“You see? You don’t even see yourself in the right way,” she says. “How can you think that you see the whole world the right way when you can’t even see yourself as you truly are?”
I can’t deal with this any longer.
I grab the edge of the bed frame that’s on the opposite side Anna is on and pull myself out. I can sense her walking over as I get onto my feet.
“Mira,” she says. “I should have known you would be here eventually. Would you like some wine? Apparently, John doesn’t want to drink his.”
Well, her lack of fear or surprise is a bit off-putting.
“You need to let him go, Anna,” I say. “I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here any minute.”
“You see, I know you haven’t called the police,” she says. She indicates an intercom on her hip. “Because if you called the police about someone being kidnapped, I would have heard about it since I’m an EMT-Basic who lives nearby. And I haven’t heard anything.”
“I told them about you,” I say. “They’ll be tracking you down like bloodhounds.”
“Yeah, I don’t believe that either,” she says. “You don’t trust the police and the police don’t trust you. You would have decided to do this alone because you believe in your own independence. I don’t mean this in a critical way—your self-sufficiency is truly admirable. I can see why John liked you. But, you’re not what he needs.”
The wine bottle is halfway between her and me, but she still has the glass of wine in her hand, which should give me enough of an advantage to grab the bottle and use it as a weapon. I lunge for it. As I wrap my fingers around the neck of the battle, Anna wraps her arms around me as if hugging me except one of her arms is over my right shoulder and the other is under my left arm. She shifts all her weight to my left, forcing me to the floor. She keeps her full weight on top of me, so I can’t move. I realize what she’s doing as she centers her whole body around my right arm—her left leg over my neck and her right leg on my chest—and pulls my arm back as she lifts her hips. It’s a rolling arm bar. She’s trying to break my arm.
I try to twist out of her grasp, but she’s too strong. I should have known with her gymnastics background that I shouldn’t get too close to her. There’s a pain piercing throughout my whole arm as if there was a blade replacing my bone. When I hear the snap, it’s almost a relief until the pain washes over me like a tidal wave.
John is yelling, but I can’t concentrate on his words. Anna gets off me. I see her standing up, but I can’t focus on anything but the pain. All my senses have dulled themselves to deal with my arm.
I twitch my fingers. They can still move. Well, that’s the best sign so far, though the pain is torturous.
“I suppose you won’t be self-sufficient for awhile now,” she says. “You shouldn’t have come between John and me, Mira. When you were just solving murders, it was one thing, but you would just be another distraction for him.”
“Anna, you don’t need to kill her,” John says, his words rushing out together so fast that it doesn’t sound like he’s speaking a language I can understand. “You said we need to leave, so let’s just leave. If we just go—if you don’t kill her—I’ll do whatever you want.”
She turns to him.
“How do I know that you’re not just saying that?” she says. “As soon as I leave her alone, you could try to run away. I just need a week with you and you’ll understand what I’ve been talking about.”
“I swear on my life,” he says. “If I’m lying, you can kill me. I’ll—”
“You know I won’t kill you,” she says. “So that’s not a very good promise.”
“If I try to leave, you can come back and kill her. I’m not lying, Anna. I just don’t want you to hurt anybody else for my sake,” he pleads.
She stares at him, her eyes searching his face for deceit.
“Then, let’s go,” she says. She helps John sit up. She isn’t even concerned about me, but at this point, it’s clear that she doesn’t have to be. She can simply overpower me.
“You never received your recommendation letter,” I say, pain etched in my voice.
She turns to me. “I never asked John for a recommendation letter.”
“He must have guessed that you’d want one,” I say. “He’d already typed it up. I received a copy of every recommendation letter he ever wrote, and yours was part of the pile.”
Anna turns back toward John. “Is that true?”
He nods, smart enough to not say anything and risk his voice giving away the lie.
“What did it say?” she asks, turning back toward me. I use my left hand to pull out a piece of folded paper from my pocket. It’s the directions to the marina.
“It’s right here,” I tell her. “It talks about your rigor as a student and your talent as a writer. I just skimmed over it, but he seemed extremely fond of you. How else do you think I figured out that you were the one who kidnapped him?”
“Give it to me,” she says.
I grimace as I stand up, every movement reminding me that my arm is broken. I hold the paper out to her. As she unfolds it, I take several steps toward the wall.
She looks up at me. “This isn’t a letter. What are you doing? Don’t walk away yet. You need to wait until John and I are gone before you can go anywhere.”
I keep taking steps back until I’m pressed against the wall. She walks toward me. I brace myself for the pain I’m about to inflict on myself and grab one of the larger mirrors. It feels heavy. I swing it as hard as I can and it smashes against Anna’s head. The glass shatters as she falls to the floor. The mirror falls on top of her.
I jump over the mess to John. I pull him off the bed with my left arm and he hobbles with me toward the door that he had told me I could escape through. We step into an entryway that has another door and a stairway leading up to—I’m assuming—the roof. I try the door. It’s locked.
I hear the mirror clatter against the floor. Anna’s getting up. She must have just been dazed.
“Looks like we’re going up,” I tell John. He has to lean on me as we make our way up the stairs. We reach a metal door at the top. I swing it open.
We’re on the roof. The door at the bottom of the stairs screeches as it opens—Anna’s coming. We’re trapped.
John steps out onto the roof, but his legs give way after his first step. He shakes his head.
“I don’t know what kind of drug she gave me, but I…I just don’t have any energy,” he says.
“You have to have some kind of energy,” I say. “Adrenaline at the very least. She wants to make you her Stepford husband. Come on.”
“I can’t, Mira,” he says. “And even if I could, we’re trapped.”
I move away from him, toward the edge of the roof. This may have been my worst decision. It would have been better to stay at the bottom of the stairs. Even if she attacked us, there was less of a chance I would die when I wasn’t on top of a roof. How easy would it be for her to make it look like I had just committed suicide? She could make it look like a sensible conclusion: the woman who had lost her job, her lover, and had apparently committed murder feels like she was trapped, so she jumped off a roof. A good forensics team would be able to tell if I had been pushed or jumped—depending on how my body lands and how far away from the building my corpse ends up being—but I doubt any investigation team will put that much thought into it. I’ll be just like Victoria Glassman’s case almost was—they seek the easiest answer and close the case.
The roof door opens. Anna steps out. I turn around to see her kneel next to John, murmuring something to him. He grabs her arm, but she pulls out of his grasp, walking toward me now. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. It’s like all of the blood is rushing to my head and I could faint right now, fall off this roof like it was my fullest intention this whole time. Wouldn’t it be better to cause my own death than to allow her the satisfaction of eliminating another person from John’s life?
She st
ops a few inches away from me. The wind is whipping her hair around her face. It should make her look volatile, but her face is completely calm. She is certain that her actions are right, which means she has no hesitation in what she does. There is no crack in her facade that would allow me to talk my way out of this.
“You know I feel no animosity toward you,” she says. “Everything between us…it wasn’t personal.”
“Shoving a note into my mouth wasn’t personal?”
She smirks. “Okay, maybe at times I let my emotions take control of me, but my overall plan was created with a clear mind.”
John is getting back onto his feet. Anna doesn’t notice.
“Why don’t you just take him now?” I ask. “You know I’m powerless against you.”
“I gave you the benefit of the doubt once,” she says. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
She shoves me. It feels like slow-motion as I fall backwards. The pain in my arm disappears as every part of my body focuses on survival. I’m barely able to turn my feet toward the edge as they leave the cement roof, but it gives me enough advantage that I can see the edge. As I fall down, I barely manage to grasp the edge of the roof, my fingertips clinging to the course material of the building.
Anna stares down at me, the hint of a frown on her face. As she raises her foot to stomp on my fingers, John tackles her. They both fall onto the roof. I can’t see them, but I can hear the grunting and the sound of flesh hitting flesh as they struggle with each other.
I look down. It’s about thirty feet before I hit the ground. It has to be a tall building to store all of the boats. There’s a good chance I’ll die if I fall. I don’t have much time before Anna overpowers John.
As I try to pull myself up—rather unsuccessfully—Anna appears above me again. She grabs my wrist, yanking it away from the roof. I can almost feel her fingers begin to loosen as she pulls me away from the edge.
“I’ll send your family some money,” she says. “To deal with funeral expenses—”
John grabs her head, his hands large enough to cover her jaw.
“I’ll snap your neck if you let her go,” he hisses.
“You wouldn’t ever kill anybody,” she retorts, but I feel her fingers tighten around my wrist. My legs sway in the air. She’s strong, but I can’t be confident in her grip.
“I can’t control my emotions if you kill someone else that I care about,” he says. “Pull her up or I’ll end your life.”
She stares at him from the corner of her eye. It feels like minutes pass by before she jerks me up. I scramble, pulling my legs up until they can touch the top of the roof. She releases my wrist and turns around to look at John. He jerks away from her as if it caused him pain to touch her.
I gasp for breath, my whole body feeling shaky.
“You would have killed me,” she says. “I’ve only tried to help you and you would have killed me.”
“Yes,” he states, taking another step back from her. “It would have ripped me up inside, but you’ve killed so many people that I care about…I think it would be a completely rational reaction if I killed you.”
“But you would do it?” she asks. “You wouldn’t hesitate? There’s nothing in you that feels like I’m more important than all of this?”
“You’re important,” he says. “You’re not more important than anybody else, though.”
She nods. “I see. I understand.”
She takes two steps back so quickly, neither John nor I can stop her. Suddenly, she’s off the roof. As she falls, John jerks forward and grabs her by the arm. He almost slides off the roof as the weight of her body pulls him forward. With my left hand, I grab onto his shoulders to prevent him from sliding any farther and I lean forward to look over the edge. His hand is wrapped above her elbow, but she’s slowly sliding down.
“Let me go,” she says. “It’s done. This is what you want.”
“This isn’t what I want,” he says. “Somebody’s death is never what I want.”
“But you do,” she says. “That’s what you said. You said that the murders I’ve committed—”
“I said I might react badly to you killing someone I care about,” he says. “Do you know what these murders have done to me?”
“I do now,” she says. “Let me go. All I ever wanted was what was best for you. This is what’s best for you. It’s over. All you have to do is let go.”
“No.” He tries to pull her up.
As her body slides against the building, she tries to hit him with her other arm. Her body sways in the air.
“Stop,” John says. “What are you doing?”
“Just let me go.” Her eyes glint with tears. “The last year, all I wanted was you and your happiness. And you don’t love me. You never truly cared—at least not in the way I cared. Not in the way I define love. I just can’t do this anymore. You were the one thing helping me to hold onto this world and now…now you see me as this crazy person and I can’t deal with that. Let me go.”
“No,” he says. “Come on. You have to—you have to help yourself up. You can plead insanity and I’ll come visit you. Just don’t…don’t do this. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her hand plunges into her pocket and she pulls out something that gleams in the sun. A shard of the broken mirror.
She stabs at his hand, and he reflexively lets go of her. She falls.
I expect her to scream, but there’s no sound until her body thuds against the ground. I close my eyes, trying to forget the image of her hair splayed out around her like dried up blood exploding from her head.
When John wraps his arms around me, he’s shaking. Death lingers over us with no intention of leaving.
Chapter Ten
The Killer
My occupation includes saving lives.
Everyone close to me would say that I’m a kind, rational individual.
So, how did I get to this point where I have a line of bodies behind me?
As I sit here, writing all these events down, pleading for you to understand that my intent was never malicious, I’ve left out one aspect of this path I’ve chosen. Until now, I’ve thought it was insignificant—that I was fully in control of my choices, that Alex was the biggest influence to my decisions, and that this event was only a small push toward where I wanted to go. But, now, I think it was the precipice of everything—this was before anyone was killed, before I met Alex, before I needed to write this letter to explain myself. It made me realize that this was the way it had to go. It made me realize the kind of woman I wanted to be.
I was drinking at one of the (many) local bars, Fringe, when she walked up to the bar and ordered Sex on the Beach. While I had heard of the drink, I had never actually heard anyone order it or even seen anyone drinking it, so I was intrigued. When she sat down beside me and the bartender handed her the highball glass—the reddish orange shade of the cocktail striking against the earthy colors of the bar—I was pleased.
“You don’t see many people ordering that drink,” I said.
She chuckled. “Yeah, well, most people spend too much time with their heads up their asses. I’m usually one of them, but at least a few times a month, you have to throw up your hands and tell the world to go fuck itself.”
I nodded. “That’s true, but a lot easier said than done.”
She gestured to my beer. “It seems like you’re doing pretty well if that’s all you’re drinking. I never understood why someone would go to the bar to drink a beer, though. It’s a lot cheaper to just buy it at the grocery store and drink at home.”
“I thought I needed to meet someone,” I said. “But I don’t find anyone here appealing.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Yeah. I guess if you don’t like guys who are attempting to look like Stalin, this wouldn’t be the place for you to hook up. What kind of person are you looking for?”
“I don’t know—someone intelligent, compassionate, preferably a writer, and someone who just tru
ly loves me. I need someone who wants the best for me and sees me someone worthy of their time and love.”
“Other than that specific requirement of being a writer, your standards are really low,” she said. “I mean, someone who is smart, not an asshole, and doesn’t think you’re worthless? That shouldn’t be that hard for you to find.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Well, do you have a crush on anybody?” she asked. “That could help you figure out more about what you want. I loved firefighters when I was growing up, so I married one. Then I divorced him, but it was good for about ten months and it was my fault we broke up. I was the fire he could never put out.”
“That sounds like an interesting relationship.”
“How about you? This crush you don’t want to tell me about?”
“Well, I do like a guy, but nothing could ever happen between us,” I said, feeling heat rush into my cheeks. “He’s my professor.”
“Ah,” she said. “I wouldn’t let that bother you too much. I mean, as soon as you’ve graduated, transferred, or whatever, there’s no morality issue, right?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“So, you just wait,” she said. “Maybe flirt a little, make sure he knows you’re interested…order a Sex on the Beach in front of him, thrust your boobs forward, show him how talented you are with your tongue…whatever it takes to keep him on the hook.”
“I don’t think he’ll ever be interested in me,” I said. “He has cuter, more talented students that are in love with him too. I can’t compete against them.”
“Well, you never know. You’re a cute girl,” she said. “What’s his name? Maybe I could find him and talk you up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, really, I want to,” she said. “I haven’t done many good things lately, so I’d love to help out a fellow woman.”
“I’m sure you’ve done many good things.”
Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 12
