Drawn To You: A Psychological thriller

by Ren Montgomery

  It was now or never. …She set her cellphone on the counter and immediately picked up her new disposable phone. She double and triple checked she was calling on the correct phone, then hesitated, phone in hand, as she tried to decide on the best way forward. There were two ways to play this: she could taunt him into a rage, or she could try to flatter, compliment, and gaslight him. This way or that? …Finally, she shrugged. She’d wing it, as always, and go with whatever spontaneously came out of her mouth.

  She dialed Jeremy’s number again and hoped for the best. He had to still be there. If he wasn’t…she didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Hello?” Jeremy practically snarled.

  “It’s Ruby” she said softly, hoping he wouldn’t hang up.

  “What phone is this? Why you calling me now? You already fucked up my job and my life—what else you wanna fuck up?”

  “I need to talk to you in person. Can you come over right away? Please?”

  “You have two restraining orders against me!”

  “I just now canceled ‘em,” she said. “I found out who’s been terrorizing me, and it wasn’t you.” So, it was to be the flattering and gaslighting approach…

  “Of course, it wasn’t me!” he shouted. “I tried to tell you that but, noooo—”

  She didn’t have time for this. “I know, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’m dropping the charges, and I’ll even speak to your boss if you want. But first we need to talk. In person.”

  He hesitated. “…You’re dropping the charges? Really? You promise?”

  “Yes. If you come over right away.”

  “Okay,” he said. She could hear him smiling. “Just let me shower and change—”

  “No! Come now.”

  “Why?”

  “…I’m naked and waiting for you, that’s why.” She heard him gasp and felt a whole-body shudder of revulsion go through her. “But you take all the time you want,” she said, as if it didn’t matter to her in the least. She chewed her upper lip nervously as she waited for his answer.

  “I’ll just change—”

  “Never mind, this is stupid. I’m a little drunk. …Where are my panties?”

  “I’ll be right over.” She heard his keys jingling. “Be prepared, I’m a little ripe.”

  “We’ll shower together when you get here.”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  She hung up the phone, turned it off, and hid it in the inside pocket of her raincoat in the back of her bedroom closet. She left her closet door open.

  ▬▬▬

  Ruby was on pins and needles as she looked out her window waiting for Jeremy. Anything could go wrong now. What if the police beat him here? What if Sean stopped by unexpectedly? Or Hilary? Or what if he’d taped her phone call? Fuck. …But he probably hadn’t because he hadn’t been expecting her to call, he hadn’t recognized her number, and he might not have a new cellphone yet. Still…

  She chewed her fingertips as she waited, filled with dread. Courage, Ruby.

  She saw Jeremy’s red Mustang pull into her driveway, breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly dialed 911 on her new cell, making a mental note of the time. When the operator answered, Ruby worked her voice up into a panic-stricken whisper. “Help me! My name’s Ruby Deardon, and my address is 18255 Shiloh Hill, and the man who’s been stalking me is here waving a gun around!”

  “Slow down,” the operator said. Ruby could hear her typing in the information. “You say you’re being stalked and he’s there now armed with a gun? What kind of gun? Handgun? Rifle?”

  “Handgun!” His name’s Jeremy Van der Wyden and he’s crazy! Hurry!” she whispered.

  “Stay on the line,” the operator ordered as they both heard loud knocking on her door.

  “Oh God,” Ruby mewled. “He’s coming!”

  “Don’t open the door,” the operator said. “We’ll have someone there as soon as possible.”

  “Help me!” Ruby repeated and hung up. Her cell phone immediately rang again, and she turned it to silent, knowing it was the 911 operator. She went into the kitchen as Jeremy knocked again. Her heart was beating fast, but her hands were steady as she faced the door. She heard Jeremy calling, “Ruby? I’m here. Lemme in.”

  “Jeremy,” she called out weakly, “Help me. I’m hurt!”

  “What?” he called. “Open the door.”

  “I can’t! I slipped right after I called you, and I’m lying here naked, and I think I broke my ankle. Help me! Please!”

  “Should I call 911?”

  She clenched her jaw. “No! Break down the door first! I’m bleeding…I…I might need a tourniquet!”

  “I’m coming!” he yelled. She heard him throw his weight against the door a few times before she heard him begin kicking at the knob.

  “Help me, Jeremy!” she called, egging him on.

  As she watched, the wood around the lock splintered and gave way, and Jeremy stumbled a few steps into her entryway.

  Ruby stood in the kitchen with her gun pointed at his chest, and he stared at her looking puzzled. “What’s this? I thought—”

  She emptied the magazine into his chest.

  His blood sprayed her old thrift store chair as well as the wall in the entryway even before she’d heard the sound of the first gunshot. He hit the wall and then the ground. Hard. Leaving a blood trail on the wall beside the door. She walked cautiously over to him with her finger on the trigger, and gave his arm a nudge with her foot to see if he was dead.

  He wasn’t. He was bleeding profusely from his wounds. Blood poured out of his mouth, but his eyes were still clear and focused, and filled with terror. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but a blood bubble formed instead. His labored breathing sounded wet.

  She itched to shoot him in the head and finish him off, but that would probably look like overkill. Instead, she placed her gun on the counter and grabbed a kitchen garbage bag. She placed her entire right hand inside of it, making sure it covered her shoulder and head. She tore a small vision hole in it and grabbed the gun she’d stolen from his house.

  Hurrying across the room, she pulled the garbage bag covered step stool out, and crouched on it, trying to approximate how tall Jeremy was and where his hand would have been had he fired his gun at her. She aimed at the kitchen and pulled the trigger once. The boom was loud and the recoil strong and she flinched. She took the garbage bag off, carefully turned it inside out and climbed down from the stool—making sure to sidestep the growing puddle of blood around Jeremy’s body.

  She could no longer really hear anything—both ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

  She glanced out the open windows, but the coast was clear. She placed the fingers of his right hand carefully around the gun, placed her own hands on top of his and mimed a quick fight over the gun. Then she aimed his hand straight up and forced his trigger finger down. This time she didn’t even flinch.

  At least now his hand would have gunpowder residue on it in case the police checked for it, and she would have residue from both guns on her. As she should, if she wanted the forensics to match her story.

  One more quick glance out the windows. Still okay.

  She left his gun beside his body and quickly tore the garbage bag off the stepstool, which she nudged with the barest toe of one shoe, back up against the wall—well away from where it would have been splattered with blood. She rolled both bags tightly and stuffed the entire package into a gallon Ziploc baggie she’d also laid out on the counter earlier. She made certain that she didn’t have any blood on her shoes and hurried into her bedroom to stuff the Ziploc baggie into her raincoat pocket with the disposable phone. She closed the closet door with her left elbow, and pulled her nightstand drawer out with her left hand, dropping it on the floor.

  She went back into the living room and looked carefully at the gun that she’d placed beside Jeremy and frowned, cocking her head to the side. No. That wasn’t right. She didn’t know how it would look if it
had naturally fallen, so she kicked the gun across the room away from her attacker, as she actually would have, had her story been true.

  She looked out the window again, and the police still weren’t here. She allowed herself a quick, deep breath. Her luck had held. She was almost home free.

  She glanced at her beautiful couch, glad that she’d moved it out of the way of the blood splatter. She forced herself to look at the thing on the floor again, and thankfully its eyes had filmed over, and it was no longer breathing. Good. It was dead. She was safe.

  She’d known she was going to have to kill him almost immediately after they met, but she’d moved her timetable up when she decided to set him up for Tara’s murder. After all, she couldn’t have him refuting all the evidence she’d set up so nicely.

  She thought of something. What if he really had come over here with the intention of killing her? Then he’d have a gun in his pocket, and the police would wonder why he’d brought two guns with him. She found a clean spot beside him and knelt over his body. She quickly frisked his jacket and pants pockets. There was no gun. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  She grabbed her cellphone and looked at the time. Almost six minutes had elapsed. Too much time. Fuck. She turned the ringer back on, jumped up and down a few times, hyperventilated, and dialed 911 again. “He’s dead! I shot him! I shot himmmm—” she wailed, as she collapsed into a heap on the stepstool beside the wall. This would help explain any stray gunpowder residue or blood it might have on it. She ignored the operator’s prompting to come back to the phone, as she finally heard the first faint sirens in the distance.

  Oh shit! She quickly erased Jeremy’s phone numbers from her notes on her phone, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything else.

  She rearranged herself on the stool, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands until she thought she looked suitably helpless and pathetic.

  The police needed to see her as the victim she was.

  CHAPTER 39

  Ruby sat quietly in the police cruiser, pretending to weep. She was in the back seat, behind Ben Trumpower, and every so often she wiped at her eyes and nose with the damp tissues she clutched in her fist.

  They were on their way back to her house from the police station. She’d just spent almost four hours there being questioned—with a lawyer present, she wasn’t stupid—and they’d let her go! Her joy was so full she clenched her teeth together to keep her hysteria from bubbling out with a good, long cackle.

  She patted her phone. Thank God she’d been able to use her doorbell camera app to access the silent video of Jeremy breaking down her door. The detectives had been openly hostile until her lawyer had shown them the incriminating clip. Soon afterwards, they’d wound up their questions and let her go.

  A detective who looked about fifteen had told her, “This is a clear-cut case of self-defense. The deceased had a recent history of stalking you and assaulting you, and today he broke into your house with a gun and shot at you. You defended yourself, which is your right. I’m confident the DA will see it the same way, so I doubt it’ll even go so far as a grand jury. And if it does, I doubt you’ll get indicted. Folks are fed up with violence, and they tend to champion victims who fight back.”

  She leaned forward and put her face into her hands and allowed herself to grin. That was all so true. She was merely a victim who’d fought back. Suddenly she was sobbing, this time for real. She couldn’t believe her close call. She’d fully expected to be arrested tonight, and…she was free. Her tears leaked through her fingertips and dripped onto her pants.

  “Are you okay?” Ben said.

  She sat up, wiped her face again, and tried to look lost. “No. I’m just so relieved it’s finally over! Please let me know what you find at his house. There must be some motive! …I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I killed a man. Thou shalt not kill!”

  “You can’t think that way or it’ll drive you mad,” Ben said. “It was self-defense. If you hadn’t shot him, it’d probably be you in that body bag right now.”

  Ruby hid her smile as she blew her nose. “I know, but still…” she sniffled. “Have you ever shot anyone? I can’t get the pictures out of my head. I know I won’t sleep tonight.”

  She looked at him through tear filled eyes, heartened to meet Ben’s compassionate stare in the rearview mirror. She could fall into those eyes…she blinked.

  Ben admitted, “I’ve never pulled my service revolver on anyone, much less used it.”

  “Then you can’t possibly understand how I feel,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. “He’s dead because I killed him! I feel so guilty, and I can’t seem to get warm.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair.

  He turned on the heater for her. “Do you have anyone who can stay with you tonight?”

  Ruby gave him a watery smile. “Yes, my boyfriend will stay.” In fact, he’d be staying forever, now. Nothing stood in their way.

  ▬▬▬

  As they drove up Shiloh Hill, Ruby was surprised to see press vans, and reporters with camera men parked in the road in front of her house. As soon as the press saw the police car, their lights came on, and reporters began shouting questions at her.

  “Who alerted the media?” she said, gaping out the windows. She hated the panicky sound she heard in her voice.

  “It came over the scanner,” Ben said, as he deftly pulled his car around the reporters and drove up her driveway. “And murder’s so rare up here, it was too good to pass up.”

  Her porch was surrounded by yellow police line tape, and a policeman stood beside her front door.

  She thought they’d be gone already. “Am I even allowed to stay here?” she said. Ben pulled right up to her steps to let her out. “Isn’t it a crime scene?”

  “You’re fine,” he said. “We got all our pictures and video already, and the coroner’s come and gone. I’ll take this tape down when I leave.”

  The reporters had come onto the foot of her driveway, and as soon as she opened her door, they began shouting at her again. “Miss Deardon! Miss Deardon! Do you have a statement?”

  Ben came around and shielded her, pleasantly, with his bulk. “Ignore them,” he said, walking her up the steps to her deck.

  The policeman at the door stepped aside, and she saw that her door was still hanging by one hinge and her living room was still thrashed. She stopped short in horror. The room was filled with the coppery scent of blood. Jeremy’s body was gone, but the floor and the wall in the entry was covered in blood and gore and riddled with bullet holes, and there was fingerprint dust everywhere. Ruby couldn’t believe the police had just left it like this for her.

  “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” she demanded, a trace of hysteria in her voice.

  The policeman who had been standing sentinel at the door said, “It’s not our job.” Then he softened his tone, “I know that it can seem pretty overwhelming right now.”

  “There’s a cleaning service in Calua that’ll clean up blood for you,” Ben said, turning in circles and taking in the whole of her living room. “They charge an arm and a leg to do it, but it might be worth it so you don’t have to bother.”

  She’d pay whatever they wanted. She pulled out her phone. “Do you happen to know their name?”

  Ben shrugged. “Not off hand, but you can Google it. I’m sure if you called your—” His face changed. “Je…Um, he was your landlord, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You’ll need a new door, and the roof needs to be fixed, and you’ll need some putty to fill in the bullet holes in the wall. That’s a lot of work for a renter.”

  “Yeah. But Jeremy broke our lease, so I’ll be moving ASAP.”

  The policeman at the door left.

  “A couple things are going ‘round in my head,” Ben said, looking around.

  “I know what that’s like,” she said, bracing herself.

  “You told the dispatcher Jeremy was waving a gun around, but when he broke down your door
on your camera, he didn’t have a gun in his hand.”

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “You don’t have an explanation?”

  “Nope.” She shrugged. “He probably shoved it in his pocket to free his hands.”

  “Maybe,” Ben said. She started to usher him to the door, but he stopped again. “The other thing was that you moved your crazy couch. It used to be here by the door and now it’s across the room.”

  Ruby crossed her arms as her heart fluttered in her chest. “Yeah, so? It could be by the window tomorrow. I change things up all the time. Doesn’t everyone?”

  He stared hard at her. “It’s just such a beautiful piece. It would have been such a shame to get blood all over it.”

  She couldn’t think of a comeback, and he waved to her, said, “Take care now, Darlin’,” and left. She watched him through the broken door peeling off the yellow tape.

  Fuck. She needed to remember the big man had an eye for detail.

  She caught sight of the reporters again and hid behind the broken door, wishing she could slam it, but the jamb was broken, and it wouldn’t fully close. Dammit! She went to push an armchair over to block the door but stopped before she pushed it through the blood on the ground. This place was disgusting.

  She rushed through the house, making sure her blinds were completely closed so no one could sneak a peek inside.

  Filled with dread, she forced herself to check her raincoat pocket in her closet. …The phone and the bags were still there! She let out a whoop! Once they were disposed of, she’d be home free.

  She made her way gingerly over to her couch. She checked it carefully for blood or stains and was about to sit down when she thought better of it. She should shower first. She crossed the room, found a clean place on the floor, and sat down, burying her face in her hands. She was still sitting like that ten minutes later when her cell phone rang with Sean’s ringtone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ruby where are you?” Sean asked, his voice sharp and accusatory—a tone he’d never used with her before. “It’s after seven. What happened?”