Panic Attack (31 page)

Not surprisingly, Marissa didn’t sleep. Xan held her all night as she stirred, cried, and occasionally wailed. The world had never seemed more random and more insane. In her head, she kept telling herself,
My mother’s dead, my mother’s dead,
hoping this would help her accept what had happened, but she kept reliving the shock, as if she were still at the movie theater, hearing the news for the first time.

Around dawn, Marissa was still awake, feeling miserable. Xan hadn’t slept at all either, and he’d held her all night. Looking into his beautiful, kind blue eyes, she said, “I’m so lucky I have you,” and he said, “I was just thinking the same thing.” She wanted to feel him inside her so badly, to be closer to him, as close as she could possibly be.

“Make love to me,” she said. “
Please
make love to me.”
He did, and even though she was crying throughout, it was still very nice. Afterward, when they were lying on their sides facing each other, Marissa

said, “So do you think that Tony guy did it?”
“It must’ve been him, right?” Xan said softly.
“I don’t know,” Marissa said. “That asshole detective kept asking me about

my father.”
“That’s just the way cops are,” Xan said. “I mean, I imagine they have to look
at these things from every different way, you know?”
“I know, but that’s what scares me. I mean, he’s a cop, he know what he’s doing. Why would he keep harping on it if, I don’t know, there wasn’t some ba
sis to it? Why would he waste his time like that? You know what I mean?” “Your father’s an amazing guy,” Xan said. “He’d never do something like that
to your mother.” He was running his fingers back and forth along the inside of
one of her arms. It felt so good. “I mean, would he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not saying this is what I think or anything, so don’t take it the wrong
way— but it’s true that your parents were having serious problems lately, right?” “Right,” Marissa said, remembering her father gleefully telling her mother
that he’d slept with Sharon Wasserman.
“I’m just saying, from where I’m at, just kind of being, like, an outsider to all
of this, it seems kind of, I don’t know, coincidental to me.”
“I know,” Marissa said.
“I mean, think about it,” Xan said. “Your parents announce to you that they’re
getting divorced, and the same day your mother’s killed? It does make you think,
you know? You don’t
want
to think it, but you still think it.”
That word, “killed,” gave Marissa a jolt. She shifted away and sat up, then said,
“Yeah, but that’s why I think Tony probably did it. Maybe my mom told him
she was splitting up with my dad but didn’t want to be with him and he got
pissed off and came over here and lost it. The guy’s crazy, a total psycho. You saw
what he did to my father, right?”
Xan kissed her softly on the lips— God, she was dying to feel him inside her
again. He said, “I know, and you’re probably right, but you said your father went
over to the gym the other day and started the fight with Tony. You said he got
in that big fight with your mother, too—”
“But I heard my father saying something about how the note that Tony left,
the one about him and my mother, looked like the note he got last week, the
one that threatened him about the robbery.”
“Just because Tony left the notes doesn’t mean he killed your mother.” “But it shows he’s crazy, that he might’ve robbed our house, for God’s sake.
Maybe he was angry because my father shot that other guy, what’s his name,
Sanchez, so he came back here and killed my mother to get even. Or maybe it
was like I said before, because my mother was breaking up with him.” “Like I said, I think you’re right, it was probably Tony,” Xan said, “but— and
I’m just throwing this out there, so don’t get upset— what if your father left the
notes?”
“Why would he do that?”
“To set Tony up. Maybe he found out your mother was cheating on him, then
left the notes and then went to start a fight with Tony, knowing he’d get beat
up, knowing it would make Tony look bad. You see what I mean?” “But would my father really think it through that much? Would he really do
all that planning?”
“I have no idea,” Xan said, “but he did kill somebody before, right? And if he
killed before, I guess that means he could do it again.”
Marissa couldn’t deny it anymore— what Xan was saying was making a lot
of sense, too much sense. She could easily see her father, especially the way he’d
been acting lately, losing control and snapping. He could’ve been arguing with
her mother and impulsively grabbed the knife just like he’d impulsively gone
into the closet the other night to get the gun.
“Oh my God,” Marissa said. “He did it.”
“Whoa, come on, I didn’t say
that,
” Xan said.
“It’s like I’ve been in this deep denial or something. Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.”
Xan moved on top of her, resting on his knees and elbows, looking down directly into her eyes, and said, “Nothing’s happening. You don’t know anything,
the police don’t know anything.”
“I won’t be able to handle this,” she said. “I’m warning you right now, I
won’t be able to get through this.”
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Xan said. “No matter what, you’ll be okay, I’ll make
sure you’re okay. But if it turns out that Tony didn’t do it, I mean he has an alibi, I just want you to be ready for the police to start looking at your father, you
know? I don’t want it to be a shock to you.”
She imagined her father grabbing the knife and sticking it into her mother’s
back.
“Oh, God, no, no, no,” Marissa said as she wrapped her arms and legs
around Xan’s warm body as tightly as she could.

Later, Marissa didn’t want Xan to leave. She was afraid to be home alone with her father.
“I’ll stay with you as long as you want me to,” Xan said.
“But you don’t have any clothes or—”
“I don’t care. You’re the only thing I care about right now.”
Xan was blowing her away. He was just so perfect.
They took turns going to the bathroom, and when Marissa went she heard her father talking downstairs on the phone.
“You should probably go down,” Xan said.
“I don’t want to,” Marissa said. “I just want to stay here in bed with you all day.”
“I’d go down with you, but this is a family thing, and you two should be alone right now, have some time to yourselves.”
“I don’t want time with him.”
“I’ll be right here,” Xan said. “If you need me, just call for me and I’ll be right down, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything.”
Figuring she’d have to face her father eventually, Marissa decided to just go down and get it over with.
From the staircase, she heard her father talking on the phone in the dining room. She didn’t know how they were ever going to use the kitchen again because she sure as hell wasn’t going in there anytime soon. She’d order in Chinese food for every meal if she had to.
When she went into the dining room, her father, sitting at the table, made eye contact with her as he finished a phone call. By his tone, she knew he was talking to his friend Stan.
She stood there, watching him talk, searching for some sign that would tell her whether he was guilty or innocent. He seemed appropriately upset, but did that mean anything? Wouldn’t he be acting upset either way? Either he was upset because her mom had been murdered or he was pretending to be upset to keep the act going. And if he was really crazy, if he was an actual psychopath, he’d be very good at faking his grief.
After about a minute he ended the call and said to her, “That was Stan. Jesus, this is so hard.”
For a few moments Marissa couldn’t think of anything to say— it was weird, she was actually
scared
to be near her father. Then she said, “I can make some calls, too, if you want me too.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Actually, I’ve almost called everybody I have to. Some friends are calling other friends, and I’ve gotten in touch with most of the relatives, grandma’s coming up tonight. I was afraid to tell her, with her heart condition, but what can you do? Oh, the funeral’s tomorrow morning at ten, by the way.”
Marissa wasn’t surprised that the funeral would be so soon. Although they were hardly a religious family, they followed some Jewish traditions, like burying the dead as soon as possible. Marissa’s grandfather had also been buried only a couple of days after he’d died.
Her father went on about how her mother would be buried in the family plot on Long Island and about the arrangements he’d made with the rabbi and the funeral home. “The only relative I’m not inviting is Mom’s brother,” he said. “I don’t think she’d want him here.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so either,” Marissa said.
Marissa had only met her uncle Mark a few times and hadn’t seen him in years, but apparently Mark had abused her mother when they were kids, and her mother had pretty much cut off all contact with him.
“This is still so surreal,” her father said. “I’m still expecting her to walk in here any second. When I heard your footsteps on the stairs before, at first I thought it was her.”
He looked like he was on the verge of tears, straining very hard to maintain his composure. Marissa still didn’t see any sign that this was a put- on, and she was feeling guilty for suspecting him, for losing faith in him, when he said, “Oh, so Clements called before, and unfortunately they haven’t made an arrest in the case yet.”
“What about Tony?” Marissa asked.
“He has an alibi, and apparently it’s airtight. I don’t know all the details, but Clements said he was with a friend at the time Mom was . . . Anyway, Clements said it rules him out, but I don’t believe it. If it’s a friend, how do we know the friend isn’t covering for him? But Clements said they’re looking at other possibilities, and what do you think that means? I can’t believe I have to deal with this while I’m in the middle of planning Mom’s funeral. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not talking to him alone again. I’m not saying another word to him without my lawyer sitting right next to me. If I’d been thinking straight last night I would’ve hired a lawyer right away, put an end to this ridiculousness.”
Marissa was looking at her father closely, focusing on his eyes, trying to figure out if he was lying.
“And then I’m gonna have to deal with all of that media crap again,” her father continued, “with all of the sensational articles they’re writing.”
“It’s in the papers?” Marissa asked. She hadn’t even thought about this yet.
“I only checked the
Post,
the online edition, and yeah, it’s front page, and I’m sure it’s on the front page of all the other papers, too. In the
Post
story Clements called me a person of interest in the case. I understand why he has to check me out, but it’s so awful to lose your wife and then have to read that crap. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my practice, to my career? I don’t even want to think about that yet or I won’t be able to get through the funeral and everything else. The reporters are still out there, and they can stay out there all day if they want to, but I’m not saying a word to them, and I don’t think you should either. This is total harassment now, and I’m gonna talk to my lawyer about this, too, see if there’s any kind of action I can take. You always hear about the media exploiting people, celebrities. You become immune to it, like it’s part of our culture, because you don’t think it can happen to you. You think it’s only something that happens to other people, that you’re protected, but you’re not. The thing is it can happen to anybody... Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, you’re looking at me . . . strangely.”
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how awful all of this is.”
Her father seemed incredulous, like he wasn’t buying this explanation, but then he said, “Oh, Clements talked to the Millers next door, and JoAnne said their dog was barking like crazy yesterday at around six thirty.”
“So?” Marissa asked.
“So,” her father said suddenly agitated, “the other day, before I found the note from Tony, when I came in the house the dog was barking, too. I thought it was a little unusual at the time. I mean, the dog knows us, right? He never barks at us.”
Marissa, distracted, barely paying attention, said, “I don’t get it.”
“It means Tony was here again.” Now her father was practically yelling, and Marissa, frightened, backed away a few steps. “The dog was barking both times, and we know Tony was here once, right? Clements said this sounds interesting, but I don’t think he really gets it. This is another thing I’m talking to my lawyer about, though. There have to’ve been other witnesses; somebody must’ve seen Tony coming or going. What’s wrong? Why’re you moving away from me?”
“I’m not,” Marissa said.
Her father glared at her, something in his eyes reminding her of the way he’d looked when he’d gleefully revealed his affair to her and her mother. Then he said to her, “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I believe you,” she said.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Hey,” Xan said.
She hadn’t seem him enter the dining room from behind her, and she was so startled she might’ve shrieked.
“Sorry,” Xan said. “Just wanted to see how you two were doing.”
Marissa held his hand, relieved he was here.“We were just... talking about the funeral,” she said. “It’s tomorrow morning.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know,” Xan said to Adam.
“Thanks, but I think we’re okay,” Adam said, looking at Marissa. “At least I hope we are.”
Marissa and Xan went upstairs.
In her room, she whispered to him, “Oh my God, he did it. He really fucking did it.”

Johnny watched the couple get off the Coney Island– bound F train, and then he followed them down the long escalator and out to the street. The couple went past the convenience store at the corner and turned right. Johnny hung back for a block or two, until the couple reached an area that was darker and more deserted, and then he made his move.

He pulled down his black ski mask and started walking faster, until he was about twenty yards behind them; then, right when the guy looked back over his shoulder, Johnny sprinted toward them, holding his .38. Before the couple could run or yell for help or react at all, Johnny was pointing the gun at the guy’s face, saying, “Gimme the fuckin’ ring.”

Johnny had spotted the woman’s ring on the subway. It was a sparkly diamond engagement ring, looked like at least one carat. The woman was blond, blue- eyed, and, like most people in this part of Brooklyn nowadays, probably not a native New Yorker. She was probably from the Midwest, Kansas or some shit. No girl who grew up in the city would wear her engagement ring, diamond up, on the subway at eleven o’clock at night.