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

by Julia Derek

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Steve exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “Ella got back to me a couple of hours ago and told me that a tall, elegant, blond lady had paid her 60 grand for moving out the following day and leaving most of her furniture. She and her boyfriend met up with the woman in a bar. That’s gotta be your mom.”

  I chuckled unhappily. “Yeah, that sure sounds like her.”

  I told Steve about Mom’s journal, and how I suspected it could be found in a stash place in one of her drawers in the office she used to write.

  “That was another thing I got out of getting hypnotized,” I finished, grabbing a spring roll from the Styrofoam container on Steve’s coffee table. We had made a complete mess of the space, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. “I remembered what was in Mom’s journal and where she kept it. I really don’t think that the blue book I saw was her old journal. She wouldn’t be so stupid to keep it out in the open, even with a lock on it. The lock is so easy to pick a child can do it.” I smiled at Steve, using the spring roll to indicate myself. “This child did it.” I shoved the spring roll into my mouth and chewed it a couple of times before swallowing. “Then again, I was pretty smart for an eight-year-old if I may say so myself. It’s probably not that easy to pick that lock, but still. I’m sure it was just a blue book that looked like her journal.” Then I started coughing, having gotten half the spring roll stuck in my throat.

  Steve banged my back so hard it came straight back up. I chewed the piece more carefully.

  “If you don’t take it easy, you’ll end up killing yourself,” he said and shook his head at me. I chewed a little more before I swallowed the piece again.

  “But you’re right,” he continued, watching me as I drank some Coke straight out of the bottle. When I attempted to put the bottle back on the table, he said, “No, finish that. It’s all yours now. I’m not having any of your slimy saliva. Plenty of that’s mixed in with the soda now.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and grabbed the bottle, putting it in my lap. “You were saying I was right. What was I right about?”

  “That your mother probably doesn’t keep her journal lying around the house,” he replied. “Only an idiot would take such a risk.”

  “True. My mom is evil, but she’s no idiot, that I can promise you. I wish she were, because then we could figure out a way to get into the penthouse and just pick it off that side table. Now we’re gonna have to search for it.” I sighed despondently.

  Steve cocked a brow at me. “We? Are you insinuating that I should help you break into someone’s penthouse?” He tsk-tsked at me, wiggling his index finger like an old school teacher. “I don’t think so, Mister.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I didn’t actually think we would break into her house. I might as well call up my parole officer and give him a heads up before I do something like that. How stupid do you think I am? I’m not about to do anything with even a small possibility of getting me back in jail.” I frowned at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Steve was all of a sudden contemplating me with a mischievous glint in his gray eyes. He reached for his phone and unlocked it. “Hang on,” he told me.

  I waited for him to finish whatever he was doing. He lit up. “Here we go.” Smiling mysteriously, he handed me his phone. There was a pic of a lady with long red hair and tons of makeup on. Way too much, if you asked me. It made her look a bit like a clown.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Steve. “Your girlfriend?” I nudged his leg playfully with my foot.

  “No, it’s the woman who’s the answer to your predicament. Her name’s Gloria.”

  I could feel my brows hike. “It is? How will Gloria help me?”

  “She’ll find a legitimate way to get into your mom’s penthouse and search for the journal. You told me Ariel’s gone for a couple more days. That means we have a couple of days to figure out what your mom’s planning to do with Ariel. Gloria should pay her a visit at her house and see what’s up.”

  “Really? She’ll do all that for me, a complete stranger? And you know that how?”

  “Because Gloria is me.” He smiled triumphantly at me and I could see the similarities between them then. “I’m a cross dresser in my spare time.”

  37

  Jennifer

  I would have Shane and Ariel get together this Saturday afternoon, just hours after Ariel had returned from Chicago. I had spoken to my husband about it and he had been okay with meeting Shane then, listening to his apologies. Not that Shane would get to apologize even for one second. No, I’d see to it that Shane erupted long before that happened, threw himself over Ariel, shook and yelled at him. My husband’s already bad heart further weakened by the drugs Jordan would give him would not be able to handle the stress Shane’s violence resulted in. Ariel would have a big fat heart attack that would end up killing him on the spot. He might attempt to call me, ask me to send for an ambulance so that he could get help quickly. If he did, I would of course pretend to send for one immediately. He would be dead long before he’d realized that I had lied.

  I was excited to be able to write about this death in my journal. If successful, it would definitely be one of my top three kills ever, at least when it came to creativity. The one that might take the crown eventually would be the method I used to kill Neera. I had to be exceptionally careful when I took care of her. I couldn’t have anyone suspect I was behind her death, just like I couldn’t have anyone suspect I had anything to do with Ariel’s. I had to get rid of her somehow, though. I couldn’t stand the little brat. The way Ariel insisted on spoiling her, she got more insufferable by the day. She knew just how to ingratiate herself with him, wrap him around her little fingers. It was almost as if she was aware how much her behavior pissed me off. I thought I could see it in her eyes whenever she got her way and looked at me, smiling big. Okay, I didn’t really think she was aware of it, but sometimes I liked to pretend she was. It gave me yet another reason to despise her.

  She was a cute child—fortunately for her, she has taken after me, not Ariel—but I was completely immune to her good looks and games. All I could think of when I saw her was how annoying she was. How shrieky her voice was, how shrill her laughter was. Shane had been far easier to deal with. A quiet, nice child. That was how he had survived. Also, his father had found ways to enjoy him. If I killed Shane, Peter would have been so mad at me. I couldn’t have that. How ironic that Shane ended up killing Peter instead!

  Truth is indeed stranger than fiction sometimes.

  I had been doing what I could to avoid the little brat now that Ariel was gone. Thankfully, our nanny Karen loved to take care of Neera, so it was easy to just dump the kid off with her. She was truly a godsend, as Neera adored Karen and didn’t mind spending time with her. Except for when it was time to go to bed, that is. She insisted I read her a goodnight story every single night. It was almost as if she could tell how much it irked me, having to read to her. Now, of course, the kid couldn’t tell. I was an amazing actress. The kid thought I loved her just as much as her daddy, even though I was the tough one out of the two. But that was only because I wanted to make sure she got strong and learned to behave appropriately. Everyone knew that was the only reason I admonished her. Everyone also knew just how much it pained me having to do so. Obviously, it didn’t.

  I’m pretty sure having to act like I loved the spoiled child so much would end up giving me an ulcer. I might already have developed one; my stomach had been hurting a lot lately. When I had my next physical in a couple of months, I would have our doctor check for one.

  It had begun to hurt this morning after breakfast, so I took a couple of Advil to make it go away before it could develop into something unmanageable. I couldn’t be moaning about my stomach when, Jackie O’Neill, the lady who wanted to produce Born Evil came to see me. She was friends with Larry Levy, the executive producer who was on my death list, and he had told her he didn’t want to produce the movie after all.
She’d told me she could hardly believe it, as the movie was so great! How could he not do it? It was bound to be a huge commercial and critical success. She had asked for my number, telling Larry that if he didn’t want to produce it, she would. As long as I was okay with her buying him out, that is.

  Um, yeah, of course I was okay with her buying him out. I wanted to work with someone who believed in the movie as much as I did. She clearly did. At the very least, it was worth us having a meeting to discuss it. She had seen how lovely my home was in an issue of Architectural Digest, praised me when I explained that I had been the one to design everything inside it, not a professional. That was a lie, but she didn’t have to know that.

  She seemed so impressed by my skills that I felt we might as well meet in the penthouse. There were other parts of the house that hadn’t been featured in the magazine, and I’d love to hear her oh and ah over how beautiful and creative they were.

  In fact, my office made for a good space to discuss the movie. We could use the sofas near the fireplace. I’d mention to her that I was working on another movie. Maybe she would like to read it and produce that one, too. There was a role in that movie that was ideal for me. In fact, I had written it with myself in mind. I might be slightly too old to play myself in Born Evil, but the role as Ann in my other movie had been custom-made for the current me. I’d definitely point out that I wanted to appear in that movie. I could use my printer to print pages for her to peruse the movie as we spoke about it.

  I chewed on my lower lip. Actually, I could play myself in some parts of Born Evil. In the parts when I ran away with Shane. That was less than six years ago. They could make me look younger with makeup and proper lighting. It would be a great selling point, having me, the real mother, play myself. A smile grew on my lips. Yes, I’d tell Jackie that I wanted to be in Born Evil as well. I’d insist on it.

  I checked my watch. The woman should be here shortly, so I should go and freshen up a little.

  James came to tell me that she was waiting in the main sitting room ten minutes later.

  “Thank you, James,” I told him and adjusted my crème-colored pantsuit, then I went out into the sitting room. A tall woman with red, long, Farrah Fawcett-style locks sat on one of the sofas, wearing a purple jacket, beige slacks, and stiletto pumps. Her long legs were crossed and she kept her manicured hands folded in her lap. I couldn’t help but notice that her nails were a scary pink color. She must have heard me approaching because she raised her head and met my gaze.

  “Ms. O’Neill?” I said and stretched out my hands in her direction, smiling pleasantly. She got to her feet, so tall she was more than half a head taller than me and I was no dwarf. I couldn’t help but wonder why she was wearing those heels being such a big woman. They made her at least four inches taller. Given her athletic build with the wide shoulders, it made her intimidating. Maybe that was what she was going for.

  “Hello, Mrs. Friedman,” she said and took my hand and sandwiched it between her big ones. I noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Thanks so much for agreeing to meet me here. Your house is so much lovelier in person!”

  I tried my best not to stare at her heavily made up face. That deep voice combined with the big hands and her size could only mean one thing—this was a transgender woman. I tossed a quick glance at her thick-ish neck and discovered a small Adam’s apple. I was dying to lower my gaze farther, all the way down to her crotch to check if she’d had the sex change operation already. Unfortunately, that would be rude and far too obvious. She must be used to people checking her out inappropriately. I didn’t want her to be insulted before I had decided I had use for her or not.

  I gave her my warmest smile. “Thank you! I’m so happy you think so. Would you like a tour of the penthouse?”

  She pressed one of those obscene-looking hands to her ample chest. “Oh, I would love to see the rest! If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Some soda water with lime would be nice.”

  I turned to James, who had lingered behind in the arched opening between the two sitting rooms and nodded my head. Knowing what to do, he disappeared to get our drinks.

  38

  Jackie and I were seated in my airy home office now, which was the size of a large studio apartment and my haven. No one was allowed in here without my permission. Two of the walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with the classics, bestsellers, and my all-time favorite books. A third wall consisted of windows that were often covered by blinds, as I couldn’t write or watch movies when the sun shone into the office. A balcony that was rarely used stretched alongside the glass wall. My wide mahogany desk with the giant desktop screen, the tall leather swivel chair, and the copy-slash-printer-slash-scanner took up a good chunk of the space at the opposite end so that I faced the city when seated there. On the other side of the desk, near the fireplace, were a couple of blue sofas facing each other and a glossy black coffee table in between. I sometimes took naps on those sofas when I felt I needed some rest. Other times I meditated. It helped me get centered when my mind was all scattered.

  At the moment, Jackie and I sat on either sofa, enjoying our drinks. She was on her second soda water, while I was on my third chardonnay. We had spent a good thirty minutes touring the penthouse, as not only was it very big, but Jackie was so impressed with everything and had taken her time absorbing it. The more I got to know her, the better I liked her. She was a bit kooky, but that was to be expected from Hollywood people. Most of them were a little nuts, especially the successful ones. Everyone knew that. I was glad that she had contacted me and that I had invited her to my house instead of meeting her out somewhere.

  “So,” I began and smiled at Jackie over the rim of my wine glass. “Wanna discuss the movie?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jackie said and clapped her large hands together. “I see a very beautiful, charismatic blond woman playing you, since you are both.” She smiled sweetly at me and had a sip of her soda water. “Someone like, hmmm, let’s see, Rosamund Pike perhaps?”

  “That’s the girl starring in Gone Girl?” I asked, the name ringing a distinct bell. I’d hold off on mentioning me starring in most of the movie. See what she had to say first.

  “Yes. Yes. She’s gorgeous. Or what about Charlize Theron, if we can get her? Or Rachel McAdams. She looks great as a blonde and she kinda looks like you, now that I think about it.”

  “Yes, I like all those, but I like Charlize the best. You think she would be hard to book?” Charlize Theron would be great as me! How could I have forgotten her? If we could get her, I’d step aside. She had major star power. As long as we could agree that I would play Ann in my next movie. Which Jackie would have to produce if she wanted to produce Born Evil.

  She fluttered her black eyelashes, which simply had to be fake they were so thick and long. “Yes. But I think if we can get her to read the screenplay, which is absolutely fabulous, she may decide to do it. I’m sure she’ll be as impressed by the story as I was. It’s really amazing, and so is your writing. It really comes across in it how much you love your son despite everything he put you through. It made me cry, certain scenes were so poignant!”

  I couldn’t help but grin big. Larry Levy would be so pissed when this movie that could have made him not only a very rich man, but also an Oscar winner became a huge success. I had carefully explored Jackie’s financial situation during the penthouse tour and she had described it in three words: filthy rich, honey. She used to be a real estate broker and that was how she had gotten to Larry, selling him his house in the Hamptons. The job had brought her so much money she didn’t know what to do with it. Lately, she had been looking to get into the movie business, though, and had been looking for the right project. Now she had finally found it, she’d explained, looking ecstatic.

  “Thank you,” I said and had a sip of chardonnay, feeling more and more excited about how much Jackie loved my movie, the poten
tial she saw with it. “I really would like to get Charlize to play me. How do we get the script in front of her? Any ideas?”

  She screwed up her features, making me think of a colorful parrot. “Well, I do know the broker who sold Charlize her home. We’re good friends. Maybe we can get Lauren to talk to her…” She narrowed her eyes and gazed into the distance, as though pondering something. She nodded to herself. “Yes, I think Lauren can help us.”

  “Lauren is your broker friend?”

  “Yes.” She relaxed her face and met my gaze again. “Lauren followed your son’s trial in the media and she was as taken by the story as I was. Yes. I have a strong feeling that Lauren will love the movie as much as I do when she reads it. She likes reading in general.”

  “Great,” I said. “Let’s get it in front of her as soon as possible then. I really, really want Charlize to play me. She’s so beautiful and, if I may say so, I think we do look more alike than Rachel and I do.”

  Jackie squinted at me for a few beats. “Yes, you’re right. You do look like Charlize now that I’m taking a closer look. It’s almost like you could be sisters!”

  “Great. So why don’t you get started with Lauren and we’ll go from there? Would you like me to print out the screenplay for you or do you have a copy already?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d love a hardcopy. I can read it again on my way home and then send it to Lauren once I’ve spoken to her.” She suddenly gasped, her eyes widening.

  “What?” I asked, a jolt of nerves shooting through me. Had she changed her mind?

  “I’m supposed to see her for drinks tomorrow!” Jackie exclaimed and grinned big, some coral-colored lipstick stuck on her front tooth. I considered telling her but changed my mind at the last second.