The Perfect Son

by Freida McFadden

  Even the nicer calls leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. A mother I used to be friendly with, Nancy Jeffers, called me an hour ago. She told me she didn’t think Liam was guilty and that I had her “full support,” but I imagined after the call, she went back to her friends to report how tired and stressed out I sounded. Erika sounds like she’s falling apart. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.

  As I’m settling into bed for the night, my phone rings again. I pick it up and see Jessica Martinson’s name on the screen.

  I shouldn’t answer. Nothing good can come of this call.

  Then again, if anyone knows the gossip, it’s Jessica.

  Before I can stop myself, I press the green button to take the call. “Hello?”

  “Erika!” Jessica’s voice is syrupy sweet. “It’s Jessica. Jessica Martinson.”

  As if I might not know who she was. As I haven’t had her number programmed into my phone for the last decade.

  “Hi.” I swallow hard. “What is it, Jessica?”

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  “Fine.” I’m not even remotely fine, but she’s the last person I want to unburden myself to. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Of course.”

  I wait for her to say some pleasantry and end the call. If you need anything, let me know. But she doesn’t say it. She just waits on the other line, as if she’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to say it.

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Jessica?” I finally say.

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I feel like I need to. Erika, I think you did the wrong thing by bailing Liam out of jail.”

  I suck in a breath, my head spinning. “Jessica…”

  “I know you’re going to say it’s none of my business,” she says, “but we used to be friends and I need to say my piece. We all know Liam did this. He deserves to be in jail.”

  “We don’t know that…”

  “Come on!” she bursts out. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know Liam very well. He murdered a cat in my home, Erika. I know you took him to see that psychologist. Clearly, it didn’t work.”

  My throat feels so dry, when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

  “Erika, you need to let the police lock him away, and then you should walk away. If you support that monster, then you—”

  I press the red button to end the phone call. I can’t listen to another word of this. Especially because I know she’s right. My son is a monster, but how can I walk away?

  I sink down on the bed and bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what to do anymore. My instinct is to protect Liam, but I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know what’s right anymore.

  The phone rings again, and I want to throw it across the room. I crack my eyes open to look at the screen. Frank Marino. He’s calling me back. This is a call I need to take. But my hands are shaking so much, I have trouble hitting the green button.

  “Hello? Frank?”

  He chuckles darkly. “Having yourself an interesting day, aren’t you, Erika?”

  He knows. Of course he knows. He’s a detective. “Yes. I have.”

  “Well, I finally understand why you were trying to scare off all those girls.”

  My jaw twitches. This is not a time for jokes. “Did you get that address for me on Marvin Holick?”

  “Yeah. I got it. Nice guy.” There’s an edge of sarcasm in his voice. “Like grandfather, like grandson.”

  I want to slam the phone down and never call Frank Marino ever again. But more than that, I want to find my father. He could be the answer to everything. “What’s the address?”

  He recites it for me and I scribble it down on a piece of paper on my nightstand. He lives in Queens, probably less than an hour drive from here. Really, right around the corner. I could pop over to see him tonight, if I wanted.

  Maybe I should.

  I wonder what Marvin Holick will say when I show up at his door.

  Chapter 52

  Olivia

  I am absolutely exhausted. I have spent the better part of the day hammering away at the trap door. My arms are aching, and I’m not even sure I’ve made any progress. At one point, I was sure the wood was splintering, but then when I felt it with my fingers, it was intact. Of course, it’s hard to know for sure because I can’t see a damn thing.

  I also finished the last of my food and drink today. I was trying to hold out, but I was so desperately hungry and thirsty after all the work I did. Before I knew it, everything was gone.

  I have no food. No drink. Nothing.

  The worst part is I have devoured every morsel there is to eat, but my stomach still feels completely empty. There’s a dull ache in the center of my chest. I feel like I don’t have the energy to move, much less go back to hammering at the trap door.

  But it’s my only hope.

  Well, that’s not true. The police might find me. As I lie in one corner of my cell, trying to ignore the ache of emptiness in my belly, I imagine what it will be like when the police storm in here. They’ll find me and bring me back to my family. And best of all, they’ll punish him. My parents will never give up on me. They’ll keep looking until they find me. I know it.

  I don’t know what time it is when I hear the footsteps. I’ve lost all track of time, but that slice of light is gone, which means it must be dark out. I know in my heart that it’s probably him, but just in case it’s not, I scream out, “Help! Help me please! I’m down here!”

  It happens just the way it did last time. I hear the locks turning and the flashlight blinding me. It occurs to me that if I had spent my time building the mound higher instead of pounding on the lock, I might have been able to be ready to jump at him when he opened the trap door.

  Damn. It’s too late now.

  “Olivia,” he says. “How are you doing?”

  “Awful,” I spit at him. “I’m starving. I need food. And water.”

  “Yes,” he says patiently. “People need water to live. Did you know that a person can survive only three to five days without water? Without water, your organs will eventually start to fail and your brain will swell up. But people can survive longer without food. Weeks. Your body will break down excess fat, and when that’s gone, it will break down muscle. Your body will effectively consume itself.”

  I blink up at him, trying to ignore the shooting headache that resulted from the flashlight in my eyes. There’s a look of fascination on his face as he recites these facts. Like I’m some sort of rat in a science experiment.

  “How does it feel, Olivia?”

  My hunger and thirst evolve into anger. I am not a science experiment. I am a human being. And I’m not going to play his perverted game. “Fuck you.”

  My anger only seems to amuse him though, just as my threats did. “Just tell me. How does it feel to be starving to death?”

  “Go to hell.”

  He reaches into a paper bag next to him. I hear crackling of paper, and then his hand emerges from the bag. At first I think he’s going to point a gun at me. But it’s not a gun. It’s a piece of bread.

  He grins at me. “Tell me how you feel and I’ll give you this bread.”

  I want that bread so badly. Like it’s a decadent piece of chocolate cake. I stare at it, wanting to tell him to go to hell again, but wanting that bread even more. After all, the bread means survival. If I die, nobody can tell the police what he’s done.

  “I feel like something is clawing away at my insides,” I say. “And I feel dizzy. A little nauseous.”

  Is that enough? Is that enough for you, you bastard?

  I suppose it is, because he tosses the bread into the hole. I make a halfhearted attempt to catch it, but it falls past my fingers into the dirt. I don’t care. I’m close to literally eating dirt. He also tosses in another plastic water bottle, but this one is only half of the size of the others. And there’s only one.

  “If you coop
erate, you’ll live longer,” he says. He nods at the bones in the corner. Under the light of his flashlight, I can see them clearly for the first time. The outline of ribs and a pelvis. What used to be arms and legs. “She didn’t cooperate.”

  I wonder what’s happening on the outside. I’ve been gone for days—people must be starting to assume I’m dead. How long will he let me live down here? It feels like eternity, but I know it can’t go on forever. If he keeps feeding me so little, I’ll die in a month or two. But I have a feeling he won’t drag it out that long. As he said, people can only survive three to five days without water.

  And if he does somehow get arrested, but he doesn’t tell the police where I am, that will be it. I’ll die of dehydration in days.

  “I’ll try to come back in a few days,” he says.

  “A few days?” My panic escalates at the realization that all I have is one piece of bread and barely a pint of water. “But…”

  “And don’t waste your energy trying to escape,” he says. “The wood is sturdy and so is the lock. You won’t get out of here.”

  With those words, he shuts the trap door again, plunging me back into blackness. I wrap my arms around my knees and let out a sob, but the tears don’t come. I’m too dehydrated to even cry.

  He’s killing me.

  Chapter 53

  Erika

  After everything that happened yesterday, I couldn’t summon up the energy to go visit my father. I spent half the night of tossing and turning, but then around two in the morning when I kicked him awake, Jason sleepily suggested I take another Xanax. I have rules about how much I can take in one day, and I’m over my limit, but I didn’t want to spend the entire night awake. So I took one, and it did the trick.

  I don’t even attempt to make breakfast for the family. When I get into the kitchen, Liam is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal. But he’s not eating. He’s just sifting it around with a spoon.

  “Do you want frozen waffles?” I ask him.

  “No.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten anything in the last few days.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ve got to eat. You’ll be sick if you don’t.”

  Liam lifts his brown eyes with those long eyelashes that make his sister jealous. “What do you care? You think I’m a murderer.”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say to that? He’s right. Ever since I found Olivia’s address in our car GPS, there hasn’t been one moment when I didn’t think Liam was guilty.

  “I still love you,” is all I can say.

  Liam snorts. “Why?”

  “Because you’re my son.”

  He just shakes his head. But I don’t expect him to understand. That was one thing Dr. Hebert told me repeatedly. Liam is not capable of love. He tells me he loves me, but he’s only saying it because he knows it’s expected of him. And he knows it makes me happy. And it’s in his best interest to make me happy.

  I wonder if my father ever loved me.

  I’ve got to see him. Somehow I feel like reconnecting with him will be the answer to everything.

  I leave Liam in the kitchen, and I head upstairs to shower. Jason is coming out of the bathroom, his hair damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. After all the running he’s done, he looks so fit. Still very sexy, maybe even more than he was when he was younger. Under different circumstances, I might have been tempted to initiate some morning fun. But under these circumstances, it seems inconceivable.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He rubs his eyes. He looks tired, and I feel bad for having kept him awake half the night with my restless sleep. “Hey.”

  “I was wondering if you could stick around the house with Liam. I… I need to go out.”

  “Where?”

  “I need to take care of some things at the newspaper.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. I never told Jason that Brian fired me. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Okay.” Jason slips a shirt over his head. “Take your time. I’ll take care of things here.”

  He accepts my lie so easily, I feel guilty. Jason is so trusting. He believes me, and he believes Liam. Why am I the cynical one?

  I go past him into the bathroom to use the shower. Before I jump in, I stare at myself in the mirror. A week ago, I would have said that I had aged gracefully, but now I look ten years older than my age. These have been the worst few days of my life. When Liam got kicked out of kindergarten, it felt like the worst tragedy ever. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that time.

  I squint in the mirror at my brown eyes, which now have purple circles underneath. They are the same brown eyes that Liam has. I say that Liam looks like my father, but really, he looks like me. I look like my father.

  Sometimes I wonder what else the three of us have in common.

  What am I capable of?

  Chapter 54

  Erika

  I get in my car by nine in the morning, and I’m on my way to pay a visit to Marvin Holick. Given I haven’t called him, I recognize there’s a reasonable chance he might not be home. But I go anyway. I need some time alone, and the drive will clear my head.

  You think I’m a murderer.

  I can’t stop picturing Liam’s face as he said those words. He looked hurt. I always believed nothing ever got to my son but maybe I’m wrong. But I have this feeling that his hurt expression is yet another act. After all, Hannah and Jason believe he is innocent, and I’m the only one who can still see through him. He needs to win me over.

  While I’m driving, my phone rings. I see my mother’s voice pop up on the screen and I almost let it go to voicemail. But at the last moment, I send the call to the car speakers.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say.

  “Erika!” Mom is talking much too loud, which is what she usually does on the phone. She doesn’t seem capable of controlling the volume of her voice when she’s on a cell phone. “Why didn’t you call me? I just found out from Jeanne during our bridge game that my grandson was arrested!”

  “It’s okay. He’s home now.”

  “Okay? You know what they’re saying he did, right?”

  “Nope. I have no idea what crime my son has been charged with.”

  “Erika…”

  “We’re dealing with it, Mom. He’s got a good lawyer.”

  “But… God, they’re saying that he…”

  “It will be okay,” I say with confidence that I don’t feel. But at least I can keep my mother from worrying. “It’s all blown out of proportion. Our lawyer says it will be fine.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes.” If by fine, I mean the lawyer thinks he’s guilty and should show the police where the body is. But I already lied to my husband today. Might as well lie to my mother too. “Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

  “Will you call me if anything else happens?”

  “Yes.”

  Wow, another lie. I’m on a roll.

  The address Frank gave me is an apartment building. It looks more like a tenement, with graffiti scribbled all over the brick walls, and a small awning covered in holes. Just looking at it makes me want to clutch my purse tighter to my chest. Then again, it’s understandable my father couldn’t afford a nicer place to live coming right out of jail. It’s unfair to judge him. At least, not for where he lives.

  According to the scribble on the paper lying on the seat next to me, my father lives on the second floor. I pull into a parking spot right in front of the building, and sit there, trying to work up the courage to go see him.

  I have to do this. I have to do this today.

  I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I walked unsteadily to the building, glad I wore my ballet flats for the trip, because I’d probably face-plant in heels. There’s an intercom at the entrance, but I happen to arrive just as a man is leaving, and he holds the door for me to go inside. And just like that, I’m in.

  I walk up the two flights to get to the sec
ond floor. When I emerge into the hallway, there’s an odor of urine, the paint on the walls is peeling, and the light above is flickering. My father’s apartment is 203. I walk down the hallway until I reach the doorway. The numbers 203 are etched into the paint. Before I can lose my nerve, I reach out and ring the doorbell.

  Then I wait.

  I wait a minute. Two minutes. By the third minute, the butterflies in my stomach are settling down. Obviously, Marvin Holick is not here right now. I’ll return to meet my father another day.

  But then the door is yanked open.

  Chapter 55

  Erika

  “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

  An old man glares at me from behind a chain. I can barely see him, but I can make out his eyes. My eyes. Liam’s eyes. This is him. My father.

  “I’m not selling anything,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Then what do you want?”

  “I…” I clear my throat. “Could I come in and explain?”

  “No. You tell me what you want and then I’ll decide if you can come in.”

  This isn’t how I wanted to have this conversation—through a door chain. But he’s not leaving me much choice. “I… I’m your daughter. I’m Erika.”

  The suspicion in his eyes deepens for a moment, but then something changes. He shuts the door and I hear him fumbling with chains. When he opens the door again, the chain is gone.

  He just looks like an old man now. The dark hair that was thick in the photo from my drawer is now almost gone, and what’s left is white and wispy. His teeth are yellow and he has big jowls. He’s wearing a checkered shirt and suspenders. He’s a shadow of the handsome man he used to be.