A Fatal Affair Read online

  She simply couldn’t let him go... not yet. There was only one ace left that she had.

  “But what about our baby?” she meekly asked. “If you kill me, you kill your only child. Please think about that.”

  Allen stopped mid-stride.

  “Our baby? How do I even know it’s mine? I’m guessing not, so it means nothing to me. Let it die along with you, Susan.”

  And with that he strode out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him and sealing her fate within.

  Chapter 6

  The front door to my apartment shook beneath a pounding fist... the fourth knock in half as many minutes.

  Two men wearing off-the-rack suits, with LAPD badges clipped at the hip, had been standing on the other side of my peephole for nearly two minutes. Detectives.

  A tremor of panic shot up my spine, sending me stumbling into the end table and knocking a metal sculpture to the floor where it rattled against the hardwood. My damn clumsiness cost me my chance at blowing them off.

  My gaze wandered to the bathroom; I considered the plausibility of a window-jumping escape without killing myself. Realistically, I had about a 1 percent chance of surviving such a fall... not enough to take the risk.

  Unless the alternative was jail.

  “Mr. Michaels, please open up. This is the LAPD. We know you’re in there. We have a couple questions for you,” the voice on the other side of the door boomed.

  I wondered if they would just come out with it saying they had a warrant for my arrest or if this was a trick to get me to open the door to handcuffs. Either way, I had to make a decision—fast—before they breached the door.

  But there was one thing I hadn’t thought of until now. They couldn’t arrest me for something I didn’t do—murder. Susan was alive and well, as far as I knew.

  So I mustered the confidence to answer the door.

  “Hello, may I help you?” I asked with feigned perplexity.

  “Mr. Michaels?” a brown-haired detective prompted.

  I nodded wordlessly, protecting myself with my silence. They mentioned their names, but I was too preoccupied with planning my statement to catch what they said.

  “We’re from the Los Angeles Police Department, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about your wife, Susan Michaels.”

  “What about her?”

  “She recently went missing. Do you know anything about this?”

  Luckily I had perfected my acting during the tenure of my movie-making career. My eyebrows rose in mock horror. “Missing? What do you mean?”

  “A co-worker noticed Susan didn’t show up for work for two days, saying it’s unlike her to play hooky. Since it’s been more than forty-eight hours, this co-worker filed a missing persons report and we’re following up on it. Have you seen Susan or spoke to her?”

  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” I hoped my lack of information wouldn’t give rise to suspicion, but I didn’t know how much explanation was too much. The last thing I wanted to give them was a motive. “I mean, we talked a couple days ago when I stopped by her place to drop off some mail, and she seemed fine. Mentioned that she was taking a trip to see her family on the east coast. I told her to tell them hi for me. Other than that, I don’t really know anything.”

  It was amazing how the lies came so naturally... and so authentically delivered.

  “So we understand that you two are separated. Amicably?”

  “Yes, we made a mutual decision to end things and move on. We both work in Hollywood, you know, so it’s a strain on the relationship. People are better off single in this industry.”

  The blond detective nodded and stretched out a pitying “mmm hmm” as if he understood. He’d never understand; most of the media doesn’t. They think those of us living under the marquee lights can’t hold together a serious relationship because we’re too self-obsessed, but the reality is that 70 percent of all marriages are self-obsessed, so they should point the fingers at themselves for the divorce statistics. We’re not the only dysfunctional ones.

  “And you say you saw her two days ago—the day she went missing?”

  I gave myself a mental slap for picking two days ago. I couldn’t retract my statement now or else I’d look suspicious, but I had an idea...

  “Yes, that’s correct. Though, now that I think about it, she seemed kind of distracted, like she was waiting for someone. She mentioned that she was supposed to meet up with someone for dinner, though I don’t know who. And based on how she was dressed up, I’m guessing it was a date somewhere fancy. You may want to see if anyone at her apartment knows anything about that...”

  And the seed was planted for the perfect frame.

  “She mention who?”

  “Would you want to know who your ex was dating?” I retorted. Blondie frowned at me. “Sorry, but no, I didn’t ask, she didn’t tell. That’s all I know. Is there anything else I can do?” I offered.

  Brown Hair sighed. “Just let us know if you hear from her, and tell her to contact her office next time she decides to take off. We appreciate your time.”

  As I shut the door behind them, I felt my heart lurch and my stomach roil. I ran to the bathroom and vomited this morning’s coffee into the toilet. I needed to get out of L.A. before they started digging. If they discovered my Tujunga residence and decided to pay a visit, I was screwed. But at least I had created enough of a possible diversion to throw them off my track temporarily. And perhaps I’d find out who Susan was banging.

  This gave me a few weeks to get away and lay low until the smoke cleared and they wrote her off as a newly single woman caught up in wanderlust. Besides, without a body, there was no crime.

  **

  My index fingertip rested on Westfield, New York—a tiny spot of a town barely visible on the map spread out before me, nestled between Lake Erie and Lake Chautauqua.

  Shadows taunted me from the corners of my bedroom, challenging me to dispel them with more than the bedside lamp that cast a humble glow. I was finally growing accustomed to the loneliness of nighttime, although irrational fears occasionally overtook me, plaguing me with visions of dark-haired, gangly little girls creeping along the walls. Horror movies were a thing of the past for me now, unless I didn’t mind sleeping with infomercials marketing their wares all night to override my overactive imagination.

  Westfield it was—my new home, my new haven. Earlier that evening I had browsed online for possible job opportunities out east—as far from L.A. as I could get without a passport—and upon seeing an online posting for a temporary teaching position at Jamestown Community College, I knew Fate had laid out her perfect plan.

  The college needed a creative writing professor for a second-semester workshop, and I was a creative writer. A quick Google search showcased Westfield’s humble origins and array of quaint accommodations—lakeside bed and breakfasts, or an in-town stay in one of the many manors-turned-hotels for the more cultural folk who sought “city” life.

  With my flight plan secured, freedom waited just around the corner. My only problem was what to do about Susan. My intention had never been to kill her, only to punish her for her betrayal. But I couldn’t take her with me, and I damn sure wasn’t going to free her to run straight into the arms of her new lover. She would certainly die if left for several weeks without food or water.

  Then again, that was her problem, not mine.

  Chapter 7

  It had been days—though her distorted accounting of time couldn’t guess how many exactly—since she had finished the last meager bottle of water Allen had left for her, and the loaf of Italian bread he had tossed her way had been consumed down to the last crumb. It had taken some creativity on her part to figure out how to eat and drink without the use of hands, but survival instinct had a way of motivating. Susan’s head throbbed, her stomach rumbled, her throat cracked, and her lips bled.

  If he didn’t return again soon, Susan Michaels was going to die right here on the bedroom floor.

  She h
ad remembered that Allen kept hidden a satellite phone in the dresser drawer just out of reach. One call was all she needed. It was her only chance to live.

  In a last-ditch effort to survive, she dug her fingernails into the sticky tape binding her. After working on it for days, she had almost shredded it, and the rope grew precariously thin. But the amount of strength needed to complete the job escaped her. Only the fear of death resurged her efforts.

  With one final tug, Susan leaned forward, using all her weight to pull free. A moment later she felt a snap and lurched forward face-first on the floor. Her arms flew out beside her, yet not quickly enough to block her chin’s impact with the hardwood.

  She pushed herself upright and tore loose the remaining restraints on her ankles. Once free, she warily rose to her feet and stumbled to the dresser. Rooting through the bureau drawers, she found the phone. After pocketing it, she ambled to the kitchen, throwing open cupboard doors and the refrigerator in search of food.

  Nothing. The entire kitchen was totally bare, except for stacks of useless ceramic plates, bowls, and stemware, dusted over from time’s neglect.

  She turned on the faucet and held her mouth open underneath it, catching cold water all over her face, tongue, and down her throat... savoring its refreshment. When her stomach felt full, she slipped into the living room and fell into the cushions of a chocolate brown leather chair. She powered on the phone—thankfully it still had a sliver of battery life left—and dialed Brett’s cell phone number. After two rings he answered.

  “Brett Copper here.”

  “Oh, Brett, thank God you answered! It’s Susan.”

  “Hey, baby. I’ve been wondering what’s going on with you. Why haven’t you called me? I was worried about you.”

  “You won’t believe this, but Allen abducted me and is trying to kill me. I need you to come get me.”

  “What? Susan, are you serious?”

  “Yes, Brett, I’m serious. Do you think I’d be lying about something like this?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in his cabin in Tujunga. I don’t know the address, but if you contact the police, I’m sure they can find it and rescue me. Please hurry, in case he comes back.”

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” The dread behind his questions calmed Susan, reassuring her that everything would be alright, that Brett would save her.

  “Only starved and dehydrated me near to death, but I’ll be okay once I see you. Just get here.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll see what I can do, baby. Just hold tight.”

  “I can’t hold tight, Brett. He might come back and kill me while you’re playing house! Can you get me or not?”

  A pause.

  A heartbreaking, eternal pause.

  “Look, I said I’ll see what I can do, Susan.”

  At his words, the slight hesitancy she detected, her mind snapped. Rage filled her—rage for the starvation, dehydration, and torment Allen had put her through... and yet Brett wasn’t coming to her rescue, was he? She had left her husband for Brett, and all he could offer was a halfhearted rescue attempt?

  “See what you can do? You better be kidding me, Brett. I’m about to be killed, and you will see what you can do? You better get down here and save me—now. Remember, I’m carrying your baby...”

  Which she hoped had survived the last couple of days of malnourishment. That baby was her only hold on Brett Copper.

  “I will, I promise. But honey, I got a bunch of family stuff going on. I can’t just up and leave. There will be questions... and if I get caught... I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Excuse me? You’re afraid of getting caught by your wife when I could be murdered? Brett, if you don’t rescue me now, I swear to God I’ll make you wish I was killed, because I’ll be coming to you.”

  Brett’s voice lowered to a hoarse hasty whisper as he said, “I promise to do what I can when I can. I’ll call the police now and at least have someone go out there to get you home. I’ll free up tonight to see you.”

  “You know what—forget it. I’ll take care of myself.”

  “Susan, c’mon...” he pleaded softly.

  “No! I see how much you really care. I don’t want to ever see you again, Brett. And by the way, tell your wife I said hello. Oh, wait. I think I’ll tell her myself,” Susan yelled into the receiver and punched the end call button, wishing immediately afterward that she could take the words back.

  Any hope Susan had of her knight swooping in to save the day broke along with the floodgates to her tears. The phone fell from her grasp. Brett wasn’t coming.

  But Allen apparently already had.

  **

  I slipped my arm around her face and neck, muffling her screams as I tightened my grip around her mouth. Her fingers pried at my hands and her feet kicked frantically, but even twenty years my junior, she was no match for me, not with her weakened state and the armchair distancing her limbs from making contact.

  “You didn’t expect me to leave town without saying good-bye, did you?” I seethed.

  I had eavesdropped long enough to catch the other man’s name—Brett—and to hear that the baby wasn’t mine. I had figured as much, but to hear the truth of it... well, it was too much.

  “So it sounds like your savior isn’t coming. You shouldn’t trust people, Susan. You taught me that.”

  Her stifled reply only dared me to squeeze tighter.

  “If only you wouldn’t have made that call... Now you’ve forced my hand. I had planned to stop by and make sure you survived my impromptu departure, but now I don’t feel quite so generous. I think I’m going to kill you instead.”

  With that, I tensely pulled a handkerchief from my windbreaker pocket—life taught me to always be prepared for anything, especially when facing a pro fighter like Susan—and slipped it between my hand and her mouth. Moments later her body relaxed, then went limp, and she was out. I was beginning to like the multipurpose use of chloroform.

  After re-securing her arms and legs, this time using enough rope and duct tape to tie up an elephant, I stormed out the front door to get some air. I needed to think.

  Kill her, Allen. She’s a loose end that leads to you, a voice urged me.

  Are you really capable of killing another human being, though?

  I didn’t know if I could.

  What choice do you have? She will turn you in. Think jail time, brother... Think of how it will destroy your life...

  A shiver shot through me at the thought of whose bitch I could become, and what they did to weaklings like me in prison. Money couldn’t buy me out of being raped, could it?

  Watching the life slip from her eyes, hearing her last dying breath—all at your own hands? Her blood forever saturating your past? Think of how this will destroy your soul...

  Yet I had taken it this far. My soul was as far gone as Susan’s innocence. I couldn’t let the cheating whore live, forever tied up, but I couldn’t free her to run to the cops about it either. What choices did I really have?

  My eyes glazed over as I took in the awesome scenery I could no longer appreciate. The aged Douglas firs standing tall amongst modest chaparral shrubs dotting the landscape with subdued greens; the hibernating California walnut trees bare from winter’s descent; rocks climbing the terrain, leaving their jagged imprint on the earth—all of its breathtaking glory would be forever stained in crimson. How could I go on with the burden of murder on my soul?

  But how could I go on without it?

  Chapter 8

  The thump of a man’s heavy footsteps jarred Susan from her dream state, and the nightmare of being raped and cut into pieces fled, only to resurface in her awakened imaginings.

  At first she hoped the approaching figure was a cop Brett may have mercifully sent to look for her. But when no one spoke, the form eerily looming there, she sensed something dark... a gruesome evil, this time stronger than ever before, and it caused her to retch the bile that remained in her stoma
ch.

  There was no more time.

  Someone was here... this time to kill her.

  She couldn’t quite make out who the someone was, as the hazy silhouette was hidden behind a mask of blackened night and her tears. With only the moon dispelling splinters of light into the room, Susan wondered what lifeless monster took over Allen’s body that he could snuff out her life so easily.

  She searched for his eyes, hoping that some connection could make him change his mind and see her as a person he once loved, but his face hung back in the shadows.

  Then she noticed something peculiar. Her arms and legs were free, with only trace shreds of duct tape and sticky residue clinging to the hairs on her arms and legs. Was Allen toying with her? Had he freed her, only to play a game of cat-and-mouse? He’d know she’d be too weak to run, so she expended the last of her energy to beg for her life.

  “Allen, please don’t do this,” yet her words bore no emotion. She was all tapped out. “If you let me live, I promise not to say anything to anyone. We can go on as if nothing happened.”

  Yet he said nothing.

  “I know what I did was horrible, and I’m sorry, but please don’t do this. Don’t live with the wrong choice for the rest of your life. What if they catch you? If you spare me, it can end now. Please, Allen... I’m begging you...” And that was all she could say as she slumped back, too tired to fight.

  As her lifeless appeal joined in the din of fear and doom that surrounded her, an arm reached down to her. Susan leaned forward hopefully to grasp the outstretched hand, then looked up into his eyes... and her eyes widened just as the pierce of a knife punctured her flesh.

  Her stomach felt warm and wet, and with her free hand she clutched the oozing wound and groaned in pain. She felt the muscle tearing, searing her nerve endings. Then another stab penetrated her, this time catching her on the wrist as it jutted into her watch, cracking the Rolex’s face and snapping the band free. She heard the watch skid under the bed, a momentary distraction that left her vulnerable as her attacker severed her tiny wrist bone with another plunge of the knife.