Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller

by A B Alexander

  An unfolded handwritten note caught her attention. She picked it up, afraid to read its contents. This was none of her business, and she had her own pain to deal with. But it drew her to the words like a moth to the flame.

  My dearest Jessie,

  How did I lose you so suddenly? In a glimpse, in a flash—without warning, you were taken from my life forever. It’s like you never existed except in my broken mind. I see glimpses of you everywhere, little reminders of the girl that made me a mom. I have become an endless well of tears. A broken vessel, stripped of my ability ever to feel whole. If only I could rewind time, appreciate our moments more, give you more, do more! It sickens me I wasn’t there to protect you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. We’ll meet again soon, and I know that when the time comes, you’ll be there to greet me through the gates of heaven. Before that happens, I pray to God that he’ll give me the strength to find justice and avenge your death. Gandhi said that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I say, this isn’t about eyes or teeth like in the Bible, this is about my daughter, and I’ll take this person’s soul . . .

  The letter fell from Abbie’s quivering hands, her vision blurred by the tears. She stormed out of the room and shut the door, leaning against the frame, her chest heaving up and down. It was harrowing to get a first-hand glimpse into Molina’s pain. She mopped up the tears from her cheeks and proceeded in search of the master bedroom. By the apartment’s fairly standard layout, she figured it would be the last room toward the end of the hallway. She glanced at her watch; forty minutes had passed since she texted Robert. Although she had made decent time considering the conditions, she needed to hurry.

  Molina’s bedroom contained a king-size bed and a sliding-door wall-to-wall mirrored wardrobe. The pristine white sheets and pillows were scattered across the mattress, showing that Molina had left in a rush. Abbie entered the small en suite bathroom and stripped down, throwing the bloody clothes in the sink. She caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and almost screamed out from bewilderment, her mind still struggling to fathom her blood-drenched and disheveled appearance. She stepped into the walk-in shower and twisted the lever, resting her head against the tiled wall. The warm rain shower engulfed her jittery frame. She tracked the blood swirl around the drain as if it were draining from a slaughtered animal at an abattoir. She gagged, disgusted by the sight of the drifter’s blood that clung to her body like dried paint. Reaching for the soap, she scrubbed the dry blood from her limbs, shedding the layer of red skin. She shampooed her hair over and over again, each time ridding herself of more blood ingrained like hair dye. She leaned her head against the wall and watched the water swirl around her toes and down the drain, turning a light shade of pink. The blood was almost gone, and she could rid herself of the drifter forever. As the water caressed her neck, she considered the next part of the plan. She needed to arrive home without Molina’s car and get inside without being noticed by the surveillance. All this had to happen fast, and considering the weather, it was borderline impossible. She tapped her forehead against the tiled shower wall, venting her frustration and racking her brain for a workable plan.

  She looked down at her toes; the water was clear. She turned the lever and reached for a folded white cotton towel, quickly drying herself. The reflection in the mirror showed no trace of blood. She grabbed a wide-tooth comb by the sink and straightened her matted hair, ironing out the knots. She had dried her hair as much as possible before brushing, but it was still moist. In her current situation, split ends were her last concern. She slid open the glass wardrobe door and rummaged through Molina’s clothing. Abbie’s frame was at least one size smaller, so she picked the tightest and smallest-looking clothes. She checked herself out in the mirror; the tights were folding in areas, bunching around the knees, buttocks, and ankles. The long-sleeve navy T-shirt reached down to her upper thighs. She grabbed a black waterproof parka, her fingertips barely visible under the sleeves. Molina wore comfortable and purposeful clothes, but there was nothing fashionable about them.

  Abbie sat down on the edge of the bed and assessed the next part of the plan. There was no choice but to take it one step at a time and evolve from there. She checked her cell, and there were no calls or messages from Robert. She ordered a cab to come pick her up from the apartment in five minutes. Zipping up the parka, she steamed down the hallway. There was one room that she hadn’t entered: the door opposite the daughter’s room. She stopped in front of the door and sighed. Everyone’s got their secrets, and particularly after Molina’s loss, Abbie feared to know. As her hand reached for the handle, she hesitated. Wait for the cab and leave. Don’t snoop around her personal stuff. She heard the pup roaming around the kitchen and living room. Survival instincts come first. She twisted the handle, and the door clicked open.

  A blueish UV light illuminated a computer desk strewn with forensic documents and fingerprint analysis. A small laptop rested above the pile. The room was otherwise in total darkness. Abbie flicked on the main switch. Two long fluorescent tubes flickered on, illuminating the room with an operational feel. Endless piles of documentation littered most of the tiled floor. Photographs and diagrams covered every space of the walls. Molina had made handwritten notes with a black permanent marker directly on the white walls. Abbie drew her eyes to a diagram above the desk. A black marker circled an enlarged monochrome photo and the words:

  Prime Suspect.

  An arrow pointed to another monochrome photo with the words:

  Accomplice or Possible Copycat.

  Abbie stepped forward to analyze the photos. She was in her jogging clothes, leaving the house, a clear shot of her face, circled as the prime suspect. Below it was another black circle, and the words:

  Stage 4 evidence collection. High probability of guilt. Take her out.

  Abbie gripped her head with both hands, the walls vibrating. She stepped back from the diagram, shaking her head, her hands balled into fists.

  The other photo was of the drifter leaving the hardware store, circled as the so-called accomplice or copycat killer. It didn’t matter anyway; he was gone, and the implications were obvious. Her fears were not unfounded. Molina planned to kill two birds with one stone, intending on driving her to the drifter’s cabin and taking them both out. But the photos in the drifter’s kitchen had probably negated the evidence in some way, possibly shedding light on Abbie’s innocence and confirming that the drifter was the main, or only, killer.

  Abbie screamed, the cords on her neck swelling; this changed everything. Molina was lying all along and couldn’t be trusted. Only God knew what she was telling the FBI right now.

  “No, No, No!” she screamed out loud, throwing the laptop with the scattered documents to the floor. She ripped the drawers out, spilling the contents all over the room. In the second draw, she found it. A standard FBI–issued Glock 22. She gripped the weapon in her right hand and charged out of the room, unsure of what she planned on doing with it yet. After her hellish ordeal, there was no chance that she would let them ship her off to prison. She would not be a victim of the system.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Hey, baby, how’s your dinner? Are you on the way home?” Robert asked, answering the call. His voice casual and careless, adding to the surrealism of her plight.

  “Darling . . . Do you . . . ?” Abbie gasped between words, holding back the tears.

  “What is it, babe?” The tone of his voice shifted to serious and alert.

  “Do you love me unconditionally?” she said, sobbing into the phone.

  “Oh God, what happened?”

  “Answer me, Robert. Please.”

  “Yes . . . you know that I do. I would do anything for you.”

  She drew her palms to her face and exhaled. She’d needed to hear the words. They sounded genuine, and they had to be. She had worked out a calculated plan, and there was one way out. Although she could only foresee to
a certain point, her gut told her it was the only way. It was like a voice in her head, guiding her toward her destiny.

  “Darling, I need you to do precisely as I tell you.”

  “Why, Abbie? Just tell me what’s going on?”

  “I can’t. There’s no time.”

  “Why, what on earth’s going on?”

  “Robert, you must trust me. I know how this sounds, but I swear I’m not crazy. Please, darling, I need you. Either you’re with me, or you’re not.”

  The line went silent for a moment, her heart fluttering. Without him, she didn’t stand a chance.

  “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  She raised her palms toward the ceiling, eternally grateful that he trusted her. “I’ve ordered a cab. He’ll arrive in less than ten minutes. Once the driver arrives, open the garage door and tell him to park inside because you don’t want to get caught in the rain. After a few minutes, pay him for a taxi fare downtown and send him on his way. Do not get into the cab. Do you understand?”

  “Yes . . . I guess so. Just tell me something, anything.”

  “They’re probably watching the house, so make sure it seems like you’re inside the cab.”

  “Who’s watching, the police? Come home, baby. Whatever’s happened, we’ll deal with it.”

  “Darling, I don’t think you understand. If you don’t do this right, we’ll never see each other again and I’m not being melodramatic.”

  Another moment of tense silence. The only audible sound was Robert’s panting. She wanted to avoid freaking him out, but he had to know what was at stake.

  “Okay . . . okay. What next?”

  “Pack some clothes for us and get Jonah ready. Ten minutes after the first cab leaves, another will arrive. The driver will know where to take you. Make sure you’re not being followed and bring sufficient cash.”

  “Please, Abbie, you’re involving our son. I need to know what’s happening. This isn’t right.”

  “Just do it.” She hung up the line and leaned back into Molina’s cheap camel leather sofa. She stared at the ceiling, replaying the scenario in her mind. The police weren’t tracing her calls as they must have stopped considering her a suspect. If they were, they would have arrested her and Molina long before they arrived at the drifter’s cabin. However, they undoubtedly had basic surveillance on her home as a precaution and on the slight chance that the psycho would come back for her. In that case, the cab diversion should throw them off. In twenty to twenty-five minutes, she would be on her way to freedom with her family.

  She stood up and paced around the living room, glancing at her watch. If Molina was co-operating with the cops, they could burst into the apartment at any moment. She kept her hand wrapped around the cold steel of the Glock, which felt oddly familiar although she’d never fired one before. Further doubt crept into her mind. What if Robert backed out and called the police? He had questioned her sanity for a while, and she had burdened him with the strangest request. Why should he trust her, particularly when it involved their son? She scolded herself for her stupidity, tightening her grip on the gun until her knuckles whitened. She shouldn’t have trusted him. In earnest, she realized she shouldn’t have trusted anybody, having already made that mistake with Molina. She rolled her shoulders and reasoned that there was no choice. Life is a fickle puzzle, with the missing piece always in the hands of the people you love and trust; they complete it.

  In the kitchen, she refilled the dog’s bowls with food and water as he dozed in the corner. She rested the Glock on the counter and lifted the hound, cuddling him. She stroked his soft coat, not taking her eyes off the gun or the front door. The pup yawned and relished her warm touch. They were at ease with one another, and the dog’s comforting presence helped stave off her panic.

  Each time she heard voices or footsteps coming from beyond the front door, she would lean over and place her hand on the Glock. As the minutes ticked by, she relaxed and shifted her thoughts to what she would tell Robert.

  The dog!

  The answer was in her arms. She placed the pup on the floor and reached for a pink sports bag that rested on a nearby sofa. She filled it with dog food and a bottle of water. Dropping the gun inside the bag, she zipped it up, leaving it by the door. She cradled the dog, giving it a light kiss on the forehead. “You’ll be just fine,” she said, referring to them both.

  Her phone rang, the screen displaying Robert’s photo.

  “We’re outside some apartment building, where’re you?” Robert said, his voice tense.

  “Were you followed?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, I’m coming down.”

  She hung up and approached the window overlooking the street, using the thick curtains to conceal her shadow. The cab had parked up front, right by the entrance, its hazard lights flickering on and off through the relentless downpour. Otherwise, the road was empty for at least half a mile on either side. She waited for a full minute, observing the road, ensuring that there would be no ambush. It remained eerily empty, but that was to be expected in this weather. She cradled the dog, grabbed the sports bag, and stormed out of the apartment. As she entered the elevator, the adrenaline was once again running rabid. Images flashed through her mind of the police handcuffing her as soon as she stepped outside. Arrested for murder in front of her husband and son, humiliated in the rain, facing years behind bars. She shivered at the prospect but pulled herself together just as the elevator came to a thudding halt. The doors swooshed open, and without hesitation, she strode toward the exit with wide, confident steps, dog in arms. If the police were waiting, she wasn’t going anywhere alive. She pulled the pink sports bag closer to her body and covered her head with the parka’s hoodie.

  The rain sprayed against the parka with the swoosh of a tent getting hosed down. She pressed the pup against her chest, sheltering him as much as possible from the rain without suffocating him. The passenger cab door flung open, and she threw herself inside, embracing Robert and Jonah, relieved to see them again. But she didn’t give them a chance to raise questions. “We’re heading to Klamath Falls, in the Lake of the Woods area,” she quickly instructed the driver.

  His head twisted around like a corkscrew. “Ma’am, that’s almost a five-hour ride from here. There’s a severe storm throughout Oregon state.”

  “We got the cash. We’ll make it worth your time.”

  The driver whistled under his breath and shook his head from side to side, confirming that he had no intention of making the long trip at night and in inclement weather.

  Abbie signaled to Robert to give her his wallet and placed a forefinger over his lips. “Later,” she said, grabbing the wallet from him. She removed a few notes and handed it to the driver, “Here’s five hundred bucks up front irrespective of the fair.”

  “Okay then, I guess we’re going to Klamath Falls,” the driver said, smirking, and put the cab in motion.

  As the car rolled off, Robert and Jonah stared at her in astonishment, each with their own reasons. Jonah couldn’t take his eyes off the pup that lay cradled and shaking in her lap, frightened by the ferocious storm raging outside. Robert, on the other hand, was utterly perplexed by the entire situation, eyeing her for an explanation.

  “I know you’re sad about Hank, so I bought you this little guy. When Hank comes home, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have a new friend,” Abbie said with a broad smile and handed the dog to Jonah, who shrieked from joy, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Thanks, Mommy, he’s amazing!” Jonah said. He cradled the pup, grinning.

  Once Jonah was preoccupied with the dog, Robert leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What’s going on?”

  “Hank,” she mouthed the name without uttering a sound and slid her thumb across her throat.

  “When?” Robert said, this time out loud, his nostrils flaring.

 
“Today.”

  He shook his head in frustration, tensing his prominent jaw. A deep frown crossed his forehead as his eyes narrowed. He seemed perplexed and equally upset.

  Hank had been with him through rough times and was always a furry beacon of hope.

  Robert closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest, allowing himself a few minutes to process the devastating news before pursuing more answers. “Why’re we going to our cabin? Why this elaborate plan?”

  “I’m ready to go back. I realized that today after losing Hank. We all need this. I’m sorry for frightening you. I couldn’t stop crying,” she said and poised herself for the critical part, scrutinizing his face for suspicion. “I’m sick and tired of feeling watched. I want to forget the police. They’ve done nothing but harm.”