My head is spinning. I don’t know if it’s from whatever was in the orange juice or the fact that Gertie and Monica are suddenly co-conspirators, and possibly even mother and daughter. Is this a dream? Am I hallucinating this? It certainly can’t be real!
“You…” I make my gaze focus on Gertie, which is becoming increasingly difficult. “You’re Monica’s mother?”
“Oh, you’re quick,” Gertie laughs. “Maybe you are smart enough to be with Sam.”
“But,” I sputter. “I met Monica’s mother. I was at her apartment the other day. She… you’re not her.”
Monica sneers. “That was my stepmother, Louise. How could you think that was my mother? She’s nothing like me!”
I look between Monica and Gertie, and now I finally see it—the resemblance. It’s in the eyes and the chin. But I’m starting to get the feeling there’s more of a similarity than just the superficial. I remember what Cynthia said, about Monica’s “crazy mother” always showing up.
“I should thank you, Abby,” Gertie says, her eyes glinting. “When Sam first came to work to see you and he told me he was a math professor at the same school my daughter was attending, I told her right away this was someone she needed to get to know. Didn’t I, Monica?”
Monica nods. “I signed up for his class the very next semester. And… well, my mother was right, as usual. Sam and I fell in love instantly.”
“After I engineered my early retirement, I told Monica just what to say to get hired,” Gertie says proudly. “I told her to mention the fiber yogurt commercials and you’d be falling over yourself to hire her.”
They played me like a violin. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I have to grip the table to keep from falling out of my seat.
“I knew how desperate you were for a baby,” Gertie continues. “After you managed to arrange that adoption, I was worried you’d pin down Sam permanently, but… well, we found a way to take care of that. And after the adoption fell through, you were willing to do… well, anything. And if you
had any doubts, I knew I’d be able to dispel them when we talked on the phone.”
My vision blurs for a moment, and I blink until it comes back in focus. “On the phone?”
Monica’s lips curl into a smile. “You asked to speak with my mother.” She nods her head in Gertie’s direction. “So you did.”
The woman with the out of state area code was Gertie. How could I have failed to recognize her voice?
“But then Denise figured you out,” I say. “So you had to get rid of her.” Monica snorts. “Please. Denise didn’t figure me out. I’m so much smarter than her—than either of you. I wanted her to catch me rifling through her desk. Then I took a long lunch so she could search my cubicle
and find those pills.” “But… why?”
“Because I knew she’d call you.” She rolls her eyes. “You might not have known this, but Denise thought the world of you. Whenever you weren’t around, it was always, ‘Well, Abigail does it this way, so why can’t you?’ Or, “Abigail never leaves early—why are you going home to your family?’ I could tell she regretted what happened.”
Hearing her say those words about Denise is a jab in the chest. Denise never hated me. Even when she was disappointed about my life choices, she still thought I was one of her best employees.
And Monica murdered her for it.
“Those Adderall were completely legal, by the way,” she adds. “Any police officer could confirm that. And they’re not what made you fail your urine test. That was straight up meth.”
Monica has thought of everything. Her stepmother was right—she really is a genius.
“Why are you doing this?” I manage.
My head is swimming, but at least I’m still conscious, so that’s something. The full effects of the pills hasn’t hit me yet. Maybe I can make myself throw up. I feel like that might happen anyway. But in case I can’t, I’m hoping she’ll at least tell me what she drugged me with.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Monica says.
“No,” I say. “You’ve already set it up so I’ll be in jail for the next fifteen years. Why kill me?”
“This is so much cleaner.” Monica folds her hands together and smiles as if pleased with herself. “You’re depressed about everything you’ve done and don’t see a way out, so you overdose on the entire bottle of your sleeping pills.”
My sleeping pills. Damn. No wonder Sam wanted me to get a refill so badly.
I wiggle my ankles, noting my legs still feel intact. Could I possibly make a run for it? Monica is pregnant, for Christ’s sake. And Gertie is— well, she’s in better shape than I thought. But still. Maybe I could do it.
“We need to tie her up.” Gertie’s eyes are narrowed at me. She must know what I’m thinking. “I don’t want any chance of her trying to make a run for it.”
“No.” I grit my teeth. “You’re not going to tie me up. I won’t let you.” Monica laughs. “Oh, I think you will.”
Monica rifles around in her purse hanging off the edge of the chair. My mouth drops open when she pulls out a handgun. A gun. She doesn’t point it at me, but just its presence makes me freeze. It looks so ominous.
“We had a firing range right by my house growing up,” she says casually. “I’m actually quite a good shot. Not that I’d need to be at this distance.”
I look between Monica and Gertie, my heart pounding. If she shoots me, it’s over. I have no chance.
Monica sifts through her purse again and pulls out a piece of white stationery. She slides it across dining table so I can see it. I stare at the words on the page, written in a perfect replication of my handwriting done by someone who’s had a year of studying my handwritten notes and practicing. The signature is perfect—only a handwriting expert would be able to tell the difference, and I doubt one would ever be called in.
It’s a full confession to everything. My drug problem that got out of control. Murdering my former boss when she wouldn’t go along with my blackmail scheme. Culminating in an apology to Sam, in which I give him my blessing to go on with his life.
“Your last words.” She smiles at me and I shiver. “It’s poetic, isn’t it?
Aren’t you glad that’s how you’ll be remembered?”
I nod at the gun in her hand. “If you shoot me, that will mess up your suicide plan, won’t it? If you shoot me to death in my own home, how will
you explain that?”
“Oh, I’m prepared.” She rests her right hand protectively on the gun. “I’ve still got access to your work email account. This morning you sent me an email inviting me over to ‘talk.’ And then when I arrived, you pulled a gun on me because jealousy had gotten the better of you. There was a struggle and… well, unfortunately, I got the better of you. And poor Gertie here was a witness to the whole thing.”
“Yeah, but how would I have a gun?”
She doesn’t bat an eye. “I don’t know—maybe you needed it around because you had so many dealers coming to your apartment. Who knows? It’s unregistered—probably stolen. You probably bought it on the black market.”
I’m speechless. She’s thought of everything.
“I think suicide would be far more respectable though, don’t you?” She points the gun in my direction, which scares the hell out of me. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. I’ve never held one in my hand. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ve been this close to one. “Speaking of which, let’s move this to the bedroom.” When I don’t budge, her eyes narrow. “Unless you want to go for option number two.”
My legs feel like rubber as I get to my feet. I don’t know if it’s the sleeping pills taking effect or if I’m just scared out of my mind. But I practically fall on my way to the bed, gratefully collapsing against the mattress.
“Stay there,” Monica commands me, shaking the gun in my face.
As I’m lying there, she holds her belly and winces. For a moment, I wonder if I would have any chance trying to get the gun away from her. She’s large and her balance is probably terrible. Maybe she’s even in labor
—who knows? It’s not ridiculous to think I could do it. Either way, I’m going to die. It might be worth the risk to go down swinging.
But then again, I had trouble walking to the bed. It’s clear I’m in no position to fight. And even if I overpowered Monica, I’ve still got to get through Gertie. I can’t imagine being successful at that, considering how I’m feeling.
And then Monica whips a roll of duct tape out of her purse, and starts taping my ankles. Damn, I knew duct tape was going to be in my future. I recognize it as the cheap duct tape from the supply closet at work—she
probably swiped it. How ironic. Keeping me subdued apparently wasn’t even worth the price of a roll of tape.
When she tapes my wrists, I realize any chance I had to escape has gone out the window. I never even tried. I’ve read all these books and newspaper articles about people who rose to the occasion when they were in danger, and then stories about people who just sat there and let themselves be killed. I always believed I’d be in the former category. If it came down to it, I believed I’d be a hero.
Maybe it has to do with will. Even if I survive this, what do I have? My career is destroyed. I’ve got murder charges hanging over my head. And I’m married to a man who got his girlfriend to make it look like I killed myself.
I may as well just let go.
“It’s the right thing,” Gertie tells me as Monica secures my limbs. “You’ve been keeping Sam from being happy. This is what he’s wanted all along. A child. A woman who shares his passion. You kept him from all of that. I felt so sorry for him when I was working for you.”
But I loved him.
And I thought he loved me.
“It’s so selfish,” Monica practically spits at me. “Any decent woman would have stepped aside.”
“As if you’re any better,” I mutter under my breath. Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying,” I say. “There are plenty of younger, prettier girls in his classes. What do you have that they don’t have?”
“I’ll be the mother of his child,” she hisses at me, getting her face up in mine. Which is frightening, considering I currently can’t move my arms or legs.
“Right, that’s true,” I concede. “But you’ll probably be too busy and tired from taking care of the baby to give him the attention he deserves. And I hear it’s awfully hard to lose that baby weight…”
Monica looks like she wants to slap me. I hope she does. If she hits me hard enough to leave a mark, then there will be some evidence my death isn’t a simple suicide. I deserve that. Redemption after death.
But before I can say anything else to provoke her, I hear the lock on the front door turning.
