Finally she stopped moving. He went up to her, getting as close as he could without stepping in the blood puddle, and looked at her face and saw her wideopen eyes and thought, Yeah, she’s dead. Finally.
He left the knife right where it was, in her back, and then he took another knife from the rack. This one had a bigger blade- maybe closer to ten inches- and he stood back, waiting for Adam to show up.
It was 6:52 according to the clock on the stove. Hopefully Adam had left work at six after his last patient. If he came right home by subway he would be here any minute. When Johnny heard him coming in through the front door, he’d stay off to the side, in the nook between the table and the entrance to the dining room. Adam would see his wife on the floor and be distracted, and then Johnny would attack him. He would try to stab him as few times as possible, though he knew this would be harder with Adam because he’d fight back and it might be hard to get the blade deep enough into the heart or lungs. The key would be to kill him as fast as possible, before he had a chance to scream too much. If Johnny had to stab him three, four, five times or more to get this done, then so be it. The bottom line was he needed Dana and Adam to both be discovered dead, slashed to death, on their kitchen floor. Then police would look to the obvious suspect-“Tony from the gym.” Johnny felt sorry for fucking up the poor sucker’s life, but what could you do?
Although Johnny didn’t think he’d gotten any blood on his shoes, he didn’t want to risk walking around the house. He looked at the body for a while, still loving that shade of red; then he looked over toward the blackboard where someone- probably Adam- had written I want you to move out.
This was almost too perfect. It was like the Blooms were helping, not only to get themselves killed but to give Johnny the perfect alibi. Their marriage was such a mess that the cops would go right to that Tony guy and arrest his ass. Johnny wanted to stay cool and in control, but it was hard not to feel excited. He was so close to the big prize, to getting everything he’d ever wanted, that he didn’t feel like he was in the Blooms’ house anymore. It was his house, and he couldn’t wait to get rid of all the Blooms’ stuff and then go on a spending spree, spend fifty grand- hell, why not a hundred or two hundred?- and fill it up with everything he’d ever wanted.
The only problem was that Johnny needed Adam dead and Adam wasn’t showing up. Johnny figured Adam must’ve left his office at about six, and even if he walked very slowly to the subway, the trip to Forest Hills wouldn’t take him more than an hour. He hoped nothing was wrong with the subways and that Adam didn’t have other plans this evening. Johnny had done everything he could to make this plan go as smoothly as possible, but some things were beyond his control.
At seven o’clock, about fifteen minutes since Dana had died, there was still no sign of Adam. To keep his alibi, Johnny had to meet Marissa at seven thirty. He could be a few minutes late, but he didn’t want to arrive any later than seven forty, seven forty- five the absolute latest. If he was too late, it could be something Marissa would wonder about, and he didn’t want any complications.
Johnny was staring at his watch, telling himself that he’d give it another ten minutes, till ten after seven, and then he’d take off, when the phone rang. The noise startled him, and for a second he even thought that the house’s alarm had gone off. After four rings, either the caller hung up or the answering machine answered. Johnny waited till seven ten, then gave it another five minutes, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to look at the bright side- the day hadn’t been a total bust; at least he’d gotten rid of one of the Blooms. One down, two to go.
Johnny had brought a full change of clothes in his backpack, including another pair of shoes, his leather jacket, and another pair of leather gloves. But since he didn’t think he’d gotten any blood anywhere except on his sweatshirt, all he needed was the jacket.
He put the unused knife back in the rack. As he took off his sweatshirt, pulling it up over his head, he thought about hairs and fibers from his hat and DNA evidence. He tried to be as careful as possible, but even if a piece of hair fell out onto the floor he didn’t see why this would be any big deal. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in the house before. Why couldn’t the hair have fallen out the other day?
Just in case, when he had the sweatshirt off he crouched down and looked around. Nope, no hairs.
He put on his leather jacket and leather gloves and then put the sweatshirt away in the backpack. Walking around the body and the blood, he left the kitchen and went through the house toward the front entrance. It sucked that he couldn’t leave through the back, where he was much less likely to be noticed, but he didn’t want to risk the dog making a racket again.
Outside it had gotten totally dark. He opened the front door cautiously. If Bloom was there, Johnny would have to do something to get rid of him. He’d have to strangle him, crack his head open, something like that. He had his gun with him, but he didn’t want to shoot him. If the cops found Dana with a knife in her back and Adam with a bullet in his head, they might not focus on Tony as the suspect. Johnny needed the cops to think that Tony had taken the knife and impulsively stabbed Dana. But if Adam got shot the cops might think, Why didn’t Tony use the gun on Dana? See, Johnny was always thinking, he was always one step ahead.
When Johnny looked out toward the street, Adam wasn’t in sight. The coast seemed clear in both directions, and he didn’t hear any cars coming, so he calmly left the house and then turned right and headed down the block to the Saturn. He pulled out and turned onto the main street and, son of a bitch, there was Adam, walking along the sidewalk, holding two bags of groceries.
Johnny hoped the asshole knew how lucky he was.
twenty
On his way to work Adam made an emergency appointment with Carol. Reaching her on her cell- she was on a Metro North train, en route from her home in New Rochelle- he told her that he was in the midst of a “major crisis” and had to meet with her immediately.
“My schedule’s full today,” she said.
“I have to see you,” he said desperately. “My life’s falling apart.” She called him back a few minutes later, saying that she’d postponed her ten o’clock appointment so that she could meet with him.
It was the most difficult session Adam had had in years. As he described to
Carol everything that had happened yesterday after he returned from his golf game, he broke down crying several times, especially when he described how
“enraged” and “out of control” he’d felt. Naturally Carol was very detached and supportive. When patients were in the midst of a crisis it was important to let them express themselves, and it was no time for a therapist to intrude with “solutions.” Carol mainly listened, maintaining the constant highly concerned expression that all therapists mastered, as he went on, except during the times he was most upset, when she gave him generic tidbits of support, telling him that it was “natural” to act the way he did and that he didn’t have to “apologize for his feelings.” When he was through with his venting she challenged him a bit more, but still remained very supportive, telling him that he’d felt hurt and betrayed and assuring him that he’d acted the best he could under the circumstances. As the session continued, Adam became increasingly agitated, frustrated, and annoyed. This was one of those situations where Adam was hyperaware of the therapeutic pro cess, so much so that he felt it was impossible to make any true inroads. He didn’t want to be coddled and manipulated by his analyst. He didn’t want to buy into the idea that his behavior had been justified, that he’d done the right thing. He knew he’d acted like a total schmuck yesterday. He’d been out of control, in a reactive state, and had expressed his anger extremely poorly. Picking the fight with Tony had been bad enough, but then he’d made another extremely poor decision by revealing his affair with Sharon. There had been no reason to drag her into it, possibly damaging her marriage and compounding the hurt for Dana and even Marissa.
“This isn’t working,” Adam announced.
Carol, completely unfazed, giving her patient the room to express himself, asked, “What isn’t working?”
“This,” Adam said. “What you’re doing right now. I know what you’re doing, because I’d be doing exactly the same thing. You’re trying to treat me, and I don’t want to be treated.”
“What do you want?”
“I want solutions, I want answers, but I’m never going to get them this way.” “How can you get them?”
“See? You can’t stop analyzing me, not even for a second. Analysis won’t work on me. I can help other people, I know I’ve helped other people, but I need to be told what to do, I need to be fixed. I’m screwing up my whole life right now, and I feel like I can’t stop myself. I feel like I’m addicted to very negative behavior.”
