“Because she’s a dirty girl,” Neera replied, keeping the doll under water and scrubbing her body.

  “Oh,” I said. “Where’s Karen?”

  “She’s in my room.”

  “She’s in your room? Really?” I had just walked through her room to get to the adjacent bathroom when I didn’t see anyone and heard splashing sounds.

  Neera’s focus remained on the doll. “Yes”

  “Where?”

  “On the floor by my bed.”

  I swiveled around and hurried back into the bedroom and up to Neera’s canopied pink bed. I hadn’t even reached the edge of it when I spotted kitten-heeled red pumps on a pair of feet. I continued around the bed, fearing the worst. The tall, twenty-something nanny lay face-up on the thick rug, her eyes closed. She looked like she was sleeping in her white top and green skirt. Sinking down to my haunches, I grabbed her shoulder and shook her gently.

  “Karen? Karen, are you okay?”

  The plain brunette moaned and moved her head slowly. I let out a silent breath of relief. Blinking a couple of times, she opened her eyes and gazed at me.

  “Karen, what happened?” I asked, grabbing her arm. “Are you okay?”

  One of her hands found her head and she ran her fingers over the side of it. “Ouch.” She winced slightly. “Wow, I must have fainted…”

  “You fainted? Can I get you something? Maybe water?”

  She moved her hands behind her and tried to push herself off the floor. Gently, I pushed her back down. “You should probably not move too much. Let’s get some paramedics here to make sure you’re okay. I’m calling for an ambulance.” I reached for my phone to dial 9-1-1, but Karen waved a hand no, so I paused.

  “Seriously, I’m not bad,” she said, and tried again to push herself up into a seated position, and this time she succeeded. “I just slipped and hit my head on the floor. But I didn’t faint from the trauma. At least I can’t imagine that I did. I have really low blood pressure, so it’s not the first time I passed out when I changed direction. It happens to me every now and then, but usually when I get up too fast, not when I slip and fall.” She let out a dry chuckle. “I guess there’s a first for everything.”

  After Karen had promised that she would get herself checked out at the nearest Urgent Care center, Rachel and I let her have the day off. It was only when I returned to Neera’s bedroom that I noticed that someone had removed the non-slip rug pad that was under most of the expensive rugs covering the slippery hardwood floors throughout the apartment. I frowned at the sight of it, wondering why it was gone.

  Neera was lying on her bed, resting, so I straightened and asked her: “Neera, do you know why the white rug pad under the carpet is gone? That plastic mat?”

  She looked at me for a silent beat as though she was processing what I had just asked her. It dawned on me that maybe she didn’t know what I was referring to; she was after all only a little kid.

  “Do you know what I’m talking about, Neera?”

  She smiled with her mouth only, her eyes wary. “Yes, I know what you’re talking about. It’s the mat under the rug so we don’t slip. Dad showed me. I don’t know what happened to it. Maybe Rosa took it.”

  I contemplated her, wondering why she was lying to me. I could tell that she knew what had happened to the pad, but she didn’t want to tell me. Why?

  Had she moved it hoping that someone would fall?

  No, you freak, that’s just silly, I instantly admonished myself. Why would she do such a thing? Why would she want someone to slip and hurt themselves? She is only four years old, for Christ’s sake. A kid.

  Neera’s meeting with the police psychiatrist should have expelled all such fears from my mind. According to Dr. Strong, Neera was a healthy young lady with a very vivid fantasy life. She did not see any reason for us to worry about Neera’s mental health nor that Neera had in any way, shape, or form tried to kill her grandfather. She had only been playing, not fully understanding every part of her game. The girl definitely did not understand the difference between life and death yet. Unless she displayed signs of anxiety, there really was no need for Neera to see a therapist on a regular basis.

  I remembered how surprised I had been by the police psychiatrist’s assessment when I heard it. In the days that preceded their meeting, I had barely been able to sleep, I had been so nervous the authorities would take away Neera, put her in some psych ward for children. I don’t know what I would have done if that had happened. It would surely destroy her. I didn’t trust anyone to raise Neera properly but me. Even though Rachel might be the legal caretaker, I would be the one who truly took care of the little girl, saw to it that she got everything she needed to develop into a good person. Rachel was well aware of how strongly I felt about this and she also not only understood, but thankfully agreed it was important for Neera’s well-being that I was around. I truly understood the challenges the little girl was facing, sharing the same genes.

  The rain was coming down harder now, so I stepped under an awning to wait for it to calm down a bit before continuing. As I stood there huddled together with a few other hunched-up people, I made a mental note that I needed to have another mental health professional check Neera. I just didn’t trust that she was as healthy as Dr. Strong had claimed.

  11

  The dream that had haunted me since Mom had escaped from Rikers Island filled my mind that night.

  It always started the same, with me walking down a crowded street somewhere in the city late at night and spotting Mom’s blond head bobbing among the sea of people. Hers was the only blond head out of all that I saw. Somewhere in the distance a song sounded that Mom used to play when I was little, some obscure alternative rock ballad that always made me feel sad. I instantly set after her, determined to get a hold of her. My hands were itching to wrap around her throat so that I could squeeze the life out of her, make sure she could never again do something evil, hurt anyone. The faster I walked, the faster she walked. I kept following her for what felt like hours until, all of a sudden, all the people melted away and we were in a dimly lit alley. She stopped moving when she reached the brick wall at the end and turned around to face me.

  She didn’t look anything like she had looked the last few times I had seen her when she had been behind bars. Her face was fuller, younger, more open and her blond hair was long, flowing down her back like it used to do when I was little. I discovered then that she was wearing the same outfit that she had worn on my ninth birthday, a gray sleeveless dress over a black turtleneck. Instead of looking wild-eyed and insane, she gazed at me with a serene face, smiling a little as she stretched out her arms toward me in a welcoming gesture.

  The slow rock song increased in volume and I felt tears developing in my eyes, a knot forming in my stomach. It got hard to breathe. What the hell was I thinking?

  Was I really going to kill this woman, my mother? Who would ever do such a crazy thing? This was your mother, for crying out loud, the woman who gave birth to you, who nursed you, read you stories before you went to sleep. The woman who fed you and dressed you, held your hand as she walked you to school. You couldn’t strangle your own mother. You aren’t an evil, cold-blooded killer like her and your dad! You’re better than that, Shane! She’s sick, she can’t help it. And she’s trying to change, did you forget? She wants to be a better person now. She wants nothing more than for you to forgive her for what she did to you. Why can’t you just forgive her? Please forgive her.

  “Shane, I’ve missed you,” she said as I approached, her smile growing wider. “Where did you go? I thought you were going to see me every week at Rikers. You promised that you would come every week. But you didn’t come last Sunday.”

  “That’s because there were leaks in the visitor room ceiling, Mom,” I said, slowing my pace. There were only a few steps between us now. I could feel all the tension that had gathered in my body, my arms, my hands, begin to evaporate. “That was why you never saw me that day.”

  Her face lit up, her eyes glittering with happiness. “Really? You came? No one told me about the leaks in the waiting area. They just told me that I wouldn’t get to see my son today. It made me so sad. I wanted to tell you how much I love you. How I regret all the pain I’ve caused you. I can’t stop thinking about it. What a monster I was…”

  Tears were streaming down her pale, plump cheeks now and I could literally feel all the agony coursing through her as though it was my own. I felt like a boy again, no more than six and half, with a large revolver in my hands. Mom had just discovered what I had done to Dad and it had crushed her. When you killed your father, you killed me, too, Shane, she had told me. I could hear those words playing over and over in my mind, even though Mom’s lips didn’t move. It was when you shot your father that you destroyed your mother, wasn’t it, Shane? Would she have been so mean to you if you had let that gun be? Why did you have to grab that big weapon? Why did you have to kill him? Isn’t it really your fault what your mom did to you? Didn’t you just get what you deserve in return?

  Can you really blame her for wanting revenge so badly?

  “It’s okay, honey,” she murmured between all the tears. “You didn’t know what you were doing. You were so small. You were just playing. You had no idea what it all meant, how serious it was.” She stretched out her arms to me, urging me to embrace her. “I have forgiven you. I understand now that you didn’t mean it. It was all an accident. Please don’t beat yourself up for it any more, honey. It’s all in the past.”

  Hearing her say those words was soothing to my aching insides, felt like ointment on all the crying wounds, making them better. She was right; it was all an accident. You must stop beating yourself up for having done it. You were only a kid!

  “That’s right, honey,” she murmured, smiling at me through the tears. “Please come and let me hug you… Make it all go away…”

  Feeling how a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, I raised my own arms as I neared her, wanting nothing more than to just disappear into her embrace, pretending like I was a kid again with a pretty, nice mom who told me great bedtime stories, sometimes even sang to me. I wanted life to be just like it had been before the monster started to come into my room at night and did things to me. Things that hurt. Made me do things to him. Things that I didn’t want to do. I was too scared not to do what he wanted.

  As I was about to let myself slip into her warm embrace, I saw there was something that glittered in Mom’s right hand. I shot her hand a look to see what it was when she suddenly pulled it back, her fingers curled around the long switchblade, and quickly thrust it into my stomach. Because I had a thick sweater on and I managed to yield sideways at the last second, the blade only grazed me. The adrenaline surging through my veins effectively squelched any pain it caused. I grabbed her hand and twisted it so hard that she was forced to drop the knife on the ground, then my hands went around her neck and I squeezed, squeezed, squeezed until I was sure there was no life left in her.

  12

  Steve and I were having dinner at his house the following night. If you could call it that. He was in the middle of another website deadline, so the only way I could see him was if I came over and had some pizza, rinsed down with lukewarm beer, with him when he took a break.

  “I have twenty minutes tops,” he said as he went to the kitchen to get the beer that he had forgotten to put in the fridge. “So he went for it then?”

  Steve was referring to Larry and our movie ploy.

  “Yeah, but I have to pay him double for his services,” I said and opened the can Steve handed me. I grimaced when I tasted its contents. It was worse than I had thought, pretty much room temperature. August room temperature in an apartment with no air conditioner. But I didn’t want to complain, so I had a few big gulps, then put the can back on the messy coffee table.

  “I can’t say that I blame the guy,” Steve said and cracked open a can for himself. “Or did you forget who we’re dealing with?”

  I sighed and grabbed a slice of the giant pepper and pepperoni pizza I had picked up on the way to his house. “No, you’re right. He deserves more cash. I should’ve seen it coming.”

  Steve had a drink of his beer and made a face when he removed the can from his mouth. “Damn. That’s some warm fucking beer.”

  I tried not to grin. “It’s okay. Drinkable.”

  “Not in my book.” He shot to his feet and headed back to the kitchen where he rummaged around. Soon, he reappeared in the living room.

  “What did you do?” I asked him.

  “I put the beer in the freezer. The whole six-pack. They’ll be okay in fifteen.” He eyed the can I had put on the table. “Want me to put yours there, too?”

  I waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. I kinda like it now that I’m used to it. It’s different.”

  Steve shrugged. “If you like piss, I’m not going to stop ya…So, when will Stellar send out the PR release?”

  “Tomorrow, they told me. So the story should be in the news the next day.”

  “That fast, huh?”

  “Yeah, they’re good. They have a lot of important clients, so they have to get results. And it’s not like they’re cheap, either.”

  Rachel and I had to pay Stellar Public Relations twenty thousand bucks to make the story happen the way we wanted it to. But it should be worth it. Especially if they could convince the New York Post to use the headline we wanted, Blond Evil, with a big headshot of Mom under the fat black letters. I couldn’t see why they wouldn’t go for it, as that was right up their alley editorially. With such a front page, it was very unlikely that Mom would not get a whiff of the story. Mom photographed well, so I doubted they would use a bad pic of her. She might not like what the story said about her, but she would like that they’d made her look good at least.

  “And you really think she’ll contact Bold Moves?” Steven asked and reached for a slice of the oily pizza.

  “Oh yeah. It’s just a matter of time. She won’t be able to resist. It means too much to her.”

  He huffed as he folded and then shoved half the slice into his gaping mouth.

  “I’ll give her max a week before she’ll reach out to Larry,” I said and went for a second slice myself.

  His cheeks round with pizza, Steve chewed methodically and nodded, his thin lips glossy with oil. When he had swallowed, he wiped his mouth with a kitchen towel and said, “What if she doesn’t contact him?”

  I shook my head. “That won’t happen.”

  “If you say so. How’s Neera doing? Any more freaky behavior?”

  Steve was one of the few people who was aware of my fear that Neera would turn out to be a bad seed. They had met several times in the last couple of months. She loved to come with me when I worked on paintings and photographs in my studio that was located in an Astoria warehouse. Ariel owned the warehouse. Since it was only a couple of miles away from Steve’s house, he often swung by there to say hello. So far, he didn’t see what I was seeing, but it was only a matter of time before that happened. Well, unless I managed to squelch future misbehavior. I would do my best. I thought about her latest mischief involving Karen and a chill ran over my skin. I had yet to tell Steve about that. I needed to ask Rosa about the slip pad under the rug. Maybe Neera had told the truth and I was just imagining her lying. The girl was hard to read sometimes.

  I picked up the beer can and had a sip, then I gave him a summary of what she’d done the other day and blamed on the maid.

  “You’ve gotta ask the maid,” Steve said when I was done. “For sure she or one of the other girls messed up the slip pad. I can’t see a four-year-old removing it in the hopes of spotting someone slipping. Can you?”

  I leaned back in the worn canvas seat and blew out a breath that made the piece of hair stuck in my eye disappear. “I don’t know any longer. I didn’t think Mom would be able to get out of prison, but she did, and she’s still missing. At this point it seems like anything’s possible.”

  “I hear ya. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.” I snorted, reassessing the situation. “As okay as I can be with Mom on the lam, Ariel dead, and my kid sister acting psycho, that is. When I get Mom and Neera under control, I’ll be great.”

  Steve contemplated me quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want to go see Dr. Navarro? I’m amazed at how well you’re holding up given everything you’ve been through. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve snapped a long time ago.”

  I gazed into the distance. “I guess that’s one of the few things I’ve got going for me. I’m pretty damn resilient. I’m not someone you break easily. Mom sure learned that the hard way.” I gave something between a chortle and a cough at the thought of how Mom had tried to break me over the years. She never did succeed with that one. I wondered if I had gotten my resilience from her or from Dad. I couldn’t remember my father very well, only bits and pieces that grew fuzzier with every year that passed. I didn’t mind as many of them related to his nightly visits to my room.

  “She sure did,” Steve commented. “Still, I think it would do you good to see Dr. Navarro for a few sessions. You seem really tense lately.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should go. I am feeling on edge lately. I’ll give her a call.” But I knew I wouldn’t. I was well aware why I was feeling so tense, so edgy lately. I had done something very bad but nonetheless necessary. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, though, and I didn’t know if I would ever be. If that meant I would have to stay tense for the rest of my life, it was still a cheap price to pay for what I had done. A very cheap price.

  13

  The story of Mom’s movie being produced after all was all over the New York tabloids a couple of days later, just like the PR people at Stellar had promised. The New York Post had used the headline we had wanted, Blond Evil, with a flattering color photo of Mom under it, smiling into the camera.