by D. J. Palmer
“Yes, of course, of course I do,” she said, breathing hard.
“I have a box in my closet with two hundred thousand dollars in it. Two hundred thousand. It was Emma’s money, and thanks to her will, now it’s ours, her gift to us. I kept it here in case of an emergency. We’ll go somewhere. We can live off that money. Believe me, you’ll be so happy. I’ll make you so happy.”
She forced her body to relax even while his other hand continued to grip her neck. She was responding to him, letting him know how much she liked his plan, while Daisy, still locked in the crate, let her presence be known as well.
“Please, Simon, please let her go,” Glen called out from his room. “It won’t work. It can’t ever work now.”
But Nina wasn’t focused on Glen. All her attention was given to Simon. Control your breathing. Control your fear. Make him believe. She forced herself to relax. It could be as he wanted, or that’s what she was trying to tell him with her body, leaning in, pressing against him. Even with his hand still clutching at her throat, Simon was getting the message. She saw joy blossom on Simon’s face. He relaxed his fingers, letting air, precious air, rush into Nina’s lungs. He pushed against her harder, kissing her ear, her neck. She responded to his touch, her fingers now tugging at his hair, a soft noise escaping her lips.
Nina drew in a breath. She placed her lips against his ear. “Simon,” she whispered, breathing heavily, pushing into him. “Simon,” she said again.
“Yes, yes,” Simon said.
“Simon.”
A piercing cry exploded from Simon’s mouth after Nina brought her knee up fast and hard, ramming into his crotch with all her might. Simon’s hand flew up in reflex, and the gun went off—two loud pops that put holes directly in the ceiling, sending bits of plaster raining down on them.
He slumped to the floor, gasping for air. His body lay motionless, blocking the bottom stair—the only way out. Nina had no idea if Simon had managed to hold on to the gun or not as she tried to hurdle him to make her escape. But he seized hold of her ankle as she went up and over and would not let go. Nina hopped awkwardly on one foot to stay upright as Simon managed to slowly get to his knees, still holding her ankle in his viselike grip. With another push and groan, Simon was soon standing. He kicked Nina’s other foot out from under her and she went down, hard, using her hands to break her fall.
Nina spun onto her back. She looked up in horror as Simon loomed over her. Fury pulsated in his face. He began to drag her toward Glen’s room by the ankle, limping to compensate for the pain in his groin. With no balance, no leverage, Nina tried to twist free, but could not. Simon pulled her toward him like a fisherman reeling in his catch. He let go of her leg to take hold of her from behind, wrapping one arm tightly around her chest, lifting her into him as if she weighed nothing. Nina kicked and thrashed to slip free, but it was impossible to break his hold.
Now she got her answer as to what had happened to that gun. With his free hand, he put the weapon back to her head.
“Calm down, Nina,” he said, huffing and hobbling, compensating for his injury. “Just take it easy. Okay? You don’t want this going off accidentally. You don’t want to leave Connor and Maggie without a mother.”
That got Nina to still. Daisy went wild, her barking escalating. Driven by instinct more than anything—fight or flight—Nina snapped her head forward and bit Simon hard on the arm he’d used to wrap around her chest. Simon yowled in pain as he tossed Nina onto the floor. The left side of her skull connected hard with the television. She lay there dazed, her vision blurred. Inching toward her, Simon aimed the gun—a gun she’d never known he owned—at her heart.
“Don’t!” Glen cried out, loud as his weakened voice could carry. “Leave her alone. Leave her, Simon. Please.”
Coming as far forward as his chain would allow, Glen pawed frantically to get to Simon, but the chain wouldn’t let him go far enough. Simon moved in front of Nina, still pointing the gun at her. As she struggled to stand, Glen made another useless lunge. His chain pulled tight, sending him momentarily airborne. He crash-landed hard to the ground. But he had distracted Simon, enough for Nina to get back to her feet, pick up the television, all sixty-something pounds of it, and fling it at Simon with the adrenaline-fueled angry cry of a shot-putter. Simon easily sidestepped the projectile. Shards of broken glass from the screen exploded on impact, shooting out in all directions. He surveyed the wreckage and made a tsk-tsk sound, like a disappointed parent.
“Well, that’s a waste,” he said, as if it puzzled him that Nina would destroy a perfectly good television. “But I’m thinking in a few minutes nobody will be needing it.”
His threat went unacknowledged, but Nina understood if things didn’t go his way, they would die—perhaps they would all die. She was panting from exertion and terror, standing behind the stairs between Simon, who blocked her only way out, and Glen, trapped in his room.
“Your answer to my question will decide what happens to the children,” Simon told her. “I want you to know that. So, Nina, now it’s the moment of truth for us. I love you. Do you love me, too?”
Simon lowered his weapon. His arms hung at his sides. There was nothing crazed about him. He was calm as could be. He looked to Nina like a teacher standing at the front of his classroom, hoping someone would give the right answer. That someone was her. Nina understood that any other words would bring her a bullet.
“Yes, I—I love you, Simon.” Knowing what he wanted to hear, of course that’s how she’d answer, but why on earth would he believe her?
Her only hope was that desire and obsession would occlude his thinking. Simon closed his eyes and lifted his head to the ceiling as if basking in some hidden glow. “Say it again,” he said, his eyes still closed.
A flash of movement drew Nina’s attention to the space behind him. To her shock and relief, she saw Detective Eric Wheeler quietly descending the slatted basement stairs. She could see him clearly in the open space between each step.
“I love you, Simon,” Nina said, more loudly this time and with feeling, while Wheeler crept panther-like down into the basement. He had his gun drawn as he moved cautiously from stair to stair, motioning with his hand for Nina to keep talking, keep Simon distracted.
“I love you,” Nina said again, her heart racing in terror. “We’ll make it work. Don’t worry about anything, Simon. It’ll be the two of us. I’ll be your second chance with Allison. Just the way you want.”
With that, Simon opened his eyes. He looked hopeful, relieved, somehow at peace. Nina’s body quaked as a faint smile came to his lips.
“Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”
Wheeler came into full view, a stair creaking under his weight as Simon sprang out from behind the staircase. Whirling around to face him, Simon fired three shots—pop, pop, pop—before Wheeler fired one. His bullet sank harmlessly into a concrete wall; all three of Simon’s sank into flesh. Wheeler tumbled down the stairs, spilling onto the concrete floor, spreading blood everywhere.
Simon went to him. Wheeler, on his back at the bottom of the stairs, gazed blankly at the ceiling. Pulling the gun from Wheeler’s weakened grasp, Simon tucked it into the waistband of his khakis. He looked down at the detective as though he were assessing something too bizarre to comprehend.
“Detective,” he said sorrowfully. “Why on earth are you here?”
Nina watched the erratic rise and fall of Wheeler’s chest. “Connor. . . . worried . . . called,” he managed to wheeze.
Simon sounded surprised. “Why would he be worried?”
Nina swallowed a gasp. She’d forgotten about the camera in the woods. It was still taking pictures in the daylight. Connor must have been checking for signs of Daisy and maybe saw a picture of Nina entering the house. At a minimum he’d have noticed her car parked in the driveway. There must have been another picture of Simon’s arrival, and Connor would have known she was still inside. That’s why he had called
her. And when she didn’t answer, he called the police.
Good boy. Good boy, she thought.
Nina moved out from behind the stairs to take a tentative step toward them. Trying to sneak up on Simon while he had his back to her was like playing the children’s game red light, green light.
Simon stood to the side of the staircase closer to the dog crate, Wheeler splayed out at the bottom step, Nina creeping up from behind. Out of the corners of his eyes, Wheeler watched Nina approaching. Then he looked away, focusing as best he could on Simon—to keep him from noticing her, she thought hopefully. Nina continued her silent advance, bending at the knees to pick up something off the floor.
Wheeler spit a gob of blood from his mouth. “Officer down. Backup—call for backup . . . call, backup.”
He was disoriented. A pool of blood darkened his shirt. Every word he spoke was a struggle. Nina now knew the detective hadn’t asked for backup when he came to investigate. No additional police were coming. Help wasn’t on the way.
Simon covered his mouth with his hands like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. His shoulders slumped as though he was supremely disappointed in himself.
“I’m so sorry for doing that to you,” Simon said, indeed sounding genuinely remorseful. “You’ve been . . . helpful to my efforts. You did a really exemplary job. End of watch, that’s what the police call it, right?”
Simon raised his gun, aiming it at Wheeler’s head, but lowered it as he surveyed the rest of him. There was no need to fire another bullet.
“Why?” Wheeler had to know what he was dying for.
“For love. For a second chance,” Simon said.
Wheeler’s fading gaze looked past Simon at Nina, who had snuck up close enough to be within striking distance, wielding a huge glass shard from the smashed television like a dagger.
She thought of Maggie, at lunch, gasping for air as her swollen throat closed up. She thought of the EpiPen she had driven hard into her daughter’s thigh on more than one occasion. It’s just another pen, Nina told herself, thinking of the glass. Do it again. Do it again.
Nina locked her eyes on her target. Swinging her arm in a similarly wide arc, she drove the glass shard into the side of Simon’s neck with powerful force. When the glass had penetrated the skin and dug in far enough to do damage, Nina yanked hard, slicing open her palm in the process as Simon’s neck split wide. The severed veins made a ripping sound as jets of dark blood sprayed geyser-like in a horizontal direction.
Simon sank to the floor, dropping his weapon to clutch at his bleeding throat, choking to death on his own blood. His legs spasmed as his body jerked about wildly.
Reaching for the gun Simon dropped, Nina picked it up, and retrieved Wheeler’s weapon as well. She thought about shooting Simon, but preferred to watch him writhing, gasping, dying as blood poured from his body in rivers. She looked over at Wheeler. His wide eyes were open, seeing nothing. His chest no longer rose or fell.
Nina had taken CPR as part of her numerous certifications. She pumped hard and fast on the middle of Wheeler’s chest while Simon gagged on his blood. With her hands soaked in Wheeler’s blood and her own, Nina delivered rescue breaths she knew were pointless as she watched Simon die. She could deliver all the rescue breaths in the world; Wheeler wasn’t taking them. His eyes were milky with death. There was no point in doing anything more, and Simon was still alive.
Nina had something important left to do. She approached Simon without caution, knelt down next to him, not caring that his blood was getting all over her shoes, her pants.
“Where is Allison? Did you do something to her? Where is she? Where is the baby?”
Simon gazed up at Nina with a look of pure bewilderment.
“Give her peace, Simon,” she said, pleading now with urgency in her voice. “Did you hurt her? Do you know where she is?”
Simon’s breathing grew labored. He gurgled on his blood. Time was running out. He was going to take this secret, if there even was one, with him to his grave. But she had something else to say. The last words she wanted him to hear. The last words he’d ever hear.
“I want you to die knowing I don’t love you. I. Don’t. Love. You.”
Confusion sparked in Simon’s eyes before a profound pain set in. In that moment, Nina felt certain Simon had heard and understood her. She saw recognition linger in his eyes for a moment before the light went out of them for good.
Chapter 62
Lakes Region General Hospital, the same hospital where Maggie and Dr. Wilcox were treated, had a new patient. Glen was malnourished, and despite his efforts with bodyweight exercises had lost tremendous muscle mass, but overall he was in surprisingly good health. The nurses trimmed his beard, tended to his cuts, and pumped him with antibiotics to fight off possible infection. He was feeling woozy from the medication, but alert enough to give multiple statements to the police, who were reeling over the death of their fallen brother. It would be a long time before Seabury recovered from Simon Fitch.
The media was on the story. Already the headlines were juicy, and online, “Psycho Teacher Obsesses Over First Wife Look-Alike” was getting plenty of shares.
But Nina wasn’t focused on what people were saying. This was a time for her family to heal. And the best treatment for Glen was seeing his children again. Maggie had hugged her father so hard Glen pleaded with her to let go. She brought A Wrinkle in Time with her, thinking her dad might want her to read to him at his bedside.
“You’re so much bigger,” Glen said. “I missed so much. I missed you all so much.”
The tears fell freely. Maggie, biting her lip, trembling with emotion, couldn’t find the words.
“I tricked you, Bunny.”
“Bear,” Maggie reminded him, struggling to speak while a sad smile crested her lips. “You’re supposed to call me Bear. Remember?”
Glen’s laugh was tinged with sorrow. “I forgot. I keep forgetting that.”
Nina rested her hand on Glen’s bony shoulder. So much of him was gone, both physically, and emotionally. They’d all recover, even Dr. Wilcox—all except for Hugh, or Detective Wheeler, or Emma. Maybe Allison. Or maybe she did get away.
“It was the worst thing lying to you like that. I wanted to tell you . . . but I . . . I couldn’t.” Glen made his confession with his eyes shut tight, those never-ending tears rolling down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to let any of you down.”
Maggie broke into a sob, eventually clearing her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You . . . didn’t let me down, Daddy,” she managed. She took a big gulp before she could say more. “If you didn’t tell me to make nice with . . . with him . . . Ben and I wouldn’t have thought to look at the house . . . and . . . and . . .”
Maggie couldn’t finish; instead she went back to hugging her father again. They all enjoyed a group hug.
What would have happened? Nina wondered. Without Maggie and Ben, she might never have thought to look for Daisy at Simon’s house. Glen could have been left for dead. Eventually, Simon would have shown his true colors. Most likely, at some point he would have killed them all, Nina was sure of it. Glen hadn’t failed them. He had saved them.
“Daisy’s the real hero,” said Glen, brightening as a tender laugh escaped him. “Thank God for her sense of smell.”
“And her loyalty,” added Nina. “She wouldn’t leave without you.”
“You could have left the house with her and nobody would have known I was still in the basement.”
Glen laughed again, this time with notes of astonishment and awe. His survival had been so tenuous. One event linked to another, starting with Dr. Wilcox, who led Nina to Teresa, then to Hugh . . . Hugh who knew who Simon really was . . . Maggie who unwittingly clued in to something amiss with the rental property . . . Daisy who had found Glen . . . Connor who had stayed vigilant.
It took everyone Glen loved most to save his life and the lives of his family.
Connor wiped away tears. Th
e nurses and doctors were giving the family space to reunite.
“Dog of the year,” Connor said, barely holding it together. “I love you, Dad.”
And then Connor fell to pieces, and so did Nina, and Maggie cried even harder, as the nurses, keeping their distance, got teary-eyed as well.
Eventually, everything and everyone settled. The kids, still numb, took off to get something to eat, leaving Glen and Nina alone for the first time.
“How are you feeling?” Nina asked. It was a loaded question, but what else to say?
Glen closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I . . . I just feel so guilty and ashamed. It’s my fault.”
“Stop . . . this won’t do us any good.”
“But I’m responsible.”
“No you’re not, Simon is,” she said, with a lack of conviction.
Glen wasn’t entirely wrong, Nina thought. He had done things—terrible things—that made them vulnerable to Simon. He had stripped his family of security and lied for years about his job. She had accepted Teresa’s version of their affair, but still . . .
“I want to talk. I want to tell you what happened. How it happened.”
“Not now. You need to rest. There’ll be time for that later.”
“I’m so sick of time,” Glen said with a sneer of disgust. “It’s all I’ve had.”
Nina tried to wrap her mind around it. Two years. He’d been kept in that horrible space for almost two years. No doubt, Glen was struggling to grasp it as well.
“He drugged me. That’s why I did . . . with Teresa . . . why it happened. I wasn’t in my right mind.” Glen ran his tongue across his chapped, dry lips. “We didn’t have an affair. I swear to you. I know you thought that we did, and it tore me up inside. But it was only once, and Simon orchestrated it all.”
Nina nodded. “I had pictures, you know—including one of you giving Teresa a big kiss. It was quite believable.”
“Simon sent them to you. Put a name to the face to make it more credible when he found out Teresa had left the area, probably for good. He wanted you to think I was with her so you could move on from me.”