What Went Wrong After I Killed Him

Chapter Four: Pulling the Strings

Ava's POV

Going to work wasn't an option for me now, because everyday was like a ticking time bomb for me. I don't know when Derek's messages would come, but everytime it does, I'll need at least thirty minutes before I could calm down and breathe properly.

I put in a leave request on Tuesday. I was suppose to submit it to Mr Cole but since he was busy with the investigation, I went to the supervisor, Miss Nadine. standing in at the supervisor's doorway with a version of myself I barely recognized, I had to put in the effort to look pale, so my sick leave would be more believable.

“Three weeks Miss Nadine” I paused “I hope it's not too much to ask” Nadine finally looked up from her monitor.

“Sorry about that” She apologize

Thank God she had the decency to apologize for working, even when I was talking.

“Ava, you've barely take a sick day since you started. I hope you're okay” She inquired.

I wasn't okay, not one bit, killed a man with my bare hands and then I killed a woman who didn't deserve it and now there's a driver named Derek who owns every hour of my life until I can't pay him anymore but I couldn't say that to her.

“I'm fine ma'am, just some proper treatment and rest would do.

She stared at me a little too long "Take it," she said. "Take the three weeks. Don't come back early just because you feel guilty about it.”

Then she reached for the leave form like it was the kinder thing to do, which it was.

I thanked her and walked out of that office, letting out a sigh of relief. Three weeks was not enough but before that, maybe I'll solve the Derek problem.

I immediately got my stuff from my office and left, but I immediately received another email from Derek, it wasn't a video this time, it was a photo of me, just few moment ago, with a message.

“Good, more time to work means less excuses. Three days, Ava. The clock didn't stop because you took a vacation.”

‘He’s stalking me now’ I thought, I felt like throwing my phone into the traffic and just walk away. This guy so desperate.

I got into my car, and purposely took the longer route, I was really confused, I didn't know if giving Derek all the money was a good idea, because I had a feeling he would ask for more.

The email from Derek came four hours later. Not a video this time. Just a photo — me, walking out of the building, time-stamped an hour ago. He'd been outside. He'd watched me hand in a leave form like a person with a normal, survivable problem.

I got home, hoping to get even a small amount of rest, but no, the Universe was against my me.

The news came on while I was standing at the stove, it was a close call, cause I almost burnt my hand

“New development in the Washington Heights case, where police say they've recovered a partial print from the scene of Maya Alvarez's death, believed to belong to a second individual present in the apartment that night, that matched with the print found at the scene at Ethan's death.” The reporter said.

I turned the burner off without looking away from the screen.

They had a print.

I tried to remember every surface I'd touched.

I stood in my kitchen a long time after that, doing the math I'd been avoiding for a week, not the money math this time, but the other kind. How many more nights before partial print became matching print. How many more nights before Derek's video stopped being the most dangerous thing pointed at me.

While lost in thought, I heard quiet movement outside my window, I didn't have to look, I knew for sure it was Derek the stalker.

Three days passed, and I decided to give Derek the money, but the stalker wasn't even picking up his phone, nor has he sent me any messages. I was relieved and stressed because only God knows what he was up to.

Or maybe something changed, I checked the news every minute but there's no improvement in the murder case, just some unimportant information being shared.

Sleepless night, restless days, a guy like Derek won't just disappear like that. It's been three days, three whole days and nothing. No messages or threats.

And now a progressing case, just went the wrong way, even with Mr Cole using all his connection. I don't know if I was thinking too much, but something was definitely wrong.

Days turned into weeks, it's been one whole week. And nothing from Derek and even the police, according to my previous calculations, I should be behind bars by now, but the police weren't even getting any good evidence.

It should be good news, but I wasn't feeling good about it, I had a really bad feeling, like someone was pulling some strings from behind. I couldn't afford getting trap in a bigger web. Derek was just a greedy opportunist, but this felt bigger than what I knew I could handle.

I didn't wait to find out who.

I booked the flight the next morning. Portugal,I had made this plan before but I just shoved it out of my mind, when I thought running away wasn't a good option, but now I don't think there's a better option than that. A coastal town outside Porto, small enough to disappear into, far enough that whoever was pulling strings in New York would have to want me badly to follow.

I packed light, just a little duffle bag, and some personal stuff, I needed to start afresh.

The night before my flight, walking home from the pharmacy with nothing more sinister in my bag than a bottle of Tylenol and a phone charger, a car eased along the curb beside me, moving slow, matching my pace for half a block before I even registered it was following rather than passing.

I didn't run, I told myself not to run, because running looked like guilt and guilt drew attention, and I had gotten very good, these past weeks, at looking like nothing was wrong.

The window came down.

"You dropped something," the man inside said. He held up nothing, His hand was empty. It was a test, or a lie, or both.

"I don't think I did," I said, and kept walking, faster now.

The car didn't follow, I told myself it was nothing, nothing to worry about, because right now I had to focus more in running away.

I woke up early, even though my flight was not until the afternoon, I just couldn't sleep, I decided to get early ready, putting on a black jean trouser and a white blouse, I went with something comfortable.

I left home 11a.m, since my flight was at two, not before looking at the apartment which has accommodated me for almost five years now, a wiped a stray tear from my cheeks, I really don't want to get emotional right now.

I decided to walk a little, since this was the last time I would be seeing this place. Then a black van stopped in front of, it was so sudden. But I ran as fast as my leg could carry, but it wasn't enough because they caught up to me. A hand closed over my mouth before I could turn.

I fought. Harder this time, because I had more to lose than I had the first time someone tried to take something from me by force. My duffel hit the pavement. My elbow found something solid and I heard a grunt, sharp with surprise, like whoever held me hadn't expected a girl half his size to fight back at all.

Then something cold bit into my neck, and the alley tilted, and the last clear thing I saw was my passport sliding out of the open duffel into a puddle of gutter water.