Hunt evil, p.9
Hunt Evil, page 9
21
It turned out that Mom was not in the location from where she had emailed Larry the last time, which was no surprise to anyone. She had also not contacted me or anyone else in the penthouse to let us know where Neera was, also no surprise, at least not to me.
I was back home with Rachel, who was beside herself with worry for which I couldn’t fault her; I, too, was ready to rip my hair out I was so worried what Mom was doing with Neera right now. I wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that I needed liquor to calm my frazzled nerves, and so did Rachel because she was on her second neat bourbon, while I was on my third. I had called Larry to let him know what happened to his computer, and also to give him a recap of the latest. He was glad to hear that Mom had approved of his suggestions in regard to the rewrites, but stunned to hear that she had abducted and was using her own daughter as leverage to get the movie done according to her liking.
“Well, that’s my mother for you,” I said wearily into the phone. “Needless to say, she doesn’t have any moral compass. All she cares about is herself and she will literally do anything to make that happen.”
“No shit,” Larry breathed angrily into my ear. “What a fucking monster… She’d better not touch any of my kids. I feel so sorry for you having her as your mother.” He didn’t sound sorry, more sarcastic if anything.
“That makes two of us,” I said bitterly. “But it is what it is and there’s nothing I can do about it but try to fix this mess.”
“Yes, you will have to fix it. We’ll have to go ahead and do the movie now or your sister will die. I don’t want to have her life on my conscience, and I certainly don’t want your psycho bitch mother to move on to my children next. You’ll have to be a silent executive producer, meaning you’ll put up the cash needed to make the movie happen.”
“Um, okay. That’s gonna be very expensive, right?”
“You’ll need to cough up at least twenty million, more if we go with A-list stars. But it’s not all bad. See, we do have a unique opportunity to market this movie given all these developments. By the time the movie is made—with the ending I originally wanted, not finding peace with revenge—I’m sure the FBI will have caught your mom and put her back where she belongs. Well, hopefully they’ll kill her before even getting that far. I can see that happening. If she’s not caught by then, I’ll suppose we’ll have to use her terrible ending.” He sighed and I envisioned him rolling his eyes. “But that’s okay. The media will go crazy when they hear about all the drama surrounding the making of Born Evil, the final version, and give us millions of dollars’ worth of free advertising. Even if the movie isn’t very good, it’ll still end up making us lots of money. People will still go see it just to see what the hell it’s all about. If we’re real lucky, it might end up making us a fortune.”
Yeah, that sounded more like the Larry Levy I had met—greedy and self-centered. I doubted his kids’ safety was his first concern. He just like to pretend they were. For now, though, as it served my purposes, I wasn’t going to tell him what I really thought of him. Not before I had Neera back home with us, unhurt. It was better to just pretend I would do what he wanted.
“That’s sounds like a good idea,” I said neutrally. “As soon as I hear from Mom again, I’ll let you know what she says. It might take a while since she needs to get going on those rewrites. I already emailed her back, telling her that I couldn’t wait to read them, and that I was sure they would be great. We might not hear from her for a while. But as soon as we do, I’ll let you know.”
We ended the call and I went over to the bar to fill up my glass with more bourbon. After a chat with this slimebag, I felt I deserved more alcohol. Rachel had gone to bed, so I was alone in the sitting room now.
Chugging the drink, I put the glass down and sank down on the nearest sofa, leaning my head in my cupped hands. How had it come to this? How did Mom manage to outwit me yet again? I had obviously overestimated my abilities. If Ariel found out what I had done, gone ahead with the operation without the expertise and assistance of professionals, he would be so mad that he’d no doubt remove me from his will. The thought of what I had gone through, done to ensure that Neera ended up a good, functional human being and got to live as normal a life as possible, and how I had failed made my chest hurt, my stomach churn violently, and my eyes fill with tears.
I had clearly also overestimated my abilities to be the best person to raise Neera. In the end, Ariel would have been better for her. There was no other conclusion to draw from the last few days. Oh God… Ariel hadn’t been gone from our lives even a month before I put the girl’s life in danger. I was such a fool. If only I had done this while Ariel was still alive, Neera would still be with us.
Why did I have to take it to such extremes?
Oh God… The guilt flowing through my veins was unbearable now. I needed more to drink, to drown it, to feel better. It was all my fault that Ariel was dead, and no amount of alcohol that I imbibed would ever let me forget that. Even so, I nearly ran over to the bar and grabbed the bottle, filling up another glass with bourbon that I chugged. The liquor burned its way down my insides, landing heavily in my empty stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t deserve any food. I was a bad, bad person. Why, oh why did I do it? I was a monster, just like Mom.
Images of the day when Ariel had died floated through my mind and I felt too weak to make them go away. I saw him trembling on the floor, begging me for help. It was only right that I faced the truth anyway. Stopped lying to myself. Stopped pretending that I was better than my parents. I was no different than them. I was a cold-blooded killer who should suffer the consequences.
I was the one who had encouraged Neera to push Ariel each time they played so that he risked having a heart attack. I told her his heart was fine, that her father just liked to pretend it was bad because he was a lazy man. She shouldn’t let him off the hook whenever he complained it bothered him, but push him to go on, keep playing physical games with her. Each time I did this, I regretted it afterward—it was as though I briefly turned into someone else, an evil person—even so, I did it on other occasions.
He was wide awake, moving and clasping his chest when I’d entered the room after Neera came to get me. Chances were that I would have saved him had I only called 9-1-1 sooner, gotten him help sooner. Instead, I had left the room and gone to see where James was. He was on a call with his mother in Ireland, I discovered, and their conversations usually lasted for at least twenty minutes. It sounded like he had just begun it, which meant that he would be unavailable for the next several minutes. I realized it was an opportunity too good to oversee. No one else but us was in the house at the moment. This was my chance to ensure that Neera would be raised properly, that she would not turn into a monster like Mom. I alone could guide her in the right direction. If it was up to the old Jew, he would spoil her rotten, never admonish her. She would at the very least turn into a self-centered, entitled young woman. The behavior was already in her blood and needed to be discouraged. Ariel would do the opposite.
So I had taken my time going back to Neera’s room, moving as slowly as I could, and when I returned Ariel had gone ghastly pale and sweat coated his face.
“Shane, please get me an ambulance,” he begged me, gazing at me with a pleading, pitiful expression. “I’m dying. This is a bad one. I need help. Fast.”
“I already called 9-1-1,” I lied and walked over to Ariel and Neera, who had planted herself next to her father and was watching him silently, looking confused and scared. “They’ll be here any second. Don’t worry, Ariel. You’re gonna be fine. I’m not gonna let you leave that easily.”
I sank down next to the ailing man and stroked his black hair that had gotten wet from all the cold sweat coming out of his pores, telling myself silently that this was for the best. Ariel was old and had lived a good life. In order to make room for his daughter, ensure she had a fighting chance for a good life of her own, he had to go.
“Please, give me some nitroglycerin,” he murmured, attempting to reach into the pocket of his jacket. “It should be here. I always put it in one of my pockets.”
I stuck my hand into the pocket he was referring to and immediately felt the tiny metal container he referred to. He had shown it to me on a few occasions. Slipping it into my hand, I pretended to search for it and then removed my hand. Ariel wasn’t looking in the direction of his pockets, so I could easily drop it behind him and continue pretending to search for the container in his other pocket.
“It’s not there,” I told Ariel. “You must have put it in your other pocket.”
I stuck my hand into the other pocket and pretended to rummage around it. Staring at Ariel, I said, “It’s not here either. Are you sure you didn’t forget to put it in your jacket this morning? Could it be in your nightstand still?”
Ariel had shown me that he kept the small container beside him every night in case he felt a heart attack coming on.
He licked his dry lips and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Maybe. I can’t remember. I was sure I put it in this pocket this morning”—he reached for the first pocket—"but maybe I didn’t.” He laughed. “I’m an old man, I forget these things sometimes.”
“I’m heading over there to find it,” I said and leaned over his body, as if I needed to support myself with one hand to get back into a standing position. As I got up, I grabbed the small box and hid it in my palm. “Hang on. I’ll be back in just a few seconds. Maybe the ambulance will be here by then. I called them like five minutes ago now.”
“Okay,” Ariel said, watching me with hope in his eyes. “Please go to my bedroom and check. They must be there.”
I hurried out of the room and walked toward his bedroom, slowing my pace. Instead of walking over to the bedroom, however, I went back to the room where James was talking to his mother. The fifty-something butler was still on the phone, sounding like he was deep in conversation. I still had time.
Feeling nauseous with guilt, I took my time outside Neera’s bedroom, walking back and forth as I waited for Ariel’s heart to fail. When a couple of minutes had passed, I headed back for Ariel. As I entered the room, about to tell him that I couldn’t find the box, I noticed that he had passed out.
Neera turned to look at me as I walked over to them.
“I killed Daddy,” she said with that confused look on her face. “I killed him. When will he wake up?”
“I don’t know, Neera,” I told her and took a closer look at the old man. It didn’t look like he was breathing any longer. If he didn’t get help soon, it was only a matter of minutes before he died. Now was the time for me to really call 9-1-1, so I left the room and called for help finally. Then I hurried over to the room where James was chatting with his mother and exclaimed:
“James, please come help me with Ariel. He’s had a heart attack and it’s looking bad!”
22
A stinging sensation on my cheek made me open my eyes. It was soon followed by another painful smack. I blinked against the light and saw that Rachel was leaning over me.
“What are you doing down there sleeping?” she demanded to know. She sniffed me and made a face. “Man, you reek of alcohol. How much have you had?”
Before I could answer, her gaze had traveled down my body and her black eyes widened.
“You drank the whole bottle?” she asked, sounding disgusted and incredulous at the same time. “No wonder you stink!”
My head spinning and my stomach churning, I placed my hands behind me and tried to push myself up into a sitting position. In the process, I felt something in my right hand, something big and smooth and cold, in the shape of a… bottle.
I turned to glance at my hand and saw what Rachel must be referring to. Had I emptied the entire bottle of bourbon? And drunk directly from the bottle? It sure seemed that way.
Tossing the bottle aside, I forced myself to sit up, waves of nausea rolling through me. I had to control myself not to throw up in the middle of the sitting room.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rachel wanted to know, glaring at me. “Why would you drink that entire bottle? Don’t you think it would be smarter if you stayed somewhat sober? What if your crazy mom calls and wants to talk? You can’t be passed out drunk then!”
I wanted to tell her that she was right, I was a terrible person who did all the wrong moves, made insane snap decisions that killed innocent people and put others in extreme jeopardy. But I didn’t want to tell her, confess to her that I might have been able to save Ariel had I only called for help soon enough, not to mention given him his meds. But I had decided that he needed to be sacrificed in order to save his daughter. Now, in hindsight, I couldn’t believe I had done something so callous, practically killed the old man who had been nothing but kind to me. I must have been temporarily insane to do something crazy like that. But if I told Rachel, everyone would know and then I couldn’t be there for Neera. I would be back in jail where I belonged. And now Mom had Neera… Oh God.
I ran a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I guess I just lost it…”
“Well, don’t do it again,” Rachel snapped and picked up the empty bottle from the floor. “Thank God I felt the need to go check on you before falling asleep.”
“I won’t,” I promised sheepishly and got to my feet, almost falling back down on the floor once I was up. I supported myself on an edge of the nearby fireplace.
“I need to drink some water,” I muttered and stumbled toward the kitchen. I didn’t get far because James was suddenly before me, blocking my way. Resolutely, he led me to one of the sofas where he pushed me down.
“I’ll get you some water,” he stated tensely. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” I muttered under my breath. “Thanks…”
The night snailed by without more news of Neera or Mom’s whereabouts. At some point, we all had to go to bed to get some sleep and pick it up the following day, so we called it a night.
I had more nightmares that night, all of them starring me as a cold-blooded killer, chasing Ariel with a butcher knife, telling him he must die for his daughter, he was too stupid to raise her. Only I could. Only I had the strength to shape a willful child like Neera, give her a life worthy of living at the same time as I ensured she didn’t hurt others. As I ran after the old man, who ran fast like the wind to avoid me, Neera suddenly appeared, tripping me.
“You’re bad, Shane,” she shrieked, dancing over me where I lay on the dirty street. “You want to kill Daddy. I don’t want you to kill Daddy. I love Daddy. I want Daddy to raise me. Why are you so mean? Why? I’m just a little girl.”
I tried to get up, push her away, but before I could Mom appeared a few yards behind Neera, laughing maniacally. There was a big knife in Mom’s hands.
“Run, Neera!” I yelled frantically. “Run or Mom is gonna kill you!”
“You are a liar, Shay,” Neera said and shook her head importantly. “It’s bad to lie. Why do you lie? Mom would never kill me.”
“Yes, she will,” I yelled at her, trying to grab a hold of her and toss her aside before Mom could reach her. But she was too far away, Mom moved too fast. In just a few beats, she was right behind the little girl, grabbed her by the hair and slit her little throat. I howled with terror and grief as I saw all the blood pouring out of Neera, blinding me, choking me, Mom laughing maniacally all the while.
I woke up at the same moment in the dream, always failing to save Neera, only to fall asleep again and experience a similar version of it.
23
Three days passed without us hearing anything else from Mom, and Rachel and I were beside ourselves with worry. What was Mom doing to Neera? Was the girl okay? Was she being treated well? There was no way of knowing this, and it drove us bonkers, surely in exactly the fashion Mom had anticipated when she had first decided to snatch her daughter. It was a prime example of exquisitely targeted mental torture, the kind she excelled in.
We were still in the dark in regard to how Mom had managed to not only get into our building, but then also how she had gotten Neera out of it without anyone seeing her. The FBI had thoroughly cross-examined the doormen as well as the security guards, and none of them had seen Mom either enter or leave, never mind the little girl.
The authorities believed that she must have had help abducting Neera, and that she must have used another way to get into the apartment but the main entrance. At the moment, the building roof seemed to be our best bet. The Friedmans were the only ones who had access to the roof, and no one in the building had to help us get out there. Mom could have used a helicopter to lower herself onto the roof, and then snuck into the apartment via one of the three access points, then easily have tiptoed over to Neera’s room and seized the kid. In order to keep Neera quiet, she may have drugged the girl. I, for one, couldn’t imagine that Neera would stay quiet when she saw her mom enter the room, and then when her mom made her leave her warm bed and wanted her to come with her up to the cold, dark roof. But I could be wrong, of course. Maybe Neera had been so happy to see her mom again that she had willingly come with her. It wasn’t like Neera knew how evil the woman was, coming only to use and destroy her.
The main issue with this theory was that no one could figure out who would help Mom. So far, the FBI had not been able to find any leads to people or organizations who had helped her or been in contact with her throughout her long career murdering people. It really did appear like Mom and Dad had always acted alone. If anyone should be able to come up with potential leads, I would be the most likely person having spent the most time with them, but I couldn’t think of anyone or anything. Anyone who owned or at least had access to a helicopter would have a lot of money. In the end, we thought the most plausible theory was that Mom had somehow rented or maybe even bought a helicopter on the black market. Currently, the FBI were checking every helicopter rental facility in the tri-state area to see if she had used their services, or at least if someone else had instructed the pilot to fly to our apartment building. We hoped to find out that Mom, a disguised version of her, had been lowered down to the roof from the hovering helicopter to get into the penthouse. Apparently, it was very difficult to obtain a permit to land on Manhattan rooftops, a rule that had become very strict since 9/11.
