JASON STARR - Panic Attack

Adam’s cell started ringing, and he nearly jumped. He checked the display and said to his mother, “Clements.” Then into the phone he said, “Hello?”

“How many times did you call me?” Clements asked.

“A few,” Adam said. “Did you find out-”

“There’s no reason for you to call me more than once,” he said. “You just have to leave one message and I’ll get back to you. Leaving more than one message just wastes my time and yours.”

Adam resented the lecture. He asked, “So did you find out where Xan lives or not?”

“He doesn’t seem to be listed anywhere in Brooklyn,” Clements said. “We checked out the Alexander Evonov from Brighton Beach, but he died three weeks ago. What about you? Did you reach your daughter?”

“I’ve been trying. I’m pretty sure her phone’s off.”

“Why’s it off?”

Adam didn’t feel like explaining the whole thing, so he said, “I don’t know, maybe it ran out of charge or something.”

Adam’s mother was saying, “Give him her number. Give him her number.”

“Do you want her number?” Adam asked Clements.

“Yeah, okay,” Clements said. Adam gave it to him, and then Clements added, “But you keep trying her, too, and when you get through, call me back. But don’t call me just to leave messages, because that only wastes time on my end, okay?”

During the next few hours, Adam tried to watch TV with his mother, but every five minutes or so he called Marissa. He kept getting her voice mail, and his mother’s nervous agitation was driving him crazy. He had to get away from her, so he went upstairs to the PC in his office and did more searches, trying to find Xan’s address or any information about him, but he couldn’t find anything. Then his phone started vibrating, and he saw that he’d received a text message from marissa cell.

“Thank God,” Adam said.

Then he read the message: if you wannna see the little bitch again call me in one minute clocks ticking For several seconds he was confused, unable to compute the words’ meaning. Then it set in that Marissa hadn’t sent the message, that the message was about Marissa. He read it a few more times but couldn’t focus. Finally he realized that someone was threatening to kill his daughter, but Adam, still scattered, didn’t know how he was supposed to call back when there was no number to call. Was he supposed to call back on Marissa’s phone? Adam frantically clicked send, knowing the minute was probably already up.

“Barely made it,” Xan said.

Jesus Christ, they’d been right about him.

“Where the hell’s my daughter?” Adam nearly shouted.

“Hey, take it easy, Doc. You don’t want me to do something I’d regret, do you?”

“I want to talk to her.”

“I think we need to talk about what I want.”

“Put her on the phone, damn it.”

“Are the cops there?”

“I said put her on the phone.”

“Hey, you wanna see your little bitch alive again? Do you? Huh? Do you?” Adam was suddenly aware of how absolutely terrified he was. He was shivering.

“Please don’t hurt her,” he said. “Please, please don’t hurt her.” “That’s all up to you right now, Doc. If you do what I tell you to do and you stop interrupting me, you’ll see her again. If not…”

“You goddamn son of a bitch,” Adam said.

He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that Xan had done this to him, to them.

“See?” Xan said. “That’s what I’m talking about right there.”

“I’m listening, okay?” Adam said. “I’m fucking listening.”

“That’s good, but if the cops are listening in, or you’re recording this conversation, or you even tell the cops you spoke to me, then you’ll never see your daughter again. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is. If I see one cop at the meeting spot they’ll never find your daughter’s body. I guarantee that.”

“Meeting spot? What meeting spot?”

“Hey, didn’t I say I’m gonna be asking the questions?”

Adam heard his mother’s footsteps in the hallway.

“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he said. He went to the doorway, leaned his head into the hall, and whispered to his mother, “It’s just a friend of mine from college.”

“What friend?”

He could tell his mother didn’t believe him.

“I’ll be right off,” he said and shut the door.

“Was that the old biddy?” Xan asked.

Adam wanted to scream at Xan, but he said as calmly as he possibly could, nearly whispering in case his mother was trying to listen in, “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

“Yeah, you will do whatever I tell you to do because this is my thing, I’m calling the shots here. You’re not used to that, are you, Doc? You’re used to being the big shot, the man in charge. I bet you don’t let your patients talk a lot. I bet you like to do all the talking. You know, I saw a shrink once. Yeah, when I was in juvie the first time, they thought I was ‘troubled’ so they had me talk to this old man shrink- well, he seemed old at the time, but he was probably about your age. Man, I hated that guy, acting like he was so above me, acting like just because he was in the chair and I was on the couch he had all the power, and I could tell he was getting off on it. But now the tables are turned, now I’m in the chair and you’re on the couch. How does it feel to be on the couch, Dr. Bloom?”

“It doesn’t feel good,” Adam said, trying to placate Johnny, the way he would a patient. He remembered something Carol had once told him: If the patient wants to feel powerful, let him feel powerful.

“You’re damn right it doesn’t feel good. It feels like shit, and that’s how I want you to feel, like the piece of shit you are.”

“I understand,” Adam said.

“You understand? What do you mean, you understand? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I understand how you feel.”

“You don’t understand how I feel. Nobody understands how I feel.”

Xan was raising his voice. He sounded unstable, insane. Adam couldn’t believe that this was the same guy who’d been over to the house for dinner, whom he’d accepted and liked.

“I want to give you what you want,” Adam said. “Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

“Yeah? And what if I told you I want to see your daughter’s head on a plate? Could I have that?”

Adam was squeezing the phone so hard he heard it starting to break.

“Don’t hurt my daughter,” he said as calmly as he could, but he knew it probably sounded like a threat.

“There you go, talking down to me again, telling me what to do. Is that any way to talk to a man who has a gun to your daughter’s head?”

“How do you want me to talk to you?” Adam asked, shaking again, starting to cry.

“I want you to shut your mouth and listen to me when I tell you what to do. You think you can do that?”

Adam knew Xan didn’t want him to answer, so he didn’t.

“Good,” Xan said. “You’re learning. Twelve noon, tomorrow, I want one million dollars in cash, in unmarked fifties and hundreds. You’re gonna bring it to the parking lot of the ShopRite on Miron Lane in Kingston, New York. If the bills are marked or if I see a cop, a single cop, or a detective, or anyone I don’t like, I’m not gonna show up and the little bitch dies.”

“I don’t have a million dollars,” Adam said.

“Then get it.”

“How’m I supposed to do that by noon tomorrow?”

“Your problem, not mine.”

“I need more time.”

“That’s all the time you’re getting.”

“Please just-”

“Shut the fuck up. You know, you’re lucky I’m even giving you the chance to see your daughter again. You killed Carlos, he was part of my family. For that I should kill your wife and the little brat.”