The Unwelcome Passenger

PROLOGUE

Lucy Adam’s Diary

January 7th, 2020

Blood. I woke up soaked in blood. What happened last night? Did I have another nosebleed? But why couldn’t I remember anything?

I had mentioned my blackouts to my therapist, but Dr. Seth’s look of concern scared me more than the blackouts did. He looked ready to throw me into an institute. But I’m not crazy, just getting old. Right? Well, either way, my blackouts will stay mine.

ONE

I put my little black diary back into its hiding place, beneath my pillow. The rain was coming down in sheets, covering my window in a blurry film. It was a dreary start to the day, but how else would the day start? Should I even get out of bed? All of this unexpected rain on a summer morning in Texas had to be a bad omen. My blood-soaked sheets didn’t bode well either.

My phone buzzing moments later didn’t give me much of a choice.

“Detective Adams,” I answered my phone. My lieutenant answered in a flurry of expletives.

“I need you in Fort Worth now! Bachendorf’s was robbed last night, and this guy killed two employees on his way out,” Lieutenant Jackson finally yelled out.

With a sigh, I got out of bed. Of course, this was the way my Tuesday would start.

TWO

I arrived at Bachendorf’s to chaos. The coroner and my lieutenant bombarded me with questions. Bypassing the crime scene tape, I entered the jewelry store.

Shattered glass obscured the scene. Two covered bodies lay in the center of the room, surrounded by blood. The blood mushroomed around the bodies, resembling spilled red paint.

“What do we know?” I asked my partner, as I tried to dry my matted brown curls with my wet coat sleeve.

“There were no surviving witnesses when we arrived. The security guard and the employee on shift were shot dead on the way out. The manager says that two diamond tennis bracelets and $20,000 in cash were taken. Our luck, the cameras caught our perp in action,” my partner, Jason, informed me.

Finally, a break! We’d been hitting brick wall after brick wall with every case lately. The manager pulled up the security tape, while Jason and I settled in.

The grainy footage showed a hooded figure walking into the shop and closing the door behind himself. The perp was small – smaller than I’d expected for a crime like this. At about 5’6, the assailant hid their face from the camera while holding the employee and the security guard at gunpoint. Five minutes later, the thief was on their way out.

“Pause the tape!” I yelled out.

As the perp turned towards the door, a piece of long blond hair peaked out of the hoodie.

It was a woman.

THREE

“Get us a list of all of your regular female customers,” I ordered the owner.

“You can’t think it was one of our clients that did this!” the manager sputtered.

“She knew where your cameras were and knew exactly when there would be no customers. So, yes, we do,” Jason jumped in.

Muttering under his breath, the manager pulled up the list we’d requested.

“If you lose me business by harassing my clients, I’ll sue you personally! A client didn’t do this!” shouted the manager.

Without a word, Jason and I grabbed the pages and left.

FOUR

Two hours later, my clothes still clung to me, drenched and chilling me to the bone as I sat in my desk chair reviewing the list.

Bachendorf’s has had twelve regular female clients in the last year. It was far too many to visit individually, but it was a start.

There had to be a way to narrow down this list. Jason was thinking along the same lines.

“The perp didn’t waste a single shot. Every shot hit its target. We should focus on the women on this list who are also regulars at the gun range,” my partner thought out loud.

“Everyone in Texas owns a gun and knows how to shoot. Let’s start with the women who’ve become regulars in the last six months,” I responded.

A quick call to the manager, and a change of clothes later, we’d narrowed down our list to three names.

Samantha Basher. Heidi Dunluce. Yolanda Drake.

FIVE

The rain wasn’t letting up as we pulled up to Samantha Basher’s modern three-story home. Her maid answered the door after two knocks.

The elderly Asian American women ushered us in out of the dreary weather. As she served us much-needed cups of tea, we began our questioning.

“Ma’am, is Samantha Basher home?” I began.

“Samantha is in Barbados,” she quickly replied.

“How long has she been in Barbados?” Jason jumped in.

“She left four days ago,” the maid stated.

We left before finishing our tea. Samantha Basher was a dead end.

SIX

Back out in the cold once again, Jason and I trudged back to the car. Punching Heidi Dunluce’s address into the GPS showed our next stop to be only two miles away.

Five minutes later, we drove up Heidi’s winding driveway, arriving at a palatial estate.

“Imagine living in a castle like this,” I mused out loud.

“Lucy, you can barely keep your studio apartment clean. What would you do with a house this size?” Jason replied, cheekily.

“If I had a house this size, I would never do my own cleaning again,” I laughed.

“Not like you do now!” my partner retorted. That earned him a swift punch to the bicep.

The large red door opened before we reached it.

“Detectives, how can I help you?” yelled a stunning African American woman from the stoop.

“We’re looking for Heidi Dunluce,” I responded.

“You’ve found her,” the beauty replied.

“Heidi, we’re investigating a robbery/homicide that occurred yesterday evening at Bachendorf’s. We’re talking to clients that frequented the jewelry store, and your name came up,” Jason piped in.

“Oh, I do love my diamonds. I’m in there as often as possible,” Heidi responded.

“Were you in the store last night around 5:30 pm?” I interrupted.

“My husband and I were hosting a gala last night. 150 guests can attest to that, gentlemen. I’ll send over our guest list right away,” Heidi retorted.

Dejected, we gave her our cards and turned back around, without even a moment’s reprieve from the rain.

SEVEN

Yolanda Drake’s address was the furthest of our three visits. Her home address listed an industrial part of town. Interesting.

As our car pulled up to the listed address, we saw rows and rows of storage units. Not a home in sight. This could prove to be more interesting still.

Unit 1202, Yolanda’s storage unit, was to the far right corner of the storage yard. Pulling up, we could see that the lock to Yolanda’s unit had been left open, and the garage-like door was raised six inches.

Cautiously, with our guns drawn, we approached the unit and slowly opened the door the rest of the way.

EIGHT

The storage unit was lined, wall to wall with precious collector items and treasures.

My gut told me we’d found our perp.

“Jason, you take the front half of the space and I’ll take the back half,” I instructed.

“Roger that!” my partner answered, already digging through Yolanda’s stash.

I found a desk near the back of the unit and took a seat. Slowly, I started fingering through mail and haphazardly strewn papers.

Out of the corner of my eye, a wisp of blond hair caught my attention. Abruptly, I stopped what I was doing and moved over to my left, snatching up the blond wig.

“Jason, something tells me this is our girl!” I yelled out to my partner.

A black book fell out from underneath the wig stand I’d grabbed the blond hairpiece from.

It looks just like my diary, I thought, as I grabbed the notebook and perched back on the desk chair.

Gingerly, I started flipping through the pages. All of the blood drained from my face.

NINE

Yolanda Drake’s Diary

November 2nd, 2019

I wonder if she’ll figure it out. She’s been trying to block me out, but I’m part of her! How dare she? I deserve a chance to be noticed. I’d make sure she’d notice!

November 5th, 2019

Bachendorf’s is beautifully decorated. I would love to hire their decorator. With all of the merchandise they have, their security system is pitiful, though. I’ve stolen from places with better security and never been caught. Robberies weren’t doing the trick, though. I had to up the ante this time if I was going to get her attention.

Bachendorf’s looks like the perfect target to do just that.

December 7th, 2019

I’ve visited Bachendorf’s five times in the last month. I know the place inside and out. It was time to set my plan in motion. A few more weeks, and Lucy wouldn’t be able to ignore me anymore. Little Miss Detective was about to have a rude awakening.

I couldn’t wait!

Morning, January 6th 2020

Tonight’s the night. My 9mm Browning is loaded, and my plan is fully formed. I’m ready to go. Lucy Adams will know who I am soon enough!

Evening, January 6th, 2020

I did it! I walked into Bachendorf’s, and was greeted by the security guard and Melinda, the employee on shift. They knew me from my regular trips into the jewelry store.

While they weren’t looking, I locked the door behind me, with my back to the camera. They both joined me on the floor chatting away about the long day they’d had.

It all happened so fast after that. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at the security guard’s head. From there, Melinda did exactly as I told her.

Within five minutes, I had two tennis bracelets (I knew Lucy would like them, so why not?) and the $20,000 in cash Bachendorf’s kept in the safe. I wonder when Lucy would find the loot I’d grabbed just for her. I’d stowed it away in her safety deposit box, so hopefully soon!

I didn’t want to have to take the next step, but Lucy hadn’t been paying attention to me.

I pulled the trigger with my gun still held to the security guard’s temple and fired off another round into Melinda before she even knew what was happening. She hit the glass case behind her and fell to the floor.

I did what I had to do. Lucy thinks she can hide from me, but we are one. She needs to understand that.

TEN

I put the diary down. My head was spinning. What did this mean?

I heard Jason come up behind me, with a jingle of his handcuffs and the brush of his gun against his holster as he rearmed himself.

I turned around to see my partner holding his gun in one hand and a photo in the other.

“Lucy, what is this? Please tell me you have an explanation!” Jason asked shakily.

I slowly moved closer, examining the photo he held. It was a couple in their mid-40s. The man was wearing a Hawaiian-style shirt that was two sizes too small for him. I focused on the woman in the photo. She was shapely with blond hair. A blond wig, rather.

It couldn’t be.

ELEVEN

The woman in the photo had a face that was all too familiar.

It was me.

How was this possible? How could the woman in the photo be me?

“Detective Adams, what is going on?” my partner asked, switching to the formal tone he reserved for suspects.

My therapy sessions flashed through my mind.

“Blackouts. Dissociative identity disorder. Unwelcome passenger,” I could hear Dr. Seth saying.

My blackout the night of the crime. The bloody sheets. My head started to spin.

It was me. I did this! My unwelcome passenger had turned me into a killer, I thought, before the world went dark.