InSight

pitching into the front seat. Reflexively, her arms reached out.
    He’d turned, his voice directed into the back seat. “Why won’t you believe me?”
    Under-the-breath mumbles faded, and she saw her chance. Now or never. In one quick motion, she unbuckled the seat belt and reached for the door handle, planning to take her chances on the highway in hopes a passing car would stop and rescue her. She yanked at the door. Locked. Damn! I didn’t hear that. She fumbled for the latch.
    His hand gripped her wrist. “Didn’t you think I’d see what you were doing?”
    “Let me go, Stewart. Kidnapping me won’t help your case.”
    His laugh scared her. “What case? I don’t have a case. I’ll never have my day in court. I’m insane, remember? Or did you forget?”
    He got out of the car, opened the back door, and fastened the seat belt again. She cringed at his touch. If she had a weapon, she’d use it. Slice through his chest and take out his heart to even the score. Tit for tat. Heart for heart.
    “Don’t try that again. Please, Abby, I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”
    Now she returned the empty laughter. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
    He leaned close, his voice a whisper. “I can never make up for what I did. I don’t even remember doing it. I remember voices telling me you had a lover. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you.”
    The memories came rushing back. “There was no one else, Stewart. You were the only one. I told you that.”
    “I thought otherwise.” His sad tone sounded as if the truth were a bitter pill.
    “And what are those voices telling you now?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Take me home, please. Before you do something you don’t want to do.”
    “I will. After we talk.”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    His hand brushed her cheek. The contact seared her skin like a hot iron.
    “No.”
    She turned away.
    “I know I can’t have you again. Eventually I’ll be caught, and it depends on who catches me whether I live or die. But first, I have to make you understand why I couldn’t let you and Macy go.” He closed and locked the door, then got back in the driver’s seat.
    “How could you keep us if we were dead?” She took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.
    “I tried to kill myself too, remember? Then we’d all be together in the hereafter. You, me, and Macy.” He paused, his explanation hanging in the air. “I’ve spent every lucid moment hating myself over what I did, but the person who committed that heinous act doesn’t exist anymore. He died that day.”
    She felt sick, her sour stomach revolting. “You sound the same as the day you stood with the gun to Macy’s heart and took from me the only thing that mattered.” Abby’s voice cracked. “Do you remember the fear in her eyes? I do. That’s all I remember because it was the last thing I saw.” She bit her bottom lip hard. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Take a deep breath . She waited until she had control. “What do you want from me, Stewart?”
    “I don’t want to cause you more pain. I only want to talk.”
    Abby wished she could stand back from him objectively, as a psychologist stands back from a patient. But she couldn’t. They had a history. Eight years ago, when she woke up in a dark room, she would have begged him to end her life. But things had changed. She had something to live for now, and she didn’t want to lose it.
    Strapped in the back seat, heart hammering, she gathered her remaining wits. Where is he taking me? Think. Pay attention. They’d been driving for thirty minutes—highway driving. Too fast to be anything else. The setting sun warmed her face, so they were going west. When they reached the steep, miles-long incline, she knew. No other road in the area compared with the Saluda Grade—the link between Tryon and Asheville . The car’s engine strained, and she heard 18-wheelers struggling in the designated slow lane as they passed.
    She recalled the excursion to Asheville with Lucy and Macy to visit the Biltmore Estate before Stewart found them. She remembered the mountain views on the drive up, the quaint towns dotting the landscape—rustic communities filled with retirees from the North, anxious to escape big city traffic and pollution. She even considered opening a practice somewhere in the area. What a perfect place for Stewart to hide while he carried out his plan. He could kill her and no one would ever find her