Fifty Shades of Rita (Tim X Rita fanfic)

The Next Morning

Rita woke up that morning, feeling the same as she normally did on mornings before an off-day from work; relieved. Other than thinking she'd seen Moby at work, Rita was just happy to not have to go back to the damned Whole Foods to get yelled at by health nuts.
She stood up to yawn and stretch, went to the bathroom, then went downstairs to make herself some coffee. That was when she saw something strange; a small bit of paper on the kitchen counter. How odd. She picked it up and gasped. It was from Tim. It read:
Dear Rita,
If you're reading this, I'm probably dead. I'm so sorry for what I've put you through. If I really do die tonight, once I finish writing this and put my plan into action, I have to tell you that I love you, and I only did this to protect you. This thing with Moby my fault, and I am going to put it right by killing him. But if you are reading this, I'm guessing you've just woken up, come downstairs to make coffee, and discovered this note on the kitchen counter. (I really am sorry. I hope you never have to read this.) But... if you do, well, you need to do exactly as I say. Take this letter down to the police department and insist there is a dangerous robot living at 1263 Aspen Drive #56. They'll put you into the witness protection program, find Moby, and probably sentence him to life in prison. You'll be safe. And I hope you can find happiness. I really do.
From, Tim
When Rita put the letter back down, she was in tears. She took in a breath and let it back out with a sob. Then, she rushed upstairs and bursted into Tim's room. Empty. She fell to her knees.
Dear God, why? Why would he do this?
She sat there for what felt like ages, then finally wiped her eyes and stood up. If what the letter said was true, she needed to pull herself together and get into action. In fact, perhaps Tim hadn't been killed. Perhaps there was still time...
Rita knew what she had to do, and she knew what she wanted to do. Without even putting on any proper clothing (she was still wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants), she grabbed the letter, hopped in her car, and started on her way. First, she stopped by the local guns and ammo store, bought the most dangerous looking gun she could find, and got back in her car to follow the address. She was going to find Tim herself.
Rita knew if she got the police involved, while they'd try their best to help her, she worried that all their protocols and rules would slow them down. She needed to see Tim. She had a feeling, deep down, that he must still be alive. She knew it, the same way she knew she had to act fast.
The truth was, she did indeed love Tim just as much as he loved her. She had to find him, or she knew she'd never fully recover. She'd never even gotten to tell him her feelings.
Rita reached 1263 Aspen Drive in about three hours, the same amount of time it took Tim to get there. She parked in a discretely shady parking spot and checked the note again for Moby's room number.
"Number fifty-six," She murmured to herself, memorizing it.
She grabbed her gun and a bag from her glove compartment to disguise it (no way she wouldn't get seen carrying around a dangerous looking gun in the daylight), put the gun inside, and got out of her car. She felt shaky on her feet, but she wasn't going to stop now. She couldn't. It was for Tim.
She scaled the steps up to room fifty-six in what felt like some kind of tunnel-vision. Just as she stood, facing the door, she felt more sure of what she was about to do than she had all day. She knocked on the door.