Page 91 of The Surrogate Mother
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 wouldIhave 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 ofmy 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 of 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 the will to survive. 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. “Excuseme?”
“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 themother 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.
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. Whoisthat? 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.
