True Evil_A fast-paced psychological thriller that will keep you hooked

by Julia Derek

  True Evil

  julia derek

  Adrenaline Books

  Copyright © 2018 by Julia Derek

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by TheCoverCollection

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  For my Mother (who’s not psycho, thank God.)

  Contents

  1. Shane

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  24. Jennifer

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  31. Shane

  Chapter 32

  33. Jennifer

  34. Shane

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  37. Jennifer

  Chapter 38

  39. Shane

  40. Jennifer

  41. Shane

  Chapter 42

  43. Jennifer

  44. Shane

  Chapter 45

  46. Jennifer

  Chapter 47

  48. Shane

  Afterword

  Also by julia derek

  1

  Shane

  It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep my hands off my mother. Every cell in my body demanded that I throw myself on top of her, beat her to death with my fists. Beat her so much that her pretty face became utterly unrecognizable, a bloody pulp. I imagined that I would savor every second of it.

  Jennifer Hanson, my mother, stood next to the dark-suited driver in front of the midnight blue limo with its tinted windows. She was impeccably dressed in a yellow designer pantsuit and her light blond hair was cut in a sleek bob that gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. Even though she was almost 44 years old now, she had never looked more beautiful.

  She’d smiled as I’d walked the short distance from Ramsdale Juvenile Detention Center’s main entrance over to her, but she hadn’t removed her large designer shades. Smart move. I had no doubt her cat green eyes were as full of evil as she was on the inside, behind that attractive façade. It was too bad I was still the only person in the world who was aware of the truth. Well, at least as far as I knew. Maybe there were others. I should be so lucky.

  “Oh Shane, it’s so good to see you on the outside finally,” she exclaimed and extended both hands to me, brought me to her chest. I had no choice but to embrace her the way she embraced me, warmly and fully. If I wanted to stay out of prison, I had to embrace her like I enjoyed it, like I had missed touching her all these years. Five long years of living in hell.

  Feeling her arms around my back made my stomach turn and clench with pain at the same time. I took a deep breath to fight the urge to let my hands travel up to her neck and snap it. With my youthful strength and big hands, it would have been a piece of cake.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally allowed to touch you again, my son,” she said emphatically as she let go of me. Her perfectly manicured hands with the large diamond on the left ring finger remained on my shoulders. She took me in through the dark shades on her nose. “You look well. Strong and healthy. Well, except for the hair. I can’t wait until it has grown out again. You have nice hair. Just like your father’s.”

  Feeling self-conscious, I ran a hand over my shaved head and felt the four-day stubble. Then I forced myself to smile and muttered, “You look well, too.”

  She glanced over at the limo driver and gave him a brief nod. He opened the back door and Mom motioned for me to climb into the long vehicle. Inside, it smelled of new leather and expensive taste. She climbed in as I took a seat and sat down herself, facing me. She watched me in silence as we took off, gliding effortlessly over the gravel road that led up to the detention center.

  “It’s a nice car, isn’t it?” she asked and glanced out the window. It wasn’t a question but a statement. Even so, I said, “Yes, it is.”

  I wasn’t about to take any chances. I had learned my lesson too well.

  See, my mom, this elegant woman, is a psychopath so evil there are no words to accurately describe her. I spent five years in juvenile detention because of her lies, and had I not been so lucky that I got such a rehabilitation-focused judge to oversee the hearings, I would likely have been tried as an adult and spent the rest of my life in prison.

  That was the one thing that had failed in my mother’s otherwise foolproof plan to get her revenge on me for killing her husband, my father. She hadn’t counted on such a liberal judge overseeing the proceedings or even that I’d end up in family court in the first place. Brutal murderers like me were typically tried as adults in the state of New York, even though they had barely entered their teens. Also, I had gotten a slightly shorter sentence than expected. Instead of giving me 20 years, which would have let me out on parole at age 20—at the earliest—Judge Collins, my savior, gave me 15 so that I would be eligible for parole at age 18 and a half and able to go to college at the same time as other people my age. When I turn 28, which is in nine and a half years, I’ll be as free to do what I want as the next guy. That is, if I keep behaving the way they want me to. As well as I did while in prison, especially toward the end of my sentence. Exemplary. Like I’m fully rehabilitated.

  Being sentenced in family court allows me to have my records sealed so that I will get a fair chance at a normal life.

  In order to get out of prison this early, I had to not only accept responsibility for what I had done—supposedly done—but also act like I was a reformed person. A non-psychopath. I had to admit to having killed a psychologist named Jonathan Wilkins and an aging librarian named Betty McLaren, tell the parole board that I deeply regretted my heinous actions. I had to explain to them why they were wrong. Being forced to lie about that hadn’t been the worst part, though. No, it was far worse having to be nice to Mom despite what she had done to me. I had to pretend she was a normal, loving mom when others were around. I was not allowed to tell anyone the truth, that Mom was the person who had killed the psychologist and the librarian, not me. Except for my father, whom I shot by accident at age six, I have never hurt anyone. Not seriously, anyway. You don’t come of age in juvie without getting into a fight or two.

  It took me about a year to conclude that accepting blame, playing along with Mom’s lies, was the only way I was getting out early and the only way I was staying out. It was either that or trying to escape, which was not a great idea. Even if I succeeded, I would be forever wanted by the authorities. What kind of life would that be? It would be hard enough to expose Mom as a regular person.

  Mom faced me again and smiled, then removed her shades. As expected, her eyes were clear and piercing,
just the way I always pictured them. Feral. I wondered if I was the only person who could tell how strange they were. Not quite human. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, presumably checking that the divider behind her was closed, giving us privacy. It was.

  “You’ll behave then?” she asked me coolly.

  “Do I have a choice?” I replied, equally as coolly.

  “Everyone has a choice. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” She leaned forward suddenly, placing her elbows on her knees. The smile was exchanged for an imploring expression, which surprised me. “You know I only did what I had to do, Shane. You needed to assume responsibility for what you had done. Pay the price. And now you have.”

  “Yes,” I said stonily, thinking yet again how lucky I was the movie she had written and a Hollywood movie company had optioned was never made in the end. As bad as my life was today, it would have been worse if my mom’s version of our old life together had been perpetuated on the silver screen. The movie would have rubbed in the lie that I was a dangerous psychopath and Mom the saint who’d tried to save me from myself. Thankfully, the movie execs had changed their minds rather quickly, killing the project. I don’t think I would have been able to behave as well as I’d done the last four years of juvie if Mom’s lies had been immortalized. I might not have a criminal record once I got out, but everyone would have known me as the psycho kid who killed those people. I would have been infamous in the worst way.

  At least now I could move around freely, having retained my anonymity. Our story was old news. I only had to keep pretending I had accepted my mom’s punishment of me to her and the rest of the world. Nothing could be farther from the truth, of course. It was time to set the record straight and reveal who the real psychopath was.

  2

  Mom and I didn’t speak much during the car ride and I couldn’t say I minded. I really didn’t want to talk to her more than necessary, pretend more than necessary. It was exhausting. It was especially tiring now that she had acted all apologetic about having to put me in jail. I didn’t buy for a second that she’d had any qualms doing that. To the contrary, she was pissed that I’d gotten out so soon. She’d do everything she could to get me back behind bars and remain there. I’d better watch my back at all times.

  When we were about to enter Manhattan, Mom asked in that fake nice voice, “Are you absolutely sure you want me to drop you off at the apartment? There’s still time to change your mind. I would love for you to meet my new husband and see what our home is like. Neera can’t wait to meet you.”

  That’s right; I had a kid sister now. Mom’s movie plans might have gone awry, but she was still set for life. As she had mourned the death of her movie at a bar in downtown Manhattan, she had bumped into a widowed, Israeli-born real estate developer named Ariel Friedman. It didn’t take Mom long before she had realized not only that Ariel was a very wealthy man, but also that he liked her. A lot. So she’d dug her claws into the seventy-year-old man and six months later, she was his new wife with a baby about to pop out.

  As much as I wanted to meet little Neera, I wanted even more to be as far away from Mom as possible, and as soon as possible. Surely Mom felt the same way; she was only asking me to come meet her husband and child to be polite and didn’t expect me to change my mind. While the charade that went on between us primarily benefitted her, she wasn’t interested in prolonging it any more than necessary. She wanted to go on with her new life as the socialite wife of Ariel Friedman and work on tripping me up in secret. Tripping me up so I could go back to jail and stay there. It was best if I lived somewhere else while she did that, far away from their Fifth Avenue penthouse. Reformed juvenile offender or not, I was still an ugly stain on the fabric of her fancy existence.

  “Yes,” I answered and stifled a yawn. “I just want to rest and be alone right now. I can meet them later.”

  “Okay,” she said and proceeded to do stuff on her phone until we had reached the street where I’d be living from now on. Mom had rented me an apartment in Astoria, Queens, near the Greek restaurant where I would work until college at NYU began in September. The parole board wanted me working full-time and a menial job like bussing tables was preferable. Mom’s new husband would pay for four years of studies at the expensive college, just like he was the one really paying for my new living quarters. She’d of course blamed Ariel for me not staying with them when, surely, she was the one who’d wanted me out of the house, not he. I was willing to bet my right hand that was the case.

  I was not allowed to leave New York City for the next several years except for under special circumstances. Given my mom’s husband’s wealth and my 4.0-grade average, they had to send me to a good college or Mom’s supposed strong love for me would ring untrue. After all, she had allegedly gone out of her way to try to turn me into a functioning, law-abiding citizen.

  The limo came to a halt and the driver came around to open the door for me. Mom was watching me as I sent her a glance while making my way over to the door.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” I said, forcing myself to smile politely.

  “That’s the least I can do,” she answered. “I think you’ll like the place. It’s not fancy, but it’s cute, spacious, and very clean. You’ll find clothes and shoes for you in the walk-in closet. Let me know if they don’t fit. There’s some food in the kitchen. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said and tried to sneak out of the car, but Mom’s outstretched arm stopped me.

  “Give me a kiss before you leave, honey.”

  I didn’t think she particularly wanted to get a kiss from me any more than I wanted to give her one, but the driver could see us. We needed to stick to the script.

  I took her hand and leaned toward her, placing a feather-light kiss on her smooth cheek. Before I could pull away, her grip around my wrist tightened and she kept me in place. The exquisite smell of some perfume I couldn’t name filled my nostrils.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said and stuck her hand into her designer purse. “Here’s your new phone and some cash.” She handed me a shiny iPhone and a black wallet made of smooth calfskin leather. “This is your phone number.” She indicated a sticker on the device with numbers on it. “It has no password.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, taking both items and sticking them into my duffel bag.

  She let go of me as suddenly as she had latched on and smiled. “As I said, honey, call me if you need anything. Jordan has the keys to the place. The big key is for the building entrance.”

  “I will.” I slipped out of the limo at last, glad to be away from her. The stony-faced driver handed me a set of keys before disappearing into the driver’s seat. I watched as the limo took off, moving as smoothly and quietly as a black leopard. Turning around, I faced the four-story building that contained my new home. It was a red brick building and someone had stuck the American flag into the grass between the street and the entrance. I found myself wondering who that could be as I walked up the pale gray flagstone path.

  Now that the adrenaline of being in Mom’s proximity had dissipated, I felt horribly tired again. As tired as I always felt before I got some caffeine into my system. They had been out of coffee at juvie this morning. With trembling hands, I attempted to stick the big key into the entrance door over and over without success. All of a sudden, the door swung open and a strikingly beautiful girl about my age, maybe a couple years older, spilled out.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed and stared at me with terrified brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you live here? I’m the new tenant on the second floor. I was trying to open the door.”

  She broke into a big smile. “Really? Yes, I do live here.” She jabbed a thumb toward the stairs visible behind her. “I’m on the third floor. My name’s Sophie.” She stuck her hand in my direction, giving me no choice but to take it and shake it.

  “I’m Shane,” I said a
nd mustered a smile back. “Nice to meet you, Sophie.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that she was super hot. Long brown hair, pouty lips, and stunning eyes with a bit of a slant, lending her an exotic appearance. Her smooth skin was lightly tan and her teeth a pearly white. She had a nice set of boobs on her, too, clearly outlined under her powder blue baby tee. I tried my best not to look at those, but it was hard. I hadn’t exactly had a lot of sex lately, and this girl was extremely sexy.

  “Likewise, Shane,” she replied and zipped by me. “Welcome to Astoria!” She waved a hand with short red nails as she hurried down the path toward the street. I didn’t fail to see that she also had a great butt and legs. It was impossible not to notice given the snug jeans cut-offs she wore. It took all I had not to start drooling as she continued walking down the street.

  I forced my eyes away from her and shook my head. I didn’t have time to think about hot girls and getting laid. There was plenty of time for that later. What I needed to do right now was focus on my home that my dear mother had gotten for me, watch out for potential traps.

  “Excuse me,” a lanky dude somewhere in his thirties grumbled and pushed past me, coming from inside the building, too. He hurried down the flagstone path, looking annoyed.