Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller

by A B Alexander

  She clasped her head in her hands as soon as they were out of sight. Although they didn’t doubt her, this was only a momentary reprieve. Hank wasn’t coming back, ever, and there was no avoiding the devastation that Jonah would feel. She comforted herself with the thought that learning to deal with loss was one of life’s essential lessons. It would strengthen him and make him more appreciative. But he was so young and fragile, it was her duty to protect him, not cause the tragic events of his life. He would never forget losing Hank. She was the direct cause of his sorrow, and it worried her most that this was just the beginning. Her predicament could result in his life taking an unfortunate trajectory. She questioned her will to survive at all costs. More harm than good could come of it. Robert had raised the boy well, and although he missed his mother, if she’d never came back in the first place, he would have lived a wholesome life. He was too young to remember her, anyway. But she was back. She hoped that she’d only acted in their best interests, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She downed the glass of wine and poured herself another. I did what I had to do, she reminded herself and turned on the music. The classical melody washed away her guilty conscience, each key on the piano striking another cord within her soul. The mundane task of setting the table for dinner filled her with delight. She had prevailed once more. One of the worst days of her life would end well, and on her terms.

  “Yay, pasta,” Jonah said, charging to the marble dining room table. The boy’s heartbreak had passed.

  Robert strode in after him and pecked her on the lips. “Don’t worry about him too much, kids don’t linger on grief,” he whispered.

  “That’s something I wish I could do,” she said and watched a freshly showered Jonah tuck into the pasta. It was a weight off her shoulders that no significant damage had been caused, yet.

  Robert raised his glass of wine as a toast. “I think you already do, babe.” His eyes shone with affection and a hint of desire.

  She picked up her wine glass by the base and clinked it against his. “That’s what I needed from you this morning. You aren’t just saying that now because of . . . later . . . you know.” She slid her tongue along her upper lip, taking advantage of his weakness. No matter what happened, she would need his complete trust and support.

  “Oh, come on, I already apologized this morning. I only want what’s best for you. I can see that you’re trying to bury the past.”

  Abbie smirked at the cliché. He has no idea what an effort I’ve made to bury the past.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Just thinking about us . . . later. It’s been years. We don’t know each other like that anymore.” Below the table, she slid her bare foot under the hem of his pants, her toes sliding along his lower leg, his body warm and receptive to her touch.

  He refilled their glasses with more wine. “It’ll be like the first time.”

  They burst out laughing; indeed there was a humorous side to the tragic reality of their relationship.

  “What’ll be like the first time?” Jonah asked, looking up from his pasta. His unexpected question broke off their laughter.

  “Daddy’s just being funny,” Abbie said, her cheeks flushed rosy red.

  Robert placed his thumb on the edge of his nose, holding the palm open and perpendicular to his face, wiggling his remaining fingers. “Peekachoo,” he said and pulled out his tongue.

  Jonah laughed, attempting to replicate the gesture. But he ended up with pasta hanging from his nose, which sent another wave of laughter around the table. Jonah leaned back and yawned, pushing aside his half-eaten plate, his childlike belly bloated.

  “Come on, little man, let’s go to bed. I’ll read you a story.” Robert stood up and carried the boy on his shoulders. He turned to Abbie and said, “I’ll see you upstairs.”

  She watched them playfully head to Jonah’s room, envying their special bond, another one of her many priceless debts. At this stage, the fact they were a family was enough for her.

  She didn’t bother removing the dishes from the dinner table and headed straight for their bedroom. The wall-to-wall window illuminated the room with the moonlight. It was a clear winter’s night with a magnificent full moon that shone over the top of the pine trees with a vast array of stars blanketing the sky. She lit two big coconut-vanilla scented candles for ambient lighting and settled on the edge of the bed to appreciate nature’s beauty. It was like being outdoors, a perfect place for intimacy. She removed her clothing and slipped off her underwear. She applied lavender chamomile body milk to her skin, Robert’s favorite scent, massaging every limb, appreciating her physique. For the first time since coming home, she felt sexy. I’ve had too much wine. The feeling had become so foreign that it was bordering on surreal, and therefore she attributed it to the alcohol. She slipped on a purple silk robe and lay down on the bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, the tension eased from her aching body. It had been the most physically and emotionally taxing day of her life. She closed her eyes, the pain draining away.

  His hands slivered from her feet right up between her thighs, with gentle, rhythmic strokes. He untied the ribbon, letting the robe fall at her sides, exposing her shimmering nakedness. He slid his tongue from her belly button, along her breasts, up to her quivering lips, kissing her between her soft moans. “I love you, Abbie,” he said, penetrating her slowly, sustaining his weight on his elbows.

  She opened her eyes and wrapped her arms around his muscular back. Her hands shot down toward his buttocks, pushing him inside her, encouraging him to thrust harder. With each motion, she pushed him more, twisting her head for side to side, lost in the throes of passion. She held him by the shoulders and signaled for him to roll over. The moment his back hit the sheets, she straddled him hard and fast.

  “Oh my God, baby, I missed you. This is unbelievable,” Robert said, his face contorted in immense pleasure.

  Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t say a word. She just kept pumping away, increasing the pace. She wasn’t there anymore.

  Julie?

  Her sister was peeking through the corn stalks, tears streaming down her youthful cheeks. She was watching.

  Abbie looked up in horror at the man in the blue overalls on top of her. At that moment, the penny dropped. The farm. She was back on the farm, and the roles were reversed. It was the exact opposite as she remembered it. Oh, God, please no. The disgust, the pain, the self-loathing struck her like a familiar foe coming for revenge. But she was different, stronger, she wasn’t the little girl anymore. She wrapped her hands around the man’s throat, her thumbs pressing on his windpipe. She pushed with all her might, willing the life out of him.

  “Oh yes, baby, that’s wild!” Robert said, his voice stifled.

  The words shot her back to the moment. She stared in horror at her hands around Robert’s throat as if they were not her own, her knuckles white from the amount of tension she applied. Shocked, her fingers loosened their hold.

  Robert’s eyes widened in surprise, misreading her intentions. “That was so hot, let’s swap.” Before she could protest, he placed his hands on her waist, and in one motion, lifted her off him, flipping her onto her back. He re-entered her from the missionary position and thrusted away. Gripping her throat with both hands, he locked his fingers in a suffocating choke. He groaned like a lion mating in the wild, absorbed in the act.

  Abbie gripped his forearms, resisting the choke, her breathing wholly restricted. Her fingernails tore into his tensed, muscular forearms, but he didn’t even flinch. She tried to maneuver her waist and kick out with her legs, but he pinned her down with wild thrusts that escalated by the second. It encouraged him more, his eyes bobbing in their sockets, ruled by the heat of the moment.

  The panic exacerbated her lack of oxygen, and within seconds his face blurred, and the sounds were distant. There was no stopping it now. She froze, her hands slipping to her sides
, losing all cognitive ability. Darkness.

  CHAPTER 28

  She regained consciousness as if awakening from a deep slumber. At first, she heard his shallow breathing, her eyelids too heavy to open. Next, the sweet smell of coconut and vanilla wafted into her nostrils, reinvigorating her further. She regained the feeling in her extremities, stretching out her aching muscles. Her eyelids slid open, welcomed by the low burning candlelight. She glanced to her left, at Robert’s naked back, as he lay sleeping beside her. She fought the urge to lash out and scream, to release her pent-up rage and agony, but thought otherwise. The purple silk robe was on her body, and the ribbon tied in a neat bow around her waist. She drew her fingers to her throat, examining the damage. It was tender and sore to the touch. That son of a bitch.

  She rose from the mattress, her bare feet landing firm on the hardwood surface. She was dizzy and weak, her temples pounding with hammer-like blows. “Arrgghhh,” she groaned and stood up. She could taste the wine still lingering on her breath. She headed to the bathroom and switched on the bright spotlights. In front of the mirror, she untied the ribbon, letting her robe slide off her body onto the marble floor. She turned her head to the left and then right, studying her neck. There were finger marks on either side and some slight bruising. Then she raised her foot onto the marble counter and checked for signs of bodily fluids. There was nothing. She headed for the shower, disgusted and disorientated.

  As the hot water rushed through her hair and onto her back, she rested her head on the window overlooking the forest and cried. She blamed herself for what happened. Why in the world did she choke him? The flashbacks? Wine? They had never used any aggression during sex. Tonight, she had initiated it, and things got out of hand. She wasn’t into that sort of thing, but Robert was in another element. Has he changed, or did I never know his true self? He had exposed a different side of himself, a violent side, and that scared her. He was like an uncontrollable brutish animal, and he nearly killed her.

  As she lathered her body with soap, her thoughts switched to the flashback. Was she the victim and not Julie? She was aware of the psychological phenomenon of memory distortions, particularly after trauma.

  Why did Julie commit suicide then? Because she was too afraid to help me and consumed with guilt.

  STOP!

  She twisted the faucet, cutting off the running showerhead. She reached for the plush cotton towel and dried herself off. “No crying over spilled milk,” she said out loud to herself in the mirror, repeating Mama’s favorite cliché. She brushed her teeth and applied night cream. Rejuvenated, she took one glance in the mirror and said, “Mama, what you should’ve said was, no crying over spilled blood.”

  She slipped on a pair of clean pajamas and went downstairs to check up on Jonah. Quietly, she pushed ajar the door to his room, just enough for her body to slip through. Illuminated by the dim night light, she saw his beautiful golden-blonde curls peeking out from under his cartoon duvet. She sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair. He looked so peaceful, with not a care in the world. His hair smelled of fresh shampoo and childish innocence. She kissed him on his tender forehead. He made it all worthwhile, and she would sacrifice anybody and anything for him, including herself. She would have to forget about tonight, no matter how angry she was at Robert. Jonah was an intelligent, confident, and wholesome child. She had Robert to thank for that; he was a dedicated father. She bent down and kissed Jonah once more, filling her with renewed hope. As she was about to exit the room, a children’s book on the bedside table caught her eye. On the cover was a cartoonish blue spider hanging from a web. She picked up the book with trembling hands, Itsy Bitsy Spider. The chilling sound of Fiona humming the old children’s rhyme filled the room, and Abbie dropped the book and covered her ears trying to shut it out. She charged out of the room, her palms still covering her ears. Calm down. It’s in your head. In the corridor her rapid breathing slowed, the panic coming off the crest of the wave. The rhyme subsided. He was sending her a message. She knew all of Jonah’s books, and Itsy Bitsy Spider was not one of them. She ran upstairs to the master bedroom, intending to shake Robert awake, to warn him that the psycho had been in Jonah’s room. They had to do something to protect him.

  “Robert, get up now!” she screamed.

  He sat up on the edge of the bed, half-dazed and panic-stricken. “What’s going on?”

  “I was in . . .”

  “My God, what happened to your throat, baby? Did somebody attack you?” Robert said, pouncing to his feet.

  “Hmmm . . . what?”

  “Abbie, who did this to you?”

  “You did this to me!”

  “What do you mean? No, didn’t. I was sleeping, and you woke me up.”

  “Earlier, when we had sex. You choked me.”

  “You’re joking, right? This is some kind of sick joke, and it’s not funny.”

  “Do I look to you like I’m joking? You hurt me.”

  “By the time I came to bed after reading Jonah a bedtime story, you’d fallen asleep. We didn’t have sex.”

  She retraced her steps away from him; the impact of his words was just hitting home.

  He noticed her confusion and emotional turmoil. “Abbie, try to relax. You were dreaming. It’s just a bad dream, that’s all.”

  “What about the marks on my throat?” His denial hurt and baffled her, catching her off guard.

  “It could be something called the nocebo effect.”

  “Don’t talk to me like a shrink!”

  “Okay . . . okay . . . ” he raised his palms in the air. “The brain perceives injury, and it manifests on the body, despite there being no physical injury inflicted.”

  She shook her head, the whites of her eyes visible. Was it all a dream? Otherwise, he was an extraordinarily talented liar to make up an alibi like that on the fly. No, he wasn’t lying, he had pointed out her injuries as soon as he noticed them. Maybe there was another, more frightening possibility.

  “What about the reverse of the nocebo effect? There was someone else here, and he choked me, and that caused my dream.”

  “Do you see anybody else here?” he said.

  She detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which angered her further. She barged past him and climbed to her side of the bed. “You think I’m insane, don’t you?” she said, with her back turned.

  “No, I don’t. But I think you’ve felt that way for a while. That’s why I suggested you get some help.”

  “I’m tired, I’m going to sleep,” she said and closed her eyes, shutting out reality. Insane wasn’t an adequate word to describe what she thought about herself. Psycho or monster is more appropriate.

  She almost forgot why she had woken him up in the first place, but now she approached her question with more tact. “By the way, how was the bedtime story with Jonah?”

  “It was fun, like always. He loves his books, seems like he’ll be an avid reader like his dad,” Robert said, his voice cracking from tiredness.

  “What book did you read?”

  “I bought him a new one on the way home from work. The adventures of . . . itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout, along came . . .” he continued to hum the rest of the rhyme.

  She covered her ears and lay still until he stopped. Inside, she was shaking like an aspen leaf, her mind reeling in every direction. She wanted to believe it was a coincidence. Any other explanation made no sense. But her heart told her otherwise. She couldn’t connect the dots, but sure as hell, she wouldn’t take any chances with anybody.

  Once his breathing became shallow, she edged out of bed and dashed for the kitchen. She grabbed the chef’s knife and stared at its glinting blade. Dream or no dream, she would not be choked again. She placed the knife behind her back and tiptoed her way to the bedroom. At the entrance, she stood still for a moment, listening for movement. If he caught h
er with a knife, she’d be off to the mental asylum in the morning. Considering tonight’s events, explaining her way out of this one was impossible. She wondered how he wasn’t afraid to sleep in the same bed as her. If the situation were the other way around, based on recent events, she would have run for her life. He’s used to working with unstable people. That seemed like the only reasonable explanation, she told herself. Either that, or he loved her more than life itself.

  His light snores confirmed that he was fast asleep. She tiptoed to her side of the bed and slipped the knife under the pillow. She lay down and kept one hand on the handle of the blade, restless. Every sound in the house sparked a surge of adrenaline through her veins. Who was she waiting for? The unknown serial killer, Freddy and Fiona, Robert, herself? No matter who, the suffering had to end. The fear of the unknown consumed her alive. It seemed like purposeful torment. Whoever it was, they were getting a kick out of driving her insane, letting her wallow in her anguish, trauma, and grief. No more.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Hello?” she answered the phone, her voice groggy. She glanced over to the other side of the bed. Robert was gone.

  “I’ve got him. I think I know who it is.”

  “Who’s this? What time is it?” she stammered. The digital bedside clock flashed 07:30 a.m.

  “It’s Molina. Get up, I’ll pick you up in twenty mins. We’re going for a ride.”

  Before she could protest, the line went dead. She dropped the phone on the bedside table and groaned. It took her a few seconds to snap out of her dreamy state and process Molina’s words. Did she say she knows who it is? Her pulse quickened, and she pounced to her feet. This was either the glorious news that she was waiting for or an ambush by Molina. One thing she knew for sure, the rogue agent was ready to kill. There would be no arrests. She got dressed and readied herself for the worst-case scenario. I need a weapon. Robert didn’t own any guns. Her mind raced through the options, but there were none. She reached under her pillow for the chef’s knife. It was large, conspicuous, and challenging to conceal, but it would have to do.