Panic Attack Read Free

had to be a gun. He even thought he saw a glimmer of something, shininess near the guy’s hand. If he waited any longer the guy would shoot him first. Then he’d shoot his way into the bedroom, find Dana and Marissa, and kill them, too.
The guy started to say something. Later Adam would dwell on this moment and remember that the guy had said, “Please don’t—” but at that moment everything was happening so fast that he wasn’t even aware that the guy had spoken. He was only aware of the danger he and his family were in as he started firing his gun. He wasn’t sure if the first shot hit the guy, but the second one did, high up, in his neck or head. The guy was falling backward, starting to tumble, and Adam remembered his shooting instructor saying, Always go for the chest, not the head — and he emptied the rest of the clip, the other shots going into the guy’s chest or midsection. Then the guy fell out of view, into darkness, but Adam heard his body land with a loud thud at the bottom of the staircase.
There was silence for a long moment, and then there was noise from downstairs, but it had nothing to do with the guy Adam had shot.
There was someone else in the house.
There were footsteps, then deep breathing. Adam was out of bullets. If the other guy came upstairs or started shooting, he was screwed.
“Get the hell out of here or I’ll shoot!” Adam yelled.
That was smart, brilliant maybe. Make the guy think he still had bullets. Why wouldn’t he think so? Adam had fired off the shots so quickly the guy couldn’t have possibly counted the shots. And even if the guy had counted them, knew Adam had shot ten rounds, how would he know he didn’t have more ammo?
The strategy worked, or maybe the guy just panicked. Adam heard him running away, knocking into something— the console?— and then the front door opened and closed and the guy was gone.
“Adam.”
He turned suddenly, feeling a sharp jolt in his chest. Then he registered Dana and Marissa standing there.
“Are you okay?” Dana asked.
“Back to the bedroom!” Adam shouted.
“Are you okay?” Dana asked again.
“Just get back!”
Dana and Marissa went into the bedroom, and Dana shut the door. Adam was worried about the guy on the stairs. What if he was still alive?
He reached toward the wall at the other end of the landing and put his thumb on the light switch. He hesitated, wondering if this was a great idea. Maybe the guy was aiming his gun up the stairs, waiting for a clear shot.
Adam flicked on the light, relieved to see that the guy, wearing a black ski mask, was crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, not moving at all. He headed downstairs, going slowly, not taking his eyes off the guy’s body.
As Adam got closer, he could tell that the guy had darkish skin, looked Latino, maybe Puerto Rican. His chest and face were a bloody mess, there was a big hole and oozing blood and gray stuff where his left eye used to be, and a big chunk of his jaw was gone.
Adam stared at the body for a while, trying to pro cess what he’d done.
He’d shot a man. He’d shot and killed a man.
Then he looked toward the guy’s right hand. There was a flashlight two stairs above the guy’s head, but Adam didn’t see any gun. There was no gun on the staircase or on the floor at the bottom, either. Maybe the guy had fallen on it and it was under his body.
Adam remained, staring in a daze at the man he’d killed until the police started banging on the front door.
two
    It was almost four in the morning, about two hours since the shooting, and the Blooms’ house was still filled with cops. Dana and Marissa were in the downstairs den with Dana’s friends Sharon and Jennifer, who had come over during the commotion. Adam was at the dining room table, sitting across from Detective Clements, a weathered, gray- haired guy who reeked of cigarettes.
“So you saw Sanchez on the stairwell,” Clements said.
    The cops had found a New York state driver’s license and other ID in the dead guy’s wallet and had learned