Don't Blink

by L. G. Davis

  “I’ll try to give her the bottle again tomorrow.”

  We both freeze as we hear a sound coming from downstairs.

  “Is someone else in my house?” I ask without thinking. “Who’s helping you?”

  “It’s none of your business.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

  Disappointment stirs inside me. If someone is helping Tracey keep us hostage, it would be harder to escape. How would I be able to get past two people? Could it be Ruth? She was the one who had called her.

  My gaze involuntarily moves to my baby’s head. By the time I realize my mistake, Tracey’s palm has connected with the side of my cheek. My head snaps up immediately. I don’t repeat the same mistake twice. It’s too late.

  Tracey grabs the baby from my arms and stomps toward the door. “I’ll be back in three hours,” she throws the words over her shoulder.

  “Wait,” I call after her. “I need food, please. I won’t have enough milk for the baby if I don’t eat ... properly.”

  “I’ll bring you bread later,” she shouts over the baby’s crying.

  “Let me eat downstairs, please.” I hang my head.

  “Who do you think you are to make demands?”

  “You’re going to kill me.” I swallow hard. “Please, let me see my house for the last time, my kitchen.” I’m well aware that my request is stupid, and it might backfire, but I’m surprised when she doesn’t say anything for a moment.

  Her response blows me away. “Fine. I’ll let you say goodbye to your pathetic little kitchen. It would make your death that much more painful.”

  I nod, both relieved and scared that she would suspect I’m up to something. “Thank you.” I push one leg out of bed and then the other.

  Trying not to groan with pain, I follow her out, wishing I had the strength to grab my child and run.

  As soon as we step out of the room, Tracey gets behind me. She must be afraid I’ll attack her when she can’t see me.

  Before we head downstairs, she orders me to go to the nursery, where she roughly puts my whimpering baby in the crib. I hold back the urge to attack her.

  Thanks to my condition, it takes a long time for us to reach the bottom of the stairs, and she yells at me at every step.

  I’m relieved to find no second person downstairs. The sound I’d heard earlier must have come from outside the house.

  We don’t speak as I sit at the kitchen table, and she places a bowl of muesli with milk in front of me. It disgusts me that she’s in my home, acting as though she owns it, pretending to be the mother of my baby.

  When she turns her back to get orange juice from the fridge and pours herself a glass, I survey the kitchen. The knives aren’t in the block next to the stove. She must have removed them.

  I eat my breakfast with her watching me from behind her long lashes. She takes a deep drink of orange juice and slams the glass on the kitchen table next to the half-empty bottle. She must love orange juice as the bottle that I bought the day I had planned to leave town is almost empty. I try not to look at her as I spoon muesli into my mouth.

  She leans against the counter, arms crossed in front of her chest.

  “You’re pathetic, you know that?” She stretches her arms above her head. “And you stink.”

  “You won’t let me shower.”

  “No need. It’s only a matter of time before you die, anyway.”

  “You really think you can get away with it?” I ask and just as quickly, bite my tongue. I should be careful what I say to her before she sends me back upstairs.

  She eyes me with pure hatred. “I got away with murder once before. I can do it again.” She comes to join me at the table, pours herself another glass of juice, but doesn’t drink it. “I’m an expert at hiding in plain sight. Actually, maybe the baby and I won’t even go to New York. Maybe we’ll go to another country. I’ve always wanted to live in Italy.”

  I swipe a hand across my damp cheek. “Promise me something.”

  She takes a sip from her glass, ignoring me.

  “Be good to her.” I bite back the urge to spit into her face again. “Take care of my baby.”

  “Stop calling her that. She’s not your damn child.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. All right, your baby. Please take good care of her.”

  “What do you think I am, a monster? She’s my baby,” she shouts. “Of course, I’ll take good care of her.”

  As soon as the words are out of her mouth, I detect a movement outside the window. Through the light kitchen curtain, we both watch a van come to a stop in front of my house, where Jared used to park his car. It’s Troy, the postman. Has he forgiven me? Could he be the one who saves me?

  Adrenaline surges through my body as it gets ready for flight.

  Tracey ducks her head as Troy opens the gate and makes his way to the house. We’re unable to see him from the front door.

  The sound of the doorbell ringing takes us both by surprise. Tracey is pretending to still be in control, but her eyes are panic-stricken. I can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning.

  “Stay here,” she warns. In a crouching position, she hurries out of the kitchen, her hand pulling the gun from her back pocket. My first instinct is to shout for help, but that would be stupid. She won’t hesitate to shut me up with a bullet. She could also shoot Troy.

  This is my chance to carry out my earlier plan. As soon as she’s out of sight, I pull out the sleeping pill powder. The little bag is now slick with my sweat. Holding my breath, I spill it into the bottle of orange juice and her unfinished glass. Terrified of getting caught, I give the bottle a quick shake to dilute the powder, and use my spoon to stir the juice in her glass.

  She returns just as I’ve finished wiping the spoon with the hem of my pajama top, which I notice is bloody. I must have angered the wound while descending the stairs earlier.

  It’s hard for me not to stare at the juice, to make sure the powder has completely merged with it.

  “It’s the postman.” She sighs with irritation. “Go and tell him to go away.”

  I gawk at her, unable to believe my ears. Did she just ask me to come into contact with another person, someone who could help me?

  “What are you waiting for?” she asks impatiently.

  I get to my feet. I’m all too glad to obey her. Except when she follows me out the door, her gun pressing against my spine. “Do anything stupid, and you’ll be dead earlier than planned,” she whispers.

  I swallow through my tight throat. I don’t doubt her threats for a second.

  I give her a brief glance as I reach for the door handle.

  She moves the gun from behind my back and positions herself behind the door. She’s now aiming at my head.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lester.” Troy is looking everywhere but at my face as he holds out an envelope. “I have a letter for you today. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last time. I wasn’t kind to you. You have always been kind to me.”

  I don’t answer him for a moment as I try to find some kind of sign to give him that alerts him I’m in danger. I wish he would look me in the eye. Maybe he would see my fear in them, but his gaze drops to his feet.

  I reach for the envelope. “It’s fine, Troy.” I look down at the envelope. It has the stamp of the testing lab I’d been waiting to hear from. “Thank you.”

  “Really? You forgive me?” He finally meets my eyes.

  “I do.” As we stand there, a smell drifts up to my nostrils, the metallic tang of blood.

  Tracey’s eyes are piercing through me. She wants me to end the conversation. I don’t look at her. I have an idea. I hope it will work. I blink once at Troy then lower my eyes deliberately. His gaze follows mine. My plan is that he will take a glance down my body. And he does.

  “The baby has arrived? Congratulations, Mrs. Lester.” He pauses, and his eyes widen. He has seen what I wanted to show him, my blood. He looks up again, his eyes holding questions.

  I blink o
nce more. “Thanks, Troy.” I wave the envelope between us. “And thank you for the letter.”

  He looks at my stained pajamas again, clears his throat. “I should go.” He hurries back down the path, glancing once over his shoulder. Good. I have aroused suspicion in him. For the first time in my life, I wish for someone to pass on gossip about me. All he needs to say is that my baby has been born and I’m at my home bleeding. He must have also seen my red, swollen eyes.

  I’m sure as soon as he passes on the news, people will start taking strolls past my house, driven by curiosity. The chances of me being heard when I scream will be higher, and if Tracey sees too many people walking by, she might think twice about shooting me in fear someone might hear the gunshot.

  Although it seems unlikely, among all the hateful people there might be a kind person who breaks out of the crowd of haters and comes to check on a new mother who gave birth at home and is possibly alone.

  Since Ruth didn’t bother to come and check up on me for two whole days, I’m now convinced she’s not one of the good ones. She has to be one of Tracey’s puppets. Was that why she pretended to be nice to me all of a sudden? Was it so she could be a spy for Tracey? Does she hate me that much?

  In the corner of my eye, Tracey gestures for me to shut the door.

  As soon as the door closes, Tracey grabs the envelope from me. “What’s this?” she asks. “Oh, I know what this is.” She pushes the gun into her back pocket and orders me to return to the kitchen to finish my breakfast.

  While I eat, hoping she would take a drink of her juice, she opens the envelope. A smile plays on her lips. “Smart woman. You decided to get a second opinion. Such a shame your husband won’t be able to find out he’s the father. You must have been freaked out to get those fake results I shared with you. He was devastated.” She tosses the page onto the table. “I have to say, I’ll miss messing with your head. It was so much fun watching you running from your shadow. I guess I’ll have to give back the rented Nissan and get rid of the fake beard. Oh, in case you didn’t figure it out, I stole the money from your purse the day you came to see me for the first time.” She now has this faraway look as if she’s no longer here with me. “There you were, wiping the gel from your belly and you had no idea what I was up to. I had put enough gel on you to keep you busy for a while.”

  My stomach roils with anger. I want to reach out and strangle her for everything she’s done to me. If I were alone in this without my baby upstairs, I probably would have.

  Done eating, I remain in the chair. I dread to be locked up.

  She picks up the glass of juice and brings it to her lips.

  I hold my breath. Drink it! I scream inside my head.

  My disappointment is crushing when she lowers the glass again without drinking.

  Does she suspect something? Can she read my mind? “What are you waiting for? You’ve stayed down here long enough. Time to go back upstairs. You won’t be coming back down here again. Don’t even bother asking.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Each step up the stairs is absolute torture. My stomach feels as though it’s being ripped apart at the seams, and sweat is dripping down my temples. I don’t even want to know what’s happening to my incision. How can I trust that Tracey even carried out the surgical procedure correctly? She lied about being a gynecologist. What if she lied about being a surgeon as well?

  Tracey urges me to keep moving by pressing the barrel of the gun harder into the small of my back. I’m tempted to dig my heels in, not because I want to disobey her, but because my body is slowly losing strength to move on. I know it’s only a few steps before we reach the top, but I could use a rest.

  My mind is begging me to give up, which is not an option. I don’t have a death wish. If I die, I don’t even want to think about what she would do to my baby. What if she takes it out on her?

  My sweaty hand tightens around the railing, and I push through my resistance.

  “What’s taking you so long?” I cannot believe she has the nerve to ask me that, knowing full well what kind of pain I must be in. I grit my teeth to stop myself from lashing out at her.

  By the time we reach the top of the stairs, my breath is coming in quick, shallow gasps and my entire face is covered with sweat, which is now dripping from my forehead into my eyes. I collapse against the nearest wall, panting.

  “I don’t have time for this.” With each word, Tracey waves the handgun in the space between us. “Get moving. I’ve got packing to do.”

  Tears and sweat make my eyes sting. I brush them away with the back of my hand. “You can’t take my baby. Please don’t.”

  “Is your head so thick you can’t grasp information?” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She’s not yours. Get that? You have no one. The sooner you grasp that, the better.”

  “Please, let me go and feed her. She didn’t get enough milk last time. She’s crying.”

  Tracey hesitates for a moment, then pushes a hand into her hair. “Fine. Be quick.” She grabs my arm and yanks me away from the wall.

  I scream at the same time my baby does. Tracey ignores my pain. She shoves me in the direction of the nursery.

  The moment I see my baby’s eyes through the slats of the crib, the pain distances itself from me.

  I limp toward the crib and stand there, unable to lift her out. Tracey pushes me aside and does it for me.

  I clench my teeth as I lower myself into the rocking chair next to a small, round table that has the baby monitor. A small, green light blinks from the baby unit. The parent unit is missing. I’m guessing Tracey has been using it. The monitor had been inside its box the last time I saw it. The only thing I had taken out of the box had been the instruction manual, which I read through a few times.

  I lift my hands from my abdomen. They come away smeared with blood. What if no one comes to save me before I bleed out? Tracey doesn’t even acknowledge my bloodstained pajamas as she hands me the baby—my baby.

  The urge to plant a kiss on the top of the baby’s head is so intense it takes my breath away, but one glance in Tracey’s direction and I dismiss the thought and focus on the wall instead.

  My baby curls into my arms, searching for my breast. I give it to her and close my eyes to relish this moment of comfort before it’s snatched away.

  In the darkness of my mind, I try to come up with a way to save her. As the seconds tick by, I make a decision. I won’t let Tracey lock me up again. She’s planning on leaving with my baby tomorrow. I have to do something today.

  Tracey sinks to the floor on one side of the door, her eyes and the gun trained on me and the baby. Her face looks crumpled. Dark bags have appeared underneath her eyes.

  Neither of us speak. The only sound in the room is that of the baby’s sucking.

  Use the time to think, Caitlin. Do something. Anything.

  What if I survive this ordeal? What if by some sheer miracle the baby and I make it out of this house alive? How would I convince anyone that Tracey had committed the crimes in Corlake, that I’m innocent after all? I have absolutely no evidence to clear my name with. There’s still a chance I might end up behind bars and leave my baby without a mother to raise her.

  My heart turns over at the sounds of a police car siren breaking the silence. My gaze locks with Tracey’s. A small frown appears between her eyes, but it disappears almost immediately. She doesn’t seem concerned.

  I hold my breath as the sounds get louder. Troy must have gone to the cops. He must have understood my message better than I thought he would.

  My stomach drops when the sounds that had given me so much hope disappear into the distance. The silence returns to the room, thicker than before.

  I guess no one’s coming to my rescue after all. If I’m going to get out of this mess, I have to do it alone. I return my gaze to the wall.

  “You thought they were coming for you, didn’t you?” Tracey stretches out her legs and crosses them at the ankles. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but
no one cares about you, darling. You’re completely at my mercy.”

  She continues to talk, telling me how someone had given her the key to my house and she had broken into the nursery to dismantle the crib.

  “I wish I was there to see your face when you found my little surprise.”

  Since I already know she was the one behind the past weeks’ sequence of events, I don’t bother listening to her. I have better things to do with my time. I cannot allow her to distract me.

  Bored with the wall, my gaze moves back to the table with the baby monitor. My eyes focus on the tiny, round lens.

  My mind takes me back to the day I ordered it online. Jared and I were in bed, discussing the best one to buy. While I didn’t mind a simple one that did the job, he wanted a high-tech version with fancy things like a night vision camera, an audio recorder, and a temperature and movement sensor. After almost an hour of going back and forth, I ignored the price tag and allowed my husband to make the final choice. It took me days to read through the manual after it dawned on me he wouldn’t be here to set it up.

  I guess things happen for a reason.

  With an idea tucked inside my heart, I look away from the monitor before Tracey reads through my thoughts.

  To kill even more time and get clear on my plan, I strike up a conversation. The baby has fallen asleep, but Tracey doesn’t need to know that.

  “I don’t understand how you could kill a man you claim to love.”

  “Some people don’t take betrayal well. I’m one of them.” She pauses. “I’m not the kind of woman who allows a man to walk on her heart and get away with it. I’m not her.”

  “Who’s her?” I ask cautiously.

  “My mother.” She rests the handgun on her leg. Her face looks tortured. “Why all the questions?”

  “Just curious, that’s all.”

  She throws her head back. It connects with the wall hard. She doesn’t even flinch. “Dylan wanted a way out of my life. I gave him one.”

  “What will you do with my baby?”

  “Shut up.” She smacks a side of her face with the hand holding the gun. “You’re really pissing me off. She’s mine. I delivered her.”