Panic Attack

three

When Marissa heard the gunshots, she was convinced her father was dead. God, it had been so stupid to go out there with the gun and start shooting, what the hell had he been thinking? But that was just the way her dad was- when he made his mind up to do something he got totally possessed.

Hiding in the closet with her mother, Marissa had started to scream, but her mom put a hand over her mouth, shutting her up, and said, “Shh.”

She could tell how angry her mother was about the gun, too. It had all happened so fast, there was nothing either of them could do to stop him.

The gunfire ended very quickly- it seemed to last for only a few seconds - and the house was silent.

Her mom said, “Wait here,” and went to see what was going on. Marissa, afraid her mother would get shot, too, went to try to stop her, but then they saw her dad standing there at the top of the landing, holding the gun. He looked so terrified and panicked, and then he lost it and shouted for her and her mom to get back to the bedroom.

A few minutes later, he joined them.

“Did you kill him?” her mom asked.

“Yes,” her dad said.

“Is he dead?”

Her dad swallowed, clearing his throat, then said, “Yes, he’s dead.”

When the police arrived, her dad went down to talk to them and explain what had happened. Then they heard more sirens, and more cops arrived. Marissa and her mom stayed upstairs for a while longer, talking to some cop who grossed her out the way he kept smiling at her and checking out her boobs; then they took the back staircase downstairs. On her way past the main staircase, Marissa took a peek over her shoulder, looking down toward the bottom of the stairwell, and saw the blood and one of the guy’s legs- his jeans and a black high- top sneaker. God, this was so fucked up.

Downstairs, a cop took Marissa and her mom into the living room and asked them questions. Her mom was much more together than she was, or least she seemed more together. She was able to describe everything that had happened, but when Marissa spoke it was hard to keep her thoughts or ganized, and she thought she sounded scattered.

After what seemed like forever her dad came into the living room and said, “How’re you guys doing? You two okay?”

She could tell he was trying to put up a front. He was trying to take charge, be Mr. Strong, Mr. In Control, but he had never been as in touch with his emotions as he thought he was. Just because he was a shrink didn’t mean that he wasn’t as screwed up as the rest of the world. She could tell that inside he was terrified, a total mess. She felt sorry for him, but she also knew that he’d gotten himself into this situation. No one had made him get that gun. No one had made him pull the trigger.

“A detective just got here,” her dad said. “He’s gonna want to ask us some questions.” He sounded removed deadpan.

“Are you okay?” her mom asked her dad. She was obviously furious but trying to restrain it.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” her dad said. Then, without emotion, he added, “So they didn’t find a gun.”

Now her mom was raging, seething. Her dad seemed oblivious, but how could he be? It was so obvious.

“Are they sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” her dad said, “but it’s not my fault. I saw him reach for something. What was I supposed to do?”

She could tell he wanted reassurance, but there was no way he was going to get it from her mom.

“I have to sit down,” her mom said.

A few minutes later, when her dad left the room to talk with the detective who’d just arrived, her mom said to her, “What the fucking hell was he thinking?”

It wasn’t like her mom to curse. It was kind of scary actually.

“I know, right?” Marissa said. “When he got the gun I couldn’t believe it. I was, like, what the hell’re you doing?”

“I’m so angry right now I just want to… I just want to strangle him.”

Her mom’s face was red. Marissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom so angry. Maybe she never had.

Although Marissa was pretty angry at her dad herself, she felt like she had to take on the role of calming her mom down and said, “I guess he was just doing what he thought he had to do.”

“He thought he had to go shoot someone?” her mom said. “Come on, give me a break, okay? I was on the phone with nine- one- one, how long did it take the police to get here, five minutes? We could’ve locked ourselves in the bedroom, hidden in the closet. He didn’t have to take the gun out, and he sure as hell didn’t have to shoot somebody.”

“Maybe it was like he said, he thought he was defending himself.”

“I don’t care what he thought,” her mom said. “How many times did I tell him to get rid of that stupid gun? Just a few weeks ago I told him I didn’t feel comfortable with it in the house, and he hit me with his usual.”- she tried to imitate Adam, making her voice deeper-“It’s just for protection. I’ll never actually use it.” Then in her normal voice she said, “I knew something like this was going to happen, it was just a matter of time.”

Detective Clements came into the living room to talk with Marissa and Dana. They pretty much told him what they’d told the first cop, Dana doing most of the talking. Then Clements and Marissa’s dad went back into the dining room for another round of questioning. Sharon Wasserman and Jennifer Berg had come over. Marissa was best friends with Sharon’s daughter, Hillary, who had graduated from Northwestern last year and was now living in the city. Jennifer’s son, Josh, was going to GW Law School and in seventh grade had been Marissa’s first boyfriend.

After what seemed like at least an hour, Clements and Marissa’s dad returned, and Clements said he wanted to talk to Marissa, alone this time. Marissa was exhausted and just wanted to get into bed and crash, and she didn’t see why she had to answer the same questions all over again.

She went back into the dining room with Clements and sat across from him at the table.

“I know it’s late,” Clements said, “but there are a few more things I need to run by you.”

“Okay,” Marissa said, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest.

“Your friends,” he said, “any of them have a criminal background?”

“No.”

“I’m not necessarily talking about jail time. I’m talking about anyone who might’ve stolen something in the past, or talked about wanting to steal something, or-”

“If you think one of my friends broke into our house with that guy, you’re crazy.”

“What about drug users? Any of your friends do drugs?”

Of course her friends did drugs. Well, some of her friends. She was twentytwo years old, for God’s sake- but what was she supposed to do, rat out her friends to some cop?

“No,” she said.

He seemed incredulous. “Sorry,” he said, “but you’re gonna have to answer these questions honestly.”

Thinking, Yeah, right, I’m not under oath, she asked, “What do my friends have to do with our house getting robbed?”

“Where do you get your pot, Marissa?”

Now, not only was she upset, but she was starting to get seriously scared. She had a bong in her room and a dime bag of pot in the back of her underwear drawer. She didn’t know if Clements had been up to her room yet, but he probably had. Still, she wasn’t dumb enough to admit drug use to a police detective.

“What’re you talking about?” she asked.

“I was in your room,” he said.

Her heart was beating so fast and so hard, she felt like it was making her rock back and forth.

“Look, I’m telling you,” she said, “none of my friends had anything to do with this, that’s crazy.”

“I’ll ask you one last time. Where do you get your drugs?”

She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself. “I don’t do drugs,” she said.

“I saw the bong in your-”

“A friend left it here, okay? I’m just watching it for her.”

“Watching it, huh?” He smirked.

She was a shitty liar and knew she couldn’t keep this going, so she said, “It’s mine, okay? What’re you gonna do, arrest me for having a bong?” “Possession of marijuana is illegal.”

“It’s not mine,” she said desperately.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask you,” he said. “Where do you get your pot?”

“My friend Darren.”

“How do I get in touch with him?”

This guy was such an asshole.

“Why do you have to-”

“What’s his phone number?” he asked.

Darren was a guy she’d gone to Vassar with- an on- again, off- again boyfriend- who was now back living with his parents on the Upper West Side. If he got busted, he was going to fucking kill her.

She gave Clements Darren’s number and said, “But please don’t call him. I’m telling you, he has nothing to do with this.”

Clements ignored her and asked, “Have any of your friends committed any crimes or talked about committing crimes or served any time for a crime?”

Immediately she thought of Darren who’d once spent a night in jail in Poughkeepsie when he’d gotten pulled over and the cops had found a joint in his car, but how much trouble was she going to get the poor guy into?

“No,” Marissa said. “No one.”

“I know we’ve been through this already, but did you ever meet Carlos Sanchez?”

“Never.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I just know, that’s why.”

He put a small plastic bag on the table with a driver’s license inside it. “Look familiar?” he asked.

She glanced at the picture- scruffy guy, kind of ugly, with cold, detached eyes. She’d never see him before in her life.

“No, never,” she said.

Clements didn’t seem satisfied. He asked, “Ever lend anyone a key to the house or-”

“No, I’ve never lent anyone a key, ever.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“What do you think, I gave somebody a key and said come rob my house?”

“Is that what happened?”

“No, of course not.”

She couldn’t believe this.

Then Clements stood and said, “Okay, you’re gonna have to come with me now.”

“Come with you where?”

“Out to the staircase for a second. I want you to take a look at Sanchez.”

Suddenly she felt sick. “You mean look at his body?”

“The driver’s license photo was several years old,” Clements said, “he’d gained a lot of weight. I want you to see if you recognize him.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes you have to.”

Although she’d never seen a dead body before- well, except at a few funerals she’d been to- she just wanted to get to sleep and didn’t really care one way or the other.

She went with Clements out to the foyer. The body was still at the bottom of the staircase, splayed the way it had been before, except now Marissa could see all of it. There were technicians working near the body, maybe collecting DNA evidence or looking for fingerprints or whatever, and there was blood- it looked purple- on the bottom stairs and on the floor in front of the staircase. There was much more blood than Marissa had expected to see, which made her queasy enough, but then as she got closer, she looked at the dead guy’s face. His eyes were half open, and there was blood leaking out of his nose. Something looked weird about his mouth, and then she realized that most of his jaw was missing.

“Oh my God,” she said.

Misunderstanding her response, Clements said, “You recognize him?”

Starting to back away, she said, “No, I have no idea who is. Can I go now? Can I just go?”

When she returned to the living room, Clements wanted to talk to her mom, so she and her dad were left alone.

First he hugged her and assured her things would return to normal soon- yeah, right- then he asked, “So how’d it go in there?”

She didn’t answer right away, then said, “He made me look at the body.”

“What?” She could tell he was seriously upset. “Why the hell did he do that?”

She didn’t feel like talking to him about it. Things had been tense and awkward between them, well, for years, but since she’d graduated from college their relationship had become even more strained, what with him constantly on her case about getting a job and moving out on her own. Her plan had been to live at home temporarily, until she could support herself, so she’d gotten a part- time job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art through a contact from an art history professor. But she didn’t like her boss, and the job had had practically nothing to do with art- her main duty had been renting out tour head – phones- and after about a month she couldn’t take it anymore and quit. She’d been sending out rйsumйs and going on interviews, but her father wouldn’t let up about the “big opportunity” she’d blown, and it was hard to even be in the same room with him sometimes.

“He wanted to see if I recognized him,” she said. “Whatever.” She was exhausted and really didn’t feel like talking anymore.

But her dad couldn’t let it go and said, “This is getting ridiculous now. There’s no way he should’ve made you do that, I mean what’s the point of that?” He shook his head, brooding, then asked, “Did he ask you about your bong too?”

God, Marissa didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, especially not in the middle of the night when she was so exhausted.

“Yeah,” she said, “but it was no big deal.”

“How many times have I told you to get rid of that thing?”

“You’ve never told me to get rid of it.”

“I told you I don’t want you smoking in the house.”

“I think I’ve smoked in the house twice since graduation, but if it bothers you so much I’ll stop.”

“And I don’t want you drinking in the house anymore either.”

“When do I drink in the house?”

“The other night- when you had Hillary and that guy over.”

“That guy was Hillary’s friend Jared, who’s in med school, and we were drinking wine. I think we had one glass each.”

“Well, I don’t want any drinking in the house anymore. Is that understood?”

“This is ridiculous,” Marissa said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just taking everything out on me.”

“Excuse me?” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“Like this has anything to do with my bong or drinking wine. This has to do with you and your gun.”

Her father looked at her the way he had so many times lately, like he hated her.

“Just go to bed,” he said.

“See?” she said. “I didn’t do anything wrong and you treat me like I’m ten years old.”

“When you act out like you’re ten I’ll treat you like you’re ten. Just go to bed.”

Realizing there was no point in arguing with her father when he got like this, she left the room. There were still a lot of cops near the front of the house, though it looked like they’d finally removed the body. Avoiding the commotion and, worse, another confrontation with that asshole Clements, she took the back staircase up to her room.

Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, she suddenly remembered she’d given Detective Clements Darren’s contact info. She called Darren, leaving a frantic message, telling him that the cops had found pot in her room and he had to get all the drugs out of his apartment ASAP.

Back in bed, she put in her iPod earbuds and listened to tracks by Tone Def, this new alternative/punk/postgrunge band she was into. She was still angry at her father for laying into her, and she just prayed that somehow all of this would blow over quickly. Living at home had been difficult enough lately; she couldn’t handle it if things got any worse.