Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller

by A B Alexander

  Robert leaned over, kissing her lips with a gentle vigor. They were meatier and smooth, still not ready for lipstick but a far cry from when she first awoke.

  She watched the lush greenery flash by as they sped along the winding road away from OHSU toward their home in Forest Park. “Is it still as I remember it?”

  “I’ve made a few slight design upgrades. I hope you like it.” Robert sounded confident.

  “Mom, we have gigantic windows that look out at the trees. It’s wonderful.” Jonah’s enthusiasm was tangible.

  “Okay then, let’s see what Daddy has done with the house.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they rolled up to the double garage outside their home. The door composed of squares of frosted glass bordered by matte black aluminum.

  “Wow, that’s nice, I like it already,” she said, impressed by this upgrade. Robert was no architect, but he had a natural knack for design.

  “You’ve seen nothing yet,” he said, switching off the ignition. He circled the bonnet and opened the passenger door. “Here, let me grab those.” He reached for the crutches.

  “It’s fine. I got it.” She hated feeling like a patient. It took her triple the time to maneuver herself out of the passenger seat and slip her arms into the crutches’ cuffs.

  Robert and Jonah looked on in mournful silence, almost expecting her to fall or give up.

  There were few things in life that she disliked more than pity; it didn’t differ from family. She placed the crutches in front of her and swung her body forward at pace. Her arms were getting strong enough to support her weak knees and legs. It was by no means speed walking, but she had signaled her intent. “Come on, guys, what’re you waiting for!” she hollered.

  Robert inserted the key into the contemporary front door, redesigned in the same vein as the garage.

  “Consistent exterior design lines. I’m impressed.” She poked fun at him.

  His cheeks flushed as he ushered her through the front door. “Welcome home, baby.”

  “I . . . ” The shock froze her words in midair.

  “Isn’t that view fantastic,” Robert said, beaming.

  She completely phased out. The gravity of her shock submerged sounds as if she was underwater. Robert’s enthusiastic descriptions and Jonah’s childlike squeals were a distant echo. Her stomach churned. The resemblance of the design was uncanny. She was an architect, so the subtle details were evident. For a moment, she was back in the den of the beast, the walls in the living room replaced by wall to wall windows with stunning 360-degree views of the surrounding lush greenery. Their home was transformed with clean minimalistic lines, Italian furniture, and high-end hardwood. Her mind drifted to the day of the escape. There he was, in his sickly outfit, blocking her path to the outside. Her arms shook, rattling the crutches.

  “Abbie, Abbie, Abbie!” Robert chanted her name, urging her to snap out of it.

  She remained unresponsive, convulsing, gripped by a seizure of terror.

  Robert placed a soothing hand on her arm. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  She lashed out at him, the crutches brushing past his face.

  “Jonah, go to your room now!” Robert ordered the boy. He didn’t deserve to see his mother in this state.

  Abbie charged for the windows, gagging for air. She had to get out now. “Don’t you dare touch me.” She screamed an ominous warning, her primal instincts in overdrive: Crutches forward, swing, small step, and repeat.

  The pace wasn’t fast enough, but she didn’t dare look back. All or nothing. She threw the crutches to the ground, wobbling like an older man in a stupor. One foot in front of the other, pushing on like a wounded warrior.

  “Honey, please, what’re you doing?” Robert pleaded.

  The room swirled, trees, sculptures, artwork, and furniture mingled into a single spinning frame. She lowered her right foot, but instead of hardwood, it met a bottomless black hole. She collapsed onto the floor, smashing her face on the surface. Blood pooled in her mouth; its metallic taste was all too familiar. She screamed her limbs to action, refusing to stop.

  “Oh, my God, baby, please stop. It’s okay,” Robert urged her, extending his hands outwards, his palms open.

  She propelled herself forward with her elbows, eyes focused on the window and the trees outside. Freedom. She had done it before, and she would do it again.

  Never give up.

  He was right behind her. She pushed her right elbow forward but dropped to the hardwood, his weight pushing her down. He lay on top of her in a tight bear hug, locking her arms. She thrashed with her head and legs, but she was no match for him in this state. He rolled on his back, wrapping his arms around her torso, pinning her arms to her chest. Tears laced her burning cheeks; she had almost made it. She closed her eyes and screamed, wishing it would just end quickly.

  “Shh, it’s okay, Abbie. It’s me, Robert. You’re safe. You’re at home with your family where you belong. Jonah’s here.”

  She stopped thrashing, the name of the boy triggering a lucid thought. “Jonah?” Her voice was strained and desperate.

  “We picked you up from the hospital and just arrived home. Our home. We’re a family again.” He loosened his arms, easing his iron grip as her pounding heart beat slowed.

  “I’m so sorry, Robert.” She turned her puffy, tear-streaked face toward him. She was home again.

  The grip turned to a consoling embrace. They lay on the hardwood in each other’s arms, panting.

  “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get through this.” He wiped the tears from her face and kissed her blood-speckled mouth. “I can only imagine the hell you’ve been through.”

  “I was back there again.”

  “You’re traumatized, it’ll get better with time. Do you know what triggered it?”

  “No, not really.” She preferred to keep the truth to herself, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  “I guess you didn’t like the new design,” he joked with a light chuckle. He knew she was lying.

  “The changes are beautiful. But . . . it just reminded me of his house. The design is so similar. I lost it.” She paused, short of breath, her eyes widening. A slight tremor ran through her body as she connected the dots. “He’s been watching you guys over the years. He could even be watching us now.”

  “We’re safe, and you’re home. That’s all that matters. There’s a patrol car stationed outside. You’ve nothing to worry about. They’ll get him soon,” he said, clearing his throat. Embers of doubt burned in his eyes, it wasn’t fear, but it wasn’t confidence either.

  “I’m scared. My mind keeps tormenting me.”

  He slipped his right arm below her knees and his left under her arms, lifting her like a bride. He pressed his face against her cheek as he carried her to their upstairs bedroom, lowering her onto the king-size bed. “You need to get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself. These things take time. It’s not unusual.”

  She trusted his diagnosis as he had extensive experience treating trauma. In time, her fragmented mind would piece itself together, she reassured herself. She rested her head on the pillow, gazing at the floor to ceiling windows installed throughout the house. Thick gray clouds loomed over the treetops. Formations of birds scattered through the sky, seeking refuge from the impending storm. She had so many questions. What happened to the girl? Where was she held captive? Who was the beast that called himself Freddy and Fiona?

  Brrinnnggg.

  The phone on the bedside table rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Robert said, grabbing the phone. “Yes, this is Robert Blake.” He stood frowning in attentive silence for a long minute, the creases on his forehead stressing his concern. “Sure, we’ll be there.” He hung up and cowered over the edge of the bed. “How’s that for timing? Agent Molina wants to meet us tomorrow morning. I’m sure she’ll have some excellent new
s.”

  She tightened her lips and nodded; it pained her to speak. The intense screaming seemed to have torn open some of her lingering wounds.

  “Here, drink this. It’ll help you rest.” He handed her a single white pill and a glass of water.

  She propped the pill on the back of her tongue and let glide it down with a single sip, paying caution to her throat. She sagged into the pillows and watched the brewing storm, avoiding Robert’s stare. Her muscles relaxed as if she had awakened from a deep, peaceful slumber. A gust of wind jostled the trees outside, and the first drops of rain pattered the window. The clouds were getting darker by the minute, mirroring her thoughts. The beast was around, she felt it in her gut, he was coming to inflict pain and torture. He was as intelligent as he was psychotic, knowing everything about their lives, right down to the interior design of the house. He was like a third eye embedded in her brain. There would be no escape a second time as he wouldn’t underestimate her again. She got lucky by Fiona’s recklessness, something that his sickly mind would no doubt correct. He would improve the character, and Fiona would be more efficient and dangerous.

  Molina will have some good news for us tomorrow.

  She kept repeating it to herself until her thumping heart rate slowed. Her eyelids closed, convincing herself that the worst was over. It was blissful to be back in her bed. At least that didn’t change.

  CHAPTER 19

  The fluorescent tubes hummed above their heads, flickering every so often. She straightened her aching back in the cold metallic chair. The table was no different, a raw, ominous chunk of steel. She stared at Robert’s reflection through the mirrored glass ahead. He sat beside her, scrolling through his cell. Despite taking the day off from work, he wore his regular shrink attire.

  “Seems like an interrogation room, don’t you think?” She was nervous from the moment they walked into the Portland Police Department.

  “Molina probably needs a private place to talk. I wouldn’t worry about it,” he answered her without looking up from his phone. She tapped her fingers on the steel table and swallowed hard. Until they captured the beast, she couldn’t allow herself to put this nightmare in the past. She was desperate for information.

  After a lengthy wait, the door jolted open, and in strode Molina with Cunningham trailing behind. In tandem, they removed their jackets, placing them on the backs of the chairs across the table. Both agents carried their weapons in a hip holster. Molina took her seat with a metallic clank and dropped a heavy file on the table. Cunningham remained standing, leaning his bulky frame against the wall.

  “Good morning, Dr. and Mrs. Blake.” Molina’s tone wasn’t friendly. “My apologies for the long wait, it took some time to retrieve the file.”

  Both agents locked eyes on Abbie, almost ignoring Robert’s presence.

  “That’s no problem. We enjoyed the coffee of Portland’s finest,” Robert said with a smirk. He leaned his elbows on the table, making his presence known. It didn’t help lighten the mood as both agents continued scrutinizing Abbie, assessing her every move.

  She clasped her hands, looking down at the pink blotches of her scarred fingers. The frostbite would never subside, but she couldn’t bear the bandages any longer.

  “How have you been adjusting, Mrs. Blake?” Molina’s question was devoid of emotion. There was no concern or sympathy; it was purely objective.

  “Okay, I guess. I thank God every moment that I’m back at home with my family.”

  Molina remained stone-faced and flipped open a thick black file. She skimmed through the pages. “Here we have it,” she announced like she had made a significant discovery. “Have you exhibited or experienced any unusual behavior, Mrs. Blake?” Her question aimed at both of them.

  Abbie hesitated for a moment and averted Molina’s penetrating glare.

  Should I tell her what happened at the house and about the design similarities?

  Before she could decide, Robert had chosen for her. “No, I’m glad to say that my wife has been in stable condition despite her severe trauma.” He straightened his posture, expanding his chest.

  Abbie maintained a straight face to disguise her astonishment.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Molina said, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but she kept it respectful. “Okay, then, let’s get to the details.”

  Abbie raised her eyes, making eye contact with Molina, hoping that this was the moment.

  “Mrs. Blake, where’d you get the gun from?” Molina shot the question out of nowhere.

  “What gun? I didn’t have any gun,” Abbie said, shaking her head, her mouth agape.

  “We found you sprawled on the road with a gun in your hand.”

  “I was running away, and he shot me. I was hit in the chest area and fell to the ground. That’s the last thing I remember . . . Oh, and there was a car speeding in my direction.”

  “Your fingerprints were the only prints on the weapon.” Molina’s voice notched up a tone like a symphony orchestra building up to the crescendo. She glared at Abbie like a hawk. “Her name was Beth Wilson, and she was just nine years old.”

  “Oh my God, what happened?” Abbie lowered her face into her open palms, pins and needles rippling through her upper body.

  “I think you should tell us what happened,” Molina taunted her.

  “I don’t know what happened. Please, for God’s sake, just tell me what’s going on.” Abbie broke down in tears, her palms muffling her desperate wails.

  “We located Beth Wilson’s body about eighteen miles from where we found you. Although it was around six months later, an autopsy showed that she died around the same date. She had multiple wounds to the skull and upper midriff.” Molina pushed across the table a photo of the corpse, the girl’s hair and face covered in tacky blood.

  “No, please! This can’t be true. I’m so sorry. I had no choice but to leave her behind and try to find help.” Abbie gasped and gagged between sobs, her mind absorbing the tragic images that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  “Wait, I haven’t even reached the best part yet.” Molina’s sarcasm was palpable, her approach relentless.

  “Baby, it’s okay. There was nothing you could do for her,” Robert said, placing a comforting arm over Abbie’s shoulder. He flipped the photo with disgust. “You did the right thing; it was inevitable.” He shuffled in his seat, fearing what Molina would say next.

  “The gun found in your possession killed Beth.”

  “What? That’s impossible! He shot me, I didn’t have any gun.” Abbie raised her palms in air, her face ashen.

  “It’s possible that your wounds were self-inflicted, although the evidence is inconclusive. What we know for sure at this stage is that we found you unconscious, clutching the weapon that killed Beth Wilson.”

  The words hit Abbie like a sledgehammer to the chest. She choked, struggling for air, submerged by the insanity of Molina’s accusation, her entire reality distorted once more. Were Freddy and Fiona even real? Maybe I’m the psychopath?

  Robert pounced to his feet, his metal chair flying backward with a hollow, metallic clank. “Abbie, we’re leaving.” He turned toward Molina, his lips curling up into a snarl. “I want to speak with my lawyer. This conversation is over. You should concentrate on finding the person who did this to my wife. It has been four God damn years, and you still have nothing.”

  “That’s my point, Dr. Blake. It’s been four years, and there’s no evidence pointing to an abduction. There was no forced entry at your vacation cabin or signs of a struggle. She just vanished into thin air in the middle of the night.”

  Robert shook his head in disgust. “To think we came here hoping to get some proper answers.” He helped Abbie to her feet and embraced her, placing his arm beneath her armpit, supporting her meager weight. She was inconsolable as they headed toward the door.

  Cunn
ingham blocked their exit from the room. “This is no longer an abduction case. This is a murder investigation, and you’ll be hearing from us soon,” he said, stepping aside, his fists clenched.

  Robert shoved the door open and slammed it behind them. He scurried Abbie to their parked car, carrying her most of the way.

  For the first few minutes, they drove in absolute silence, both struggling to digest Molina’s interrogation.

  “They had no idea about the girl,” Abbie muttered, her head resting against the frosty glass of the passenger window.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the hospital, I told them about the girl. I wanted to know if they had any information. That’s how they linked the two cases.”

  “What else did you tell them?”

  Abbie kept her eyes on the pine trees flashing past her window; the cloudy weather cast a dark greenish reflection, almost a light shade of black. The view was beautifully somber.

  “Abigail, what did you tell them?”

  She remained silent, watching another cluster of trees flash by.

  Even the police are against us. He needs to know the dangers and that we’re on our own.

  She faced him, dreading the implications of her words. “He had a picture of you and Jonah in his home. Two years ago, you went to play soccer in the park, and he was there. I’m sure he’s still watching us. I can sense his presence, like an omnipresent eye, always observing and waiting to strike.”

  Robert smashed his fist into the steering wheel. “Those bastards placed a patrol car outside our house to keep you under surveillance. They had no intention of providing us with protection.”

  His reaction startled her. Robert’s calm demeanor transformed in an instant, his jawbone pulsating through his cheek as he gnawed his teeth, cursing under his breath. It dawned on him that his family was in grave danger, and the cracks were appearing.