, and boys short. So her little brother got a crew cut down at Vick’s Barbershop in town, and all she could do was pull her sort-of-blonde hair back in a ponytail.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut then Mason got spoiled silly, in her opinion, being the boy. He’d gotten a basketball hoop and a backboard, with an official Wilson basketball for his birthday. He got to play Little League baseball, too—something that by Daddy’s rules was only for boys (something Mason never let her forget)—and being younger by twenty-three months (something she didn’t let him forget), he didn’t have as many chores.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt wasn’t fair, but saying so only added on more chores and risked losing TV privileges.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBesides, she wouldn’t care about any of that if she got the new bike.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe caught a dull flash—just a shimmer of lightning low in the sky. It would come, she told herself. The wish storm would come and bring the cool and wet. If it rained and rained and rained, she wouldn’t have to weed the garden.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe idea of that excited her enough that she nearly missed the next flash.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot lightning this time, but the beam from a flashlight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer first thought was someone was poking around, maybe trying to break in. She started to stand up, run for her father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen she saw that it was her father. Moving away from the house toward the tree line, moving quick and sure in the beam of the light.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe he was going to the creek to cool off. If she went, too, how could he be mad? If he was in a good mood, he’d laugh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t think twice, just grabbed up her flip-flops, stuck her tiny flashlight in her pocket, and hurried out of the room, quiet as a mouse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe knew which steps creaked—everybody did—and avoided them out of habit. Daddy didn’t like it if she or Mason snuck downstairs for a drink after bedtime.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t put the flip-flops on until she reached the back door, then eased it open just enough—before it could creak—to squeeze out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a minute she thought she’d lost the trail of the flashlight, but she caught it again and darted after. She’d hang back until she gauged her father’s mood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he veered off from the shallow ribbon of the creek, moving deeper into the woods that edged that scrap of land.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhere could he be going? Curiosity pushed her on, and the almost giddy excitement of sneaking through the woods in the dead of night. The rumbles and flashes from the sky only added to the adventure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t know fear, though she’d never gone this deep into the woods—it was forbidden. Her mother would tan her hide if she got caught, so she wouldn’t get caught.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer father moved quick and sure, so he knew where he was going. She could hear his boots crunching old dried leaves on the skinny trail, so she kept back. It wouldn’t do for him to hear her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSomething screeched, made her jump a little. She had to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle the giggle. Just an old owl, out on the hunt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe clouds shifted, covered the moon. She nearly stumbled when she stubbed her bare toe on a rock, and again she covered her mouth to smother her hiss of pain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer father stopped, making her heart pound like a drum. She went still as a statue, barely breathing. For the first time she wondered what she’d do if he turned around, came back toward her. Couldn’t run, she thought, for he’d surely hear that. Maybe she could creep off the path, hide in the brush. And just hope there weren’t snakes sleeping.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he moved on she continued to stand, telling herself to go back before she got into really big trouble. But the light was like a magnet and drew her on.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt bobbled and shook for a moment. She heard something rattle and scrape, something creak like the back door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen the light vanished.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe stood in the deep, dark woods, breath shallow, and cold prickling over her skin despite the hot, heavy air. She took a step back, then two, as the urge to run fell over her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe click came back to her throat, so sharp she could barely swallow. And the dark, all the dark seemed to wrap around her—too tight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRun home, run. Get back in bed, close your eyes. The voice in her head pitched high and shrill like the cicadas.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Scaredy-cat,” she whispered, clutching her own arms for courage. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe crept forward, almost feeling her way now. Once again the clouds shifted, and in the thin trickle of moonlight she saw the silhouette of a ruined building.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike an old cabin, she thought, that had burned down so only the jags of foundation and an old chimney remained.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe odd fear slid away into fascination with the shapes, the grays of it all, the way the thin moonlight played over the scorched bricks, the blackened wood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAgain she wished for morning so she could explore. If she could sneak back here in the light, it could be her place. A place where she could bring her books and read—without her brother nagging at her. And she could sit and draw or just sit and dream.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSomeone had lived there once, so maybe there were ghosts. And that idea was a thrill. She’d just love to meet a ghost.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut where had her father gone?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe thought of the rattles and creak again. Maybe this was like another dimension, and he’d opened a door to it, gone through.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe had secrets—she figured all adults did. Secrets they kept from everybody, secrets that made their eyes go hard if you asked the wrong question. Maybe he was an explorer, one who went through a magic door to another world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe wouldn’t like her thinking it because other worlds, like ghosts and teenage witches, weren’t in the Bible. But maybe he wouldn’t like her thinking it because it was true.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe risked a few more steps forward, ears cocked for any sound. And heard only the thunder, rolling closer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis time when she stubbed her toe, the quick cry of pain escaped, and she hopped on one foot until the sting eased. Stupid rock, she thought, and glanced down.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn that pale moonlight she saw not a rock, but a door. A door in the ground! A door that would creak when opened. Maybe a magic door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe got down on all fours, ran her hands over it—and got a splinter for her trouble.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMagic doors didn’t give you splinters. Just an old root cellar, or storm cellar. But though disappointment dampened her spirits as she sucked her sore finger, it was still a door in the ground in the woods by an old burned-out cabin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd her father had gone down there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer bike! Maybe he’d hidden her bike down there and was right now putting it together. Willing to risk another splinter, she put her ear to the old wood, squeezing her eyes tight to help her hear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe thought she heard him moving around. And he was making a kind of grunting noise. She imagined him assembling her bike—all shiny and new and red—his big hands picking the right tool, and whistling through his teeth the way he did when he worked on something.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was down there doing something special just for her. She wouldn’t complain (in her head) about chores for a whole month.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow long did it take to put a bike together? She should hurry back home so he didn’t know she’d followed him. But she really, really, really wanted to see it. Just a peek.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe eased back from the door, crept over to the burned-out cabin, and hunkered down behind the old chimney. It wouldn’t take him long—he was good with tools. He could have his own repair shop if he wanted and only worked for the cable company out of Morgantown to provide security for his family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe said so all the time.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe glanced up at the snap of lightning—the first pitchfork of it—and the thunder that followed was more boom than mumble. She should’ve gone home, that was the truth, but she couldn’t go back now. He could come out any time, and he’d catch her for sure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere’d be no shiny red bike for her birthday if he caught her now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf the storm broke, she’d just get wet, that’s all. It would cool her off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe told herself he’d just be five more minutes, and when the minutes passed, he’d just be five more. And then she had to pee. She tried to hold it, ignore it, squeeze it back, but in the end, she gave up and crept her way farther back, back into the trees.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe rolled her eyes, pulled down her shorts, and crouched, keeping her feet wide to avoid the stream. Then she shook and shook until she was as dry as she was going to get. Just as she started to pull her pants back up, the door creaked open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe froze, pants around her knees, bare butt inches off the ground, her lips pressed tight to hold back her breath.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe saw him in the next flash of lightning, and he looked wild to her—his close-cropped hair almost white in the storm light, his eyes so dark, and his teeth showing in a fierce grin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSeeing him, half expecting him to throw back his head and howl like a wolf, she felt her heart thudding with the first true fear she’d ever known.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he rubbed himself, down there, she felt her cheeks go hot as fire. Then he closed the door, the quick slam of it echoing. He shot the bolt home—a hard, scraping sound that made her shiver. Her legs trembled from holding the awkward position while he tossed layers of old leaves over the door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe stood a moment more—and oh, the lightning sizzled now—and played the beam of his light over the door. The backwash of it threw his face into relief so she saw only the hard edges, and the light, close-cropped hair made it look like a skull, eyes dark, soulless hollows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked around, and for one terrible moment she feared he looked right at her. This man, she knew into her bones, would hurt her, would use hands and fists on her like the father who worked to provide security for his family never had.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith a helpless whimper in her throat, she thought: Please, Daddy. Please.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he turned away, and with long, sure strides, went back the way he’d come.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t move a trembling muscle until she heard nothing but the night song, and the first stirring of the wind. The storm was rolling in, but her father was gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe hiked up her pants and straightened, rubbing the pins and needles out of her legs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo moon now, and all sense of adventure had dropped into a terrible dread.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut her eyes had adjusted enough for her to pick her way back to the leaf-covered door. She saw it only because she knew it was there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe could hear her own breath now, wisping away on the swirl of wind. Cool air, but now she wanted warm. Her bones felt cold, like winter cold, and her hand shook as she bent down to brush the thick layers of leaves away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe stared at the bolt, thick and rusted, barring the old wood door. Her fingers traced over it, but she didn’t want to open it now. She wanted to be back in her own bed, safe. She didn’t want that picture of her father, that wild picture.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut her fingers tugged on the bolt, and then she used her hands as it resisted. She set her teeth when it scraped open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was her bike, she told herself even while a terrible weight settled in her chest. Her shiny red birthday bike. That was what she would find.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSlowly, she lifted the door, looked down into the dark.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe swallowed hard, took the little flashlight out of her pocket, and, using its narrow beam, made her way down the ladder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe had a sudden fear of her father’s face appearing in the opening. That wild and terrible look on his face. And that door slamming shut, closing her in. She nearly scrambled back up again, but she heard the whimper.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe froze on the ladder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn animal was down here. Why would her daddy have an animal down . . . A puppy? Was that her birthday surprise? The puppy she’d always wanted, but wasn’t allowed to have. Even Mason couldn’t beg them a puppy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTears stung her eyes as she dropped down to the dirt floor. She’d have to pray for forgiveness for the awful thoughts—thoughts were a sin as much as deeds—she’d had about her father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe swung her light around, her heart full of wonder and joy—the last she would feel for far too long. But where she imagined a puppy whimpering in his crate was a woman.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer eyes were wide and shined like glass as tears streamed from them. She made terrible noises against the tape over her mouth. Scrapes and bruises left raw marks on her face and her throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wasn’t wearing any clothes, nothing at all, but didn’t try to cover herself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCouldn’t, couldn’t cover herself. Her hands were tied with rope—bloodied from the raw wounds on her wrists—and the rope was tied to a metal post behind the old mattress she lay on. Her legs were tied, too, at the ankles and spread wide.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThose terrible sounds kept coming, pounded on the ears, roiled in the belly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs in a dream, Naomi moved forward. There was a roaring in her ears now, as if she’d gone under the water too long, couldn’t get back to the surface. Her mouth was so dry, the words scraped her throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t yell. You can’t yell, okay? He might hear and come back. Okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe woman nodded, and her swollen eyes pleaded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNaomi worked her fingernails under the edge of the tape. “You have to be quiet,” she said, whispering as her fingers trembled. “Please be quiet.” And pulled the tape away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt made an awful sound, left a raw, red mark, but the woman didn’t yell.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Please.” Her voice sounded like a rusty hinge. “Please help me. Please, don’t leave me here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to get away. You have to run.” Naomi looked back toward the cellar door. What if he came back? Oh God, what if the wild man who looked like her father came back?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe tried to untie the rope, but the knots were too tight. She rubbed her fingers raw in frustration, then turned away, using her little light.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe saw a bottle of liquor—forbidden by her father’s law in their house—and more rope, coiled and waiting. An old blanket, a lantern. Magazines with naked women on the covers, a camera, and oh no, no, no, photographs taped to the walls of women. Like this woman, naked and tied up and bloody and afraid.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd women who stared out with dead eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn old chair, cans and jars of food on a shelf nailed to the wall. A heap of rags—no, clothes, torn clothes—and the stains on them were blood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe could smell the blood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd knives. So many knives.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClosing her mind, just closing her mind to everything else, Naomi grabbed one of the knives, began to saw at the knot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to stay quiet, stay quiet.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe nicked flesh, but the woman didn’t cry out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hurry, please hurry. Please, please.” She bit back a moan when her arms were free, and those arms shook as she tried to lower them. “It hurts. Oh God, God, it hurts.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t think about it, just don’t think about it. It hurts more when you do.” It hurt, yes, it hurt to think. So she wouldn’t think of the blood, the pictures, the heap of torn and terrible clothes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNaomi went to work on one of the ankle ropes. “What’s your name?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I— Ashley. I’m Ashley. Who is he? Where is he?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t think it. “He’s home now. The storm’s come. Can you hear it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was home, too, Naomi told herself as she cut the other rope. Home in bed, and this was all a bad dream. There was no old root cellar that smelled of musk and pee and worse, no woman, no wild man. She would wake in her own bed, and the storm would have cooled everything.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEverything would be clean and cool when she woke.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to get up, get out. You have to run.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRun, run, run, into the dark, run away. Then this will never have happened.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSweat rolling down her battered face, Ashley tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She fell to the dirt floor, her breath wheezing. “I can’t walk yet—my legs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You have to help me. Please, help me get out of here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Your legs are asleep, that’s all.” Naomi grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around Ashley’s shoulders. “You have to try to get up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWorking together, they managed to get Ashley to her feet. “Lean on me. I’m going to push you up the ladder, but you have to try to climb. You have to try.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can do it. I can do it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRain whipped in on the slow, sweaty climb up, and twice on that short journey, Ashley nearly slipped. Naomi’s muscles twanged from the strain of holding the weight, of pushing. But on a last sobbing grunt, Ashley dragged herself out, lay panting on the ground.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to run.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know where I am. I’m sorry. I don’t know how long I’ve been down there. A day, two. I haven’t had any food, any water since he . . . I’m hurt.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTears streamed, but she didn’t sob, just stared at Naomi through the flood of them. “He . . . he raped me, and he choked me, and he cut me and hit me. My ankle. Something’s wrong with it. I can’t run on it. Can you get me out of here? To the police?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRain pounded, and the lightning lit the sky like morning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Naomi didn’t wake.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Wait a minute.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t go back in there!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Just wait.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe scrambled down, into the terrible place, and picked up the knife. Some of the blood on it wasn’t fresh, wasn’t from the nicks. No, some was old and dry, and from more than nicks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd though it sickened her, she pawed through the heap of clothes and found a tattered shirt, a torn pair of shorts.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe took them with her as she climbed back out. Seeing it, Ashley nodded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay. You’re smart.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I didn’t see shoes, but it’ll be easier for you with the shirt and shorts. They’re torn, but—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It doesn’t matter.” Ashley bit down hard as Naomi helped her into the shorts, as she carefully lifted Ashley’s arms into the shirt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe bit down hard when she saw that the movement opened thin slices on Ashley’s torso, saw fresh, red blood seeping.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to lean on me.” Because Ashley shivered, Naomi wrapped the blanket over her shoulders again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust do, she told herself. Don’t think, just do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have to walk even if it hurts. We’ll look for a good thick stick, but we have to go. I don’t know what time it is, but they’ll look for me in the morning. We have to get to the road. It’s more than a mile into town after that. You have to walk.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll crawl if I have to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe got to her knees, levered herself up with Naomi’s help. It was slow, and Naomi knew from Ashley’s labored breathing that it was painful. She found a downed branch, and that helped a little, only a little, as the trail went to mud in the storm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey crossed the creek—running fast now from the rain—and kept going.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Naomi.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s a nice name. Naomi, I have to stop for a minute.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay, but just for a minute.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAshley braced against a tree, breathing hard, leaning heavily on the broken branch while sweat and rain ran down her face. “Is that a dog? I hear a dog barking.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s probably King. The Hardy place is right over that way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Can we go there? We can call the police, get help.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s too close.” Mr. Hardy was a deacon at church with her father. He’d call her father before he called the police.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Too close? It feels like we’ve walked miles.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not even one.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay.” Ashley closed her eyes a moment, bit down on her lip. “Okay. Do you know the man? The one who took me, the one who hurt me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You know his name, where they can find him.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes. We have to keep going now. We have to keep going.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell me his name.” Wincing, Ashley pushed off the tree, began her hobbling walk. “It’ll keep me going to know it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“His name is Thomas Bowes. Thomas David Bowes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thomas David Bowes. How old are you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Eleven. I’m going to be twelve on Monday.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Happy birthday. You’re really smart and strong and brave. You saved my life, Naomi. You saved a life before your twelfth birthday. Don’t ever forget it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I won’t. I won’t forget. The storm’s passing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe kept to the woods. It took longer that way than it would have if she’d gone out to the road. But she knew fear now, and kept to the woods until the edge of the little town of Pine Meadows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe went to school there, and to church, and her mother shopped in the market. She’d never been inside the sheriff’s office, but she knew where it was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs dawn lightened the sky to the east, and the first light glimmered on puddles, she walked past the church, over the narrow bridge that arched over the narrow stream. Her flip-flops made soggy flaps on the street, and Ashley limped, the branch clomping, her breath a raw pant with each step.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What town is this?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s Pine Meadows.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Where? I was in Morgantown. I go to college at WVU.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s about twelve miles from here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I was training. Running. I’m a long-distance runner, believe it or not. And I was training like I do every morning. He was parked on the side of the road with the hood up, like he’d had a breakdown. I had to slow a little, and he grabbed me. He hit me with something. And I woke up in that place. I’m going to have to stop again.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo, no, no stopping. No thinking. Just doing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’re almost there. See, right down the road, that white house—see the sign out front?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Pine Meadows Sheriff’s Department. Oh thank God. Oh thank God.” Ashley began to weep then, racking sobs that shook them both as Naomi tightened her arm around Ashley’s waist, took more weight and trudged the rest of the way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’re safe now. We’re safe.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Ashley collapsed on the narrow porch, Naomi wrapped the blanket closer around her, then knocked hard on the door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is someone going to be there? I didn’t think. It’s so early.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know.” But Naomi knocked again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the door opened, Naomi had a vague recognition of the young face, the tousled hair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s all this?” he began, and then his sleepy eyes shifted by her, landed on Ashley. “Well, Jesus.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shot the door open, jumped out to crouch beside her. “I’m going to get you inside.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Help. Help us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re all right. You’re going to be all right.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked scrawny to Naomi’s eyes, but he hefted Ashley like she was nothing—and flushed a bit when the blanket slipped and the torn shirt exposed most of her left breast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Honey,” he said to Naomi, “hold the door open now. Y’all have an accident?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No,” Naomi said. She held the door open, had one instant to think whether she should run away, just run, or go inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe went inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m going to set you down right here. All right now?” His eyes studied the bruising on Ashley’s throat, and knowledge came into them. “Sweetheart, you see that water fountain over there. How about you get—what’s your name now?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ashley. Ashley McLean.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You get Ashley some water, would you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe turned as he spoke, then spotted the knife Naomi held at her side. In that same easy tone, he said, “Why don’t you give that to me, all right? There you go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe took the knife from Naomi’s limp hand, set it up on a shelf out of reach.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I need to make some calls, and one to the doctor who’ll come and examine you. But we’re going to have to take some pictures. Do you understand?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And I’m calling the sheriff in, and there’ll be questions. You up to that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“All right now. Drink a little water. That’s a good girl,” he said to Naomi, running a gentle hand over her wet hair as she brought the paper cup to Ashley.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe grabbed a phone from a desk, punched in numbers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sheriff, it’s Wayne. Yeah, I know what time it is. We got a woman here who’s hurt. No, sir, not an accident. She’s been assaulted, and she’s going to need a full exam.” He turned away, spoke quietly, but Naomi heard the words rape kit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Kid brought her in. I think it’s Tom and Sue Bowes’s girl.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAshley lowered the cup, stared into Naomi’s eyes. “Bowes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes. I’m Naomi Bowes. You need to drink.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So do you, baby.” But Ashley set the cup aside and drew Naomi to her. “So do you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen she broke, when everything finally broke inside her, Naomi laid her head on\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304950452453,"sku":"NP9781101987605","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101987605.jpg?v=1767740765","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-obsession-isbn-9781101987605","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}