The Perfect Son by Freida McFadden(38)

“Could you stop for a few minutes? I’d like to speak with you.”

If it were Hannah, she would have moaned about how I shouldn’t interrupt her when she’s trying to study, even though she gets distracted every five minutes by her phone when she’s studying anyway. But Liam obediently turns away from his history book and looks up at me, blinking his brown eyes innocently.

“What is it, Mom?”

I take a deep breath. My hands are shaking, and I feel like I’m about to burst into tears. I remember back when Liam was younger and he used to see that psychotherapist. She used a term that I had contemplated but was afraid to ever say out loud:

Sociopath.

He doesn’t feel empathy like you do. He doesn’t feel love. He’s just faking it.

As a mother, it was one of the worst things anybody has ever said to me. Your son doesn’t love you. He’s not capable of it. At the time, I refused to believe it. But as the years passed, I realized how true everything Dr. Hebert told me was.

“Where is she, Liam?” I say. “Where is Olivia?”

He looks me straight in the eyes, the same way he did to the officers as he lied to their faces. “I don’t know.”

“Liam…” A tear escapes from my right eye and I wipe it away before he can see it. Being vulnerable in front of a person who has no empathy is always a mistake. “The police know what they’re doing. Whatever you’ve done… They’re going to find out. If you tell me where she is, I can help you. I’ll let her go. I can pretend I just stumbled onto her…” I take a shaky breath. “But if you kill her…”

“Mom.” He scrunches up his eyebrows, which makes him look younger. “I swear to you. I didn’t do anything to Olivia.”

“I don’t believe you, Liam.”

His eyes darken. There are moments when I feel frightened of my son. Such as when I found him with that hamster when he was only six. He let it starve to death right in front of his eyes. The poor hamster was so withered, you could see all of its little bones sticking out. You could tell it had suffered. And Liam didn’t care. No, worse—he enjoyed it.

“I didn’t do it, Mom.” His voice is firm, almost angry. “I don’t know where she is. Now can I go back to studying?”

I nod wordlessly, and Liam swivels on his chair to turn back to his history book. He starts outlining again, like his mother wasn’t just in the room, accusing him of kidnapping and murder. That’s how Liam is. He doesn’t let anything bother him.

After Dr. Hebert came up with a diagnosis, I asked her how this could have happened. Liam grew up in an upper middle class, happy household. We provided firm, but very fair discipline. He had a wonderful childhood. How could he turn out this way?

“There’s often a genetic component,” she had said.

But that didn’t explain it any better. Jason and I were about as boring and normal as you could get. It didn’t make any sense. How could a nice, normal couple like us produce a child like Liam? I never got it.

Not until this morning. When I found out my father had been in jail for murder for over forty years.





Chapter 33


Olivia



I have no idea how long I’ve been down here.

I finally stopped screaming. It went on for a long time. And even after I stopped, I was still shaking. I sat down in the corner of the hole, across from the skeleton, and just hugged myself. For hours, maybe. I don’t know who this skeleton belongs to, but I can’t kid myself it’s a good sign that it’s here. Somebody else was down in this hole. And that person died here.

Or more likely, was murdered.

The memories of how I got down here start to return more vividly. The handkerchief shoved in my face that smelled funny. Not being able to breathe. And then… nothing.

He’s going to kill me. That’s why I’m here. And I can only imagine the reason he put me here instead of killing me outright is that he has other plans for me before he kills me.

But everyone has got to be looking for me. My mom… I want her so badly, it hurts. I can’t imagine how scared she must have been when she came into my bedroom and found me missing. She would have called the police immediately. She’ll never stop looking for me. She’ll have every policeman in the whole state out searching.

And then when the police find me, they’ll throw his ass in jail. And I’ll get to go home to my warm, comfortable bed. And Mom will make me chocolate chip pancakes. And I’m not leaving my bed for a week. Well, maybe I’ll go to the doctor to have them take a look at my ankle, which is still throbbing.

I’m going to get out of here. I know it. My parents will find me.

My stomach lets out a low growl. I’m starving. And thirsty. So thirsty. I finished the water an hour ago. I knew I should ration it more, but I couldn’t help myself. I picked up the thermos and emptied it down my throat without a second thought. And now it’s gone.

I wonder how long it takes for a person to die from dehydration.

Maybe that’s how Phoebe died. That’s what I have named the person who the bones in the corner belong to. Mom and I used to watch the TV show Friends in reruns, and Phoebe was my favorite character. So that what I have called her. Phoebe. She deserves a name. I wonder if her parents are still looking for her. When I get out of here I’ll tell people she’s down here. Maybe her parents can have some closure.