Do Not Disturb: An addictive psychological thriller

by Freida McFadden

  “I… I have to go.”

  He frowns. “But the plow isn’t here yet. I told you I would call you when they came.”

  “I can’t wait anymore.” I heave my bag onto my shoulder. “I have to get out of here. I’ll wait in the car until they arrive.”

  “But it’s freezing out there. What are you going to do? Run the heat for the next two hours? Your car is going to die.”

  He has a reasonable point. But I can’t stay here. “Maybe they’ll be here sooner.”

  “No, they won’t. They called me and told me they’re delayed. They might not be here for hours.”

  I’m struggling not to burst into tears. “Well, I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” I let my heavy bag drop onto the floor. “Greta told me that… She read my fortune and said that I’m in danger.”

  Nick just stares at me for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? I’m sorry, but… really? That’s not really why you’re leaving, is it?”

  “It was…” I dig my thumbnail into my palm. “It was creepy. She seemed to know things about me. And even she seemed freaked out. It felt… real.”

  “Well, it wasn’t. Believe me.”

  “But—”

  “It. Wasn’t. Real.” He says it with such conviction, it’s hard not to believe him. “She’s a performer. That’s what she used to do for many years. She’s not psychic. Come on, Kelly. That’s crazy.”

  “It felt real,” I insist.

  He shrugs. “That’s because she’s good at it. You know what she does? It’s called cold reading. She told me about it once. She watches you as she says things and looks for subtle cues in your facial expression and body language that tell her she’s on the right track. She did it for a living for thirty years. She’s really good at it.”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, but I know, and I’m telling you. That’s what she does.”

  I look down at my luggage next to my sneakers. I want to believe that was all a performance. I don’t want to go sit in my cold car, waiting for that plow to come.

  “It’s very easy,” Nick insists. “Even I could do it. Watch.” He shuts his brown eyes and massages his temples with his fingertips. “I’m looking into your past. I’m seeing… a man. A very attractive man. Your husband.”

  I stare at him. “That’s exactly what she said.”

  The left side of his lips quirks up. “Right. Well, you came in here wearing a wedding ring. And obviously, you think your own husband is attractive. So…”

  “Yes, but…”

  He massages his temples again. “And now I’m seeing a horrible fight between you. Something terrible. And now… now you’re running away…”

  I take a step back. “How did you…?”

  He shrugs. “You’re not wearing your ring anymore. And come on, you’re obviously running away from something. I’ve never seen anyone so panicked.” He looks me in the eyes. “You’re pretty easy to read… Kelly. I don’t need to be psychic.”

  I take a deep breath, steadying myself by clutching the desk. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m overreacting to something that was obviously a performance. Maybe I told Greta my name without realizing it. It’s certainly something I could’ve done unconsciously.

  “Okay,” I say. “I… I guess I’ll wait for the plow.”

  He nods. “That’s a good idea. I promise I’ll call you as soon as they get here.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I take another deep breath. “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “You’re going to be okay.” He reaches out and puts his hand on mine. His fingers are a little rough and calloused, unlike Derek’s baby smooth skin. For a moment, a thrill goes through me. But then he pulls his hand away. “Just hang out upstairs. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  I take my bag and trudge back up the stairs. Despite his reassurances, something is telling me I’m making a horrible mistake by staying here.

  Chapter 13

  When I get back up to my room, there isn’t much to do. Since I slept so horribly, I lie down on the bed and shut my eyes. Maybe I could get a bit of sleep in, so that I can drive all night long. After staying in one place for so long, I need to put some distance between me and my home. Fast.

  I drift in and out of sleep for a couple of hours. Every time I get into any sort of deep sleep, the image of Derek with the red stain spreading across his abdomen pops into my head. And then I’m wide awake.

  That will haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I wish I had my phone. If not to make a call, then at least to surf the web. You don’t realize how much you depend on your phone for entertainment until it’s gone. I wish I had at least brought a book.

  I open the top drawer of the dresser. The Bible is apparently the only book in this room. And it’s not exactly easy reading. When I was younger, our parents used to make us go to church every Sunday. Claudia and I hated it. We would spend the entire time whispering to each other until our parents told us to be quiet.

  Maybe it will give me some comfort. Who knows?

  I crack open the Bible. I expect to see the familiar first words: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

  Instead, the entire first page is covered in red magic marker. Somebody has scribbled across the pages: Get out now, whore!

  I stare at the words, a prickling sensation in the back of my spine. I turn the page and there it is again. The same words, written over and over. Get out get out get out get out…

  I snap the Bible shut with shaking hands. Well, so much for getting comfort from the words of God.

  I wonder if those words were meant for me. I wonder if somebody saw me by my car with Nick and wanted to send me a message. I raise my eyes and look across at the house next door. The sun has gone down and I can see that same light on the top window. And the silhouette of a woman staring out at me.

  Rosalie.

  But it couldn’t have been her. Nick told me she can’t even walk. She couldn’t have come over here, climbed up the stairs, unlocked the door to my room, scribbled in the Bible, then gone back home. It’s impossible.

  Anyway, I need to calm down. The plow should be here soon, and then I’ll get out of here. And never come back. In the meantime, I’ll watch some TV. That should help.

  I turn on the television. Unlike yesterday, the picture is clear. There is another pretty blond newscaster on the screen, talking about damage caused by the storm. Stupid storm. If that hadn’t happened, I would’ve been out of here ages ago. But I am praying I still have more time. After all, it’s only Saturday. It’s entirely possible nobody will notice Derek is missing until Monday.

  “In other news,” the anchorwoman says, “the body of thirty-four-year-old Derek Alexander was found last night in his home…”

  My chest turns to ice. What?

  The blond anchorwoman keeps talking, but I can only focus on little pieces of what she’s saying. And then a second later, Deputy Scott Dwyer is on the screen. He doesn’t look great—he looks like he hasn’t gotten much more sleep than I have. Scott’s mildly bloodshot brown eyes make contact with the camera lens as he recites the details of the case in a flat voice.

  Death is from apparent stab wounds… No forced entry… attempting to locate wife Quinn Alexander for questioning…

  They found him. They found Derek dead, and now they’re looking for me. And according to the newscast, he was found last night. Probably the only reason the police aren’t here already is because of the storm. Or maybe I got lucky, and they didn’t see the sign for the Baxter Motel.

  Which means I don’t have much time.

  Screw the snow plow. I’m getting out of here. I’ll go wait in my car, so I can take off as soon as it’s clear to go. At the very least, I can’t be hanging around this motel any longer.

  I grab my luggage, which is thankfully already packed. I shove my feet back in my sneakers, then I head out of th
e room, locking the door behind me. I walk over to the staircase, but before I can start descending, I hear voices coming from downstairs.

  Oh my God.

  It’s the police.

  Chapter 14

  I freeze.

  I’m not sure what else to do. I want to go back to my room and lock and deadbolt the door, but I’m afraid to move. I knew the police were going to come looking for me, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. Or at least, I was hoping it wouldn’t happen this quickly.

  “This is your motel, Mr. Baxter?” a deep male voice is asking. I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s not Scott. If it were Scott, I might come out. Of course, he would arrest me anyway, but he’d be kind about it. He wouldn’t make the handcuffs too tight.

  “Right, it’s my motel.” Nick’s voice. “I own it. Me and my wife.”

  “Does anyone else work here?”

  “No. It’s just me.”

  “I see. Mr. Baxter, we’re looking for a woman named Quinn Alexander, who we think may have stopped at your establishment in the last twenty-four hours. Does this photo look familiar to you?”

  I hold my breath. There’s a long silence coming from downstairs. Oh God. What am I going to do? Can I jump out the window? How badly would I be hurt?

  This is my own fault. I should have left while I had a chance. But where can I go? The plows still haven’t come. I would be just as much of a sitting duck in my car as I am here. Although it’s possible they might not see the car behind the diner.

  It’s all over. The police are going to take me away. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison.

  “Uh, no,” Nick is saying. “Doesn’t look familiar to me, sorry.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  The officer’s voice again: “Are you sure? She may have changed her hair. It might be shorter than in the photo.”

  “Yeah, no, I haven’t seen her. Honestly, we haven’t had any new guests here in the last several days at all.”

  My shoulders sag. I can’t believe it—Nick is covering for me. He’s lying to the police on my behalf. He’s risking everything to help me, even though he doesn’t even know who I am.

  “Okay then,” the officer says. “You mentioned your wife also works here. Could we talk to her as well? Maybe she saw Mrs. Alexander.”

  “Unfortunately,” Nick says, “my wife has been very sick recently. She’s been in bed the last week. I think it’s the flu. You probably don’t want to go near her.”

  The officer chuckles. “I don’t suppose I do. All right then. You’ll let us know if she shows up?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Appreciate it.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” He pauses. “I hope you find her.”

  “Oh, we will. It’s just a matter of time.”

  I lean against the wall, my heart pounding. I can’t believe that just happened. The police showed up here, just as I feared they would, but somehow I’m not being carried off in handcuffs. Nick covered for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m home free.

  I wait until I hear the door to the motel slam shut, then I run back to my room. I look out the window—it’s very dark out now, but I can make out the police officer getting into his vehicle. I watch as he starts up his car and drives off. And there’s one other thing I see.

  The plow is here. It’s plowing away a path to freedom. That must be how the police car got here. In about fifteen minutes, I may be able to finally leave.

  And then I hear a knock at the door.

  “It’s Nick.”

  I walk over to the door and crack it open. Nick is standing there, wringing his hands together. I have the irrepressible urge to reach out and hug him.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  I step aside and he enters my room, closing the door behind him. The fleeting thought occurs to me that maybe this wasn’t entirely altruistic on his part. Maybe he’s here to ask me for money. Give me five hundred bucks or else I’m going to the police. Except I don’t really think that. He doesn’t seem like the type. After all, he didn’t even ask for money for the meals he made me.

  “You heard that, right?” he says. “The police? Looking for you.”

  I nod slowly. “Yes, I… thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  He smiles crookedly. “I bet the guy had it coming.”

  I drop my eyes. “He did. I promise you, he did.”

  “Yeah, I, uh… I saw those bruises on your neck. Anyway, I just…”

  “I’ll be okay. Really.”

  “Okay then.” He glances out the window. “The plow arrived just before the police came. So in another fifteen minutes or so, you should be good to go.”

  I nod again. I don’t think I can talk, because I’m going to start crying.

  Nick wrings his hands together. “I don’t know where you’re going. It’s better if I don’t know. But… is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “No… thank you.”

  He looks over at the fur-lined boots I wore earlier today. It almost feels like a million years ago. “You should keep the boots. Really.”

  Well, that did it. Now I’m sobbing. I sink down onto the bed, my shoulders shaking as the tears pour down my cheeks. Nick looks a little panicked, but he sits down next to me and rubs my back.

  “Hey,” he says, “it’s okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay. I won’t tell anyone. Greta won’t either.”

  “I know.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I just… It’s hard to leave everything behind. And you’re so… kind to me.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” he says softly.

  “I know, but…” I take a shaky breath. “When you’ve lived with somebody for so long who spends every waking moment plotting how to be cruel to you…”

  He frowns. “I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

  He’s calling me by my real name now, which he knows because of the police. The unfairness of it all hits me. Why couldn’t I have married a good guy like Nick? Why did I have to vow to spend my life with a narcissistic sociopath?

  I look up into his brown eyes with my red, swollen ones. The kindness and concern in his eyes almost floors me. And before I entirely know what I’m doing, I lean forward and I press my lips against his.

  Chapter 15

  The kiss is over almost before it’s begun. A split second after my lips make contact with his, Nick jumps away from me like I’ve just scalded him. He’s staring at me, his eyes wide.

  “Jesus Christ, Quinn! What are you doing?”

  I should never have done that. What a horrible mistake. All the kindness and concern has disappeared from his face. “I’m so sorry. I just—”

  “I’m married.” As he says the words, he glances out the window, at his own house across the way. At that one glowing light. “I love my wife, okay? Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “You’ve got to leave.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

  “Listen, the boots—”

  “Take the boots,” he says through his teeth. “I don’t care about the fucking boots, okay? You’ve got to go though. I… I covered for you with the police. Now you have to go.” He backs up against the door. “Please.”

  “Yes, of course,” I say stiffly. “I’ll go now. As soon as the plow is done. Okay? I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

  “Right.” His hand grips the doorknob behind him. “Then don’t.”

  With those words, he yanks the door open and gets the hell out of my room.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel even worse than I did five minutes ago. What was I thinking? The poor guy was just trying to help me, and then I launched myself at him. As he pointed out to me, he’s married. All those years, I blamed Derek for cheating on me, and look what I did when I had the chan
ce. I kissed another woman’s husband.

  And not just another woman. A woman who is ill. Who is counting on him to take care of her, who can’t fight back. I am a horrible person. I deserve everything coming to me.

  I look back up through the window. That light is still on in the other house. Rosalie Baxter is sitting where she always does. Watching. She must’ve seen everything. No wonder Nick was so freaked out.

  I want to tell her I’m sorry. That it was entirely my fault, not her husband’s. He was only trying to be a good guy. I just don’t have much experience with good guys lately.

  But there’s no way for me to apologize. I’m not about to go over there and have a heart-to-heart with the woman. The best thing is to do what Nick said: get out.

  I look down at the snow between the motel and the house. I see Nick in his black coat walking across the cleared path. He’s going over to talk to her. Probably to apologize.

  God, I feel terrible.

  All I can do now is sit there and wait for the stupid plow to be done. I can hear it making noises as it scoops the snow away. If only it hadn't snowed like this. I would be hundreds of miles away by now in a remote location in Canada. Instead, I’m trapped here. The police will be on the lookout for my license plate. By now, I should have swapped it out already.

  I choke back another sob. There’s no way I’m getting out of here. I’m too close to home and the police are going to find me. If not in the next few hours, then in the next few days. I don’t know how to get a phony ID, and I don’t know how I’m going to make more money if I don’t have an ID. This is all going to explode in my face very quickly.

  Running away was the wrong thing to do. I wasn’t prepared, and I’m not built for it. My best chance is to go back. ‘Fess up to what I did.

  Nick noticed the bruises on my neck. When the police see them, maybe they’ll believe my story. And if I go back, Claudia will be there to support me.

  I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back home.