Cynthia Kessler (Toy Obsession Series, Book 1) Page 4

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, sir,” I said calmly. “Now, would you please release my arm? What would passers-by think?”

  “Don’t play coy with me! This isn’t a game. You had better drop this nonsense or pay dearly, do you understand me?”

  “Sir, I’m just trying to get into my car. I’m not playing any games.”

  I could see that he was growing more and more furious with me. His gripped grew firmer. Those hands that I had once adored were now pinning me against my own car. He inched closer toward me to utter something into my ear. His breath was hot, and just for a second, it took me back to those moments when we were lovers, but his words, the harshness of his tone, snapped me back into reality. “I will crush you, do you understand? Whatever you’ve got going on in that twisted little mind of yours, you’d better let it die because I will crush you!”

  It was the last thing he said to me before disappearing into the thick, black night, hoping no doubt that his threat would scare me out of his life for good. It only fueled my anger. I got into my car that night and began to map out the next phase of my plan. And I would have to be careful about implementing it because I was going to get personal, very personal.

  Ever since I’d caught a glimpse of his family photo, I had locked it into my memory. How they all looked so happy, loving and trusting. If I was truly going to unravel him, I’d have to use them to do it. I knew that anything happening to his precious little babies would send his world upside down. And it only took one afternoon to initiate things, one single little trip to their school’s district office to set things into motion.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” asked one of the receptionist behind the counter.

  “Yes, I’d like an application for substitute teaching. I’m thinking about getting my degree in teaching and want to get a feel for it now, and I’m sure you could use more subs on your roster.”

  “Yes, we can. We have such a shortage of them these days that we are grateful for the volunteers,” she said, handing me the application.

  “Oh, I’m sure. There’s this one school in your district that particularly interests me.”

  “Which one is that?

  “Bellevue.”

  “Yes, yes, my daughter goes to that school.”

  “Is that so?” I said. “Well, I’ve heard great things about it and feel like it would make a good impression on me and help me in my career decision.” Truth be told, I heard all these good things from him. It was he who told me all about his daughters’ school and how they were so involved in this club or that school activity. Imagine his surprise when he learned that I was his girls’ substitute. It was too fantastic for words.

  She smiled, “Yes, she’s a junior this year, and loves it there. Ha, maybe you’ll sub her class one day.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’m hoping that I bump into a few girls that I know over there. Good kids. It would knock their socks off.”

  “Well, best of luck to you, and you can turn that in at any time. Just be sure to provide a copy of your high school diploma or GED, forms of ID, and you’ll also have to be fingerprinted.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I walked out of that office one step closer to destroying that perfect little image on the photo. On my class-free days, I’d sub and hopefully, just hopefully, I’d get that call from their school. Then things would get interesting.

  A month passed before I got the call from Bellevue. Though it came on a day when I had classes, it was much too important to pass up. I didn’t want to put off any longer making acquaintances with a certain three teenagers.

  I had been subbing ninth-grade Literature class for three periods when I finally got his youngest daughter, Madison, in my fourth period. She was a straggly thing, still needing to grow into her face and body, and bit of an introvert, sitting on the last row of seats, far-left corner. And during my introduction, she made as little eye contact with me or anybody else as one could imagine for the shy, quiet type, but I saw it as an opportunity to get inside her head, to become friendly since it was likely that none of her peers would or had ever bothered.

  I had given the class its in-class reading assignment and begun to survey the room, walking about the students’ desks when I noticed her doing something completely different.

  “Nice drawing,” I leaned over and whispered to her.

  She gave a half-hearted smile before replying, “Thanks.”

  “Shouldn’t you be reading, though?”

  She hunched her shoulders.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” I assured with a smile. She smiled back, this time with a bit more feeling. “So, what is that supposed to be?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing really, just a sketch of someone’s eyes.” I think I knew where this was going. She had a crush, some boy who she noticed everyday, but had no clue she existed. I would play this up to my advantage.

  “Do they belong to somebody you sort of like?” I asked.

  She nodded yes.

  “I see. And does he go to this school?” Of course, I already knew the answer.

  She nodded yes again.

  “Are you two friends?”

  She hunched her shoulders again.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, he says hi to me sometimes in the hallway.”

  “But he has a girlfriend, right?”

  “Sorta.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, they break up a lot. Right now, they are on a break. Next week they could be back together.”

  “Lucky for you,” I said to her.

  “How?” I had now piqued her interest, but I would leave it at that. The period was almost over, and I wanted to leave her curious.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but the bell will be ringing for your next period shortly.”

  “Well, will you be here tomorrow? Can we talk then?”

  “I’ll tell you what, do you have your own cell phone?” I asked her.

  She nodded yes.

  “I’m going to give you my number and when you get home, you can call me and we’ll talk. Would you like that?” And, of course, I already knew that answer as well.

  I finished off the rest of my day at Bellevue, but didn’t get around to the other two teens, although I thought I might have caught a glimpse of the eldest briefly in the hall between classes. Still, for me, it was a successful day. I had planted the seed in the youngest child. I saw her vulnerability and played to that. And there was no doubt in my mind that she would call. She was desperate for friendship and even more for his attention. I was this stranger offering her a way to obtain both.

  I had just gotten back to my dorm room around four-thirty when my phone rang. She was an anxious little thing.

  “Hello.” It was her.

  “M-Ms. Kessler?”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Hi, it’s Madison. Is it okay that I called now?”

  “Yes, sure.” I put my things down and stretched out over my bed. I had a feeling this would be a lengthy call. I had better get comfortable.

  “What did you mean at school today? Ya know, about me being lucky?” Yes, a very eager one.

  “Well, the way I see it,” I said to her, “is that if this guy was completely committed to his girlfriend, then they wouldn’t break up so much. If they spend as much time apart as they do together, then that means someone else could get his attention. That someone just must put herself out there, let him know how she feels.”

  She was quiet for a second then finally spoke up, “Well, did this work for you?” If she only knew.

  “As a matter of fact, it did. There was someone. He was married, of course, but I didn’t let that stop me. I saw what I wanted, and if he wasn’t interested, then he could have said no, but he didn’t. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I think I do. But what about his wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, I mean...you know, I mean, won�
�t she be mad if she finds out?”

  “Madison, let me ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Who do you care about: this boy or his girlfriend?”

  “I care about him.”

  “Exactly, so you shouldn’t worry about what the girlfriend thinks. You should focus all your energy on him. Understand?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good. Listen, I’ve got to get off now, but remember what I said. If you want this boy, then you must make him interested in you. He’s never gonna know you exist...really exist if you’re too scared to talk to him.”

  “Okay. I’ll work on that. Can I call you again sometime?”

  “Sure, anytime. I think you’re a sweet girl. Don’t forget to think about what I’ve told you.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  I went to bed that night feeling particularly satisfied about the day. It was a day that played out much like a game of chess, with me making the first move by setting his daughter, one of several pawns, into position to checkmate him, the opposing king.

  You’ll have to forgive me, priest, if I jump around a bit in the chronology of my story. It has been, after all, twenty years since all of this took place. Sketchy memory aside, I’m an open book. I cannot say that this has always been the case. In fact, I gave a certain court-appointed professional a run for his money when I was first taken into the state’s custody.

  Now that she was in the custody of the state, awaiting her trial, Cynthia Kessler could no longer avoid the company of armed guards, there to ensure safe arrival to her destination. She stood at the door, donned in an orange jumpsuit, until the squeal of grinding hinges echoed the corridor. On the other side was a stranger.

  “Please, come in, Ms. Kessler. Have a seat.” He waited for her to be seated before continuing. “I’m Dr. Danzell, Jeffrey Danzell,” he said, extending his hand. “Do you know why I’m here?” He was an attractive man, clean cut, perhaps fifteen or twenty years her senior.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Ms. Kessler, I’m a forensic psychologist. I’ve been appointed by the court to assess your state of mind at the time of your offense.”

  “Okay.”

  “First thing’s first. How do you feel?” he asked while positioning his pen against the blank notebook paper, hoping to record every word that parted her lips. “Ms. Kessler, did you not hear me? I’m here to help. I’ll need to spend time with you to examine your mental state during the days and months leading up to and at the time of your crimes. Now, please answer me. How do you feel?”

  Having raised her eyes to meet his, she could see the concern on his face. He just wanted to help her. “I’m okay I guess, but I’d rather have chosen what day to make a fashion statement. Orange is not particularly my color.”

  Between laughter, he responded, “You manage to have a bit of levity in light of everything that’s transpired. You’re probably going to need to cling to that going forward. And I’m afraid you didn’t give us much choice as far as your apparel, but don’t worry. I promise that at your trial you’ll wear something a bit more conservative.”

  “That makes me feel better.”

  “Now, back to your case. I will be frank with you, no judge or jury is going to take lightly an insanity plea. Your defense must to prove that you had this “moment of madness,” that something or someone caused you to flip—impairing your ability to acknowledge and/or appreciate any wrong-doing—thus, triggering the events that followed. My job, Ms. Kessler, will be to help shed some light on all of this. My psychological assessment will be crucial.”

  “But something did!” she insisted. “And I remember thinking that it was okay because God told me to do it.”

  “Ms. Kessler, please. I’m simply here to evaluate you, not to judge. May we proceed?”

  She nodded. As he continued his line of questioning, she began to feel already tried and convicted. If only she could have stepped outside herself before it happened and stopped the chain of events? Instead, she remained whole in bodily form and spirit and went about her doings in the quiet of night. For this, she was faced with the challenge of convincing twelve strangers that it was not she who had done any of those terrible deeds, but something else inside of her.

  “Ms. Kessler, I’ll need you to recollect everything that happened that night. Take your time and simply tell me the truth. It’s important that you leave absolutely nothing out. Every detail matters…for your sake. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Now start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”

  Cynthia inhaled deeply before slowly releasing the trapped air from her lungs. She blinked hard a few times then spoke, “You know, this is quite a story for the media with the ways in which they spin things. All the hype they create. Sensationalism. Fabrications. Lies. One rag even claimed that I’d done it for the publicity. How sick is that? I guess I can’t blame them for pushing that theory or their own agendas. I mean, how many college-aged women get plastered across the television for something like this? You read all the time about men doing crazy stuff. Yet, here I am, sitting her, confessing to crimes I thought only committed by others. Ironic, huh?”

  “Ms. Kessler,” he said persistently, “please just tell me what happened that night.”

  Cynthia said nothing, only gazed at the wall. She had now retreated to silence.

  “Ms. Kessler.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now. Tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Ms. Kessler, tell me something!” he demanded. It was a bit of a shock for her to hear him step outside of his collected demeanor. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. Is that what you want? You have to trust me.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said, rising from her seat to be escorted away. “Tomorrow!”

  Within seconds, she’d vanished behind the door, having left him sitting there irritated. With the left arm of his reading glasses sandwiched between his teeth, he realized how much more difficult working with her would be than he’d anticipated. This first session, while brief, had proven one thing: she wasn’t ready to accept the consequences of her actions. She wanted to continue to run. Though she had physically been imprisoned, perhaps she’d hoped to remain a fugitive both emotionally and mentally. For now, she’d done just that.

  Today, his demeanor toward me was completely different than it had been over the last several weeks. His deep, penetrating eyes seemed to want only to burn a hole through my soul, and after class, he beckoned me to come to his office.

  Though I would put up a brave front, I was a bit anxious when I knocked on his office door.

  “Come in,” he said. When I entered, he didn’t bother to offer me a seat, preferring to get straight to his point. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you honestly think that? You mock me with these childish antics, trying to use my own children. I could burn you for that. I should burn you.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Save it,” he interrupted while moving from behind his desk toward me. He now stood in front of me, staring down into my eyes. His face had softened a bit.

  “What do you want from me? You wouldn’t hurt me here. Everybody would—” Again, he interrupted, this time placing his index finger up to my mouth.

  “Shh.” I was freaking out on the inside at his behavior. I thought this man despised me, and now he was acting as if he’d rip my clothes off right there.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m giving you what you want,” he said, closing in on my right lobe, tracing it with delicate nibbles. My knees wanted to buckle under me—like goo—but I managed to hold it together. My mind raced both with confusion and excitement. I didn’t know whether to push him away or go with it. I entertained any thoughts of resisting for about a second. Despite everything, I’d missed this. I’d missed him.

  He pulled me over to the small couch underneath the double windows and began to peel off my clothing, one layer at a
time. And in those moments, I became his once again, allowing him to...Riiiiiinggg! Riiiiiinggg!

  A buzzing phone brought things to an abrupt halt. He rushed up to answer it while I collected myself on the couch by smoothing out my hair and clothes. This was not supposed to happen. Was he now playing games to throw me off my own strategy?

  “Yes,” he said into the receiver. “Of course. Okay, bye-bye.” And that was it. Now what, I thought?

  “I should leave,” I said.

  “No, wait. Meet me.”

  “I don’t understand. Meet you where?”

  “At the Hotel Lemans downtown. 7:30.”

  “I’m a little confused.”

  “Just be there, tonight.”

  “I don’t know. I should go,” I said before attempting to make escape.

  “Tonight. 7:30,” he reiterated as I vacated his office.

  I rushed back to my dorm to clear my head. I was spinning with questions, concerned that this might all be some part of a bigger scheme to hurt me in some way. Yet, I was intrigued by the idea that maybe he still wanted me, but not so much that I wouldn’t be guarded or prepared with an arsenal of my own.

  Five hours later, I found myself standing outside the professor’s hotel door, hesitant to alert him that I was there. My mind became flooded with memories of the first real boyfriend that I ever had, Robert Delgado. Robert had a childhood scar just under his left temple. It’s a funny thing about scars. Some are only flesh wounds while others, particularly the ones you can’t see, run deep—those left by an absent father or abusive loved one, perpetuated by constant betrayal or prejudice or even rejection. So, when someone pulls you into his orbit—and you become a fixture—then pushes you away, either another scar forms and joins all the others, or this deepens one that was already there.

  I contemplated this while standing there, my stomach in knots, my heart fluttering after each knock. Asche’s rejection opened old wounds, twisted me up inside, and drove me to do the things I had already done. Despite all that, I was still willing to turn a blind eye because my obsession with this man was even stronger. And whatever awaited me on the other side, well, it was just a chance I would take.