Prime Suspect: A Psychological Thriller With A Twist You Won’t See Coming

by Cole Baxter

  Ever since the fire, I had been jumpy. It was like all the hours of therapy were just erased and I hated myself more with every passing moment. I hated my life. I hated my fear.

  This was not like me. Something was wrong. Something was triggering me, and I had to get to the bottom of it before I completely relapsed.

  I tried to think of all the techniques Joanne taught me in therapy. I could take deep breaths. I could write in my journal. I could go for a walk.

  Except, I couldn't go for a walk. I didn't feel safe enough to even leave my hotel room, let alone go and walk the grounds. I felt like my chances of getting hurt were a lot less on the top floor of a building that was pretty secure.

  At least, I thought that was the case. But then, I heard the doorknob rattle.

  At first, I thought it was Blake. Maybe he had come back, and he had forgotten the copy of the room key I had given him.

  I went to the peephole, expecting to see Blake's face on the other side. And then I screamed.

  It wasn't Blake's face on the other side. It was Devon.

  No.

  This couldn't be real. It couldn't be Devon on the other side. Devon was dead.

  Except Devon wasn't dead, was he? Devon wasn't dead. He was alive, and he had tried to burn my garage down. He'd shot at me and Blake in my other hotel room.

  And now he was standing outside my hotel room door and he was about to kick the door down.

  I went to put the deadbolt on the door, but it was too late. He had somehow picked the lock, and the door flew open. I screamed as it hit me and I went flying backward.

  I was hoping against hope that someone would hear my screams. Someone would come to my rescue.

  I heard the door slam and I knew that it was too late.

  I lay on the floor and tried not to cry. I knew he would kill me. I knew it. I was done for.

  When I finally turned over, I saw Devon just standing there. He was looking at me like I was a piece of meat.

  "Hey," he said.

  I didn't know what to say. How could he just stand there casually and act like nothing was wrong? How could he just stand over me and act like nothing would happen? How could he act like we were friends?

  "Devon, please don't hurt me," I said.

  His lips curled into a smile. "Is that what you think?" he asked. "Do you think that I came back from the dead just to hurt you?"

  "Yes," I said. "That's what you do. That's—"

  "Well, you're right," he said. "How dare you try to frame me for your murder?"

  "Excuse me?" I asked. "You tried to murder me! Devon, you—"

  "First of all, you little skank, it was an accident," he said. "And I don't think that you cared about that at all. Why would I try to kill you? Then I wouldn't get any of that hot sex."

  "You tried!" I felt hot tears come to my eyes. "I know you did. And I—"

  “Okay," he said. "I thought it would be hot if I made you cum so hard you died."

  I looked at him in disbelief. "No," I said. "I don't think that would be hot. Please get out, Devon. Please get out."

  "Please get out," he mocked me. "Like I'm going to leave now that I've found you again."

  "Devon, there's still a chance to turn this around," I pleaded with him. "You can get out and we can just get back to . . . whatever it was you were doing. You were hiding out. You were dead. You were happy being dead. You look happy."

  I was babbling, but it was all I could do to try and distract myself from spoiling it. Maybe if I told him how good he looked, and maybe if I smiled, he would leave me alone.

  "I wasn't happy," he said. "But I was planning how to frame you for my murder, just like you framed me."

  "Devon!" I pleaded. "Please don't assume that I did that. I didn't even—"

  "It's too late, Laurie," he said as he shook his head. "It's too late to try any logic on me."

  "But I didn't do anything," I said.

  He snorted. "You didn't do anything?" he asked. "You smeared my name everywhere. Even if I came back from the dead, it's not like I could get a job. You ruined my reputation. You've destroyed everything."

  "I just told the truth," I said. I flailed at him, but I still couldn't find the strength to get off the floor.

  "No," he said. "You didn't tell the truth. You didn't talk about how much you liked it."

  "How much I liked it?" I asked.

  He took a step forward with a sneer on his face "Well, you sure seemed to like it when I was making you cum," he said with a grin.

  "I didn't . . . you didn't . . ." I didn't know what to say. "Devon, I faked it all."

  "No, you didn't," he said.

  "Yes, I did," I replied. I knew how much it affected men to say this, but now was not the time to stroke Devon's ego. "I never enjoyed sex with you, not once you started hurting me."

  "Yeah, too bad your opinion doesn't matter," he said. "I mean, why should you get any pleasure? You just stayed home all day."

  "Because you trapped me there!" I cried. I was shaking, but the memory of my visit to the Owens's house came flooding out. "And that poor girl. That poor little girl, Devon. How could you do that?"

  His face crumpled at that.

  "I wish you hadn't found out about that," he said. "That was . . ."

  "It was what?" I asked. "You hurt her. You killed her."

  "It was an accident," he said.

  "It was an accident like when you hurt me?" I asked. "Or you just got way too carried away and wanted sex too much to care about anyone else?"

  "She wanted it," he said. "She begged me for it."

  "And did you know how old she was?" I asked.

  He looked away, and I had a feeling that he did. He didn't care, though.

  "Devon, how could you?"

  "How could you?" he asked. "After all we've been though? You're making our story your tale of tragedy!"

  I snorted. "If you think that I'm making a fortune, Devon, you're bananas," I said. "I'm not making much money. I'm barely working."

  "Come on, Laurie, you're famous," he said.

  "I may be famous, but there's not a lot of money when the news covers your story out of pity," I said. "Why do you care how much money I have? Your family is richer than Midas! Is it that you want, my money too? Do you want alimony or something?"

  "That's it!" He stepped forward.

  I knew this was it. It was now or never. There was a knife left on the room service tray, and it seemed like it would be my only chance. I reached for it and my grip closed around it. Devon lunged toward me, and before I could process that, his hands were coming for my throat.

  I couldn't go through that again. I couldn't go through that ever again. I would hurt him, once and for all.

  Every time he choked me came rushing back. Every time I’d had to cover my throat or wear a scarf came back.

  I remembered the black spots in front of my eyes. I remembered having people look at me oddly. I remembered having to go to the hospital several times.

  And I remembered that night. That terrible night where I died.

  Why had God brought me back? Why was I alive?

  Was it for this purpose? Was I supposed to get rid of Devon, once and for all? Was I supposed to stab him?

  I didn't care what I was supposed to do. I would kill him.

  My hand closed the rest of the way around the knife, and I brought it up and then stabbed him in the fleshy part of his arm.

  His eyes widened and he screamed. I drew my hands back right away so that he couldn't get a grip on me.

  The wound was deep. He would probably need stitches or something. If he pulled it out, it would bleed everywhere.

  I hoped that I had hit a nerve. I hoped that I had hit a vein and that he would bleed out here on the carpet. I hoped that I had broken his bone.

  He looked between me and the knife in shock.

  "What . . ." he said, and he looked pale.

  Was he going to faint? Because if he would faint, here and now, then I wou
ld stab him over and over. Devon would meet his end right here and now.

  Devon didn't faint, unfortunately. He stuttered and made a move to pull the knife out, but he didn't actually do it.

  Of course, he couldn't actually do it. He was a coward. He had always gotten sick at the sight of blood.

  "I'll do it again," I threatened him. "I'm not afraid of you, Devon."

  He couldn't even form words, but he started to walk backward.

  I couldn't believe it. Had I won? Had I truly won? Was he going to leave me alone?

  Then I realized he may be leaving me alone for the moment, but he would come back.

  Either I had to magic up another knife to stab him or I had to chase him.

  He reached for the door, and I could see that his hand was shaking. I didn't say anything to him, but I managed to get up. This was the first time I had felt such strength and courage.

  I had stabbed him. I could do the rest of the job. I could kill him. I could stop him.

  I almost called out to him, but I didn't think he would actually stop. So, I took a step forward, and then another.

  To my surprise, my legs held me. My mouth was dry and my head was spinning, and I didn't think I would ever be able to do something like that again. But in this moment, I gave chase to him.

  The hallway was empty, and I was surprised Devon actually tried to make a run for it rather than stabbing me back. Until I realized why he was running.

  This was probably the first time a woman had ever fought back against him. He had no idea what to do. He had never had a woman fight back and win. His male chauvinist brain was probably exploding.

  I didn't really care, though. I hoped his brain exploded all over the carpet.

  "STOP HIM!" I cried with every bit of breath and courage I had. "STOP HIM!"

  This was for me. This was for Sandy. This was for every victim who was out there who didn't have a name. I would stop him for all of them and I would make sure they were safe.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Laurie

  I gave chase down the hallway as far as my lungs would let me, but the truth was, I wasn't in as good of shape as I had been in before. I couldn't stop panting with every step, and before I knew it, I lost track of Devon.

  The worst part was no one helped me. They watched me chase him, but no one came to my rescue.

  By the time I got to the lobby, after running down several flights of stairs, I had to admit that I wasn't going to catch him.

  He was gone. I had lost.

  I put my hands on my knees and took a deep breath. I was trying to breathe, but I was also giving myself a moment to ground myself.

  I was alive. I was all right. Devon hadn't hurt me.

  But he was alive. And if he was alive, then I could catch him again.

  After all, he wouldn't be able to hide for long with a knife like that in his arm. He would need a little bit of hospital care, and they would likely nab him there.

  At least, I hoped that was the case. That was the way it often worked out in books and movies.

  But this wasn't a movie. This was my life.

  "Excuse me . . ." I heard some people approach me and I smiled. At last, someone would help me. "Are you Laurie Whitman?"

  "Uh, yes," I said. I realized one of them was armed with a camera.

  "Can we take a picture?"

  This was the worst time that they could ask for a picture. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded mutely. How was I supposed to tell the them that I had just chased down my formerly dead husband who had made me famous and starred in all of my books?

  How was I supposed to tell them that he wasn't dead, and he had just tried to kill me again?

  I took a deep breath and then managed to smile. I pushed my hair back and hoped that I didn't have any of Devon's blood on me.

  If I did, maybe I could use it as evidence against him.

  How was this my life now?

  Once one person asked to take a picture, another one did, and then another. Being famous was certainly not all it was cracked up to be.

  I didn't even really think of myself as famous. In a certain niche, yes, I was well known, but I still had a lot of work to do to get to where I wanted to be.

  And yet, people were taking pictures with me left, right, and center, completely oblivious to the struggle that I had just gone through.

  Was this what other famous people suffered through? Was I just one big walking billboard?

  No one asked me if I was all right. No one asked me why I was panting like a pug.

  They just took pictures.

  When I was finally left alone, I realized that it would be a good idea to go to the front desk.

  "Hi," I said when I finally got there. "Do you guys have security cameras?"

  The girl behind the front desk turned around, baffled. When she recognized me, though, her eyes widened. "Are you Laurie Whitman?" she asked.

  "I am, yes," I said through gritted teeth. "And I was wondering if you have security cameras on the property?"

  "We do," she said. "Why?"

  "I just had to chase . . . someone out of here," I said. "Someone I don't want near me. I was wondering if you could pull the footage so I could go to the police with it?"

  "The police?" Her eyes widened more. "I can call the police right now."

  "I just—" I was sinking back into my old self. I didn't know what I wanted to do. "I, uh . . . no."

  I knew that Blake wouldn't want me to, at least not until I talked to him.

  The fact that he hadn't called me back set my heart rate back to an insane level.

  If Devon was alive, then Blake was in danger. What if Devon hurt Blake? What if I never saw Blake again?

  I knew that these were irrational thoughts. I knew that Devon couldn't hurt Blake. Blake was so strong, and he could take care of himself.

  At least, I thought he could. I did know that he tended to drink, and that worried me.

  I hoped that he wasn't drinking today. I hoped that he was alert for anything that came his way.

  "No?" she asked. "But then what are you going to do with the security tapes?"

  "I just need them," I said. "Is that okay?"

  "Let me ask my manager," she said and scampered off.

  I put my head down on my hands and tried not to cry. Now that the adrenaline was gone, I felt a lot shakier.

  He could have killed me. This could have been the end of it all.

  But I wasn't dead. I survived. I was still here.

  "My manager says that you have to talk to him," she said when she came back.

  "Uh . . . okay," I said. "So . . . can I talk to your manager?"

  "He's busy right now," she said.

  I smacked my palm against my forehead. I knew it was cliché, but I was really just shocked by the incompetence. I had just told her that I had chased someone out who was harassing me, and she didn't think it was important enough to interrupt her manager.

  I needed Blake to come back, and I needed him to come back now.

  The manager eventually did come out, and when he listened to me, he agreed that he would release the tapes. However, it would take a few hours and I certainly didn't feel safe going back to my room.

  I just had to wait in the lobby and hope that Blake would be back any moment.

  Eventually, I wandered away to get a coffee. I felt safe enough to go into the coffee shop attached to the hotel.

  I was just minding my own business, sipping my coffee, when I looked up in disbelief at the news.

  There, on the news, was my own face, and I was running down the hallway after Devon.

  They had released the tapes, all right, but they hadn't given them to me.

  I couldn't believe it.

  The tapes were on the news. And that wasn't all that was on the news, either. There was Mandy Owens, telling her own story about how Devon had destroyed their family.

  I was glued to the news. I knew that I was sort of famous, but
this was ridiculous. Why were they doing this? Why would they do this when I was standing right there, clearly waiting for the tapes? Why would they do this when they knew that I was vulnerable and scared?

  Why would they do this to another human being?

  This was my experience with fame, unfortunately. Fame was fleeting, but when you were famous, something changed in people's brains. They no longer looked at you like you were a human being. They treated you like some object of their pleasure, and they just infringed on your life whenever they saw you. They didn't think of you like a scared, vulnerable person who had been through so much.

  They didn't think of you like you needed their help. They just needed you.

  I watched the news footage unfold as my coffee got cold in front of me. They were talking about finding Devon. They were talking about who framed whom.

  I didn't know who was in more trouble at this point. Yesterday, I was a suspect in a murder investigation. Now, everything was mixed up. Everything was confusing, and it was only a matter of time before someone recognized me in the coffee shop.

  If the Owenses had come forward, it made me wonder who else had come forward. Were there other girls?

  From what my therapist said, and from what I had read, there had to be other girls. Men like Devon didn't just do this once and then move on. They wanted more and more, and they needed more, or else their needs weren't satisfied. What once was enough for men like Devon was no longer acceptable in their eyes.

  It sent shivers down my spine, and not in a good way, to think about all the things that he had done to me and then rectify in my mind the fact that he might have been doing it to someone else that very same night. Had he done it to someone before he came home and then after I went to sleep? Had he killed someone else and then come home and pictured her while having sex with me?

  I couldn't even manage to picture it. I couldn't understand it, in all my time studying different types of psychology. I'd read a lot about different psychoses while I was sick to try and understand what had happened.

  I understood a lot of mental cases, but Devon's mind escaped me.