Cynthia Kessler (Toy Obsession Series, Book 1) Read online

  Copyright Notice

  Cynthia Kessler

  Toy Obsession Series, Book 1

  Copyright 2017 by Tonya Snow-Cook

  Kindle Edition

  The right of Tonya Snow-Cook to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this eBook in any format.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  For more information about the author or to subscribe to the mailing list, visit: http://www.tonyasnowcook.com

  Contents

  Also by Tonya Snow-Cook

  Summary

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Want More?

  Also by Tonya Snow-Cook

  NOVELS

  Marti

  POETRY

  Wandering Places

  SHORT STORIES

  Perfect Timing

  TOY OBSESSION SERIES

  Cynthia Kessler (Book 1)

  Amanda Reynolds (Book 2)

  Asher Kessler (Book 3)

  Summary

  Cynthia Kessler was a driven young lady, in college with a bright future ahead—that is until she met him, one of her English professors, and became consumed by him. She became consumed to the point of obsession, an obsession that led to the unthinkable.

  Now in prison, facing her last few moments of life, Cynthia recounts her dramatic tale in this Psychological Suspense Thriller.

  Book 1

  Prologue

  His lean figure was propped against the lockers, curly brown mane, dark skin, hazel eyes. I had always been drawn to those who had uniqueness about them, and the two-inch scar just under his left temple set him apart from all the other high school boys.

  A bit of a social leper, he never even noticed me four lockers down, but that wouldn’t stop me. I had in sight who I wanted, and I was aimed to get him. Challenges were made for those not afraid to take them, something I’d learned from my grandfather before he died, and I was not beyond using clever manipulations to meet one.

  While at his blindside, I approached and rubbed my index finger along the facial blemish. “Does that hurt?”

  Naturally, startled, he jerked his head. The scowl seemed to disappear after he got a glimpse of my face. “No, it happened when I was a kid.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I’m fascinated by your scar.”

  “It’s cool. I’m used to it,” he said, smiling. “People want to know how I got it.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “Trust me, the scar itself is much more interesting. I fell off the monkey bars in second grade and hit the side of my face on a small rock or something. I was a klutz back then.”

  “Dude, you could have taken your eye out.”

  “I know, right? So glad I didn’t. I don’t think the pirate look would’ve suited me. I’d have had to change my name to Patch or something.”

  “That’s funny, but for I know your name really is Patch. We have exactly introduced ourselves.”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Robert…Robert Delgado.”

  “I’m Cynthia Kessler.”

  He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.”

  NOW, well into our senior year, Robert and I had been together for two years. These last couple months, though, I’d suspected that he’s had wondering eyes. Not that he hadn’t played a part, but Tracy Thompson, cheerleader and all-around Valley girl, had been sniffing around him more and more, hoping to sink her hooks into him, no doubt. It was just a matter of time before something went down.

  “Why is she always around?” I said, cutting my eyes over in Tracy’s direction. She was such a pretentious twit, surrounded by her flock of wannabes, fawning over her, the lot of them cackling over the most trivial of things probably.

  “Who?”

  “Robert, don’t play dumb with me. You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Tracy?”

  “Yes, Tracy.”

  “That girl doesn’t want me.”

  “Then tell her to get a life and stay out of your face.”

  “You know you’re being ridiculous right now. The girl’s been asking me to help her with Trigonometry sometimes. We have the class together. That’s it. You really need to stop listening to those so-called friends of yours.”

  “This didn’t come from them. I’ve seen this will my own eyes.”

  “Seen what exactly?”

  “You and her giggling in the hall; her playing in your hair. What’s any of that got to do with math?”

  “Give it a rest, Cynthia. I told you the truth. If you can’t handle that, then maybe I’m not the right person for you.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re not.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to class. I don’t have time for this right now.”

  “This ain’t over, Robert.” I insisted, as he disappeared around the corner, headed to his next class. “This is so not over!”

  Her cellblock in St. James Women’s Correctional Facility was swept with loud clanking against bars as she passed the cells of fellow inmates. Each six-by-eight hole had either a single or set of steel bedsteads mounted to one side. In the corner, there sat a steel sink/toilet unit. As a fresh inmate, she’d let the faucet drip water at night until the constant tapping became her lullaby. The event most feared now awaited its next individual. Many had stood before judgment, but only one verdict ended it all—GUILTY. In a little over an hour, it would be over for another. Three sequential injections would send lethal doses of drugs through Cynthia Kessler’s body, ultimately causing until her heart to stop. For the last week, her only thoughts were this day, and now it was here. There was no more time for redemption—what was done was done and what was to be would be.

  Dragging her feet along the cement floor, she moved, while shackled and chained, toward her fate. On each side of her walked a female guard in khaki uniform. They arrived at the room where a priest sat at a table reading scripture. It was her last request. Cynthia sat across from the priest. He said nothing, only listened as she began to speak.

  YOU’VE probably never been so drawn or connected to someone who possessed so much intellect and knowledge that it nearly drove you insane, but I have. Of course, there were plenty of books, journals, and encyclopedias filled with information, but these paged possessions could never be as appealing to me as he. His physical appearance, those facial features, I dare say, nearly repulsed me. Oddly enough, I found his hands, his perfect hands with their perfectl
y manicured nails, the most wonderful instruments. I admired how they swept across the blackboard beautiful words that he’d hoped would leap into the air and fall into each of our heads.

  He would lecture about all sorts of things then he would—with his attaché case gripped firmly in his right hand and a shuffle of books and papers secured under his left arm—vanish through the door, leaving us with only his echoed steps as he wandered down the hall to I never knew where. God forbid, I ever attempted to follow this man. Though secretly, I’d grown to want him not only for his mind, but also for all the secrets and little indiscretions he rightfully kept from me.

  While I would never neglect my other studies, I began to place more concentration into this one class because he taught it. This became evident in my grades, my essay writing improving from C- to A- by semester’s end. And I was certain—despite his principle never to praise, and the fact that he showed not even the slightest sign of approval, as in a smile or a nod—that he was pleased. One of his pupils had treasured his intellect so much so that she made a complete transformation her study habits.

  Strangely enough, I felt this was what he needed and wanted—a student who understood that what he imparted needed to be heard, learned, and put into application. His own arrogance would not allow him to think any differently. And I never begrudged him of this arrogance. After all, he was an important man, more important than most people I’d ever met. He’d stop at nothing to ensure that his pupils walked away better people having studied under his tutelage. Unfortunately, there was a price to pay for his inability to step away from his work long enough to appreciate life outside of it, but I mustn’t jump ahead of myself.

  It was by mid-semester that I found myself wanting more and more to make obvious my intentions. Instead, I continued to use discretion, never doubting that I’d eventually have him. This kind of obsession was something new to me. It drove me to stop at nothing to have him, made me believe it was something I must do.

  You have no other purpose or focus once you are a puppet to obsession. You become that wooden toy whose every move is controlled by someone else. This was who I had become. His routine coffee before class, I had to be the one who fetched it for him. And the ironic thing is he never knew that it was me—it would already be placed atop his desk when he’d arrive to class, steaming hot, black with two sugars. I never wanted him to know how badly I yearned for him, not yet anyway. I needed to study him first so that I would impress him as much outside the classroom as I did inside it once I did approach him with my intentions.

  I sat up front and studied his every move—hand gestures, facial expressions, the way he double-tied his shoes to keep from tripping, I gathered, how he combed his hair, the move of his body against his chair whenever he’d sit for a spell. Of course, this fixation went beyond those four walls holding me captive to his instruction. To satisfy curiosity, I began to follow him.

  Never alerting him of my presence, I’d follow him to the campus library or Art History building or anywhere on campus he’d go. For weeks, I did this, and he suspected nothing. I had been particularly careful to keep the stalking, as most would call it, unrevealed. And the shadowing never occurred beyond the campus; it was just too risky. After all, a student/professor relationship was taboo despite the surprising number of those who engaged in them. My intent, priest, was that he’d never know my intentions until I was ready to divulge them.

  On this particular day, he wore a dark blue wool suit with a light blue dress shirt and paisley tie. On his feet was a pair of brown Stacy Adams with the finest luster—either the result of a night of buffing or a recent purchase. Though he’d never worn jewelry, his ring finger now had a gold wedding band. The sight of that circular band of metal cut me to the core. It meant that in addition to whatever emotional baggage he may have had, he likely had ties that he was unwilling to severe.

  Still, the challenge of it all excited something in me. Despite there being a wife and possibly children in the mix, I was determined to make him mine. I desperately wanted him, enough to seduce him away from his current reality. You see at that point, priest, I had no regret about what I was doing because nothing mattered at the time more than having this man.

  Regret. Regret. It never seemed to escape her thoughts. It haunted her from the minute she stepped foot into that prison, almost otherworldly, and got a healthy dose of her new reality. Cynthia was now numbered among a community of the lawless, some of whom would become friend while others a foe.

  She entered the correctional facility under a new set of directives—issued by the state’s Department of Corrections—which aimed to improve the conditions of prison stay vastly. This would be one of only four states that enforced these lesser restrictive housing mandates for such criminals. The mindset, which drove these orders, was that death-row inmates would likely spend upwards of ten-to-fifteen years behind bars before execution, many of who would die of natural causes, which would be sufficient punishment in any case. Subjecting these prisoners to twenty-two or more hours of daily solitary confinement, as was the case in most prisons in the country, would essentially be a second form of punishment. Considering the year, it was quite forward thinking.

  As such, the facility integrated its thirty death-row inmates into general population and granted all prisoners of the unit the same privileges and access to resources and programs. Cynthia would not only be permitted access to a common room, but also be allowed to exercise, recreate, and dine with other inmates. Solitary confinement would be limited only to any infractions that she committed. And, so, she was now here in this place about to charter a new course.

  Besides providing the inmates their daily doses of what they referred to as “slop,” the chow hall was a hub for gossip, a place for them to sit around and talk about and size up all the new faces or who had already been assaulted that day or even last night or maybe even about who was going to score the smokes the next time. So, when Cynthia entered the hall for the very first time, naturally she drew attention.

  “Who’s the new broad?” Leila, one of the long-time female inmates, asked members of her crew sitting at her table.

  The one they called Mooch spoke up, “Some chick they say went for the insanity plea.”

  “Who her? She doesn’t look crazy to me. She looks easy,’’ said Leila while nodding her head, already licking her chops.

  Leila was a hard-nose, in for second-degree murder after shooting her husband close range for beating her over of the course of their four-year marriage. She got the lesser charge because of the circumstances. Still, she’d be spending the rest of her life behind these walls. Though she was once married, Leila was the type who had more contempt for men, having always had opposition with them. Her being in prison surrounded by all these women, each of them different and at her disposal, was like giving a bank robber the combination to the safe. Naturally, then, she set her sights on this new girl; after all, she was fresh meat and was likely to be an easy target.

  “Yo, Lei, I wouldn’t mess with that chick. You know how those crazies can be. I wouldn’t—”

  “Don’t tell me, shit, Mooch! You forgot already who runs this joint?

  Mooch was in first-degree felony murder. She and her fiancé went on a spree of larceny, robbing convenient stores along the coast of Florida and mom-and-pops in Mississippi, but were eventually caught in Louisiana when their crime spree turned deadly. According to testimony, they made a stop in a Shreveport mini-mart to purchase items. Apparently, the store manager had seen them appear on Crime Stoppers and placed the call to police while they are busy grabbing chips and beer in her store. One of two perpetrators noticed the manager on the phone and confronted her. Store cameras show that the altercation concluded with Mooch whipping out her gun and firing twice at the woman, killing her. The two, Mooch and her fiancé George, were picked up a week later in New Orleans after attempting yet another store robbery. Mooch was convicted to life without parole and George got twenty-five to life. They
were the poster children for the world’s dumbest criminals.

  “Of course not, Lei, I just mean that she might not be down is all.”

  “Who said that bitch has a choice in the matter? Whatever I want, don’t I always take? Now, go over there and see what you can find out. You’re stinking up this joint with all your blab. I can’t even think.”

  Think! Think about what? Leila had never thought about anything or anyone since she’d been there the last twelve years of her life. At thirty-nine with two high school-aged children, neither of whom ever visited much because she wanted it that way, she was resign to the fact that this was her life, and she had to break others inside these walls before these very walls broke her.

  A few minutes later, Mooch returned to the table to deliver the goods.

  Casually leaning over toward Mooch’s left ear while looking straight ahead at the cafeteria workers, Leila probed for answers, “So, who is she? What’s she in for?” She insisted on being completely discrete when plotting against others.

  “Her name’s Cynthia, Cynthia Kessler. And they say she’s in for first-degree murder. Said she was crazy when she did it.”

  “How many years?”

  “Naw, they threw the book at her. She got the death penalty because it was premeditated.”

  “I thought it was an insanity plea?”

  “That’s what she claimed, but the jury didn’t buy it. Saw right through the crazy hype.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting,” Leila replied, calculating her next moves. The new girl excited her. This was going to be the perfect takedown. “Okay, here’s what you do. Go get in line and strike up some conversation. Size her up for me. You got that?”

  Like a good little flunky, Mooch gave Leila her word before darting off and slipping into the serving line behind Cynthia. Mooch then purposefully bumped into her to get her attention.