The Surrogate Mother

by Freida McFadden

Monica’s lips curl into a smile. “You asked to speak with my mother.” She nods her head in Gertie’s direction. “So you did.”

  The woman with the out of state area code was Gertie. How could I have failed to recognize her voice?

  “But then Denise figured you out,” I say. “So you had to get rid of her.”

  Monica snorts. “Please. Denise didn’t figure me out. I’m so much smarter than her—than either of you. I wanted her to catch me rifling through her desk. Then I took a long lunch so she could search my cubicle and find those pills.”

  “But… why?”

  “Because I knew she’d call you.” She rolls her eyes. “You might not have known this, but Denise thought the world of you. Whenever you weren’t around, it was always, ‘Well, Abigail does it this way, so why can’t you?’ Or, “Abigail never leaves early—why are you going home to your family?’ I could tell she regretted what happened.”

  Hearing her say those words about Denise is a jab in the chest. Denise never hated me. Even when she was disappointed about my life choices, she still thought I was one of her best employees.

  And Monica murdered her for it.

  “Those Adderall were completely legal, by the way,” she adds. “Any police officer could confirm that. And they’re not what made you fail your urine test. That was straight up meth.”

  Monica has thought of everything. Her stepmother was right—she really is a genius.

  “Why are you doing this?” I manage.

  My head is swimming, but at least I’m still conscious, so that’s something. The full effects of the pills hasn’t hit me yet. Maybe I can make myself throw up. I feel like that might happen anyway. But in case I can’t, I’m hoping she’ll at least tell me what she drugged me with.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Monica says.

  “No,” I say. “You’ve already set it up so I’ll be in jail for the next fifteen years. Why kill me?”

  “This is so much cleaner.” Monica folds her hands together and smiles as if pleased with herself. “You’re depressed about everything you’ve done and don’t see a way out, so you overdose on the entire bottle of your sleeping pills.”

  My sleeping pills. Damn. No wonder Sam wanted me to get a refill so badly.

  I wiggle my ankles, noting my legs still feel intact. Could I possibly make a run for it? Monica is pregnant, for Christ’s sake. And Gertie is—well, she’s in better shape than I thought. But still. Maybe I could do it.

  “We need to tie her up.” Gertie’s eyes are narrowed at me. She must know what I’m thinking. “I don’t want any chance of her trying to make a run for it.”

  “No.” I grit my teeth. “You’re not going to tie me up. I won’t let you.”

  Monica laughs. “Oh, I think you will.”

  Monica rifles around in her purse hanging off the edge of the chair. My mouth drops open when she pulls out a handgun. A gun. She doesn’t point it at me, but just its presence makes me freeze. It looks so ominous.

  “We had a firing range right by my house growing up,” she says casually. “I’m actually quite a good shot. Not that I’d need to be at this distance.”

  I look between Monica and Gertie, my heart pounding. If she shoots me, it’s over. I have no chance.

  Monica sifts through her purse again and pulls out a piece of white stationery. She slides it across dining table so I can see it. I stare at the words on the page, written in a perfect replication of my handwriting done by someone who’s had a year of studying my handwritten notes and practicing. The signature is perfect—only a handwriting expert would be able to tell the difference, and I doubt one would ever be called in.

  It’s a full confession to everything. My drug problem that got out of control. Murdering my former boss when she wouldn’t go along with my blackmail scheme. Culminating in an apology to Sam, in which I give him my blessing to go on with his life.

  “Your last words.” She smiles at me and I shiver. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad that’s how you’ll be remembered?”

  I nod at the gun in her hand. “If you shoot me, that will mess up your suicide plan, won’t it? If you shoot me to death in my own home, how will you explain that?”

  “Oh, I’m prepared.” She rests her right hand protectively on the gun. “I’ve still got access to your work email account. This morning you sent me an email inviting me over to ‘talk.’ And then when I arrived, you pulled a gun on me because jealousy had gotten the better of you. There was a struggle and… well, unfortunately, I got the better of you. And poor Gertie here was a witness to the whole thing.”

  “Yeah, but how would I have a gun?”

  She doesn’t bat an eye. “I don’t know—maybe you needed it around because you had so many dealers coming to your apartment. Who knows? It’s unregistered—probably stolen. You probably bought it on the black market.”

  I’m speechless. She’s thought of everything.

  “I think suicide would be far more respectable though, don’t you?” She points the gun in my direction, which scares the hell out of me. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. I’ve never held one in my hand. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ve been this close to one. “Speaking of which, let’s move this to the bedroom.” When I don’t budge, her eyes narrow. “Unless you want to go for option number two.”

  My legs feel like rubber as I get to my feet. I don’t know if it’s the sleeping pills taking effect or if I’m just scared out of my mind. But I practically fall on my way to the bed, gratefully collapsing against the mattress.

  “Stay there,” Monica commands me, shaking the gun in my face.

  As I’m lying there, she holds her belly and winces. For a moment, I wonder if I would have any chance trying to get the gun away from her. She’s large and her balance is probably terrible. Maybe she’s even in labor—who knows? It’s not ridiculous to think I could do it. Either way, I’m going to die. It might be worth the risk to go down swinging.

  But then again, I had trouble walking to the bed. It’s clear I’m in no position to fight. And even if I overpowered Monica, I’ve still got to get through Gertie. I can’t imagine being successful at that, considering how I’m feeling.

  And then Monica whips a roll of duct tape out of her purse, and starts taping my ankles. Damn, I knew duct tape was going to be in my future. I recognize it as the cheap duct tape from the supply closet at work—she probably swiped it. How ironic. Keeping me subdued apparently wasn’t even worth the price of a roll of tape.

  When she tapes my wrists, I realize any chance I had to escape has gone out the window. I never even tried. I’ve read all these books and newspaper articles about people who rose to the occasion when they were in danger, and then stories about people who just sat there and let themselves be killed. I always believed I’d be in the former category. If it came down to it, I believed I’d be a hero.

  Maybe it has to do with will. Even if I survive this, what do I have? My career is destroyed. I’ve got murder charges hanging over my head. And I’m married to a man who got his girlfriend to make it look like I killed myself.

  I may as well just let go.

  “It’s the right thing,” Gertie tells me as Monica secures my limbs. “You’ve been keeping Sam from being happy. This is what he’s wanted all along. A child. A woman who shares his passion. You kept him from all of that. I felt so sorry for him when I was working for you.”

  But I loved him.

  And I thought he loved me.

  “It’s so selfish,” Monica practically spits at me. “Any decent woman would have stepped aside.”

  “As if you’re any better,” I mutter under my breath.

  Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying,” I say. “There are plenty of younger, prettier girls in his classes. What do you have that they don’t have?”

  “I’ll be the mother of his child,” she hisses at me, getting her face up in mine. Which is frightening, considering I currently can
’t move my arms or legs.

  “Right, that’s true,” I concede. “But you’ll probably be too busy and tired from taking care of the baby to give him the attention he deserves. And I hear it’s awfully hard to lose that baby weight…”

  Monica looks like she wants to slap me. I hope she does. If she hits me hard enough to leave a mark, then there will be some evidence my death isn’t a simple suicide. I deserve that. Redemption after death.

  But before I can say anything else to provoke her, I hear the lock on the front door turning.

  Chapter 39

  “Shit,” Monica says under her breath.

  “Who is that?” Gertie asks.

  “How should I know?” Monica replies irritably.

  I’m as clueless as they are. Who is that? The super? The police, come to arrest me? Any of the above would be great. But I assume if it was one of those people, they would knock before simply barging into the apartment.

  Before I can ask who’s there, Monica rips another piece of duct tape off her roll and slaps it over my lips. And then she shoves me so hard, I roll off the bed, into the foot-wide space between the bed and the wall. My shoulder hits the floor hard and I gasp under the duct tape. The radiator sticking out of the wall is sharp, and I can feel the cold metal slicing into my forearm.

  “Abby? You home, Abby?”

  It’s Sam. Sam’s voice.

  What the hell?

  Monica leans over the bed, where I’m wedged between the mattress and the wall. Her face is bright pink. “Don’t move a muscle. Or else.”

  For good measure, Monica tosses a blanket on top of me. It dulls the sounds and makes it sort of hard to breathe, but I can still hear through it. I hear Monica say to Gertie: “Mom, you hide in the closet, okay?”

  I hear the door to the closet right next to the bed swinging open, then shutting soundly. But I’m confused now. Why is Gertie hiding in the closet? It’s not like Sam doesn’t know she exists.

  Doesn’t he?

  “Hey, Sammy.” Monica’s voice, traveling through the thin walls of our apartment.

  “Monica?” He sounds baffled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Abby called me to come over to talk,” she says. “But then she was just… ranting and raving. And she finally ran out.”

  “She… ran out?”

  “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were giving a lecture?”

  “I canceled it.” I can hear him sigh. “I sort of had it out with Abby last night, and I couldn’t stop feeling shitty about the way we left things. I really need to talk to her. We’ve got to figure this out.”

  My heart swells. Sam isn’t plotting against me with Monica. He’s on my side. And even after all the things he believes I’ve done, he wants to try to work things out with me. Of course, it would be nice if he believed me in the first place, but I have to admit, the evidence was pretty damning.

  “Do you know where she went?” Sam asks.

  “I have no idea. Honestly, she was almost unintelligible. Probably high out of her mind.”

  Sam is quiet. Don’t believe her. Please don’t believe her.

  Monica’s voice again: “She said something about getting out of town. She was calling the airport.”

  “The airport?”

  I calm my heavy breathing so I can hear them better. The radiator is really starting to hurt my arm—I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s bleeding.

  “Yeah, she ordered an Uber to LaGuardia, so…?”

  “Jesus Christ. All right… I, uh… maybe I’ll see if I can get over there and find her. You don’t have any idea where she might have been booking tickets for?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  “All right.”

  Oh my God, he believes her. He’s leaving! Please don’t leave, Sam! Don’t believe her!

  “Let me just call her phone real quick though,” he says. “Maybe I can talk some sense into her.”

  “No, Sam.” There’s an urgency in Monica’s voice. “You can’t talk sense into her. You can’t.”

  And that’s when I hear it. The ringtone. My ringtone.

  “Monica?” He sounds so confused, I want to run over and hug him. “Why is Abby’s purse and phone still here?”

  “Um…” I hold my breath, waiting to hear what she’ll say. “She was in such a state, Sam… she just left everything behind.”

  “Even her phone?”

  “Apparently…”

  “I’m sorry,” Sam says. “If there’s one thing I know about Abby, she would never leave the house without her phone. Where is she, Monica?”

  “I told you—I don’t know!”

  “Abby!” He’s shouting now. “Abby! Are you here?”

  I’m here! I’m here!

  “Abby!” His voice is louder now. He’s coming toward the bedroom. “Abby! Where are you?”

  “Sammy, she’s not here…”

  “Abby!” The bedroom door is open now. His voice is much louder. “Abby!”

  With all my might, I kick against the side of the bed. The noise makes Sam go quiet. I hear bedsprings creak. A second later, the weight of the blankets lifts off my body, and Sam is staring down at me, a look of growing horror on his face.

  “Abby,” he gasps, bending over me. “What… what’s going on?”

  Call the police!

  But it’s too late for that. Much too late.

  Chapter 40

  “Get up, Sam.”

  I can’t see Monica, but I can imagine what she looks like. Stomach bulging under her striking red dress, black hair falling loose around her face, eyes flashing. Gun pointed at my husband’s face.

  “Monica.” His voice is hoarse. “What are you doing?”

  “I said get up.”

  His face disappears from view. I lift my head just enough to see him standing there, his hands raised in the air. I can move a little by squirming, but not very much. I shift over to the side so the radiator edge isn’t slicing my forearm anymore. Stupid radiator. That thing is so sharp, it could cut through…

  Oh my God, could it cut through the duct tape?

  “You’re unbelievable, Sam.” Monica’s voice is filled with venom. “Here I am, offering you everything, and all you want is her.”

  “But she’s my wife,” Sam says. And he says it so simply, like it’s an immutable fact that once a person is wed, they are mated for life. As he says those words, I don’t understand how I ever could have doubted his fidelity. That is Sam all over—undyingly faithful.

  “But she can’t give you anything you want!” Monica is practically shouting now. “She doesn’t fulfill any of your needs!”

  “Trust me, Monica. She fulfills my needs.”

  I squirm again, moving my body upward until the sharp edge of the radiator is against my wrist. It’s difficult, considering my wrists and ankles are bound, and also, the sleeping pills are starting to hit me. Keeping my eyes open is an effort and my body feels really heavy.

  Painfully heavy.

  “I can give you more though,” Monica says. “I’m ready to give it to you.”

  Sam lowers his voice a notch. “We talked about this in your apartment the other night, Monica. I told you no.”

  I can’t even focus on what they’re saying anymore because my wrists have made contact with the radiator. If I know anything about the duct tape from work, I know it’s cheap crap. If I can just get the right angle…

  “I’m not talking about the other night, Sam.” And now her voice has softened. “I’m talking about three years ago. At the university.”

  “The university?”

  “I was in your linear algebra class,” she says. “I came to every single one of your office hours.”

  “Oh.”

  He doesn’t remember her. I’m not even looking at his face, but I can hear it in his voice.

  “My hair was blond then,” she says. “I dyed it when I saw that picture of Abby you’ve got in your office. But I was there every week. You said
you thought I was really promising.”

  “I… I’m sure I meant it, but…”

  “And we had coffee that time after class,” she adds, her voice rising in volume. “At Starbucks. You bought me a cappuccino.”

  He coughs loudly. “You and I… had coffee together? Alone?”

  “Well…” She hesitates. “It wasn’t alone exactly. I was with two other students and… you treated all of us. But you couldn’t take your eyes off me the whole time.”

  “I… I’m not sure if…”

  “And then one day,” she goes on, not waiting for a response, “when we were alone during your office hours, I tried to kiss you, and you just…” Her voice is wrenched with emotion. “You jumped out of the way. Like you were dodging me.”

  Sam is quiet.

  When she speaks again, Monica sounds furious. “You really don’t remember any of that?”

  “Well… um… stuff like that… it kind of happens… a lot.”

  “And you’re never even tempted?”

  He snorts. “Of course not. I’m married.”

  My husband deserves a medal. I want to jump up and hug him, except for the fact that I’m completely immobilized.

  But then I feel the tape ripping under the sharp edge of the radiator. And a second later, my wrists are free! I can move my arms again! My legs are still bound, but I’m halfway there. As long as Monica keeps her eyes on Sam and not me. And also, as long as I don’t fall asleep, which is becoming a distinct possibility right now.

  “Sam.” Her voice softens. “It isn’t too late for us. Look at me—I’m having your baby. And I can tell you’re attracted to me.”

  “Monica, come on…”

  I grit my teeth. Would it kill him to pretend to be interested in her for a few minutes, just until we can get the gun away from her? People do that in movies all the time, and it seems to work at least occasionally. I just need another minute. One more minute to get my ankles free.

  “You wouldn’t have to even do anything,” she says. “Abby’s already taken a bottle full of sleeping pills, so she’s probably already unconscious.”

  No, I’m not. I’m getting my damn ankles loose. Although to be fair, if I didn’t have a ton of adrenaline pumping through me right now, I probably would be unconscious.