“Breathe,” Fiona said, loosening the strap.
Abbie gagged, her neck muscles as taut as the strings of a guitar. She forced herself to cough, every breath of air easing her burning lungs.
“How could you be so naive? I’m trying to protect us, don’t you see?” Fiona said.
“Why am I here? Please, what does Dr. Falk want from me?”
“Oh, child, Dr. Falk is gone. I took care of that. It’s better for everyone.”
Abbie’s entire body shuddered. A fiery sensation emanated in her vital organs, rushing to her extremities. Fiona was the psycho’s dangerous side, treating the torture as a game, one she relished and excelled at.
“Now that you’re in charge of the hospital, please don’t hurt me. I’m begging you, Fiona.” Abbie pleaded, on the verge of tears. There was no option but to play the game.
“Now that I’m in charge?” Fiona said, her voice laced with sarcasm. She burst into hyena-like cackling. “I’ve always been in charge,” she said, no longer laughing.
Abbie kept silent, afraid to utter the wrong word and trigger another tantrum. Fiona was inches from her face and breathing on her, the warm, moist air clinging to her cheeks and lips.
“But there is someone . . .” Fiona said, pausing as if she regretted it. “I’ve said too much already. I’m such a blabbermouth.”
“No, please. Tell me.”
“You’ll know soon enough. He’s here.”
“Who’s here? Is there someone else in the room?” She regretted uttering the words as soon as they floated from her lips. She had called out another twisted character lurking in the darkness. There was no knowing how many or what kind of frightening personas lived inside this psycho. She had only ever met two, Freddie and Fiona. But there had to be more. It was pure foolishness to think otherwise.
The only sound in the room was Fiona’s panting close to her ear, the matted blonde locks streaking against her forehead and cheeks like a bird’s feather. Abbie tensed her facial muscles, squeezing her eyes shut, expecting the next torrent of pain. It was unpredictable and unscalable, fueling her panic.
“He’s dangerous. Girls like us are his forte. You’ll see soon,” Fiona said, spoon-feeding the words down her throat.
Abbie’s limbs convulsed, rattling the chains with a bone jarring iron clank. This was no hollow threat, and it implied violation.
“Please, don’t let him hurt me,” Abbie pleaded. Mentally, she was clutching onto her final straw. Another round of abuse, and she would irreparably snap.
“That depends on you, my child. I’ll do my part,” Fiona said.
Finally, a ray of hope. If the psycho character switched, Fiona would be somewhere inside his distorted mind. Maybe she could get Fiona to sympathize with her plight.
“How can I call for you?” Abbie asked.
“I’ll be right here with you. Don’t you worry about that,” Fiona said, gliding her fibrous hand through Abbie’s hair.
“What does he want from me?”
“To tell you the truth of why you’re here. You’ve asked yourself this question many times over.”
A rare glimpse of anticipation shrouded in darkness. This was everything that Abbie had hoped for, to find the meaning behind the madness.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about it. Not even for a moment. Do you know why I’m here?” Abbie said in a hushed voice, afraid to push her luck. Of course, Fiona had to know—this character lived inside her mind, after all.
“Yes, I know. You’ll see for yourself once you’re out of the darkness. For now, you must wait until he’s ready.”
“Please, tell me something,” Abbie pleaded. Any piece of information was crucial. There was no knowing what this new psychotic persona had in store for her.
“Once the cat is out of the bag, only one of us will leave here alive.”
“What . . . no, why?”
“You should get some rest. You’ll need it.”
Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.
Fiona’s high heels echoed across the room until an iron door slammed shut with a jarring clank.
“No . . . please!” Abbie screamed into the darkness, a meaningless exercise that at least helped her vent her frustration. Damn it! She was livid with herself for having pushed Fiona too far. It was obvious what was coming next. The psycho would reveal himself in all his glory. She prayed for a swift death without torture or violation. But by Fiona’s hints, that was unlikely at best. Abbie whimpered and gagged. The fear was paralyzing. She was facing a torturous death. There were no two ways about it. The only consolation could be that at least he had a reason, that this wasn’t random. She craved to know the truth just as much as she craved her freedom. She inhaled through her nostrils, easing some stomach-churning nausea.
When I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
Time lapsed, and her mind swirled. The main problem with being in the darkness for a sustained period was that it was increasingly difficult to differentiate between dreams and reality. She tugged at the chains until they cut into her wrists and ankles, the excruciating pain confirming her consciousness. She switched her thoughts to the cabin and visualized running to the bedroom in search of the Glock. Robert hadn’t followed her; there were no footsteps in pursuit. The footsteps she heard, right before the sharp pain to the back of her skull, came from a different direction. It was more like a quick shuffle than rapid footsteps. She deduced that the psycho must have lay in wait inside the wardrobe or behind the mattress. The more pertinent question was, what did he do with Robert and Jonah, if anything? Her mind weaved two theories. One option was nothing: he kidnapped her alone, leaving Robert to presume that she had run away having experienced some kind of mental breakdown. In that case, she would disappear without a trace. The other option was much worse: the psycho now held her entire family captive. “No!” she screamed until her lungs burned as if lit by a blowtorch. There was no one else to blame but herself. She had brought them down to the cabin where it all began.
Abbie tried to rattle the chains, but her limbs were heavy, exhaustion and severe thirst taking their toll. She struggled to discern whether her eyes were open or closed. In the darkness, it didn’t matter anyway. She hovered in this dark plain, a black hole that consumed every thought and emotion.
“Look, child. You’re all grown now.” Fiona’s voice called out to her from the darkness.
Abbie could see herself; she was in her late teens. She wore a gray beanie and a long black trench coat.
Winter.
With a black leather-gloved hand, she fiddled with the keys, quietly unlocking the front door and leaving her boots outside. She instantly recognized the dreary downtown apartment, tiptoeing her way to the kitchen, her socks sliding along the tiled surface. The gray kitchen cabinets were stained and remorseful, adding to the sullen appearance. The kitchen sink contained a few empty glasses. A pizza box with a half-eaten margherita was strewn on the wooden countertop. The odor of stale flour and cheese wafted through the air. Abbie covered her nose with the back of her gloved hand and shook her head in disgust, uncertain of how anyone could eat this junk. She slid off her gloves, finger by finger, and laid them on the countertop, folding them on top of each other. Slipping her right hand into the trench coat pocket, she removed an ampule and syringe. She rotated the ampule, enabling the clear liquid to mix. With a gentle flick of the index finger, the liquid descended from the top part of the ampule. She twisted off the top, tilted the ampule to a forty-five-degree angle, and inserted the needle into the solution. She drew the precise amount by dragging the plunger out and ensuring that the needle always remained submerged. Then she straightened the syringe with the needle pointing upwards and tapped the barrel of the syringe, watching the bubbles rise to the top. She pushed the plunger until all the bubbles disappeared. With a full syring
e in hand, she made her way through the carpeted hallway. There were multiple stains and cigarette burns on the carpet, and the air was dusty and cold.
Abbie observed herself from her dark vantage point as if watching a movie where she was the main protagonist. She handled the syringe with the expertize of a well-trained nurse. What’s going on? She had no recollection of this. Am I dreaming? She attempted to tug at the chains, but her limbs were lifeless, as if she had morphed into a soul that could see and feel everything while floating through the black abyss. There was no option but to watch.
The young Abigail opened the door to the bedroom with the care of an intruder, the needle of the syringe peeking out from her clasped hand. Faint moonlight streaming in through the half-drawn curtains illuminated the dreary room. A woman lay on a double bed in the center of the room, sleeping on her side. Her labored breathing audible. Abbie approached a white wooden vanity pressed up against the left wall and removed a small packet of narcotics from her trench coat pocket, spilling the powdery contents across the table. She turned to face the sleeping woman, who was covered up to her chest, only her naked right arm resting above the duvet. Abbie straightened the syringe and took long, silent strides toward the woman. She placed her thumb over the plunger, maintaining a steady hand. In one rapid and precise motion, she grabbed the woman’s wrist and inserted the needle at a ninety-degree angle into the back of her hand. A struggle ensued, but Abbie clutched onto the woman’s hand, using her body weight to pin her down. She emptied the full contents of the syringe, throwing it to the floor.
“Shh, relax, it’s me, Abigail,” she said, turning to face the shocked woman.
“What . . . what’re you doing here?”
“I brought you some medicine. You’ll be okay now. Go back to sleep,” Abbie said. She stroked the woman’s wavy reddish hair and watched as her closed eyelids fluttered, the solution spreading rapidly through the bloodstream. The woman’s eyes shot open in sheer panic, squeezing Abbie’s arm and foaming at the mouth. She tried to speak, but the dawning death rattle drowned her words. Her pleading eyes said it all.
“It’s okay. It’ll be over soon,” Abbie said.
Within seconds, the woman’s body convulsed in pain, parting ways with life.
Abbie stood up and retraced a few steps, watching death run its course.
The woman’s limbs kicked out in every direction, the intensity dropping off until she lay lifeless.
Abbie approached the body and gripped the woman’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Satisfied that there was none, she turned and left the room.
Darkness.
The scene ended as abruptly as it started. Julie overdosed. I had nothing do to with it.
“Julie!” Abbie screamed. “No, please, God. This isn’t real. I was dreaming.”
“Your sister knew all along what happened to you on the farm, and she did nothing,” Fiona’s voice echoed through the black abyss.
“You’re lying. You know nothing about what happened.”
“I know everything about you, Abigail Blake.”
CHAPTER 37
“Abigail, open your eyes. It’s time to step out of the darkness.”
Her head swirled as if she was on a fishing boat caught in a thunderous storm. “Fiona, is that you?”
“Yes, child. It’s me. He’s ready for you.”
Abbie’s chin rested on her chest, her eyelids heavy. It was as if she was no longer bound to gravitational forces, sensing the earth’s rotation below her feet.
“Open your eyes, or I’ll rip your eyelids open,” Fiona said.
Despite Abbie’s intense weakness, Fiona’s threat triggered the sensory warnings in her brain. She raised her eyebrows and scrunched her forehead, using her facial muscles to open her eyes. She sat in a metal chair, her bare feet resting on the smooth green epoxy floor and chained by the ankles with iron clasps. Her chained wrists rested on her shivering thighs. She stared at the white hospital gown, the hem barely covering her knees. She shook, the room colder than a surgical theater.
“Look up, child,” Fiona instructed.
Abbie forced her head up, her neck heavy as if a weight rested on it. “Robert . . .” the shock paralyzed her speech. Her entire reality collapsed as if the surrounding decaying brick walls had crumbled on top of her.
“Hello, Abbie,” Robert said. He sat across from her, and next to Fiona, their hands intertwined. “I believe you’ve met Fiona, my patient.” His brown eyes burned with intensity.
“I’m more than your patient, baby. I don’t like it when you call me that,” Fiona said, narrowing her thick black painted eyebrows and pouting her Botox-induced lips. She adjusted the wig with her long, bony fingers and then placed a manly palm on his knee, signaling that she would take over. “We’re lovers,” Fiona said, letting the words sink in.
Abbie twisted toward Robert, who didn’t flinch as if frozen by the impact of Fiona’s words.
“The handsome doctor and I have more in common than you ever did. You heard us making love, didn’t you?” Fiona said, a sinister smile crossing her face. “He also partakes in my affliction. It’s our special bond.” She stood up and approached Abbie, obstructing Robert from view. She bent down, bringing her face inches from Abbie’s. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
Abbie squeezed her eyes shut, willing back the darkness. It was her only escape. The questions flooding her mind were endless, but all she wanted was to make everything disappear. How, what, or why no longer mattered, the conclusion would be the same. The person she had trusted the most in this world was the real monster, and he had betrayed her.
Smack.
Abbie’s ears buzzed as if she was wearing headphones and someone had cranked the volume to the maximum. Her cheek burned, and her eyes watered from the intensity of Fiona’s blow.
“Open your eyes and answer me,” Fiona growled. Her voice no longer had any feminine trace. “You’re such a sulky bitch. That’s why I’ve had to keep you in the dark for so long.”
Abbie dragged open her eyelids, staring straight into Fiona’s fiery glare. She was so close that she could see her reflection in Fiona’s iris.
“We make them beg for death,” Fiona whispered.
Abbie could see it in her eyes, the sickly, gruesome images. The array of tortured young women pleading to be put out of their misery.
“Once a person cracks . . .” Fiona said, and took in air through her flaring nostrils, “well, they’re no longer human anymore. It’s kind of what happened to you on the farm.”
Abbie lowered her eyes to her chained, clasped hands. She had never spoken to anyone about the farm, not even Robert. It was as if Fiona was hanging her soul onto the washing line for inspection, and she couldn’t utter a word in protest.
Fiona raised Abbie’s chin with a long, bony index finger, forcing her to look into her eyes. “You know, this isn’t about you and Robert,” Fiona said.
In Abbie’s mind, Fiona couldn’t have been more wrong. To her, this was only about Robert. How could he have committed all those horrendous crimes? How could he have done this to her? She yearned to call out to him, a simple why. But she was speechless as if Fiona had turned her into a mute, adamant about stealing the show.
“This is about us. I’m stronger than you’ll ever be, and your family belongs to me,” Fiona said, the edges of her mouth upturned in a wry smile. “Don’t you think Jonah deserves to have a mother that can protect him?”
Abbie grimaced. The mention of her son was a stab to the gut. She shook her head from side to side, her rolling tears blurring Fiona’s haughty expression. Finally, the full extent of her dark reality dawned. This wasn’t about torturing her for the sake of it or to fulfill a twisted desire. They planned to take her son away and dispose of her forever. She wanted to scream, fight the chains until she either broke free or bled to death. But she couldn’t react. It wa
s as if her mind and limbs failed to grasp reality, overwhelmed by the shock.
“I’ll erase your existence. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, to rid myself of you,” Fiona said, stroking Abbie’s hair. “It’s been a hell of a journey, my child, hasn’t it? But it’s time for me to take over.”
“ABIGAILLLLL, are you here?”
A scream echoed from beyond the iron door. Fiona’s head snapped towards the entrance.
Abbie recognized the voice immediately. She dug deep, mustering all her strength to scream, “Molina, I’m here locked up. Help me, please.”
“Thank you, Abigail. I always knew we were a team.” Fiona said, positioning herself against the wall behind the door frame. “You poor thing, you don’t realize it yet. But you will soon. It’s showtime.”
A flutter of hope sprung in Abbie’s heart. Molina would surely be armed, and she was well trained for these situations. Abbie surveyed the room like an eagle hovering above its prey. Whatever was about to happen, not getting caught in the crossfire was the priority. She had to survive at all costs, for Jonah. Robert still sat across her, his arms folded, his expression blank.
“Robert, darling, please think of Jonah. The police are here. It’s over. Help me,” Abbie pleaded, seeking that spark of decency in Robert’s watering eyes. She could sense that he knew that the end was nigh. Despite his visible emotion, he didn’t react.
“Shut up now. He won’t help you,” Fiona said, pointing a Glock in Abbie’s direction. “You make a single sound, and it’s going to be you instead of Molina. I need to concentrate.”
The weapon caught Abbie off guard. That was the gun from the pink sports bag that she had taken from Molina’s home and stashed in the wardrobe at the cabin.
“That’s my gun, isn’t it?” Abbie said.
“Yes, it is. I told you we’re a team. Next sound you make, I’ll shoot you, so shut up.”
Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller Page 22