by Jason Starr
In the living room, he lifted a venetian blind and peeked outside. He expected to see reporters, but he was astonished by how many there were. It was like a presidential news conference. One reporter spotted Adam and shouted, “There he is!” and there was a sudden frenzy of reporters talking at once, some yelling for Adam to come outside. Horrified, Adam dropped the blind and moved away from the window. Unlike after the robbery, he had no interest in attention from the media. He had no desire for fame; he hoped he never had to see his name in print in any publication ever again. But he knew they wouldn’t just leave him alone, and it didn’t matter if he made a statement or not. Their stories were probably already written. The wife of Adam Bloom, the crazed vigilante, had been found dead with a knife in her back in the middle of her kitchen floor. What more did they need to know?
Adam was suddenly dizzy again. As he made his way back through the house a cop asked, “You okay?” but Adam ignored him and sat at the dining room table. The Valium wasn’t working; he needed Xanax or Klonopin. He was through thinking that he was superhuman, that he could handle crises better than the average person. Just because he was a psychologist, because he was aware of his thought processes, didn’t make him immune from normal human emotions. These last couple of weeks had humbled him, taught him that he was no better off than his most troubled patients. He was a weak, confused man, and he wasn’t going to make it through this nightmare without some serious drugs.
MARISSA WAS with Xan in the movie theater on Third and Fifty-ninth, watching the new Matthew McConaughey comedy, when her phone vibrated. She saw dad on the display and rolled her eyes and turned off the phone. She figured he was just checking up on her, being Mr. Controlling again, trying to make her life as miserable as possible. She snuggled closer to Xan and resumed making out with him.
After the movie, Xan went to use the bathroom. Waiting for him in the lobby, Marissa checked her phone and saw her father had left two messages. She was starting to read texts her friends had sent her when her dad called again. She picked up and said, “I was just about to call you.”
“I have some awful news,” he said.
She thought, What now? More about their freaking divorce? She didn’t understand why she had to be constantly dragged into the middle of her parents’ marital problems, why she had to be updated on every single development.
“Look, I really don’t want to get involved,” she said. “You two do whatever you want to do.”
She was about to end the call when her father said, “It’s about Mom.”
He was probably calling to tell her that her mom was moving out, or had already moved out. And of course he had to speak in that grave, serious tone, trying to scare her, acting like this was some kind of life-and-death situation.
And to think, this was coming from a man who’d been telling her that she liked to cause drama.
“Yeah, I know it’s about Mom, and it’s really none of my business, Dad. Is that why you had to call me three times in the middle of a movie? Because Mom’s moving out? Couldn’t you’ve just waited to tell me at home, or not at all?”
“Mom’s dead,” her father said.
“What?” She thought she must’ve misheard him.
“She’s dead,” he repeated. “You have to come home right away, the police’re still here. Is Xan with you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She seriously didn’t get it. Dead?
What the hell did that mean? Did he mean their marriage was dead? “You have to come home, Marissa. Right away.”
Xan was back from the bathroom.
Marissa yelled into the phone, “Tell me what the hell is going on! Just tell me! Tell me!”
People were looking at her. A security guard in a red jacket tapped Marissa on the shoulder and said, “You’re gonna have to keep it down, ma’am.”
“She was stabbed,” her father said. “You have to come home. Have Xan take you. I don’t want you to be alone.”
In the cab to Forest Hills, Marissa was out of control, crying and screaming. She still didn’t believe any of this was actually happening. It had to be a misunderstanding—had her dad really said “dead”? Maybe he’d said some other word that sounded like “dead.” She always got shitty reception on her cell phone; yeah, it had to be something like that.
Thank God Xan was with her. He kept reassuring her, telling her “Everything’s gonna be okay” and “You’ll get through this no matter what, I promise.” He was so calm, so in control, so supportive; without him she would’ve completely lost it.
When the cab approached the house and she saw all the police cars, the ambulance, the news trucks, the swarm of reporters, reality hit hard. She was crying uncontrollably, and even with Xan’s arm around her she lost her balance a few times and stumbled on her way toward the house. When the reporters spotted them, they rushed over and surrounded them, shouting questions. She kept her head down, unable to speak, as Xan continued to steer her toward the house, asking the reporters to “stay back” and to “please respect the girl’s privacy.”
Finally they made it inside. She thought she’d feel relief, but, Jesus, it was like the night of the robbery all over again. Cops, strangers, were everywhere.
Then her dad came over, and her first thought was He’s like a child. There was something about him that reminded her of a picture she’d seen of him as a little boy. It was the one of him on the beach, maybe Fire Island, where he had just been crying about something and he looked so weak, so sad, so vulnerable. He held her tightly and they cried in each other’s arms for a long time. She was thinking about how much she missed her mother, how she couldn’t believe she was actually gone; she’d never see her again, and her father was all she had now. Her mom’s family was scattered around the country and had never been very involved in her life, and on her father’s side her closest relative was her grandma Ann, who was in her eighties and had serious heart trouble. So her
dad was pretty much it. She was hugging her entire family. “We’ll be okay,” her dad said. “We’ll get through this.”
She was aware of how appropriately upset her father sounded. There was none of that weird self-delusion and denial. He was having a normal reaction. They sobbed on each other’s shoulders, and then her father said, “I love you,
Marissa. I love you so much.”
After a while, Marissa looked over and saw that Xan was standing a few feet away, and he was crying, too. She went over and hugged him, and then he went over to her father and gave him a big tight hug.
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” Xan said. “I’m so so sorry.”
Marissa was watching her father and Xan consoling each other when one of the cops left the kitchen. As the door swung open, she caught a glimpse of blood on the floor and part of her mother’s leg, and she wailed uncontrollably, “No, Mommy, no, no! No, no, no, no, no!”
It took a long time before her father, Xan, and some EMT guy could calm her down. They took her into the living room, and she was sitting with Xan on the couch when that asshole Detective Clements came over and said he had to talk to her. This was the last thing she was in the mood to do, but she knew she had no choice.
“Can my boyfriend stay with me?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Clements said. Then he turned toward her father, who was standing nearby. “But I’d rather you wait in the other room, Dr. Bloom.”
Her father seemed pissed off, and Marissa didn’t get why Clements was dismissing him. It was probably some power trip; the guy was such a prick.
Her father left, and, with Xan holding her hand, Marissa answered Clements’s questions. At first, it was pretty much stress-free because she didn’t have much to tell him. She explained that the last time she saw her mother was at about three this afternoon before her mother went to take a nap, and that when she left her mother was still sleeping. No, she hadn’t heard her mother talk to anyone on the phone, and no, no one had been inside the house when she left.
&nb
sp; But then he asked about her parents, if they’d been fighting a lot lately. She told him that there had been a lot of their usual bickering until they’d revealed their affairs.
“Affairs?” Clements asked. “Plural?” “Yeah, they both cheated on each other.” “Really?”
Marissa didn’t get why Clements was interested in this or what this had to do with finding out who’d killed her mother.
“You know about my mother and Tony, right?”
“Yes, your father told me about that, but I didn’t know he was having an affair as well.”
“Yeah, with my friend Hillary’s mother, Sharon.” “Sharon what?” Clements had a pad out. “Wasserman,” Marissa said.
“Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”
Marissa gave him her phone number, then asked, “But why do you care about my father and Sharon?”
“It’s important for us to know everything that was going on in your mother’s life,” Clements said.
Marissa didn’t buy this and felt like Clements was really trying to find a motive for her father killing her mother. She was shocked and looked over at Xan, who she could tell felt the same way she did. It was great the way they could communicate without speaking. They were like an old married couple already. Clements asked her if her mother had seemed worried or had mentioned anything about her life being in danger, and she said, “No, definitely not. She
seemed normal. Well, depressed and upset about the divorce, but normal.” “And today she didn’t tell you about any plans to see Tony Ferretti? Or ex-
press any fears about seeing Tony Ferretti?”
Marissa was shaking her head. “No, there was nothing like that at all.” “Getting back to your father,” Clements said. “During their arguments, did
you ever get the sense that your mother was, well, afraid of your father? Or did she ever tell you she was afraid of him, or tell you that he threatened her in any way, or that she felt threatened?”
“I don’t believe this,” Marissa said. “You’re not seriously asking me this, are you?”
“Did she or didn’t she?” Clements asked.
Slack-jawed, Marissa looked at Xan, then back at Clements and said, “No, she didn’t.”
“Have you ever seen your father hit your mother or threaten to hit her?” “No, never,” she said firmly. Then she remembered a time when there had
been some violence between her parents.
Clements must’ve noticed her change in expression, because he asked, “Did he or didn’t he?”
“No, not really,” Marissa said. “I mean, I think he pushed her once.” Clements’s eyes widened. “Really? When was this?”
Why had Marissa brought this up when it meant absolutely nothing? What was wrong with her?
“It was nothing,” she said. “It’s just when I was in high school. My parents were arguing one time and my father pushed my mother and she fell. But it was an accident. He wasn’t trying to hurt her or anything.”
“What about more recently?” Clements asked.
“No, and this is crazy. My father didn’t kill my mother, okay? He loved her. I mean, I know they were getting divorced, but he still loved her. He cared about her—very, very much.”
Marissa’s voice trailed off as she started crying again. Xan quickly had his arm around her and was holding her tightly. After a few more questions, Clements told her she could go.
Later, in the foyer, when Clements was in another room, Marissa’s father came over to her and asked her how the questioning had gone.
“Fine,” she said. It was hard to maintain eye contact. “I mean, I didn’t really have anything to tell him. He wanted to know if I knew if Mom talked to Tony today, and I said I didn’t think so.”
“Well, I just heard that the police took Tony in for questioning, so hopefully we’ll have a confession soon.”
“Yeah, hopefully,” Marissa said.
She and her father hugged, but she didn’t feel as close to him as she had before.
“You should go lie down, try to get some rest,” he said. “I can’t stay here tonight,” she said.
“I was thinking about going to a hotel, too,” Adam said, “but do we really want to deal with all of the reporters out there? Besides, Clements said the cops’ll be here all night. Until we figure out what’s going on, the house is the safest place we can be.”
“Whatever, I guess I’ll stay,” Marissa said. Then she said to Xan, “If you have to go home, I understand.”
“Are you kidding me?” Xan said. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone tonight.”
Marissa managed a smile and said, “I have no idea what I would’ve done without you here.”
“I want to thank you, too,” her father said, “for taking such good care of my daughter.”
“No thanks necessary,” Xan said. “It’s the least I could’ve done.”
Not surprisingly, Marissa didn’t sleep. Xan held her all night as she stirred, cried, and occasionally wailed. The world had never seemed more random and more insane. In her head, she kept telling herself, My mother’s dead, my mother’s dead, hoping this would help her accept what had happened, but she kept reliving the shock, as if she were still at the movie theater, hearing the news for the first time.
Around dawn, Marissa was still awake, feeling miserable. Xan hadn’t slept at all either, and he’d held her all night. Looking into his beautiful, kind blue eyes, she said, “I’m so lucky I have you,” and he said, “I was just thinking the same thing.” She wanted to feel him inside her so badly, to be closer to him, as close as she could possibly be.
“Make love to me,” she said. “Please make love to me.”
He did, and even though she was crying throughout, it was still very nice.
Afterward, when they were lying on their sides facing each other, Marissa said, “So do you think that Tony guy did it?”
“It must’ve been him, right?” Xan said softly.
“I don’t know,” Marissa said. “That asshole detective kept asking me about my father.”
“That’s just the way cops are,” Xan said. “I mean, I imagine they have to look at these things from every different way, you know?”
“I know, but that’s what scares me. I mean, he’s a cop, he knows what he’s doing. Why would he keep harping on it if, I don’t know, there wasn’t some basis to it? Why would he waste his time like that? You know what I mean?”
“Your father’s an amazing guy,” Xan said. “He’d never do something like that to your mother.” He was running his fingers back and forth along the inside of one of her arms. It felt so good. “I mean, would he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not saying this is what I think or anything, so don’t take it the wrong way—but it’s true that your parents were having serious problems lately, right?” “Right,” Marissa said, remembering her father gleefully telling her mother
that he’d slept with Sharon Wasserman.
“I’m just saying, from where I’m at, just kind of being, like, an outsider to all of this, it seems kind of, I don’t know, coincidental to me.”
“I know,” Marissa said.
“I mean, think about it,” Xan said. “Your parents announce to you that they’re getting divorced, and the same day your mother’s killed? It does make you think, you know? You don’t want to think it, but you still think it.”
That word, “killed,” gave Marissa a jolt. She shifted away and sat up, then said, “Yeah, but that’s why I think Tony probably did it. Maybe my mom told him she was splitting up with my dad but didn’t want to be with him and he got pissed off and came over here and lost it. The guy’s crazy, a total psycho. You saw what he did to my father, right?”
Xan kissed her softly on the lips—God, she was dying to feel him inside her again. He said, “I know, and you’re probably right, but you said your father went over to the gym the other day and started the fight with Tony. You said he got in that big figh
t with your mother, too—”
“But I heard my father saying something about how the note that Tony left, the one about him and my mother, looked like the note he got last week, the one that threatened him about the robbery.”
“Just because Tony left the notes doesn’t mean he killed your mother.”
“But it shows he’s crazy, that he might’ve robbed our house, for God’s sake. Maybe he was angry because my father shot that other guy, what’s his name, Sanchez, so he came back here and killed my mother to get even. Or maybe it was like I said before, because my mother was breaking up with him.”
“Like I said, I think you’re right, it was probably Tony,” Xan said, “but—and I’m just throwing this out there, so don’t get upset—what if your father left the notes?”
“Why would he do that?”
“To set Tony up. Maybe he found out your mother was cheating on him, then left the notes and then went to start a fight with Tony, knowing he’d get beat up, knowing it would make Tony look bad. You see what I mean?”
“But would my father really think it through that much? Would he really do all that planning?”
“I have no idea,” Xan said, “but he did kill somebody before, right? And if he killed before, I guess that means he could do it again.”
Marissa couldn’t deny it anymore—what Xan was saying was making a lot of sense, too much sense. She could easily see her father, especially the way he’d been acting lately, losing control and snapping. He could’ve been arguing with her mother and impulsively grabbed the knife just like he’d impulsively gone into the closet the other night to get the gun.
“Oh my God,” Marissa said. “He did it.” “Whoa, come on, I didn’t say that,” Xan said.
“It’s like I’ve been in this deep denial or something. Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.”
