JASON STARR - Panic Attack

During the next hour or so he watched the other newscasts, including the ones he’d TiVo’d. They all covered the story similarly, with only minor variations. The Channel 4 news didn’t include any comment from Detective Clements, and unfortunately none of the segments showed any of Adam’s great speech. Channel 5 and Channel 11 didn’t include any statement from Adam. On the Channel 7 and Channel 2 news, both reporters paraphrased his quote about feeling justified, but they seemed to take it out of context. Adam didn’t see why all the reporters seemed to love that quote so much, why they’d all chosen to include it in one way or another, while he could think of several other comments he’d made that had sounded equally good. Also, he was surprised that none of the stations had portrayed him incredibly heroically. He’d thought he would be, given the change in the reporters’ attitudes this afternoon and the new interview requests. Then again, the shooting of Gabriela was relatively fresh news, so he might not get the full hero treatment until the morning papers. Certainly after the interviews with Good Day New York and New York Magazine ran people would have a more complete picture of what had really happened last night.

As he replayed the Channel 9 newscast for the second and third times, Adam wondered if any old friends and girlfriends were watching the news to – night. At least a few people in his past must have seen him, and they’d probably said to themselves or to the person next to them, “Adam Bloom? Wait, I know that guy.” He especially hoped Abby Fine had been watching. He’d dated Abby during his freshman year at Albany until he found out that she was cheating on him with his roommate, Jon. He’d read in an alumni newsletter that Abby lived with her family in Manhattan, so there was at least a chance she’d seen him on TV tonight. Adam felt like he looked good for his age and was probably better- looking now than he’d been in his early twenties when Abby had last seen him. He hoped she was watching tonight with her husband- hopefully he was dull and prematurely aging- and felt like she’d missed out.

As Adam shut down the house for the night, making sure all the doors were locked and checking and double- checking to make sure the alarm system was armed, he imagined what tomorrow would be like. After all the media exposure today and the likely stories in tomorrow’s papers, he would have to be recognized on the streets. Just for the hell of it, he might walk to work from the Fox studios to see what kind of reactions he got.

He had to admit that Dana had been right- he was enjoying this attention. He often told his attention- seeking patients that wanting attention was childish. He’d tell them, “Children want attention, adults want respect.” In his own case, although he was aware that he was acting childishly, he also knew that the media interest was fulfilling a deep- seated need in his psyche. While he had a successful practice as a psychotherapist- he made a good living and had helped dozens of people through the worst periods of their lives- one of his big issues was that he felt he hadn’t gotten enough recognition for his work. His doctoral degree from the New School hung on the wall in his office, but he’d never received any other honors or acclaim. He occasionally contributed an article to a journal but, unlike many of his colleagues, hadn’t published any books in his field. Carol, for example, had written several books, and sometimes it was hard not to feel jealous about her achievements. For the most part, Adam had become resigned to the idea that when he died he wouldn’t leave behind any legacy, but he still had a void in him, a strong need for attention that this whole situation was satisfying.

He got into bed and spooned Dana from behind for a while as she slept, then turned in the opposite direction. It was hard to fall asleep. He was so absorbed, replaying bits from the newscasts in his head and imagining what tomorrow would be like, that after about an hour he was still wide awake. He was about to get up to take an Ambien when he thought he heard a noise downstairs.

He sat up in bed and listened again but didn’t hear anything. He knew rationally that no one was there, but he figured he might as well make sure just for peace of mind.

He was on his way to the door when Dana asked, “What is it?”

He looked back and saw her sitting up in bed. The lights were off in the room, but the bedroom door was half open, and there was enough light from the light in the hallway- which Adam had left on- to see her clearly.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Everything’s fine, go back to sleep.” He didn’t want to alarm her, so he was trying to talk in an overly calm voice, like an airline pi lot trying to relax his passengers during a period of heavy turbulence.

But Dana knew him too well to be fooled, and on the verge of panic, she asked, “What’s going on?”

Trying to put it as casually as he could he said, “Nothing, I just… I think I heard something downstairs.”

“Oh my God.” Her voice was trembling, and she was covering her mouth with her cupped hand.

“Relax,” Adam said. “I’m sure it was nothing, but lemme go check just in case.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Dana said, and she reached for the phone.

“Wait, don’t call the police,” Adam said. “I’m sure it was nothing.”

“What did it sound like?”

It had sounded like footsteps, but he didn’t want to tell her this, especially when he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it.

“It was probably just the house settling or something. Just wait a second, okay?”

He went to the door and listened for several seconds but didn’t hear anything. He looked back at Dana and held up an index finger and mouthed, “Wait,” and then he walked as quietly as possible toward the staircase.

Unlike last night, when it had been almost pitch- dark, tonight he could see the staircase clearly because of the light in the hallway and a light he had left on downstairs in the foyer. He had a flashback to nearly twenty- four hours ago- firing off those shots. It was so vivid he could feel the gun in his hand, hear the shots, see Sanchez’s body falling. It felt like it was actually happening all over again. But what if it did happen all over again? Without his gun, how was he supposed to defend himself? He felt extremely vulnerable and defenseless. He didn’t care what he’d promised Dana; there was no way he was ever getting rid of the gun. If they were going to get rid of the things that protected them, why not get rid of the locks on the doors and the alarm system? Hell, why not just keep the doors wide open?

He went to the top of the stairs and bent down to get a view of the front door. It was chained, just as he’d left it.

Then he heard, “Dad.”

It was just that one word, but it might as well have been a rifle fired right next to his head. He was so startled he jerked forward, lost his balance, and almost fell down the stairs. He had to grab onto one of the wooden posts on the railing to steady himself.

“You okay, Dad?”

He managed to stand up and turn around. His pulse was pounding.

Looking at his daughter, who was by the door to her room, holding a glass of maybe diet soda, he said, “For God’s sake, Marissa.”

“Is everybody okay?” Dana had come out to the hallway.

“What’re you freaking out for?” Marissa said. “I just went downstairs to get something to eat.”

Adam took a few moments, trying to catch his breath. Then he couldn’t restrain his frustration and snapped, “Just get the hell to bed right now, okay?”

“What did I do?” Marissa asked.

“Just go,” Adam said.

She returned to her room, slamming the door. Adam shook his head in frustration and disgust and marched past Dana and got back into bed.