Panic Attack (30 page)

Adam walked slowly through the house, for some reason hearing in his mind the chorus of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.” Maybe he had chosen this song because the lyrics reminded him of his current state of mind, or perhaps it was because it reminded him of being a teenager, when he’d lived in this very house, in a much safer, more comfortable time in his life. Jesus Christ, could he stop being an analyst for one minute? Why did everything have to mean something else? Why couldn’t he just accept things for what they were? He peered into the kitchen, looking beyond the crime scene tape, and saw the investigators at work. Dana’s body was still there,> “Well, thanks for your patience,” Clements said. “I’ll be in touch a little later, and I really am sorry for your loss.”
Clements left, and Adam sat alone on the couch, watching the activity in the house. Clements was talking to another cop, and there was a technician nearby who seemed to be looking around for fingerprints or other evidence. For a while, Adam felt like an observer, completely removed, like he was watching a movie. He thought,
This has nothing to do with me. This isn’t even happening
.
Then, after a few minutes, he realized that although the scene was surreal, he was very much a part of it. Dana was dead, and, even worse, he was a suspect. Maybe not the prime suspect, but still a suspect. Adam couldn’t blame Clements for focusing on him, as there was certainly plenty of circumstantial evidence. His marriage had been on the verge of imploding, he’d been behaving erratically lately to say the least, and, oh, let’s not forget the blood on his shirt— that really made him look great. As far as the police were concerned, Adam already had exhibited homicidal tendencies by shooting and killing Carlos Sanchez the other night, so why not explore the idea that he’d murdered his wife? Besides, when a woman is killed, the husband always has to be ruled out as a suspect, so it was completely understandable that Clements was questioning him.
But it amazed Adam that he’d reached this low point in his life. How had it happened? Just a couple of weeks ago things had been going so well for him. Okay, he and Dana had had some unresolved marital issues, but so did practically every other couple in the world, especially people who’d been married for longer than twenty years. And, yes, Marisssa had been going through her own age- appropriate problems, but for the most part they’d been a happy, together family up until the night that Marissa woke them up and told them that someone had broken into their house. That, in retrospect, had been the big turning point, the moment when everything had begun to go to hell.
Marissa,
Adam thought. He had to tell her.
He took out his cell but couldn’t make the call. How do you tell your daughter that her mother’s been killed?
Violently
killed. Her life would never be the same; she’d have to go through years of therapy just to begin to deal with it, and he felt awful for compounding the hurt, giving her such a hard time with all of that tough love crap. It was clear to him now how inappropriately he’d been behaving toward her lately. He’d been displacing his emotions, punishing her rather than punishing himself. Why had it bothered him so much that she’d had a bong in the house when she barely smoked? Had that really been such a monumental issue? Adam actually regretted that he’d thrown the bong out the other day. He could’ve used a few hits himself right now. He wasn’t sure he could handle making the phone call and was going to ask a cop to make it for him, but then he forced himself to do it on his own. She deserved to hear the news from her father rather than a complete stranger. He couldn’t reach her and didn’t want to leave a message, so he ended the call and figured he’d try again in a little while. She was probably out with Xan. He was glad she had a boyfriend now, a good solid guy. She’d need him to help her get through this.
Adam walked slowly through the house, for some reason hearing in his mind the chorus of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.” Maybe he had chosen this song because the lyrics reminded him of his current state of mind, or perhaps it was because it reminded him of being a teenager, when he’d lived in this very house, in a much safer, more comfortable time in his life. Jesus Christ, could he stop being an analyst for one minute? Why did everything have to mean something else? Why couldn’t he just accept things for what they were? He peered into the kitchen, looking beyond the crime scene tape, and saw the investigators at work. Dana’s body was still there, on the floor, and a photographer was busy, taking pictures. Adam barely felt anything, and as he drifted semiaimlessly back toward the front of the house, he was aware that he was still in shock. He had counseled many patients during their grieving pro - cesses and was a proponent of Kubler- Ross’s five stages of grief. Still, it hadn’t even begun to set in, truly set in, that Dana had been murdered. Now her death was simply a concept. It was something he could say and think, but he was unable to actually feel it or comprehend the consequences.
In the living room, he lifted a venetian blind and peeked outside. He expected to see reporters, but he was astonished by how many there were. It was like a presidential news conference. One reporter spotted Adam and shouted, “There he is!” and there was a sudden frenzy of reporters talking at once, some yelling for Adam to come outside. Horrified, Adam dropped the blind and moved away from the window. Unlike after the robbery, he had no interest in attention from the media. He had no desire for fame; he hoped he never had to see his name in print in any publication ever again. But he knew they wouldn’t just leave him alone, and it didn’t matter if he made a statement or not. Their stories were probably already written. The wife of Adam Bloom, the crazed vigilante, had been found dead with a knife in her back in the middle of her kitchen floor. What more did they need to know?
Adam was suddenly dizzy again. As he made his way back through the house a cop asked, “You okay?” but Adam ignored him and sat at the dining room table. The Valium wasn’t working; he needed Xanax or Klonopin. He was through thinking that he was superhuman, that he could handle crises better than the average person. Just because he was a psychologist, because he was aware of his thought pro cesses, didn’t make him immune from normal human emotions. These last couple of weeks had humbled him, taught him that he was no better off than his most troubled patients. He was a weak, confused man, and he wasn’t going to make it through this nightmare without some serious drugs.

Marissa was with Xan in the movie theater on Third and Fifty- ninth, watching the new Matthew McConaughey comedy, when her phone vibrated. She saw dad on the display and rolled her eyes and turned off the phone. She figured he was just checking up on her, being Mr. Controlling again, trying to make her life as miserable as possible. She snuggled closer to Xan and resumed making out with him.

After the movie, Xan went to use the bathroom. Waiting for him in the lobby, Marissa checked her phone and saw her father had left two messages. She was starting to read texts her friends had sent her when her dad called again. She picked up and said, “I was just about to call you.”

She thought,
What now? More about their freaking divorce?
She didn’t understand why she had to be constantly dragged into the middle of her parents’ marital problems, why she had to be updated on every single development.

“Look, I really don’t want to get involved,” she said. “You two do whatever you want to do.”
She was about to end the call when her father said, “It’s about Mom.”
He was probably calling to tell her that her mom was moving out, or had already moved out. And of course he had to speak in that grave, serious tone, trying to scare her, acting like this was some kind of life- and- death situation. And to think, this was coming from a man who’d been telling her that
she
liked to cause drama.
“Yeah, I know it’s about Mom, and it’s really none of my business, Dad. Is that why you had to call me three times in the middle of a movie? Because Mom’s moving out? Couldn’t you’ve just waited to tell me at home, or not at all?”
“Mom’s dead,” her father said.
“What?” She thought she must’ve misheard him.
“She’s dead,” he repeated. “You have to come home right away, the police’re still here. Is Xan with you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She seriously didn’t get it. Dead? What the hell did that mean? Did he mean their marriage was dead?
“You have to come home, Marissa. Right away.”
Xan was back from the bathroom.
Marissa yelled into the phone, “Tell me what the hell is going on! Just tell me! Tell me!”
People were looking at her. A security guard in a red jacket tapped Marissa on the shoulder and said, “You’re gonna have to keep it down, ma’am.”
“She was stabbed,” her father said. “You have to come home. Have Xan take you. I don’t want you to be alone.”
In the cab to Forest Hills, Marissa was out of control, crying and screaming. She still didn’t believe any of this was actually happening. It had to be a misunderstanding— had her dad really said “dead”? Maybe he’d said some other word that sounded like “dead.” She always got shitty reception on her cell phone; yeah, it had to be something like that.
Thank God Xan was with her. He kept reassuring her, telling her “Everything’s gonna be okay” and “You’ll get through this no matter what, I promise.” He was so calm, so in control, so supportive; without him she would’ve completely lost it.
When the cab approached the house and she saw all the police cars, the ambulance, the news trucks, the swarm of reporters, reality hit hard. She was crying uncontrollably, and even with Xan’s arm around her she lost her balance a few times and stumbled on her way toward the house. When the reporters spotted them, they rushed over and surrounded them, shouting questions. She kept her head down, unable to speak, as Xan continued to steer her toward the house, asking the reporters to “stay back” and to “please respect the girl’s privacy.”
Finally they made it inside. She thought she’d feel relief, but, Jesus, it was like the night of the robbery all over again. Cops, strangers, were everywhere. Then her dad came over, and her first thought was
He’s like a child
. There was something about him that reminded her of a picture she’d seen of him as a little boy. It was the one of him on the beach, maybe Fire Island, where he had just been crying about something and he looked so weak, so sad, so vulnerable.
He held her tightly and they cried in each other’s arms for a long time. She was thinking about how much she missed her mother, how she couldn’t believe she was actually gone; she’d never see her again, and her father was all she had now. Her mom’s family was scattered around the country and had never been very involved in her life, and on her father’s side her closest relative was her grandma Ann, who was in her eighties and had serious heart trouble. So her dad was pretty much it. She was hugging her entire family.
“We’ll be okay,” her dad said. “We’ll get through this.”
She was aware of how appropriately upset her father sounded. There was none of that weird self- delusion and denial. He was having a normal reaction.
They sobbed on each other’s shoulders, and then her father said, “I love you, Marissa. I love you so much.”
After a while, Marissa looked over and saw that Xan was standing a few feet away, and he was crying, too. She went over and hugged him, and then he went over to her father and gave him a big tight hug.
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” Xan said. “I’m so so sorry.”
Marissa was watching her father and Xan consoling each other when one of the cops left the kitchen. As the door swung open, she caught a glimpse of blood on the floor and part of her mother’s leg, and she wailed uncontrollably, “No, Mommy, no, no! No, no, no, no, no!”
It took a long time before her father, Xan, and some EMT guy could calm her down. They took her into the living room, and she was sitting with Xan on the couch when that asshole Detective Clements came over and said he had to talk to her. This was the last thing she was in the mood to do, but she knew she had no choice.
“Can my boyfriend stay with me?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Clements said. Then he turned toward her father, who was standing nearby. “But I’d rather you wait in the other room, Dr. Bloom.”
Her father seemed pissed off, and Marissa didn’t get why Clements was dismissing him. It was probably some power trip; the guy was such a prick.
Her father left, and, with Xan holding her hand, Marissa answered Clements’s questions. At first, it was pretty much stress- free because she didn’t have much to tell him. She explained that the last time she saw her mother was at about three this afternoon before her mother went to take a nap, and that when she left her mother was still sleeping. No, she hadn’t heard her mother talk to anyone on the phone, and no, no one had been inside the house when she left.
But then he asked about her parents, if they’d been fighting a lot lately. She told him that there had been a lot of their usual bickering until they’d revealed their affairs.
“Affairs?” Clements asked. “Plural?”
“Yeah, they both cheated on each other.”
“Really?”
Marissa didn’t get why Clements was interested in this or what this had to do with finding out who’d killed her mother.
“You know about my mother and Tony, right?”
“Yes, your father told me about that, but I didn’t know he was having an affair as well.”
“Yeah, with my friend Hillary’s mother, Sharon.”
“Sharon what?” Clements had a pad out.
“Wasserman,” Marissa said.
“Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”
Marissa gave him her phone number, then asked, “But why do you care about my father and Sharon?”
“It’s important for us to know everything that was going on in your mother’s life,” Clements said.
Marissa didn’t buy this and felt like Clements was really trying to find a motive for her father killing her mother. She was shocked and looked over at Xan, who she could tell felt the same way she did. It was great the way they could communicate without speaking. They were like an old married couple already.
Clements asked her if her mother had seemed worried or had mentioned anything about her life being in danger, and she said, “No, definitely not. She seemed normal. Well, depressed and upset about the divorce, but normal.”
“And today she didn’t tell you about any plans to see Tony Ferretti? Or express any fears about seeing Tony Ferretti?”
Marissa was shaking her head. “No, there was nothing like that at all.”
“Getting back to your father,” Clements said. “During their arguments, did you ever get the sense that your mother was, well, afraid of your father? Or did she ever tell you she was afraid of him, or tell you that he threatened her in any way, or that she felt threatened?”
“I don’t believe this,” Marissa said. “You’re not seriously asking me this, are you?”
“Did she or didn’t she?” Clements asked.
Slack- jawed, Marissa looked at Xan, then back at Clements and said, “No, she didn’t.”
“Have you ever seen your father hit your mother or threaten to hit her?”
“No, never,” she said firmly. Then she remembered a time when there had been some violence between her parents.
Clements must’ve noticed her change in expression, because he asked, “Did he or didn’t he?”
“No, not really,” Marissa said. “I mean, I think he pushed her once.”
Clements’s eyes widened. “Really? When was this?”
Why had Marissa brought this up when it meant absolutely nothing? What was wrong with her?
“It was nothing,” she said. “It’s just when I was in high school. My parents were arguing one time and my father pushed my mother and she fell. But it was an accident. He wasn’t trying to hurt her or anything.”
“What about more recently?” Clements asked.
“No, and this is crazy. My father didn’t kill my mother, okay? He loved her. I mean, I know they were getting divorced, but he still loved her. He cared about her—very,verymuch.”
Marissa’s voice trailed off as she started crying again. Xan quickly had his arm around her and was holding her tightly. After a few more questions, Clements told her she could go.
Later, in the foyer, when Clements was in another room, Marissa’s father came over to her and asked her how the questioning had gone.
“Fine,” she said. It was hard to maintain eye contact. “I mean, I didn’t really have anything to tell him. He wanted to know if I knew if Mom talked to Tony today, and I said I didn’t think so.”
“Well, I just heard that the police took Tony in for questioning, so hopefully we’ll have a confession soon.”
“Yeah, hopefully,” Marissa said.
She and her father hugged, but she didn’t feel as close to him as she had before.
“You should go lie down, try to get some rest,” he said.
“I can’t stay here tonight,” she said.
“I was thinking about going to a hotel too,” Adam said, “but do we really want to deal with all of the reporters out there? Besides, Clements said the cops’ll be here all night. Until we figure out what’s going on, the house is the safest place we can be.”
“Whatever, I guess I’ll stay,” Marissa said. Then she said to Xan, “If you have to go home, I understand.”
“Are you kidding me?” Xan said. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone tonight.”
Marissa managed a smile and said, “I have no idea what I would’ve done without you here.”
“I want to thank you too,” her father said, “for taking such good care of my daughter.”
“No thanks necessary,” Xan said. “It’s the least I could’ve done.”