“Get up, Sam.”
I can’t see Monica, but I can imagine what she looks like. Stomach bulging under her striking red dress, black hair falling loose around her face, eyes flashing. Gun pointed at my husband’s face.
“Monica.” His voice is hoarse. “What are you doing?” “I said get up.”
His face disappears from view. I lift my head just enough to see him standing there, his hands raised in the air. I can move a little by squirming, but not very much. I shift over to the side so the radiator edge isn’t slicing my forearm anymore. Stupid radiator. That thing is so sharp, it could cut through…
Oh my God, could it cut through the duct tape?
“You’re unbelievable, Sam.” Monica’s voice is filled with venom. “Here I am, offering you everything, and all you want is her.”
“But she’s my wife,” Sam says. And he says it so simply, like it’s an immutable fact that once a person is wed, they are mated for life. As he says those words, I don’t understand how I ever could have doubted his fidelity. That is Sam all over—undyingly faithful.
“But she can’t give you anything you want!” Monica is practically shouting now. “She doesn’t fulfill any of your needs!”
“Trust me, Monica. She fulfills my needs.”
I squirm again, moving my body upward until the sharp edge of the radiator is against my wrist. It’s difficult, considering my wrists and ankles are bound, and also, the sleeping pills are starting to hit me. Keeping my eyes open is an effort and my body feels really heavy.
Painfully heavy.
“I can give you more though,” Monica says. “I’m ready to give it to you.”
Sam lowers his voice a notch. “We talked about this in your apartment the other night, Monica. I told you no.”
I can’t even focus on what they’re saying anymore because my wrists have made contact with the radiator. If I know anything about the duct tape
from work, I know it’s cheap crap. If I can just get the right angle…
“I’m not talking about the other night, Sam.” And now her voice has softened. “I’m talking about three years ago. At the university.”
“The university?”
“I was in your linear algebra class,” she says. “I came to every single one of your office hours.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t remember her. I’m not even looking at his face, but I can hear it in his voice.
“My hair was blond then,” she says. “I dyed it when I saw that picture of Abby you’ve got in your office. But I was there every week. You said you thought I was really promising.”
“I… I’m sure I meant it, but…”
“And we had coffee that time after class,” she adds, her voice rising in volume. “At Starbucks. You bought me a cappuccino.”
He coughs loudly. “You and I… had coffee together? Alone?”
“Well…” She hesitates. “It wasn’t alone exactly. I was with two other students and… you treated all of us. But you couldn’t take your eyes off me the whole time.”
“I… I’m not sure if…”
“And then one day,” she goes on, not waiting for a response, “when we were alone during your office hours, I tried to kiss you, and you just…” Her voice is wrenched with emotion. “You jumped out of the way. Like you were dodging me.”
Sam is quiet.
When she speaks again, Monica sounds furious. “You really don’t remember any of that?”
“Well… um… stuff like that… it kind of happens… a lot.” “And you’re never even tempted?”
He snorts. “Of course not. I’m married.”
My husband deserves a medal. I want to jump up and hug him, except for the fact that I’m completely immobilized.
But then I feel the tape ripping under the sharp edge of the radiator. And a second later, my wrists are free! I can move my arms again! My legs are still bound, but I’m halfway there. As long as Monica keeps her eyes on
Sam and not me. And also, as long as I don’t fall asleep, which is becoming a distinct possibility right now.
“Sam.” Her voice softens. “It isn’t too late for us. Look at me—I’m having your baby. And I can tell you’re attracted to me.”
“Monica, come on…”
I grit my teeth. Would it kill him to pretend to be interested in her for a few minutes, just until we can get the gun away from her? People do that in movies all the time, and it seems to work at least occasionally. I just need another minute. One more minute to get my ankles free.
“You wouldn’t have to even do anything,” she says. “Abby’s already taken a bottle full of sleeping pills, so she’s probably already unconscious.”
No, I’m not. I’m getting my damn ankles loose. Although to be fair, if I didn’t have a ton of adrenaline pumping through me right now, I probably would be unconscious.
“A bottle of sleeping pills?” Sam gasps. “You… you poisoned her?
Abby…”
“It’s for the best,” she says. “Don’t you see? She’s all wrong for you. It would be so easy to let her go…”
“Jesus Christ…”
“You know this is the right thing to do, Sam. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore. I’ve done the hardest part.”
And now my ankles are free. Except it doesn’t help me as much as you would think. I’m wedged in this tiny little space, I’m half-asleep from a bottle of sleeping pills, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to leap out and overpower anyone. I don’t think I can.
“Monica.” Sam’s voice is calm but I know him well enough to hear the underlying panic. “We’ve got to get Abby to a hospital. I swear, we’ll figure out a way to help you with… well, everything. But please, Monica. Don’t…” And now his voice breaks. “Please let me take her to a hospital.”
“God.” Monica’s voice is filled with disgust. “You’re pathetic. Even when something a million times better is staring you in the face, you don’t want it. My mother was totally wrong about you.” She snorts. “Well, too bad it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for her. For both of you.”
In the entire time I’ve known Sam, I’ve never seen him throw a punch. Correction: we’ve never been in a situation where him throwing a punch would make even remote sense. He’s not some drunk who gets into bar
fights. Yes, he’s in good physical condition thanks to that insurance- lowering gym membership, but he doesn’t go around punching people.
But I manage to sit up just in time to see him lunge at Monica.
As he’s doing it, the gun goes off, the shot echoing through the apartment. Wow, that’s loud. I don’t know if she got him or not, but he’s got his left hand on her right wrist, and she’s screaming. It takes him a few seconds, but between his much greater strength and her abdominal girth, she falls to the floor.
But she’s still got the damn gun.
I manage to sit up, but it takes every ounce of my strength. I feel like I’m moving through molasses. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do anything at all to help Sam. And what’s more, now that I’m standing, I can make out the blood on the floor. Actually, quite a lot of blood. And now I can see the crimson seeping through Sam’s shirt.
And that’s when I see the door to our walk-in closet crack open. Gertie.
I watch in horror as she ventures out and sees all the blood on the floor. She probably has no idea it’s all Sam’s. I see the panic growing on her face. She’s going to try to get Sam off Monica. If she gets involved, it will be two against one. And Monica still has the gun in a death grip in her right hand.
I don’t care if I have only one ounce of strength left in my body. I can’t let Gertie and Monica win. I’ve got to stop this.
Move, Abby. Move!
My body obeys. Reluctantly at first, but then I’m propelling myself across the room, at Gertie. I feel like I don’t even entirely have control over my arms and legs anymore, but against all odds, they’re doing what I want them to do. I lunge at Gertie, knocking her against the wall. And just before I do, my eye lock with Monica’s for a split second, and she lifts the gun in her hand…
The sound of gunfire echoes through the room for the second time. My heart pounds as the same crimson on Sam’s shirt leaks from a hole in Gertie’s left temple. Gertie’s lips form a shocked O, two seconds before she collapses to the ground.
“Mom!” Monica screams.
Sam, startled by the gunshot, somehow allows Monica to scramble out from under him. We both watch in silence as Monica rushes to Gertie’s
side, as fast as she can, given the load she’s carrying. She bends down beside her mother, the tears forming in her eyes. “Mommy…”
Sam looks shell-shocked—he’s as pale as I’ve ever seen him. He lifts his left hand to touch his forehead, and he’s shaking badly. His shirt sleeve is drenched in blood. “Holy shit,” he breathes.
“Sam,” I manage.
My head spins seconds before I collapse like a rag doll against the floor. I’m so out of it that I don’t even realize it’s happening until I’m on the floor. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer.
“Abby?” He drags himself across the room to me in a half-crawl. He grabs my clammy hand in his. “You’re awake.”
“Yes,” I manage. “Barely.”
“Hang in there,” he says, “we’re going to get you to the hospital.” He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from my face. He looks white as a sheet—I wonder how much blood he’s lost. “I promise. I just need to go in the living room and get my phone. Okay?”
“Don’t leave me alone,” I whisper.
“It’ll be for only half a minute. I’ll be right back.” “No,” Monica’s voice interrupts us. “You won’t.”
I use every last bit of strength to lift my eyes to look at Monica. She’s glaring at us, her eyes moist and red-rimmed. The gun—she still has the gun. I forgot all about it. I can’t keep track anymore. I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired…
“She’s dead,” she hisses at us. “My mother is dead.” “You’re the one who shot her,” Sam points out.
“I was aiming for her.” Monica’s eyes are like daggers as she lifts the gun in the air. “And this time, I won’t miss.”
Sam’s eyes widen when he sees what she’s doing. Honestly, I don’t know how I ever doubted his loyalty to me, because the first thing he does is hurl himself in front of me, so if Monica does fire a bullet, it will have to go through him first. I want to tell him not to sacrifice himself for me, but I can’t. My eyes are drifting shut—words would be far too much effort for me.
“You’ll have to kill me first,” he says to her. “Don’t be stupid, Sam.”
He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his hand squeeze mine.
“That’s really what you’re choosing?” she says incredulously. “Her?” “That’s right,” he says. “I’m choosing Abby.”
My hero.
I’m going to die knowing how much my husband loves me. That’s worth something.
My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I hear the click of a gun being cocked. And then the explosion of gunfire for the third time.
