The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists

by Georgina Cross

  Worse, there are no calls from Sabine either. Her burner phone was kicked out of her hands during the horrible fight in the shed and she hasn’t gotten a new one. She doesn’t send a message. No texts. No calls from a pay phone. Which means…

  Only radio silence and it runs the blood in my body cold.

  Sabine is missing. But this time she’s missing from me too.

  In the evening, Mark’s camp releases a statement I don’t want to hear. To my horror, they can’t find him either and they’re announcing an additional search for Mark Miller as he hasn’t arrived home.

  What’s happened? Did he really catch up? Did she abandon the car and take off through the woods?

  I’m reeling with every possible scenario, every nauseous gut-punch that is coursing through my mind. Paralyzing thoughts he found her. What he did when he grabbed her arm and yanked her hair. He ran her off the road, dragged her into a remote area, and dumped her body.

  Or they both crashed. They didn’t brake in time and plunged off a bridge. Mark rammed into the back of her until both cars tumbled into the river, their vehicles taking in water at ferocious speed before tipping below the surface. Mark and Sabine trapped inside their cars with no one to witness the accident and no indication the pair of them are now buried underwater.

  I can’t sit—won’t sit. It’s only Tish who tries comforting me. She’s the one who tends to my busted lip and bloodied head. She checks the rest of my body too and my ribs aren’t broken, thank goodness, but my chest hurts every time I breathe, a rattled intake of air, pain soaring through my lungs as I cry. Mostly, I cry for Sabine.

  The rumor mill goes wild about Mark. His wife is missing, and now, so is he.

  Does Mark know something? Has he found her?

  Someone went after them both.

  Jacob Andrews orchestrated the whole thing.

  I delete Facebook from my phone and so does Tish. Accusations tear through our group texts too, a renewed fervor that Jacob Andrews is the one who’s taken the Millers down. First, he went after Sabine. Now, Mark. But no one wants to imagine the real culprit. So many of our neighbors will never suspect Mark since he’s their golden boy. They have no clue as to the monstrous lengths the man will go to—the real person behind his fake image, the way Tish and I now know him. The knife swinging in our faces. What he’s done to Sabine. Jacob Andrews having nothing to do with their disappearances.

  With Mark missing, our neighbors worry obsessively for his safe return. Tish and I silence each group text and continue to ignore reporter calls.

  I keep waiting for Jacob to divulge whatever evidence he has against Mark. Why won’t he tell them what he knows? That Friday night, those phone calls he made when he turned up the heat and said people were watching Mark’s every move, was that all just for show? Empty threats and political bullying just as Monica described? I’m starting to think he doesn’t have anything concrete against the man, which is agony in itself. We need more proof. It’s only Sabine and I who have the extra video.

  Except everything she told Mark? What she said about the file that’s ready to send to every media outlet and police station? Not quite. We weren’t ready. We didn’t think Mark was going to spring on us like that—not in the backyard and bursting in on us when nothing had been finalized yet. When he did show up, she told him those things to scare him to death, to urge him to back off. Because there is only the one copy—the one and only USB drive that remains. No files are loaded on my hard drive ready to be attached to a hundred emails. We were hoping for a few more days before launching everything.

  And the USB drive? It’s not in her bag. When we told her to run, Sabine shot out of that shed with no time to grab her belongings, everything she’d stockpiled—leaving behind her money and my passport. But the thumb drive isn’t among the items—trust me, we looked. We tore through everything in that shed hoping we’d find the drive and show the police. The whole time I kept thinking, while the cops are out searching for their glorious saint of Mark, if he really does cause harm to Sabine, we’ll show them what he’s been up to.

  But the drive is gone, and all I can think is Sabine has it. The evidence so important she kept it in her pocket at all times. She drove off with it. And if Mark chased her down, our video evidence disappeared along with her.

  When I snuck back into the Millers’ house and removed the thumb drive, I should have made copies—I’m kicking myself about that now. I should have insisted on immediately downloading the file and creating a backup. But Sabine said we had time. That was until Tish nearly stumbled upon her in the shed.

  Tish is sitting with me at the kitchen table now. In tears, I explain everything to her and apologize profusely, especially for that first night when Sabine went missing and I had no idea she was hiding in my shed. I sincerely thought something happened to her and didn’t know if someone had taken her like everyone was saying. Her last text messages had been so cryptic, her mention of Jacob too. The onslaught of accusations that Jacob hurt her especially when Mark said he saw him driving in the neighborhood. How was I supposed to know she’d bolted early—days before we planned for her to?

  But I also tell Tish thank you—I say it again and again, unable to find the right words to thank her for saving us. For coming in right when we needed her and stopping Mark. She says she didn’t think twice about getting us out of that shed.

  She also says she understands about Jacob, why I had reason to fear. It still hurts that I questioned him in the beginning but over the last few days her heart has hardened to him. She’s wised up and become increasingly concerned about the man she’s been seeing. As for everything else, she tells me she would have done the same thing: helping one of us escape a monster like Mark. She didn’t realize what he was capable of and says I’m brave for hiding Sabine, I’m a good friend for protecting her… but that I should have told her sooner. She could have helped. We didn’t have to wait until Mark had us cornered with a knife.

  It’s hard for me to hear her words, the part about being brave. Because right now, bruised and sore with no idea what’s happened to Sabine, I’m not sure if I’ve done enough—if I’ve done the right thing. Because nothing worked. Nothing I did helped anyway.

  Despite all our planning and Sabine’s ruthless scheming, nothing appears to have helped her get away from Mark. We came so close but he still found her in the end. He tracked her to the shed. Even with threats of the extra video, he’s chased her and taken her down.

  And it hurts so much—paralyzing, really—no clue as to what’s happened. Calls from her, non-existent. Any chance of her reaching out to me, cold and silent. Snuffed out. The same fate I’m praying hasn’t also happened to her.

  The police demand to know Mark’s whereabouts but there is no information. Monica tells reporters she’s still clinging to the idea Sabine left on her own. She believes Mark is out looking for her and we’ll know something soon.

  Looking for her, not quite. More like hunting her.

  Twenty-four hours go by and I’m becoming increasingly sick. The pit of my stomach is in turmoil as I double over unable to breathe. A hollowness inside my chest that won’t go away because I need to know. I need to know she’s safe. I refuse to believe he’s gotten to her.

  I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Tish paces in my living room; she can’t stop wringing her hands either. She makes up a story to Charlie that I was hurt in a bicycle accident, that I’m shaken up but getting better. He’s careful not to hug me in case I cry out in pain.

  I clutch my phone hoping that at any moment there will be a call. I sit at the table and stare out the window to the shed where I managed to keep Sabine safe for a few days. But now I don’t know any longer.

  But I keep the faith. Any second, a call will come through and I’ll know she’s okay.

  But there’s still no word.

  And it’s what I fear most—what’s already happened. Mark got to her first.

  Forty-Four

  Tonight, the county c
ommissioner reappears. It’s a ghostly sight. While everyone is cheering, audibly relieved, Tish and I are seconds away from collapsing.

  Mark is on the evening news and Tish releases a hair-raising, blood-curdling scream that makes me freeze in front of the television.

  Standing on his front porch, he’s talking to a crowd of reporters, a whole slew of them shoving microphones in his face and lobbing questions: Where have you been? What can you tell us?

  And all I can think is: what have you done to Sabine?

  Tish frantically pulls on me to join her on the couch. In tortured disbelief, we stare at the screen, the very sight of that monster standing in front of his house as if the last twenty-four hours never happened.

  But he’s returned home, and more chillingly, he doesn’t have Sabine. He makes a generic statement about her disappearance, with Tish and I being the only ones who know every word is a lie. He’s covering up what he’s done to his wife for good.

  Gray rings streak beneath his eyes. A baseball cap covers what we know are large contusions across his head. Knotted flesh and bruises for every instance Tish whaled on him with the shovel. But he’s not showing the reporters any of that; he won’t want anyone to see.

  The rings beneath his eyes will be mistaken for genuine anguish about his wife. The baseball cap will be interpreted as someone who’s too grief-stricken to dress properly in front of the cameras, especially when he’s recently returned from medical care.

  Because that’s what Mark is claiming. He took leave to attend to his mental health, his fears for Sabine’s whereabouts and safety and the last week of searching for her proving to be too much. He is lost without her, he says tearfully and looks directly into the cameras. He tells them this with a straight face. He doesn’t know how to exist without knowing what’s happened to his wife so he went away seeking therapy. I can almost hear the reporters murmuring their deepest sympathies.

  Of course, not a word about finding her. Nothing about chasing her down.

  “It’s bullshit!” I scream. “You’re a liar! A liar and a murderer!” And I burst into sobs.

  Tish wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tight. “We have to tell the police. It’s time. I’m so sorry, Erica, but I don’t think Sabine found her way out of this.”

  I rub at my face, the tears that keep coming. I don’t want to believe this is true, but haven’t I been preparing myself the last twenty-four hours, telling myself we’ll go to the police the moment we don’t think she’s pulled through?

  “You have those pictures,” Tish reminds me. “From your lunch date and hiking. Show them to the police and we’ll tell them what Mark has been doing.”

  I sit up—I can show these photos, the ones of Mark in disguise. They should count for something, right? Tish and I can describe in our own words about the way he attacked us. How he chased Sabine.

  My phone rings. Leaping from the couch, I stare at the screen. Please let it be her. Please let me know she’s safe.

  Caller Unknown flashes and with shaking fingers I press answer, hope surging within my chest, my eyes squeezing shut. With every fiber of my being, I wait to hear her voice, for her to say those golden words: I’ve made it. She successfully escaped Mark. His appearance on TV is a sham, it’s only a way for him to explain why he went AWOL. She lost him and she’s going to be okay.

  But it’s not Sabine… it’s Mark.

  My eyes race back to the television. The press conference is over and the newscast is already showing the anchors on set, but Mark has stepped away from the cameras. He has the gall to turn his back to the reporters so he can call me from his front porch.

  “She’s gone,” he says.

  Every hair on my body jerks to attention. My words burn inside my throat. “What did you do to her?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  I raise a hand to my chest as Tish rushes to my side.

  “Where is she? Tell me she’s okay,” I cry.

  His voice comes in low and even. “Erica, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me. You won’t tell a soul about what’s happened—or else.”

  My eyes remain frozen to the TV, the news report that’s transitioning to a smiling photo of the impressive couple, the Millers. An image of Mark and Sabine at his last campaign fundraiser, the pair of them leaning together close as Mark clutches her waist.

  No one had any idea…

  His breath whispers in my ear, menacing. What I fear he’s done to Sabine. The realization I will never see her beautiful face again. The paralyzing terror at seeing his face on the news while he threatens me on the other end of the line

  “Don’t come near me,” he warns. “Don’t say a word or I’ll put an end to you too. Your children, Tish and her son. No one is safe.”

  Something hollow bursts in my chest. I drop my phone and sink to the floor.

  We lie to Amanda when she asks to come over. I tell her I’m sick, Tish too, since we can’t have her seeing my busted lip or the way I’m hobbling as I walk. The welt on my head hasn’t gone down yet but I refuse to go to the hospital. I don’t want to bring any attention especially after what Mark told me and there could be too many questions from a nurse. It could get back to Mark and I can’t stop shaking.

  If Amanda arrives, she’ll also ask about Tish’s car. She’ll want to know why it’s missing and we’re not sure how to explain that one yet. We’ll have to replace her car soon but there are too many things to worry about first.

  I’m grieving for Sabine and barely leave my bed. Tish sits by my side while Charlie stays in the living room, the little boy’s eyes round with confusion since he still doesn’t understand what’s happening. But I curl into a ball and suffer our loss, not wanting Tish to know the full extent of what Mark threatened to me over the phone either. But she knows. At the doorway to my bedroom, she hugs her son close. She locks the doors and double-checks them at night.

  I throw my head against the pillow. How do I seek vengeance? What do I do? I want so desperately to tell the police, to tell them how Mark killed Sabine, what he’s willing to cover up for the rest of his life—but what if that plan backfires? What if he comes through with his threats and hurts our families?

  By morning, new developments are emerging in the case, but they’re about Jacob Andrews. Interestingly, and despite Mark remaining steadfast his opponent is the culprit and despite Mark having a hundred friends in the police force, all it takes is one detective to remain unconvinced it was Jacob who broke down the Millers’ door. He’s not the reason Sabine cut and run that night, and the Buick caught on camera isn’t the one Jacob rented. Furthermore, the detective asserts, he has that alibi with Tish. Which means whoever broke into the Millers’ house is still a mystery.

  Jacob makes it known there are plenty of people who would go after Mark since he says the man owes quite a few people money. With this latest statement, the press are in a frenzy and they badger Jacob about why he would come up with such an allegation. No one has accused Mark Miller of wrongdoing before.

  As for Tish, she eventually hears from Jacob, which is too little and too late in my opinion. A phone call in the afternoon with an apology about cutting her off and not reaching out sooner or more sincerely, but Tish doesn’t have much to say. He’s no longer someone she can trust. After all, what he was doing—the disguises, the lies, sneaking around to see her—is exactly what Mark was doing and it makes her ill. The understanding she was a part of something like that and was too blind to see and she tells Jacob to never call her again. This time, she doesn’t cry. She’s been through a lot but she knows it’s nothing like what Sabine experienced. She can remove herself from a dangerous person before her own situation escalates.

  As for Monica, the police continue to grill her about the hate letter. Her intentions, that she had motivation especially if she’s secretly in love with Mark, is enough to keep her at the top of their list. But she also has an alibi. She was at the pool watching
fireworks along with so many others, us too. I’m wondering when the police will drop her as a suspect.

  And I cry. I cry for the loss of my friend Sabine. The words I wish I could have said to her in the end. If I’d known that was going to be my last time seeing her, I would have told her I loved her. I would have hugged her before I screamed for her to run. I would have said something more meaningful. But you never know in the moment, do you? Neither of us could have imagined. Even the best plans can get ruined.

  Forty-Five

  It’s hard to move on but I try. I force myself to return to work even though I can’t concentrate in a single meeting and my co-workers hover in my door and worry I’m losing weight, losing sleep. They have no idea how hard I’m crying inside, or why.

  On Sunday, my ex-husband returns the girls and simply seeing their faces is enough to lift my spirits. I squeeze back my tears and hug them close, telling my daughters I’ll never let anything happen to them. I’ll do everything I can.

  Only Taylor pulls away and blissfully skips ahead to her room while Lydia stands back and watches me cautiously. She knows something is wrong but can’t put her finger on it—how could she? How could my child know what we’re going through? How could she imagine the lengths people will go to so we can protect each other’s secrets?

  I turn my head and try my best not to show her I’m petrified. But I am. With every phone call that comes in, I’ve given up on it being Sabine. Instead, the shrill sound of the phone sets my teeth on edge; it makes me want to jump right out of my skin—and I worry that it’s Mark. He’s calling to check up on me. He’s wondering who I’ve told, if we’ve contacted the police. He’ll sneer something into the phone about going after my children.

  Tish and Charlie return to their home. She’s having an alarm installed in case Mark tries to come near them; I know she’s scared too. I continue setting my own alarm, locking every window at night and checking the doors religiously. I monitor the street.