James Patterson: Cross

"It's all right, baby. It's all right," I whispered to my poor girl, who was being tortured by the insidious croup and who probably wanted to be in her mother's arms rather than mine. "It's all right, Jannie, it's all right," I repeated, though I knew it was a lie. I was thinking, It's not all right! Your mama is gone. You'll never see her anymore. Neither will I. Dear, sweet Maria, who had never hurt another person that I could remember and whom I loved more than my own life. She had been taken away from us so suddenly and for no reason anyone – not even God – could ever explain to me.

Oh, Maria, I spoke to her as I walked back and forth carrying our baby, how could this have happened? How can I do what I have to do from now on? How can I do it without you? I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm just crazed right now. I'll get it together. I'll get it together, I promise. Just not tonight.

I knew she wouldn't answer me, but it was strangely comforting to imagine that Maria could talk back, that maybe she could hear me at least. I kept hearing her voice, the exact sound of it and the words. You'll be fine, Alex, because you love our kids so much.

"Oh, Jannie, you poor baby. I do love you," I whispered against the top of our baby's damp, overheated head.

And then I saw Nana Mama.

MY GRANDMOTHER WAS STANDING in the doorway of the hall leading to the apartment's two small bedrooms. Arms folded, she'd been watching me all this time. Had I been talking to myself? Talking out loud? I had no idea what I'd been doing.

"I woke you, didn't I?" I said in a whisper that was hardly necessary given the crying baby.

Nana was calm, and she seemed in control of herself. She'd stayed at the apartment to help with the kids in the morning, but now she was up, and that was my fault, and little Jannie's.

"I was awake," she said. "I was up thinking that you and the kids have to come back to my house on Fifth Street. It's a big enough house, Alex. Plenty big. That's the best way for this to work from now on."

"For what to work?" I asked, a little confused by what she was saying, especially as Jannie was wailing loudly in my other ear.

Nana's back arched. "You need me to help you with these children, Alex. It's as obvious as the nose on your face. I accept that. I want to do it, and I will."

"Nana," I said. "We'll be fine. We'll do this ourselves. Just give me a little time to get my bearings."

Nana ignored me as she continued to bring me in on her thinking. "I'm here for you, Alex, and I'm here for the babies. That's the way it has to be now. I don't want any more back talk on it. So just stop, please."

She walked toward me then and put her thin arms around me, hugged me tighter than it looked like she could. "I love you more than I love my own life." Then she said, "I loved Maria. I miss her too. And I love these babies, Alex. Now more than ever."

We were both tearing up now – all three of us were crying in the close, cramped living room space of the apartment. Nana was right about one thing: This place couldn't be our home anymore. Too many memories of Maria lived here.

"Now give me Jannie. Give her over," she said, and it wasn't exactly a request. I sighed and handed over the baby to this five-foot-tall warrior of a woman who had raised me from the time I was ten and already orphaned.

Nana began to pat Jannie's back and to rub her neck, and then the baby produced a righteous belch. Nana and I both laughed in spite of ourselves.

"Not very ladylike," Nana whispered. "Now, Janelle, you stop this awful crying. You hear me? You just stop it right now."

And Jannie did as she was told by Nana Mama, and that was the beginning of our new life.

A LETTER FROM THAT PSYCHOPATH Kyle Craig arrived for me today, and it blew my mind. How could he get a letter to me? It came to the house on Fifth Street. As far as I knew, Kyle was still locked away in the max-security facility out in Florence, Colorado. Even so, getting a message from him was disturbing.

Actually, it made me sick to my stomach.

Alex,

I've been missing you a great deal lately – our regular talks and whatnot – which is what prompts this little missive. To be honest with you, what I still find distressing is how beneath me you are, both in terms of intellect and imagination. And yet you were the one to catch me and put me in here, weren't you? The circumstances and ultimate result might lead me to believe in divine intervention, but of course I'm not quite that incapacitated yet.

At any rate, I know that you are a busy boy (no slur intended), so I won't keep you. I just wanted you to know that you're constantly in my thoughts, and that I hope to see you soon. In fact, you can count on it. I plan to kill Nana and the kids first, while you watch. Can't wait to see all of you again. I'm going to make it happen – promise.

K

I read the note twice, then I shredded it and tried to do the opposite of what Kyle obviously wanted me to do. I put him out of my mind.

Sort of.

After I called the max-security facility out in Colorado and told them about the letter – and made certain that Kyle Craig was still there in his padded cell.

ANYWAY, IT WAS SATURDAY. I was off from work. No crime and punishment today. No psychopaths on the horizon, at least none that I knew about yet.

The Cross "family car" these days was an ancient Toyota Corolla that had been Maria's. Other than the obvious sentimental value, and its longevity, I didn't think much of the vehicle. Not in terms of form or function – not the off-white paint job, not the various pockmarks on the trunk and hood. The kids had given me a couple of bumper stickers for my last birthday – I May Be Slow, but I'm Still Ahead of You and Answer My Prayer, Steal This Car. They didn't like the Corolla, either.

So on that bright and sunny Saturday, I took Jannie, Damon, and little Alex out to do some car shopping.

As we rode along, Twista was on the CD player, "Overnight Celebrity," followed by Kanye West's "All Falls Down." All the while, the kids never stopped making wild and crazy suggestions about the new car we needed to buy.

Jannie was interested in a Range Rover – but that wasn't going to happen for all sorts of good reasons. Damon was trying to talk me into a motorcycle, which of course he would get to use when he turned eighteen in four years, which was so absurd it didn't even get a response from me. Not unless a grunt qualifies as communication nowadays.

Little Alex, or Ali, was open to any model of car, as long as it was red or bright blue. Intelligent boy, and that just could work as a plan, except for the "red" or "bright" part.

So we stopped at the Mercedes dealer out in Arlington, Virginia, which wasn't that far from the house. Jannie and Damon ogled a silver CLK500 Cabriolet convertible, while Ali and I tested out the spacious front seat of an R350. I was thinking family car – safety, beauty, resale value. Intellect and emotion.

"I like this one," Ali said. "It's blue. It's beautiful. Just right."

"You have excellent taste in automobiles, buddy. This is a six-seater, and what seats they are. Look up at that glass roof. Must be five feet or so."

"Beautiful," Ali repeated.

"Stretch out. Look at all this leg room, little man. This is an automobile."

A salesperson named Laurie Berger had been at our side the whole time without being pushy or unnecessarily obtrusive. I appreciated that. God bless Mercedes.

"Questions?" she asked. "Anything you want to know?"

"Not really, Laurie. You sit in this R350, you want to buy it."