Have You Seen Me?(87)

Another smile from her. I sense she’s noticed my preparation. She sets my phone on the side table next to her and reaches into the space between the chair and the cushion. When she slides her hand out, I see she’s holding a small black gun.

My stomach roils. “But they’ll catch you,” I say. “They’ll trace the gun.”

“It’s from the black market, actually. Some of my patients are seriously troubled, and I felt I needed protection—but it’s nearly impossible to obtain a firearm legally in New York State.”

“The Uber,” I say desperately. “It’s evidence that I came here.”

She chuckles. “When the Uber arrives to pick you up, I’ll put on your coat and a hat of mine and be driven into the city. Later, I’ll take the train back here to tidy up. That’s basically how it worked with Diane, though she’d come by car. I wore her coat and her very fancy sunglasses and I stopped for gas and later abandoned the vehicle. Then I had all the time in the world to clean up. I took her body upstate, to a landfill near where I used to live. I haven’t seen a word about her being missing. I assume no one cares she’s gone.”

As hard as it is, I force a smile.

“Ah, that’s very clever,” I say. “You outgrifted the grifter.”

Erling raises an eyebrow. “I should appreciate the compliment, Ally, but I know you’re simply trying to buy yourself time.”

She’s going to shoot me any second now. And dump my body in the landfill. I manage another breath and think of my father and brothers, of Hugh, too, still my husband. Would they ever be able to find out what had happened to me? Or would they think I’d disassociated again and fallen off the face of the earth?

As I picture Roger, an image fights its way into my head. My brother standing with the oar.

I open my mouth as if to speak again, as if there is something I must say. But instead, I reach fast for the glass water pitcher. And once I grab hold of it, I fling it at her head.

She yelps and then screams, as the glass shatters against her skull and the water sprays everywhere.

I propel myself from the couch and rush to the closest door, flinging it open. I’m in the living room now. I can barely see because the curtains are drawn in here, too, but I tear through the room toward the front of the house, banging into pieces of furniture. Behind me I can hear Erling scrambling.

“Stop!” she screams.

I reach the front hallway, see the door to my left, but I can tell Erling’s not far behind me.

Before I take another step, a noise shatters the air, a crack followed by the sound of splintering wood. She’s fired the gun at me.

I can’t reach the door in time. I lower my head and plunge straight ahead into the dining room and scan it desperately. I spot two hammered metal candlesticks on a sideboard, grab one fast in my fist, and shove open the door to the kitchen.

It’s nearly dark in this room, too, the louvered blinds lowered. Holding my breath, I duck behind the door, leaving it open.

“Ally,” Erling calls. She’s in the dining room now, I can tell. “You’re coming unglued again. Let me help you. Where—?”

She’s only inches away now. I raise the candlestick.

As she charges into the room, I bring it down on her head with all the force I can muster. She drops to the floor facedown, the gun in her hand. Blood spreads from the right side of her head, like a flower blooming.

I turn and race back through the dining room, through the foyer, and out the front door.

And then I run, down the middle of the street. Miraculously a car turns the corner and heads this way. I wave my arms frantically, begging for the driver to stop.





33


A noise startles me and I jump a little in my seat. I realize after a beat that it’s only Gabby, turning the key in the lock on her front door. She’s home from work now. It’s probably going to be a while before I stop being skittish.

A couple of seconds later, Gabby saunters into the living room, carrying a couple of Whole Food bags.

“Hey,” she says in greeting. “You doing okay?”

“Much better,” I say from the couch. “I actually worked on my book a little bit today.”

“How was the new therapist?”

“I liked her—and she comes highly recommended by Dr. Agarwal, the shrink who treated me in the ER. Only time will tell if she wants to blow my brains out, too.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s probably a good sign I can laugh about it.”

“Totally. You like salmon, right? I picked up a couple of fillets for dinner. Let me pop them in the oven.”

As she heads into the kitchen, I sink back into the couch in her lovely living room, an enchanting mix of modern and boho decor. I’ve been ensconced here for the past couple of days—since Sunday night. After I’d bolted from Erling’s, I managed to flag down the car I saw turning onto her street and convince the driver to take me to the local police station. On the way, I’d called Jay Williams, who drove to Westchester immediately.

As I told my story in the police interview room that evening, shaken and exhausted, I wondered frantically about Erling. Had she taken off? Or would she try to completely spin the story, claiming that I was a deranged patient who had attacked her during a session, forcing her to try to shoot at me in self-defense?