“Even if you love her?”
“Especially if you love her.” He steps back. “You can’t have her forever, and you know it. Get rid of her now, Michael. For real this time.”
Meredith
Now
I’m standing downstairs in the mansion’s basement. One of two places in this house where Michael’s cell phone gets reception. (The other is the living room, and I won’t dare risk doing this anywhere near Michael.)
It’s now or never. This man is going to kill me, and he’s left me in the dark this entire journey. Seeing that guy’s number on his phone let me know that Michael is a part of that “underground ecosystem” and I want to save myself from being a part of that food chain.
My fingers tremble with every digit of Gillian’s number I type onto the phone’s screen. I hit the green icon and hold the phone up to my ear, hoping like hell the call will go through.
Ring. Ring. Ring…
“Hello?” she answers, her voice soft.
“Gillian, it’s me. Meredith. Please don’t hang up. Please!”
The line remains quiet, and for a split second, I think that she believes me, but then she begins to yell. “Fuck you! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but this shit is not funny! Stop playing your twisted fucking games with me and delete my number! Right now!”
“It’s really me, Gillian.” The words rush out of my mouth. “Michael has kidnapped me. You were right about me trusting him a little too easily, falling in love a little too fast. I’m not missing. I’m still alive, and I need you to call the police.”
I hear her sniffle, so I continue talking. “We played Russian Roulette with a toy gun in our old apartment one night when we both had horrible days at work, remember?” I try to say as much as I can to prove my point, to prevent her from hanging up. “You and Jake argued almost every day when you first started dating. You demanded more from him than any other woman had before. Even though I used to think that you two had the most toxic, up and down relationship ever, I told you that I couldn’t see you dating anyone else. It’s really me, Gillian,” I beg. “Please don’t hang up. Please help me…”
It’s too late.
She’s long gone.
My blood is boiling and although tears are pricking my eyes, I refuse to let them fall.
Crying won’t make any of this make sense.
Nothing is adding up when it comes to the man who calls himself my husband, and I doubt anything ever will. I’ve thought my final move through hundreds of times—weighed the pros and cons, and it’s time to end this one-sided game once and for all.
My husband has never been my partner. He’s the dealer of a twisted game, and he’s finally forcing me to play my best hand.
Slipping the phone into my pocket, I make my way upstairs to face him.
The moment I step into the living room, I clear my throat. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Of course,” he says. “But first, tell me something. How is Gillian?” He smiles. “Did you two have a nice chat?”
I freeze like a deer in headlights, my blood running cold at the shock of his words.
“I’m assuming she didn’t believe it was you who called…” He picks up his whiskey shot glass, tosses it back. “I wouldn’t take that personally. She’s been getting a lot of fake emails and spam calls lately. It’s a shame what some people on the internet will do for attention these days.”
“I’m calling the police now,” I say, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. My finger hovers above the ‘start call’ icon. “I’m going to tell them everything.”
“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow, not looking rattled in the slightest. “What exactly do you plan on telling them?”
“That my husband kidnapped me and held me in captivity for no reason,” I say, stepping forward. “That he’s clearly involved in some twisted criminal activity, and I’m willing to bet that if they look closely enough, they’ll find a few more things.”
“They’ll find a lot more things.”
“I won’t visit you in prison,” I say, moving toward him, stopping right in front of the chess table. “But I will send you a wedding invitation when I find a man who isn’t full of shit and actually knows what the fuck it means to love someone.”
“You’ll never find another man who is willing to do half of what I’ve done for you, Meredith.” He looks at me. “You can bet millions on that, all fucking day long.”
“I’d bet my life on the opposite of that.”
“If only you knew how fucking ironic those words were….” He averts his gaze to my hand, where I was finally hitting the call icon—daring him to do something, but he remained still.