Obsession Level: MAX

My name was Eden Cargill. I had a secret. The numbers hovering over people’s heads were visible to me. Those digits represented a person’s malice toward me. Most people’s values were between 0 and 50. The cranky driver on the road hit about 20. The editor breathing down my neck for my next draft was a 45. So long as the value did not exceed 60, I felt pretty much safe. That changed when I moved into an old neighborhood. To save money, I rent an apartment on the top floor. The landlady handed me the keys with a smile. The number over her head was 5. She was harmless. Breathing a sigh of relief, I hauled my heavy luggage up the stairs. The elevator was out of order. I lived on the sixth floor. By the fourth floor, I was out of breath. The lights in the stairwell flickered on and off. The sound-activated light seemed a little faulty. I stomped my foot hard. The lights didn’t come on. Then came the click of a lock turning amid the darkness. My neig

To avoid potential run-ins with Logan, I started heading out before dawn and coming back after dark. I did everything to steer clear of his schedule. Little did I know, there was a second threat closer than I thought. It was Cameron Littlejohn, the new guy at the office. Cameron was an average-looking guy with a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He looked like the honest, simple type. The malice value above his head never budged from a 10, which was well within the normal range. He would grab me a drink or pick up my delivered packages at the office. To me, he was a helpful and kind colleague. One day, I worked late into the night. Cameron and I were the only ones left in the office. I wanted to grab a cup of coffee in the pantry. While passing Cameron’s desk, I noticed him staring at the monitor, except the person on the screen was me. More specifically, it was me at home in my pajamas. It wasn’t candid photos. No, it was pictures from security footage. I pul

Logan’s home was spotless to the point of being clinical. Everything was minimalist, a palette of black, white, and gray, devoid of unnecessary ornaments. There was very little furniture and not even a TV. A huge carpet lay, crimson in color, in the center of the living room.Fear kept me from stepping on the rug. Instead, I stuck close to the wall. “Feel free to sit wherever.” Logan poured me a drink. It was his own cup, a black mug. Cupping the drink, I could feel my palms burn. “Bathroom’s that way. I’ve put out a fresh towel for you. “You should change out of your wet clothes.” He handed me one of his white shirts. I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The bathroom was only stocked with the essentials—shampoo, body wash, and a single toothbrush. It appeared he lived alone. I took a quick shower and put on his shirt. The shirt carried a faint scent of fir, the exact smell lingering on him. I folded back the sleeves and stared at

The rain continued to pour. The air in the alleyway was thick with a sickening stench of blood. I stared vacantly at the pink value of 9,999+ hovering over Logan’s head. My mind went blank. Cameron slumped in a corner, and there was no telling whether he was dead or alive. Judging by the slight rise in his chest, I reckoned he was passed out. Logan didn’t plan on killing him. Maybe he just didn’t want to take a life right in front of me. “Can you walk?” I shook my head. Letting out a sigh, Logan swept me into his arms. I pressed my face against his blood-stained chest, listening to his strong heartbeats, a sharp contrast to my absolute terror. “We’re going home.” He carried me out of the alleyway. In the back, Cameron jerked and let out a pleading whimper. Logan stopped in his tracks. Without looking back, he kicked back with his heel. A pebble flung out and hit Cameron right in the back of the head. The world went quiet. Back in the apartment, Logan

“You got the wrong idea.” I tried to explain. “I don’t know him that well. I’m just renting his place…” “Cut the crap!” Stuart slapped me hard in the face. “Don’t get smart with me!” It was a bumpy ride all the way until the van pulled up outside an abandoned chemical plant. Bound to a chair, I was surrounded by oil barrels, the air filled with a pungent chemical odor.Stuart dialed Logan’s number and got through to him for once. “Hello?” “I’ve got your girl. “If you want her to live, come to the chemical plant in the western suburbs alone. “Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll kill her.” The line went quiet. The silence was so long that I thought Logan had hung up. I was nothing but a disobedient pet to him after all. “Fine.” As despair washed over me, he spoke. It was just a word, but it carried immense weight. “Don’t touch her.“If there’s even a scratch on her, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”Even through the phone, the biting chill from h