“I think suicide would be far more respectable though, don’t you?” She points the gun in my direction, which scares the hell out of me. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before. I’ve never held one in my hand. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ve been this close to one. “Speaking of which, let’s move this to the bedroom.” When I don’t budge, her eyes narrow. “Unless you want to go for option number two.”

My legs feel like rubber as I get to my feet. I don’t know if it’s the sleeping pills taking effect or if I’m just scared out of my mind. But I practically fall on my way to the bed, gratefully collapsing against the mattress.

“Stay there,” Monica commands me, shaking the gun in my face.

As I’m lying there, she holds her belly and winces. For a moment, I wonder if I would have any chance of trying to get the gun away from her. She’s large and her balance is probably terrible. Maybe she’s even in labor—who knows? It’s not ridiculous to think I could do it. Either way, I’m going to die. It might be worth the risk to go down swinging.

But then again, I had trouble walking to the bed. It’s clear I’m in no position to fight. And even if I overpowered Monica, I’ve still got to get through Gertie. I can’t imagine being successful at that, considering how I’m feeling.

And then Monica whips a roll of duct tape out of her purse, and starts taping my ankles. Damn, I knew duct tape was going to be in my future. I recognize it as the cheap duct tape from the supply closet at work—she probably swiped it. How ironic. Keeping me subdued apparently wasn’t even worth the price of a roll of tape.

When she tapes my wrists, I realize any chance I had to escape has gone out the window. I never even tried. I’ve read all these books and newspaper articles about people who rose to the occasion when they were in danger, and then stories about people who just sat there and let themselves be killed. I always believed I’d be in the former category. If it came down to it, I believed I’d be a hero.

Maybe it has to do with the will to survive. Even if I survive this, what do I have? My career is destroyed. I’ve got murder charges hanging over my head. And I’m married to a man who got his girlfriend to make it look like I killed myself.

I may as well just let go.