The Pack

by Jason Starr

“Yeah,” Simon said. “Except I don’t think it was a dream. I think . . . I think I did something terrible.”

  Simon explained about how he had woken up in New Jersey near where Tom had been killed and how he was questioned by Dorsey.

  “I thought it was just a coincidence that I was in the area that night,” Simon said. “I mean, what could I possibly have had to do with an animal attack? But now there’s a witness, this guy Alan Freedman who told the police he saw me there that night, and I can’t rationalize anymore and keep telling myself it was coincidence when I know it wasn’t. I was angry at Tom—even you guys said I was complaining about him that night. So I must’ve taken a cab there or something—and then got a wolf from somewhere and . . . Look, I know how crazy this all sounds. I feel crazy just talking about it. But what other explanation can there be?”

  Michael remained silent for a while, then said, “You didn’t tell anyone else about this.”

  “No,” Simon said. “I mean, I would tell my wife, but we haven’t been getting along lately. I don’t think telling her I think I may have killed my boss would go over very well right now.”

  “You must not tell her,” Michael said. “She won’t understand.”

  “Oh there’s, um, something else,” Simon said. “The night I woke up naked in the woods . . . I couldn’t find one of my shoes. If the police find the shoe they’ll want to know why I was at Tom’s that night and why I lied about being there. And now that there’s a witness . . . Now you can see why I’m so afraid. I told the police I was here that night, and they might try to verify this with you. I didn’t know what else to tell them. I’ve never been so afraid.... I think I killed him, I really think I killed him.” Simon’s lips were trembling; he was trying not to cry.

  “I’ll tell them you slept here all night,” Michael said.

  “Wow,” Simon said. “You’d really do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for a member of my pack,” Michael said.

  Simon didn’t exactly get what he meant by that, but he said, “Wow, that’s so nice of you. I mean, I really appreciate it, but you don’t have to do it. You can tell them it’s possible I was here, but you didn’t see me here. I mean, if you want to say something like that to cover for yourself, I’d totally—”

  “I’ll tell them you were here,” Michael said, “and I saw you here all night.... And someday you will do something for me.”

  Simon had no idea what Michael was implying, but he was so happy and relieved he said, “Thank you. You have no idea what a burden this lifts for me. I mean, maybe the police won’t talk to you, maybe the whole thing will just blow over. But knowing you’d do this for me, in a worst-case scenario, is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  Michael didn’t say anything. After a long period of silence, Simon got the sense that as far as Michael was concerned the conversation was over. Simon thanked Michael several more times and then said, “Well, I’ll see you at the playground on Thursday, right?” and Michael said, “Yes,” and then Simon left. On the subway back to Manhattan, Simon kept replaying Michael’s words: Someday you will do something for me. He had a vague feeling that he might regret getting in deeper with Michael, but at the moment he was so relieved to have a solid alibi for Tom’s murder that nothing else mattered.

  NINETEEN

  When Alison picked up Jeremy to take him out of the bath, he screamed and said,“No, no, I don’t want to!” and Alison said, “You have to,” and he screamed again, louder, and then Alison slipped on the wet floor and almost lost her balance.

  Frightened, upset, and angry, Alison snapped, “See what happens when you don’t cooperate! You could’ve killed us!”

  She’d yelled much louder than she’d intended. Jeremy, frightened by the outburst, was crying hysterically.

  “Go ahead, cry,” Alison said, still fuming. “Cry all night if you want to. See if I care.”

  As Alison toweled Jeremy dry and put him in his PJs, she let his fit continue, and then she calmed down and suddenly realized what she’d done—taken her anger and frustration toward Simon out on her son.

  She picked him up and said, “I’m so sorry, sweetie, Mommy’s so sorry. Mommy didn’t mean to raise her voice. Mommy’s going through a tough time right now, but it has nothing to do with you, okay? Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jeremy said, sniffling.

  Although he recovered quickly, Alison still felt guilty for snapping at him. The stress of the day and her marriage problems were getting to her. She didn’t believe that Simon was serious about dealing with his problems, and even if he did deal with them she wasn’t convinced that things would ever get back to normal.

  She finished getting Jeremy into his PJs and ready for bed, then took care of some chores around the apartment. When they’d decided that Simon would be a stay-at-home dad, he’d agreed to do the bulk of the shopping and cleaning and take care of the general odds and ends around the house, but he hadn’t kept his word. Simon had been so into his obsessive physical activity lately that he’d been slacking on housework, and when she came home there seemed to be a sink full of dishes or toys strewn all over the living room floor or other messes to clean up around the apartment. He hadn’t been doing the laundry either; it didn’t seem like he’d done any laundry in about a week. Jeremy was out of clean clothes to wear and the hamper was overflowing.

  “Not fair,” Alison said as she prepared a few loads of laundry. “Just isn’t fair.”

  A few seconds later she stopped for a moment, holding a pair of Simon’s jeans that had been buried at the bottom of the hamper, noticing some dark stains. She was about to toss them into the darks pile when she stopped again, remembering that they were the jeans Simon had worn the night he’d pulled the all-nighter at the brewery and all the weird behavioral changes started. Examining the stains more closely, the color kind of reminded her of the way period-stained panties looked. Then she had another memory—the morning after the all-nighter, Simon had those streaks of blood on his neck.

  In the bathroom sink she ran some water over the pants, and sure enough the water ran off pink. Alison’s heart was racing, as if finding the blood on his jeans were some kind of revelation, that it proved something, but proved what? What did some blood have to do with her husband possibly having an affair? It was just as confusing as everything else that had happened lately, like pieces of a puzzle that agonizingly didn’t fit.

  Alison was convinced that something was going on; there was just too much weirdness for it to not add up to something, and she was determined to find the answer. Maybe she should hire a detective? Or at least she should start thinking like a detective. Okay, what would a detective do? Follow him. That would be hard, without being spotted. Okay, what else? Follow the money. If he was cheating, there had to be suspicious charges.

  After Alison put Jeremy to bed, she went online and checked the Mastercard, Visa, and Amex accounts. She went back for the past two months, well beyond the time all the craziness started, but she didn’t see anything unusual. She was frustrated by the dead end but felt she was getting closer. There had to be something.

  She logged on to the Chase online banking website and checked the recent account activity. There were many more ATM transactions than credit card transactions, but she went through the list slowly. Both his and her withdrawals were listed, but there were no unusual amounts or payments. It was mostly just cash withdrawals of two hundred dollars—their usual withdrawal amount—and various payments at drugstores and grocery stores. Alison was giving up hope that she’d find a transaction that would shed light on the situation. Though Simon wasn’t normally sneaky, he was smart, and if he was cheating on her and didn’t want to get caught he was probably paying for the hotel rooms and restaurant bills in cash.

  She checked the next page of transactions and she saw one on October 11—for two hundred dollars in Mendham, New Jersey—and she had an adrenaline surge. That was the morning Simon had called her, saying he was a
t Michael’s. The son of a bitch. He’d lied to her after all.

  Everything was spinning; it was hard to focus and catch her breath. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She was rocking slowly back and forth with her eyes closed, half furious, half in shock, waiting for it to set in, for it to seem real. Yeah, like reality would make it any better. She couldn’t believe he’d done this to her, that he’d done this to his family. How could he be so goddamn selfish?

  Finally she got up, her instincts telling her to leave, distance herself from this situation as soon as possible. She’d wake up Jeremy and they’d go away—to anywhere that wasn’t here.

  She went into Jeremy’s room. He was sleeping contentedly, the blanket up over his chin, snuggling with Sam, the name he’d given to his favorite stuffed bear. She was about to nudge him awake, and then she hesitated, thinking, was this really the best thing for her son? Did she really want to subject him to all of this drama? Waking him up, telling him he had to leave his father? She was emotional now and probably wasn’t making logical decisions. She had to take a step back, think this through.

  She was back in the living room. God, she couldn’t believe she was in this situation. As difficult as things had been in the past, and as awful as things had been lately, she’d never expected to be here. She’d assumed that they’d eventually hit rock bottom and Simon would make an effort, a real effort, to work out whatever had been troubling him lately and stop all his strange behavior—his acting out, or whatever the psychological term du jour was for it—and they’d go on with their lives. Meanwhile, he’d been cheating on her, actually cheating. He was probably with his little bitch girlfriend right now. Alison wondered what she looked like, if she was prettier than her, or younger. She was probably one of those girls Alison saw in the gym sometimes—with a perfect little body. She was probably encouraging Simon to exercise like a maniac and to change his diet. It disgusted Alison that she’d had all that sex with Simon recently. Unprotected sex.

  Suddenly queasy, Alison rushed into the bathroom and bent over the toilet. She gagged a few times but didn’t throw up.

  She pulled herself together, deciding that she wasn’t going to be weak anymore. If she was weak, it would be like he won. She thought about Skyping or calling Lauren but didn’t want to use her big sister as a crutch. She wanted to handle this on her own: rationally and pragmatically.

  She went online and got the names and numbers of several divorce attorneys. Tomorrow she had a couple of breaks in her schedule, and she’d interview each of them. Then, maybe the day after tomorrow, she’d go out with real estate agents and look at rentals—find an apartment she could afford. A one-bedroom in a decent building would be out of the question, but maybe a studio with an alcove. She could put up a wall, create a small room for Jeremy. She’d look on the Upper East Side. She didn’t want to be too close to Simon, but Jeremy needed to see his father, so being on the opposite side of Central Park would be the best she could do.

  It was past ten o’clock. Simon had been gone for over two hours. Alison was beginning to wonder whether he was planning to come back at all, or if he’d have some other ridiculous explanation. Drinks with his friends, my ass. She didn’t care if he came home, though. He could stay out every night for the rest of his life for all she cared.

  Maybe half an hour later she heard his keys turning in the lock. As he was hanging up his coat in the closet, she appeared in the hallway, saying, “I want a separation.”

  During all of their marriage trouble over the years, neither of them had uttered the word divorce or separation, knowing this would cross a major line that neither of them wanted to cross. So now Simon immediately recognized that Alison was serious.

  “Come on, honey.” He went and tried to hug her.

  She swatted his hands away and said, “Get your claws off me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Simon said. “Why are you so angry?”

  “I never thought you’d lie to me,” she said. “I never thought you were capable of it.”

  “Capable of what? I don’t—”

  “Is it Juliet?”

  Juliet was an old co-worker of Simon’s whom Alison had met last year at the office holiday party. Alison had thought that Juliet had seemed a little too flirty with him, and although she didn’t actually think he and Juliet were having an affair and didn’t intend to mention her, at the moment it was the only possibility she could think of, and she was so upset she’d just blurted the name out.

  “Juliet?” he said. “Is that what you really think?”

  He seemed believably surprised, but at this point how could she believe anything?

  “Then who is it?” she said. “Somebody you met at a playground? Or are you gay after all? Do you have a boyfriend in New Jersey?”

  “New Jersey? Why New Jersey?”

  “You made a bank withdrawal there the day after your all-nighter at the brewery.”

  She’d said brewery leaking sarcasm, and the way Simon’s face flushed she knew she’d hit on something.

  After a few seconds he took a step toward her and said, “I can explain.”

  “Get the hell away from me!” she screamed.

  As an adult, she’d never hit anyone, but if he came another step toward her she was going to slap him across the face.

  “Sweetie . . .”

  He took another step and she slapped him as hard as she could, catching his cheek and nose. Apparently she got the worst of it, though. He didn’t seem to have any reaction, but her hand killed.

  “It’s where Tom lived,” he said. “I was not having an affair. I swear to God.”

  Her hand hurt too much to really process any of this. “I don’t care,” she said. “Just get the hell away from me.”

  “It’s the truth,” he continued. “I went there the night he was killed. I was embarrassed so I didn’t want to tell you. I got drunk that night. Well, not drunk, but I had a reaction to this family beer Michael gave me. Anyway, I was angry at Tom, so I must’ve taken a cab out there or something. But obviously I had nothing to do with what happened to him or anything like that. It was a big coincidence, that’s all.”

  Now she got enough of what he was saying to realize it sounded completely absurd.

  “What?” she said. “What’re you talking about?”

  “That’s why I was in New Jersey,” he said. “I was there to see Tom, not a woman. But I had nothing to do with what happened to Tom; it was a complete coincidence that I was there the night he was killed by the wolf. But that’s why the police wanted to talk to me, because a neighbor saw me there.”

  Alison was amazed by how sincere he looked, how he could spin these tales effortlessly, as if he actually believed them himself.

  “What has happened to you?” she asked.

  “I know it all sounds crazy,” he said. “It sounds crazy to me too, but I love you, okay, and I want things to get better between us. I think we should move up our next appointment with Hagan, see him tomorrow if possible.”

  “I’ve had it with Hagan,” she said, “and I’ve had it with you.”

  She went down the hallway and tried to get into the bathroom, but he stuck out his hand and stopped the door from closing.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Will you let go of the door, please?”

  “What did I do? Tell me what I did.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? I was embarrassed. I’d never blacked out like that before. I was going through a rough time too—losing my job, adjusting to being a stay-at-home dad. How about cutting me a little slack?”

  She hated that she was starting to feel guilty. Then a thought hit her and she said, “What about the blood?”

  She watched his face flush.

  “Blood?” he asked. “What blood?”

  He seemed genuinely frightened. She felt as if she’d hit on something.

&nbs
p; “I found blood on the jeans you were wearing that night,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, stiff-lipped, but it was obvious she’d hit on something.

  “I ran them in the water and it ran out pink,” she said. “It was definitely blood.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I, uh, I must’ve cut myself somewhere that night. I was really trashed and I woke up in the woods. I was just so embarrassed about the whole thing; that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  The explanation sounded so bizarre, she didn’t know what to make of it.

  “I really don’t care anymore,” she said. “Now will you please let me use the bathroom?”

  He moved out of the way, and she closed and locked the door. She sat on the toilet, realized she didn’t have to pee, and cried instead. She was thinking about how things used to be between her and Simon—when they were dating and were best friends, joined at the hip, and how different everything was now. She had no idea how they had gotten from point A to point B. She believed him that he was at Tom’s house in New Jersey that night, but it seemed weird that he just happened to be there.

  She sobbed harder. She wished he were having an affair. An affair would have been manageable; an affair would have been resolvable.

  Simon was banging on the door. “Can you open up? Can you just open the door and discuss this, please?”

  She didn’t answer. He continued to bang on the door, and she ignored him until he finally went away.

  TWENTY

  On Wednesday afternoon, Olivia was at her office, preparing for her meeting tomorrow with Mr. Kyoto from Japan, when her assistant, Stephanie, poked her head into her office and said, “You have a call on line one.”

  “I saw,” Olivia said, “Can you just take a message? I’m swamped here.”

  “It’s Diane. She said it’s urgent.”

  Diane? She was in Turks and Caicos this week with Steve. What could be so urgent?

  “Okay, thanks,” Olivia said.

  Stephanie left, and Olivia took the call on speakerphone.