Convince Me

by Nina Sadowsky

  Annie turns to face me.

  “About that, Carol,” she announces. “I’m not pregnant. Never have been. A blessing considering the lineage.”

  My body sags against my captors. My fight is gone.

  “And oh, one other thing. Will recanted. Just as soon as we were sure you’d have seen his performance, along with the rest of the world.”

  My hands are cuffed. Annie walks out and a sense of inevitability overwhelms me.

  This is what I deserve.

  Because I’ll admit another truth. When I snuck out that fateful night my family died, I saw a candle tip over. It fell over in the attic bedroom I shared with my sister as I climbed out the window to meet Bobby Tanaka. I hesitated, but I was already barely clinging to the slippery edge of the roof, about to drop down to the ground. And so I did, with only a quick final glance back at the house before I sped away into the dark night dreaming only of kisses.

  I told myself I wasn’t really sure if the candle had fallen over, that if it had, the flame had surely guttered out, and that if it hadn’t, my sister was certain to wake up and put it out before anything serious happened.

  That was the lie I told myself. Because Susan was in the habit of slipping a little scotch into her tea from the bottle our mother kept in the kitchen for “special occasions.” It was Susan’s little act of rebellion, drinking under their own roof while my parents were obliviously charmed by her sudden interest in tea varieties and brewing methods.

  But Susan wasn’t so understanding of my own rebellion. She didn’t approve of Bobby Tanaka, older than I, and with a reputation as a bit of a player. The last thing I wanted was her interference with my plans, so as we finished dinner, I offered to brew her evening tea, with a little wink that let her know I was in on her game. I added the Benadryl along with the scotch.

  If a candle did fall in our bedroom that night, there was no way Susan would have woken up, but all these years later, the truth is still a twisted knot. Over the years, my memories became spotty, unreliable, reshaped and honed by shock, time, and desperate need as I endlessly revisited the tragedy in my mind.

  I tortured myself. Years later, the memory shifted. I told myself I’d invented a memory of the candle falling as a way of overcoming my survivor’s guilt. And all these years later, who really knows?

  But in my heart I know. I killed my entire family. They burned to death for the sake of a kiss from a boy who never even spoke to me again after the tragedy.

  Is it any wonder I’m being punished?

  THE FINAL CHAPTER

  ANNIE

  Once Carol started talking, she continued, in her affable, reasonable way. She confessed not only to drugging Justin but to sending him on an errand on a route that she knew would take him to a construction-riddled, already dangerous section of Mulholland Drive.

  When asked what she would have done if he hadn’t died that night, she shrugged and said she would have tried again.

  When asked why she thought Will confessed to Justin’s death, she replied that she believed Will was the real criminal trying to smear Justin’s name, so she thought divine justice was at work.

  Clearly, she’s as bat-shit crazy as her son.

  A neighbor of Justin’s at the Windjammer apartment came forward. She’d heard Justin and Hayley fighting the day he killed her. It seems Hayley’s conscience was bothering her and she was going to tell her employers that she had given Justin stolen tech. It turned out to be the proprietary haptic technology from MediFutur’s surgery training initiative, the very program that had absorbed my work life for the last year.

  We may never know for sure, but I suspect Hayley’s death was no accident, despite what Justin may have told Carol. Or maybe Carol lied about that too.

  I’ve resolved to look forward, not back. Trying to unravel Justin’s every lie and manipulation was a fall into quicksand—tempting to succumb to, but ultimately suffocating. I’m pulling myself free, but it hasn’t been easy.

  After Carol’s arrest, I stayed with Mom and Santi for a couple of weeks. They were wonderful, but tiptoed around me like I might shatter. Their very kindness was an irritant, so I moved to Bella’s. But she and her new stuntman boyfriend are turning into a thing (despite my cynicism), and I found all that gooey-eyed young love a bit too much to bear right now.

  Lately I’ve been staying at Will’s. He’s sleeping on the sofa and has given me his bedroom. We take long walks on the beach every morning, trying to exorcize the past and make some sense of the future. We both want to look forward, but staying firmly in the present is a necessary first step.

  On our way back from trudging through the sand, sweaty and sticky with sunscreen, we stop at a local grocery store and buy just enough food for that one day. We shower and change and then cook and eat together, letting the days pass in a blur of comforting, simple routine. I’ve started writing again. Will’s constructing a table out of driftwood. Cinnamon Toast is the third member of our little trio now, happily oblivious to the damage Justin left behind.

  I let the banks take the house and I quit my job. Going back seemed untenable, so I resigned before I was fired. With no husband, no money, and no job, my identity is re-forming (to put it politely).

  Convincer collapsed. The company was a Ponzi scheme of credit card debt, multiple diverted mortgages (even on Carol’s apartment), and a trail of rooked investors Will never even knew about.

  Will’s in the muck. He’ll be cleared of any wrongdoing, but the stench of the scandal will take a long time to fade. He’s trying hard to find this new chapter freeing, and to bolster me up, but I see the anxiety that creases his face when he thinks I’m not looking.

  Will and I have debated it, why Justin never tried to get me to get him the tech he so desperately sought from MediFutur. Will thinks it was because he was genuinely in love with me.

  I’m sorry to say it, but a small piece of me still thrills to that belief. When we were together, I felt chosen, special, infused with a kind of glamour.

  glamour [ˈgla-mər]

  noun, 1. an air of compelling charm, romance, and excitement, esp. when delusively alluring; 2. archaic: a magic spell or enchantment

  This definition from my favorite childhood dictionary seems particularly apt in the wake of recent events.

  Justin was a master, after all. In a world where everybody craves love, he was able to summon it from everyone around him like a snake charmer raising a sleepy cobra from its basket. I can’t blame myself for loving him, and I can’t regret it either. He betrayed me. But he didn’t break me. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

  As Will reassures me, “Life is long and complicated. You can live many lives in the course of one.” His mother told him that once, he said, and although he didn’t really understand at the time, he does now.

  It appears Justin lived many lives—as a means of advancement, in order to elicit love, to manipulate, for the sheer, audacious aim of seeing if he could get away with his lies. I plan to live a new life, maybe more than one, but I’m going to take my own sweet time and do it in my own way. I owe that much to myself.

  I had hunches and I played them. I was pretty sure Carol had crafted and scheduled Justin’s posthumous emails, and she tripped herself up when she told me she didn’t know it was possible, as I remembered Justin teaching her how to do it when she moved from New York.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t 100 percent positive Carol killed Justin; the very idea seemed absurd on one level. But I kept thinking about that Valium in Justin’s system, the pills I’d seen Carol pop on occasion, some of the things she said that just seemed off.

  I may never know about the car accidents. But I have to wonder. Did Carol tamper with her husband’s car or drug him like she did her son? Or was it ten-year-old Justin? Did his close bond with his mother provoke a first act of murderous violence against
his father?

  And if Justin targeted me at Mammoth, was my own accident there the result of snow and ice or something more sinister? A shiver passes through me just thinking about it.

  But there were a few cards I held.

  Will’s father is very much alive. That performance Will gave at the High Bar? Was just that, a performance. Genius. Who knew Will had it in him?

  Porkpie Hat? A professional stuntman that Cousin Lizzie found for us.

  And the diners and staff at my dinner with Carol? All police. I may have been fooled, but it turns out I’m not a fool, after all.

  A couple of final definitions:

  convince [kən-ˈvins]

  verb, cause (someone) to believe firmly in the truth of something

  And finally,

  From the Glossary of Magic:

  Convincer

  a delicate gesture done in order to emphasize a wrong conception, and strengthen the audience’s belief in it.

  It looks like I am a storyteller in the end. It’s no surprise, really. After all, I learned from the very best.

  This book is for everyone

  who is sick and tired

  of the fucking liars

  and their fucking lies.

  And is dedicated to K.M.

  Acknowledgments

  When I wrote my first novel, Just Fall, it was a “bucket list” item, but I had no expectations (only vague hopes) about actually getting it published. That effort, which began as a private exercise to reclaim a love of craft that was suffering under the vagaries of a Hollywood career, has transformed into a new and glorious chapter of my life. I am humbled by, and grateful for, the steps and missteps throughout my life that have led me to this, my fourth published thriller.

  There are many people who have helped me along the way that I need to thank, starting with the team at Ballantine: Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Allison Schuster, Madeleine Kenney, Melissa Sanford, Sarah Breivogel, Jesse Shuman, Loren Noveck, Denise Cronin and her team, and last but by no means least my lovely and talented editor, Anne Speyer, who helped me lift this work to the next level.

  I’d also like to acknowledge my manager and partner in crime, Darryl Taja.

  I have deep appreciation for my team at NYU LA: Daniel Esquivel, Chateau Bezzera, Eric Peterson, and the infinitely resourceful Gracie Corapi. I also need to give a shout out to all of the people at NYU Global Programs for their unwavering support, especially Linda Mills, Nancy Harrison, Dennis Clark, Andrea Gural, Janet Alperstein, Peter Holm, Tyra Liebmann, and Chris Nicolussi.

  And then there are my friends and family members, without whom I am essentially useless. This network of support is what keeps me going. My kids, Raphaela and Xander: You are always and ever my two best creations. My husband, Gary: Thank you for getting out of my way when I’m deep in process and for not complaining about that too much. My dad, Ed Sadowsky: You are an inspiration in all ways. A special nod to Janet Cooke, my “publishing whisperer.” And blessings and thank-yous to Jonathan Sadowsky, Laura Steinberg, Ivan Sadowsky, Julia Sadowsky, Richard Sadowsky, Mary Clancy, Eric Sadowsky, Katherine Sadowsky, Suzanne Sadowsky, Heather Richardson, Sadie Carter, Josh Carter, Jacob Carter, Arielle Hakman, Daniel Hakman, Darius Margalith, Sean Smith, Rachmil Hakman, Barbara Zerulik, Debbie Hakman, Robin Sax, Kingsley Smith, Laina Cohn, Michelle Raimo, Deb Aquila, Betsy Stahl, Debbie Liebling, Analia Rey, Katrina Kudlick, Tarek Bishara, Mathew Mizel, Sukee Chew, Richard Geddes, Felicia Henderson, Brenda Goodman, Robin Swicord, Wendy Leitman, Lisa Kislak, Shandiz Zandi, Marcy Morris, Melissa Frierichs, Ruth Vitale, Kathy Boluch, Debbie Huffman, Linda Bower, Judy Bloom, Sue Ann Fishkin, Allison Begalman, Sam Rubin, all of those I have inadvertently omitted, and my Bronx High School of Science cohorts (still and always the smartest kids in the room), especially the wonderful Roman Godzich, for his generosity.

  BY NINA SADOWSKY

  JUST FALL

  THE BURIAL SOCIETY

  THE EMPTY BED

  CONVINCE ME

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NINA SADOWSKY is an author, filmmaker, and educator. Her previous novels are Just Fall, The Burial Society, and The Empty Bed. She has written numerous screenplays and produced such films as The Wedding Planner. In addition to her role as program director of NYU Los Angeles, a study away program for advanced students considering careers in the entertainment and media industries, Sadowsky also serves as the director of educational outreach for the Humanitas Prize, is on the leadership committee of Creative Future, and is a founding member of the Woolf Pack, an organization of women showrunners, writers, and producers committed to community and mentorship.

  ninasadowsky.com

  Facebook.com/​ninasadowskythrillers

  Twitter: @sadowsky_nina

  Instagram: @ninasadowsky

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