Found Obsession

Chapter 72: Mansion of Murders

October 30, 2005

Rose's head throbbed painfully as she stirred awake, the pounding in her skull making her wince. A heavy, relentless hangover had taken hold, leaving her body weak and her mind sluggish.

She cringed, pressing her fingers to her temples in an attempt to dull the ache. Slowly, she took in her surroundings. She was in her room in the private wing, the familiar space offering a fleeting sense of comfort.

But then, little fragments of the night before began to surface. Disjointed memories, blurred and hazy, flooded back in pieces. And with them, a chilling realization.

Elijah.

The fear hit her like a cold wave, her spine stiffening as the nausea churned in her stomach. For a moment, she tried to convince herself it had all been a nightmare, a figment of her intoxicated mind. But then her eyes landed on the glass of water and the small pill sitting neatly beside it on the nightstand.

The aspirin.

Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a dream. It had been very real.

Rose's face went pale-paler than it already was. Her stomach twisted painfully, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She clutched the sheets tightly, her mind racing.

She looked down at herself. She was still wearing the dress from last night, though someone had draped a blanket over her. Her heels were neatly placed in the corner of her room.

Rose stiffened. Downstairs? The words Elijah had whispered last night replayed in her mind. Before getting downstairs?

Her eyes drifted to the aspirin sitting innocently on the nightstand. Her inner voice, usually a steady guide, was frozen, held back as if choking on a cry of fear. That's when she noticed it-a strange, funny smell wafting through the air. It hit her nostrils like a punch, twisting her stomach and making her want to throw up.

Rose sat up slowly, her body trembling as she moved. She forced herself to her feet and grabbed fresh clothes: jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and her shoes. Stumbling to the bathroom, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin, messy hair, and smeared eyeliner stared back at her, a hollow version of herself.

The smell thickened, clinging to the air. She knew that smell all too well. It was a smell she had encountered countless times as a detective. Her stomach churned violently. No. This is a nightmare. I'm still drunk, she thought, clinging desperately to denial.

Rose forced herself to change, washing her face and tying her hair back with trembling hands. She dug through her room, finding her phone and wallet from their hiding spot. Checking the screen, she saw it was already 1 p.m. Why hasn't anyone come to wake me? she wondered, panic mounting.

Slipping her phone and wallet into her pockets, she stared at the aspirin again, nausea bubbling to the surface. Her headache was unbearable, pounding relentlessly against her skull. With shaking hands, she grabbed the pill, swallowed it, and washed it down with the glass of water.

As she lifted the glass, she noticed something-a small, red, folded paper that had been left below the glass. Her trembling fingers picked it out. Before she could unfold it, a piercing, blood-curdling scream shattered the silence, followed by another, and then another. The shrieks ripped through her, sharp and horrifying.

Clutching the red note tightly, Rose forced herself out of the room, her body moving on instinct. Her security guards were beginning to wake, groaning as they stirred from the floor, but they looked groggy and confused. She swallowed.

Rose descended the stairs, the screams growing louder. The smell hit her harder now, unmistakable and revolting. Her pulse raced as she stepped into the ballroom, her breath hitching at the sight before her.