“Hi, I’ll have a gimlet,” she said to the strapping barman. “Go easy on the lime. I need a strong one.”
“Cool, I’ll top up the gin,” he said with a youthful smile, swaying his body in tandem to the jazz playing onstage.
She rested her elbows on the shiny black lacquered counter and soaked in the atmosphere.
“Wow, it’s been a long time. Congratulations, Mrs. Blake.” The male voice behind her sounded familiar, his fresh cologne sending her mind into overdrive.
“Thank you . . .” she said but paused mid-sentence as she turned around, surprised to see him again.
“I’m glad that you’ve made an astounding recovery and are doing well. You look great, by the way,” Dr. Kyle said, placing a soft hand on her forearm.
“Thank you, it’s good to see you again,” she said, blushing. His touch was electric, the mesmerizing hazel eyes even more captivating than before. At the hospital, she was in dire condition, but even then, she had noted his strikingly handsome appearance. It took her a moment to compose herself, the magnetic attraction catching her off guard. The way he moved his palm along her forearm was more than a casual greeting. It was laced with sexual tension.
“What brings you to an architects’ event, Doctor?” she said, diverting her eyes to the drink that rested on the bar counter in front of her. She didn’t even notice that the barman had laid it there.
“My girlfriend is an architect. We’ve actually just started dating. She’s great but not as talented as you,” he chuckled.
Abbie sipped on the gimlet with a bashful smile, lost in the youthful doctor’s eyes. The sharp taste of the gin and lime pleasantly stinging her lips. She loved Robert and wouldn’t think of crossing the line, but she enjoyed the attention as she had worked so hard to get back into physical shape.
“Oh, there she is. I’ll see you around, Abigail. If you’re ever in the hospital, come over to say hello. Maybe we can grab some coffee.” He leaned in to kiss her goodbye.
She turned her head to the side at the last second, avoiding his full lips, letting his kiss nestle on her cheek. “Sure, that’ll be great . . .” she muttered, completely stunned. She watched him snake his way through the guests toward a classy brunette on the far side of the hall. Abbie picked up the cocktail and downed the drink. “Get me another one, please,” she ordered the barman. The doctor had come on hard. Was he out of his mind? Their brief encounter had escalated from flattering to outright creepy. In the hospital, she could sense his genuine concern and care. Did he become infatuated with me? She was aware of the term for patients falling for their doctors, called transference. Robert explained to her that in psychotherapy, the therapists train to deal with it professionally. It’s a normal and frequent occurrence. Most times, the feelings could be mutual. However, it’s always up to the doctor to prevent escalation since the patient is in a vulnerable state and protected by the law. Was the doctor experiencing countertransference?
Abbie brought the second drink to her mouth, at first letting the bitter, sour taste lurk on her lips and tongue, then downing it in three successive gulps. No, there’s more to it. I’m missing something. “Get me a stiff one,” she hollered to the barman. The drinks eased her tension, and she needed to think without panic. “What a coincidence, hey?” Molina’s words swirled in her mind as the barman laid the next cocktail on the counter. Her pulse raced. This was no coincidence either. She downed the cocktail before the barman had the chance to move on to the next customer. Without saying a word, she rotated her index finger, instructing the barman to pour one more. Was Molina here to do surveillance on the doctor? The effects of the alcohol were rapidly settling in, producing a warm surge of confidence and slowing her heart rate. She was smart enough to work it out.
By the time the next drink arrived, her problems no longer seemed insurmountable. She stirred the rocks in the glass, watching the gin and lime swirl invitingly. She sipped it this time, letting her tongue absorb the alcohol, savoring the tangy taste and the numbing effects, reflecting on her encounter with the doctor. Everyone enjoys to be desired; there is no denying that, and she was no different. Besides the awkward goodbye kiss, it was a pleasant encounter. She raised the moist, cool glass to her lips and took another sip. Is it possible that the doctor played some role in these murders? Maybe he induced my hospital coma out of a sickly doctor-patient infatuation? Her face turned crimson, and she balled her hands into fists. If it’s true, I’ll kill him myself. I don’t need Molina. For a moment, she scared herself. She wasn’t a violent person by any means, and the murderous thoughts were unnatural and foreign. She brushed them aside. This was no time for self-reflection, and she was probably overreacting. She downed the rest of her cocktail and smashed it down on the counter. “Thanks, chef,” she called out to the barman and stumbled back to her seat.
“Holy crap, how much did you drink?” Robert said to her in a hushed voice as she flopped into the chair with a dumb smile.
“Let’s get out of here before I make a total ass out of myself.”
“Are you sure? This is your night, babe.” He remained supportive and understanding.
She intertwined her arm with his and stood up, “Yeah, let’s go. I’ve had enough.”
He supported her stagger as they the exited hall. To the casual onlooker, they seemed like an elegant power couple that had more important things to do than spend the evening at an architect’s ceremony and were moving on to a better party.
Abbie soaked in the final congratulations of passersby, every word adding another brick to her wall of self-worth, which was more fragile than drywall.
She swayed on the pavement, inhaling a deep breath of the cool night air, strengthening the lurking taste of alcohol. “Yes!” She shouted, fist pumping the night sky. The official acclaim was her olive branch. But, like everything in life, even these moments are fleeting. She knew that her success required consistent sacrifice and dedication. Tonight wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning. Reaching the summit was an anti-climax because it would never be enough, there was no ending. Every time it would be a fresh battle to stay at the top. Why do I feel hollow? It took no more than three or four icy breaths for her newly elevated self-esteem to succumb to the darkness. Only the truth about her ordeal could genuinely set her free.
CHAPTER 25
The leaves crunched underfoot, interrupting the steady pounding of her sneakers. Her breathing was steady and rhythmic, the icy early morning breeze rustling the forest leaves and stinging her face. She fastened the hood around her head, keeping up the quick pace, sloshing her way through the muddy trail. Dense forestry lined either side of her path, and a thick fog reduced her visibility to less than three or four strides. It didn’t bother her. She could run the route blindfolded. It was her favored way to kickstart the day, a scenic three-mile run through the greenery surrounding her home. She enjoyed the solitude of the forest; it was the only place where she didn’t fear that she was under surveillance. The dense forest, combined with her fast-paced running, ensured that she was in true solitude, away from prying eyes.
Into her last mile, she cranked up the pace, trying to shake off the morning’s fatigue. She was exhausted as though she hadn’t slept the whole night. Nevertheless, she hoped the intense exertion would give her the boost of energy she needed. Her legs burned as though she had run a long marathon the previous day. But she refused to cut herself some slack, keeping up the pace at all costs. A powerful gust of wind jostled the trees, bringing with it an icy spray of rain. She lowered her head, letting the droplets slide off her hood. The storm strengthened to a battering shower, muddying the slippery trail further. Her sneakers sank into the sloshy terrain. She veered to the right, choosing a shorter detour through the forest to get home. She moved faster, twisting between the pine trees in her way, trying to escape the bone-chilling rain that pelted her hoodie. Without a beaten trail, she fought hard to battle against the si
nking muddy terrain, every stride an immense effort. She focused her eyes ahead, seeking a viable path through the forest. As she widened her stride, her right foot smashed into a muddy obstacle concealed by the downward sloping terrain. She hit the muddy earth hard, sliding along the rain-soaked slope, caking her face and arms in the mud. Once she came to an abrupt stop, she hauled herself to her knees and outstretched her bleeding mud-covered palms, letting the rain wash away the reddish-brown grime.
That damn rock, how didn’t I see it?
She threw back her hood, tilting her face toward the blustery sky. The rain pelted her grazed forehead and cheeks, stinging her injuries like alcohol poured on an open wound. She grimaced, watching the dirt slide off her face. She turned her palms toward the rain and washed off the remaining filth. Satisfied that she could move on, she stood up and assessed her injuries by bending her knees and elbows. Besides the stinging grazes and her dirt ridden appearance, she had come off relatively lightly. She glanced at the slope, searching for the culprit. Twenty feet further up, a protruding mud-covered rock caught her eye, speckled with areas of golf ball-sized whitish spots. She made her way back up the slope, using the branches of the surrounding pine trees for support. The strange-looking rock had piqued her interest and was worth the short, yet laborious journey. The rain no longer concerned her, she was soaked and dirty anyhow. Heaving, she pulled herself up, her sneakers digging into the earth. With every step forward, the rock intrigued her more. It seemed like roots were growing out of the small discolored boulder, the heavy rain washing away the mud. She continued to push on, determined to reach it. Near the last few feet the incline steepened, so she clung to a protruding root and hauled herself forward. As she witnessed the rock her knees buckled, and she fell onto the muddy earth, screaming from the depths of her soul, rain hammering against her torso. Her hand trembled as she wiped away some mud. It was no rock, but a girl’s head caked in sleek muddy grime. Her skin was pale as a ghost, her hair so matted and muddied that the strands seemed like roots dug up from beneath the earth. Her youthful, innocent face radiated a permanent peaceful slumber. Abbie threw herself onto the earth, scooping up soil using her hands like shovels, digging desperately around the body. With every scoop, more mud lodged under her nails. Section by section, she uncovered the naked corpse. When she reached the stomach area, she recoiled and belched from disgust. The vomit surged through her nose and mouth, leaking onto her clothing and the earth.
He had sliced an X across the girl’s upper midriff, a gruesome disemboweling. Her neck displayed harsh bruising, with her esophagus pushed inwards.
What kind of monster would do something like this?
She rolled the girl’s body over; needing to know. She cupped her hands until enough rainwater had formed. Then she splashed it against the girl’s inner thighs, rubbing away the dirt with her palm. The tattoo gradually appeared on the pale skin, a clear testament to the evil that had occurred. The tearful eye stared back at Abbie with the all too familiar overwhelming sensation of fear and anguish.
Abbie screamed, her voice echoing through the frosty surrounding pine trees. She wiped her eyes and glanced skywards, pleading to God that she was hallucinating, that this was just another bad dream. She’d had so many of late, it was indeed possible. But no matter how much she pleaded and cried, when she opened her eyes, the image of the rain battering the frail corpse greeted her. Abbie gazed around the forest, circling like a hound chasing its tail. She rubbed her eyes, brushing away the rainwater that blurred her vision. Even if there was somebody lurking between the pines, she wouldn’t have seen them. With her temple pulsating, she reached in her pocket and pulled out the devices. She analyzed both in her trembling palm. The larger pager was the FBI, the smaller one, Molina. There was no choice but to call it in, but who? She hesitated, contemplating her options. There was a dead girl less than three hundred yards from her home, and she discovered the body off the beaten track, in the forest. Nobody would believe her, she was the prime suspect after all. Either the FBI would arrest her, or Molina would be the judge and jury, killing her on the spot without batting an eyelid. She couldn’t just leave the body here either. Her footprints littered the forest, and her fingerprints were all over the corpse. If they ever discovered the body, it would be too late for explanations. There was only one option, to get rid of it. No, you’re not an animal, you can’t do this. She cowered into the fetal position and sobbed.
“There is no other way. Just do it!” she said out loud, rallying herself for the gruesome task. She raised herself to her feet and lugged the girl down the slope by her wrists. They were cold and lifeless to the touch, like butchered meat. The chilling sound of the corpse sliding along the soil made her stomach churn. Through her tear-filled eyes and the pelting rain, it seemed like the heavens were crying. She pushed on, maneuvering the corpse between the pine trees and uneven terrain. She sucked in air in quick bursts, suppressing nausea and bile stirring in her stomach.
A few feet before the edge of the forest, she lowered the corpse into a small ditch disguised by leafy greenery. Piling mud on the body, she assessed her next steps. The ditch would not be enough, but it would be a temporary solution, at least until she could move it elsewhere. The dense fog and the blistering rainfall would prevent most dog walkers from venturing into the forest. Satisfied with her makeshift grave, she emerged from the forest, sprinting up the winding road leading to the house. Pumping her arms and knees in full stride, she embraced the heavy rainfall that continued to shower the earth unabated. In the distance, she could see Robert’s gray Lexus sedan parked in the driveway. She glanced at her watch.
07:10 a.m.
Damn it. They’re still home!
She slowed to a fast walk, gulping air to catch her breath. Her bloody soiled hands and disheveled appearance would frighten them. She took a few deep breaths at the doorway. “Stay calm and smile, nothing happened,” she repeated to herself out loud. She removed her muddy sneakers at the front door and strolled inside.
“Daddy, can I have more orange juice?”
She heard Jonah’s tender voice coming from the kitchen.
“Sure, would you like more toast?”
It was a relief that Robert sounded casual. No need for alarm. She ambled into the kitchen with a broad smile, “Good morning, guys.” From their gaping mouths she grasped the gravity of her soiled appearance.
“My God, are you okay? What happened?” Robert said. The creases on his forehead mapped out in deep concern like a diverging river.
Jonah dropped his toast onto the plate, mouth still agape.
“Bad idea to play in the rain,” she said and chuckled uneasily, trying to lighten the mood. “I took a tumble in the mud on my run this morning, no big deal.” She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to wave it off.
“Where were you last night?” Robert asked.
“Honey, what do you mean? We fell asleep together after the movie.”
“I woke up at 3 a.m., and you weren’t in bed. You weren’t in the house, and your phone was switched off.” He huffed and outstretched his arms in question. “I noticed some of your jogging clothes sprawled on the bed, so I presumed you went for a run or a walk. I was close to calling the police.”
The word police sent her pulse racing, images of the bloody muddied corpse flashing through her mind. All she remembered was waking up and going for a run, and it wasn’t in the middle of the night. Did I black out? Oh my God, what did I do? She had no answer for him. Under no circumstances could he know what happened. “Jonah, eat your toast, darling. I’m going to speak with Daddy for a minute.” She motioned Robert into the adjacent living room. Those few precious seconds were all she needed to gather her thoughts. As soon as they were away from earshot, she upped the ante. “Don’t you ever accuse me of anything in front of my child!” It was her turn to go on the offensive.
“I’m concerned, Abbie. Something is happening to you.
”
“Really? I couldn’t sleep and spent some time outside, and you think I’m insane?”
“I didn’t mean it that way, baby. All I’m saying is that maybe you need to undergo a professional psychiatric evaluation. Disappearing in the middle of the night isn’t healthy behavior.”
“Oh, so your opinion isn’t good enough anymore? You said that I was absolutely fine!”
“I’m your husband, my opinion is subjective. You should be assessed objectively. It can only help you.”
“I’m sick and tired of it all, Robert. What I need is this psycho out of my life. Not shrink talk.”
“I know it’s hard for you, but this will end soon. He’ll make a mistake, and they’ll get him. Either way, you need to take care of yourself first.”
“There’re serial killer crimes from the seventies that remain unsolved. Don’t make hollow promises to make me feel better. What I need is understanding and support.” She played the victim card to its fullest. Brushing away the tears, she ran for the upstairs bedroom, sobbing.
“Abbie,” Robert called out to her. “I’m sorry.”
***
She fidgeted by the bedroom window overlooking their driveway. At any moment, Robert’s car would come into view. She glanced at her watch.
07:46 a.m.
It was a ten-minute drive to Jonah’s school, and Robert was obsessively punctual. Her feet tapped against the hardwood, legs shaking from the sweat-inducing anxiety. If the girl was discovered, she would be crucified, and her son’s life ruined. Every second was crucial. She was disgusted at herself for going to such extents, tormented by the thought maybe she should have called the police. What was she going to do with the body? As she stared out the window, darker thoughts crept into her mind. How come she didn’t remember being awake at 3 a.m.? What if she killed the girl?
Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller Page 14