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.”

Adam had been so absorbed with Xan’s threatening Marissa that it hadn’t registered that he was talking to the man who’d killed his wife. Why the hell had he done it? Just for revenge? For fun? And why did he start dating Marissa? How did he meet her? None of it made any sense.

“I’m begging you,” Adam said. “Give me more time, another day, just one more… Hello, are you there?… Are you there?”

The call had disconnected. He tried to call back and listened to the voice mail: “Hey, this is Marissa’s cell. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a-”

He pressed end. He sat at his desk, holding the phone, shaking worse than before. He had no idea what to do next. He’d never felt so terrified and alone.

“Adam?”

His mother entered the room, and he immediately swiveled away so she couldn’t see his face.

“Please leave me alone, Ma.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

“I told you, it was just an old friend.”

“Why’re you-”

“I’m just upset about Dana, okay? Please just give me a little while, okay?”

His mother stood there for several seconds, then said suspiciously, “Okay,” and left the room.

Adam knew that if he told his mother what was going on she’d insist that he call the police, and he wasn’t sure that was the right thing to do. Xan was obviously psychotic and probably extremely paranoid, and Adam believed that he meant what he said- if he saw a cop, or even if he believed the police would get involved, he’d kill Marissa without hesitation. He’d already killed Dana, so what would stop him from killing somebody else?

But Adam wanted to make sure he was making the right decision. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d acted impulsively. Although it was still difficult to fully concentrate, he imagined calling the police. He’d tell Clements exactly what Xan had said, but what if Clements misjudged Xan and showed up in Kingston with a whole SWAT team? Then what if Xan killed Marissa like he said he would? How would Adam live with himself?