by Jason Starr
He pulled into a spot between a pickup truck and an SUV. This was perfect because, while most of his car was out of sight from where Xan was positioned, he could still see the back third or so of Xan’s car and he’d know when he pulled away.
Adam didn’t stop staring at Xan’s car, not even to look at his watch. He was trying to blink as little as possible, to the extent that after a while his eyes started to feel irritated.
Adam had no idea what time it was, but it had to be after twelve o’clock.
Xan was probably starting to get impatient, slowly realizing that he was getting stood up.
Then Xan left, pulling away suddenly. Adam had been idling the engine of his car, but a woman was walking by in front of him, pushing a large wagon full of groceries and holding a little girl’s hand. She had another child in a BabyBjörn.
“Move it!” Adam yelled. “Come on, move it already!”
He would’ve been better off saying nothing. His tantrum made the woman stop and stare for a couple of moments, like she was looking at an insane person. “Come on, come on!” he yelled, waving his arms frantically, and then the woman finally moved out of the way and Adam peeled out of the lot, nearly
colliding with a car that was backing out of a space near the exit.
Adam spotted Xan’s car up ahead and followed from a distance as Xan made several turns. Then Xan sped up as he entered US-209. Adam entered as well, but he couldn’t see Xan’s car any longer, and there was a limit to how fast he could go because there were cars ahead of him on the two-lane road. He weaved in and out, into the opposing lane, but there was too much oncoming traffic to risk trying to pass the other cars. Even more troubling, he couldn’t see Xan’s car. If Xan had turned off the road that would be it—Marissa could wind up dead.
“Please, God, no,” Adam begged. “No, no, no . . .”
Klonopinless, Adam took deep breaths, trying to get hold of himself.
There was a break in the oncoming traffic, and Adam accelerated past three cars, barely making it back into the right lane and avoiding a head-on collision with a van. His heart was beating furiously when he spotted Xan’s car, about one hundred yards ahead of him.
It was hard to feel any real relief, though, as he knew that this was probably the riskiest part of his entire plan. He had to stay far enough behind that Xan didn’t realize he was being followed, but at the same time he couldn’t lose him again. It didn’t help that US-209 was a winding road and around every bend Xan’s car seemed to disappear. After about thirty minutes, Xan turned right onto a narrower, bumpier, even curvier road. Adam lost track of Xan’s car as they passed what seemed to be an old bungalow colony. He went past a rundown tennis court and over an old, very small wooden bridge but didn’t see Xan’s car anywhere. He had a hunch that Xan had turned off the road, and he made a fast U-turn and headed back past the tennis court. He knew if his hunch was wrong it could turn out to be a fatal error, as he could have lost Xan for good, but then up ahead to the right, on top of the hill, near several decaying bungalows, Adam spotted Xan’s car.
Suddenly Adam was confident again. Following Xan rather than paying the ransom or calling the cops had been the right move after all. Everything was going the way he’d planned it last night and early this morning. He was going to save Marissa and drive her back to the city. Tonight she’d be home, safe in bed where she belonged.
Adam parked off to the side of the road at the bottom of the hill. He checked to make sure his Glock was loaded and he had more ammo, three more clips in his jacket pocket, and then he got out of the car, closing the door as softly as possible.
He didn’t want to go up the hill in plain sight along the dirt road, so he walked through the shrubbery alongside the road, crouching to stay low. He knew time was a huge factor now. He hadn’t shown up at the meeting spot, and, for all he knew, Xan was going to do exactly what he’d said he was going to do and kill Marissa. Adam had a vision of Xan with a knife, like the one he’d used to kill Dana, and he started moving fast, jogging and then running up the hill while still staying low, trying to remain out of view.
He reached the edge of the shrubbery; his arms were cut up by thorns, but he barely noticed. He took a quick look around and didn’t see Xan by his car or anywhere else, so with his right hand in his jacket pocket gripping the handle of the Glock, he jogged through the high grass and weeds toward the bungalow near where the car was parked. He went up to the side of the bungalow and waited a moment. He didn’t hear anything—not a bad sign, as anything was better than hearing Marissa’s screaming—but he hoped that he was in the right place, that Johnny and Marissa weren’t in some other bungalow or someplace else. There was also a possibility that Marissa wasn’t even here, that Johnny had come to this decrepit bungalow colony for some other reason. This would be awful, because if Johnny returned to his car alone now and drove away, Adam wouldn’t be able to make it down the hill to his own car in time to follow him.
Adam took a few steps toward the back of the bungalow and then peered through a dirty, cobwebbed window. He looked in at an old kitchen but didn’t see anyone. Then he heard a noise—it sounded like a floorboard creaking inside the bungalow—and he backed away.
He knew someone was inside, and he didn’t want to waste another second. He went back to the front, holding the gun out ahead of him. He hadn’t fired the Glock, or any gun, since the night he’d killed Carlos Sanchez. He saw a flash of the scene—the sound of the shots in the dark, the way the recoil had felt—but he shook it off quickly.
The front door was ajar. He opened it farther, just wide enough to get into the bungalow. He was making noise, the floorboards were creaking, but it didn’t matter anymore. His index finger was on the trigger, ready to fire.
“We’re back here, Doc.”
It was Xan’s voice. At least he was here, in the bungalow—and he’d said “we’re,” which seemed to be a good sign, too. But he sounded very casual, almost like he’d been expecting Adam. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Marissa, are you there?” Adam said. “Marissa?”
After a short pause, he heard Marissa say softly, “Yes, Daddy.” Her voice was very weak. She sounded terrified.
“Don’t worry, honey. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”
He approached the back room slowly, knowing this was probably some kind of trap. He knew Xan wouldn’t have told him where they were if he didn’t have something planned. Whatever it was, Adam was ready for it. There was no way he was going to let this son of a bitch hurt his little girl.
Suddenly Xan appeared ahead of him. Adam nearly fired, but just as his finger was about to squeeze the trigger, he realized that Xan wasn’t alone. He was holding Marissa in front of him, as a shield, pressing a gun up to her head.
“Hey, take it easy there, Doc,” Xan said. “Now’s not the time to get triggerhappy, if you know what I mean.”
Marissa looked absolutely terrified. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips were trembling, and her nose was bloodied.
“Let her go,” Adam said.
“There you go again,” Xan said, “telling me what to do. When’re you gonna learn that that’s not the way this thing works? I’m the one who tells you what to do.”
Adam was aiming his gun at Xan’s head, or at least he was trying to. It was hard to keep his shooting hand steady.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said to Marissa. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” “Where’s my money?” Xan asked.
“Let her go first, then I’ll give it to you.”
Xan pressed the barrel of his gun harder into Marissa’s cheek. Marsissa started to scream, then seemed to stop herself.
Xan said to Adam, “Don’t make me ask you again.”
“It’s in my motel,” Adam said, “down the road. If you let her go we can go together, you and me, take your car if you want. Just let her go. That’s all I care about.”
“You must think I’m a real idiot, don’t you?” Xan said. “I’m some kind of
moron, right? Just because you got those letters in front of your name, that makes you, what? Better than me?”
“Just give him the money!” Marissa yelled. The she said in a quieter, shakier voice, “Please, Dad . . . just give him the money. Please . . . please just give it to him.”
“He can’t give it to me,” Xan said. “You know why? Because he didn’t bring it, that’s why. Why don’t you tell her the truth, Doc? You didn’t bring any money, did you?”
Trying to aim his gun between Xan’s eyes, Adam said, “I told you, the money’s in my room.”
“You’re a lying bastard,” Xan said. “You didn’t bring any money because you wanted to handle it your way, didn’t you? You thought you could get off cheap, save your spoiled brat daughter, be the big hero. Now give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill her right now. Give me one reason.”
“Give him the money, Dad,” Marissa said, crying. “Just give it to him . . .
Please, just give it to him . . . Please . . . Please . . .”
Part of Xan’s head was now behind Marissa’s head. Adam wasn’t sure he had a clear shot anymore.
“The police know I’m here,” Adam said because he was desperate and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Now that I seriously doubt,” Xan said. “If you called the cops they would’ve been here a long time ago, and they sure as hell wouldn’t’ve had you follow me in a bright red rental car. You really thought I wouldn’t notice you, huh? You should’ve just had a big sign on top of it—It’s me. Here I am.”
Marissa was sobbing.
“The cops,” Xan continued, smiling. “Come on, I knew you’d never call the cops. That isn’t your style, is it, Doc? Nah, you’re a handle-it-yourself type of dude, right? Who needs cops? Get your gun, get your name in the paper—Dr. Bloom saves the day. Except it doesn’t always work out the way you want it to, does it? Yeah, it’s just like that night in your house all over again, when you killed my brother, Carlos. He wasn’t really my brother, but he was part of my family. You know what it feels like to lose part of your family, Doc? Well, maybe you do.” Adam wanted to shoot him, squeeze off a whole round like when he killed Sanchez, but he remained calm, as calm as he possibly could, and said, “You can’t get away. The cops’ll be here any second. Just let her go—this is between you and me. It has nothing to do with her.”
“I’ve listened to enough of your bullshit,” Xan said. “Drop your gun or I shoot the little bitch in the head.”
Xan had shifted a little. Adam had a clear shot at his right eye. “Let her go,” Adam said.
“Listen to you, still thinking you can tell me what to do,” Xan said. “It doesn’t matter that your daughter’s about to die. You just have to be right, don’t you?”
“Drop your gun, Dad!” Marissa shouted. “Just fucking drop it!”
Adam knew he couldn’t drop his gun. If he did, Xan would shoot him, then shoot Marissa. He was sure of it.
“If you shoot her, I’m gonna shoot you,” Adam said.
“So you really think I give a shit about that?” Xan said. “What kind of shrink are you anyway? You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
Adam thought about all those times in the range when he’d hit the bull’s-eye, and the targets were much farther away than Johnny was right now. All he had to do was hit that bull’s-eye one time . . .
“You think I’m messing with you?” Xan said. “As you know, I had no problem killing your wife, who really wanted me, by the way. Man, she was so hot for me. I really wish I had a chance to—”
Adam fired. During the millisecond between when his finger pressed the trigger and when the bullet left the gun, he was aware of his shooting hand shifting slightly downward and to the right. But it was too late to do anything about it, and he had to watch helplessly as the bullet entered Marissa’s chest.
The rest seemed to happen in super slow motion—Marissa falling, all of that blood, his realization that he’d shot his daughter. Maybe Adam had started to scream, No, or maybe he was just thinking about screaming it, when he heard the second shot.
Marissa had been thinking one thing all along: Stay alive. On the way to wherever she was now, most of the time she didn’t know whether she was asleep or awake—everything was blurred, part of the same nightmare. A few times the confusion lifted and she realized what was going on, that for some reason, Xan, her Xan, had drugged her and was taking her someplace. What the fuck? She also knew that he’d probably killed her mother, but this concept was impossible for her to comprehend. She had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, how any of this could possibly be happening, but she knew she had to do whatever she had to do to stay alive.
In the car, she tried to beg him to let her go, but he put that rag over her face, and when she woke up again, tied to a bed, she screamed and he hit her and drugged her again. She had to go to the bathroom so badly, she could barely breathe, her nose was probably broken, and he still wouldn’t let her go. She knew it was pointless to try to fight it anymore. He was too strong and she was too weak—there was no way she could possibly win. Her only option was to stay alive, to wait. Either he would kill her or someone would come to save her, but nothing she did would change the situation.
She woke up alone, dazed, tied to the bed, her nose hurting like hell, lying in her own feces, the ropes cutting into her arms, and she was afraid that he’d left for good—that he was going to let her die like this. Her throat was already dry as hell from all the screaming and crying she’d done, but she yelled for help until she could barely make any sound.
Then, finally, Xan returned. Weirdly, she was actually glad to see him. At least he hadn’t abandoned her.
Then she saw he had a gun, and she screamed, or tried to scream, “Don’t shoot me.”
“I’m not gonna shoot you, baby. Relax.”
He was such a total maniac, the way he sounded so calm, so detached. How could this be the same guy who she’d thought was so great, who—Jesus Christ— she’d said “I love you” to?
He started untying her, saying, “You wanna live, just do what I say, you think you can do that? I don’t think that’s so hard, just to keep your pretty little mouth shut.” Then he winced and said, “Man, you stink. If there was a shower here I’d let you clean yourself off. I’m really sorry. I know how uncomfortable this must be for you.”
His face was near hers as he untied the rope over her chest, and she wanted to bite into his cheek, hear him scream. But she restrained herself, thinking, Stay alive. Just stay alive.
As he finished untying her, she asked, “Where are we going?” and he said, “Nowhere.”
His tone was ominous, threatening. He lifted her out of bed and held the gun to her head. Was he going to shoot her now? Why untie her just to shoot her?
Then she heard a noise, a door opening. “We’re back here, Doc,” he said.
Was it really her father? Then she saw him, aiming the gun. She figured he must’ve called the police. The whole building was probably surrounded. In a few minutes, even seconds, this nightmare would be over.
But why did Xan still seem so cocky? And why would the cops have sent her father in here alone? With a gun?
It started to hit her that her father had done it again. There were no cops. Xan told her father to drop the gun or he’d kill her. She knew he meant it,
and she screamed at her father as loud as she could to drop his gun.
Of course he didn’t listen. Her father never listened.
Then he shot her. It happened so fast. One second she was standing, the next she was on the floor, bleeding, pain ripping through her chest.
Then she heard another shot and with blurry vision saw her father, part of his head missing, lying on the floor.
Was this really happening?
The pain was getting worse and she was getting weaker, but she was thinking, Stay alive. Just stay alive.
She knew if she moved or screamed or said anything, Xan would kill her. She s
aw him walking away, past her father. He probably thought she was dead. With the pain she was in, it took all her strength to stay still, to not even moan. She was shivering, and the blood, her blood, was spreading closer toward where her face was pressed against the floor.
Stay alive. Just stay alive.
She heard the front door open, then close. She spotted her father’s gun a few feet away from her, still partially in his hand.
Marissa crawled through her blood, through her father’s blood, toward the gun. Every moment and every breath was total agony.
She heard noise from outside, footsteps on the porch, and then the door opened. She grabbed the gun. There was blood on the handle, and it was hard to get a grip. She dropped it once, as she heard footsteps getting closer, and then she grabbed it again.
She looked up and saw Johnny looking down at her. He was aiming his gun at her face.
“Going somewhere?”
Johnny took another couple of steps toward her, stopping at the edge of the blood puddle.
“Oh, man, look at you,” he said, smiling. “You look so beautiful right now.
I really hate to do this.”
This was going to be perfect—finishing off the family. It would be just like he’d planned. Well, almost.
“I’m gonna paint a picture of you tonight,” he said, “the way you look right now. I want to remember you like this forever.”
He was still smiling when she squeezed the trigger and a bullet struck him in his right shoulder. What the hell? His gun fell, and Marissa kept shooting. Then she hit him in the upper thigh, close to his crotch. As he started to keel over, she held the gun steady with both hands and shot him in the middle of his chest. He fell to his knees facing her, blood dripping and then gushing from his still smiling mouth.