Every Last Fear(4)
She wasn’t chatty. And not one to multitask. There was no staring at her phone, no reading the newspaper. Her job was to escort him to Fishkill Correctional upstate, and that’s what she did. Matt never understood why Danny, convicted of killing his girlfriend in Nebraska, was incarcerated in New York. It was his third prison in seven years.
When the chopper hit a patch of rough air, Matt thought about Tommy. On family trips, while everyone else was white-knuckled gripping the airplane armrest with even the slightest bit of turbulence, his little brother would giggle with delight. Not an ounce of fear. He would’ve loved this ride.
Matt swallowed a sob, picturing Tommy on the plane to Mexico with no idea it would be the last flight of his life.
The helicopter touched down at a small airfield in a rural area. Matt removed his seat harness and headset and followed Agent Keller out. The propellers whirled, and he ducked down in a reflexive action he’d seen a million times in the movies. Keller walked upright.
She spoke to a man in a stiff suit next to a black SUV waiting for them at the edge of the tarmac. It wasn’t her partner from earlier, but they looked similar. Dark suit, sunglasses, blank expression. Neo from The Matrix. Keller and Matt climbed in back, and the vehicle made its way along country roads until the cement fortress came into view.
By now Matt’s palms were sweating, his head pounding. The reality was sinking in.
They’re really gone.
And soon he’d have to take away almost everything that his older brother had left in this world.
CHAPTER 3
EVAN PINE
BEFORE
“Evan, I’m so glad you made it.” Dr. Silverstein gestured for him to take a seat across from her on the leather couch.
Evan’s eyes drifted around the office. The framed diplomas, the neat desk, the grandfather clock that was out of place in the charmless no-frills office complex.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call last week,” Evan said. “You can charge me for missing our—”
“Don’t be silly. I saw the news about your son on TV. I’m so sorry, Evan.”
She kept saying his name. A trick of the trade, he presumed. He imagined a much younger Dr. Silverstein diligently taking notes in her psychology class. Repeat the patient’s name often to show you’re listening.
He shouldn’t be so hard on her. She was a good therapist. And it must be difficult counseling someone who was attending sessions only because of a spouse’s ultimatum.
“So what’s next?” she asked. “Legally, I mean. For Danny.”
Evan didn’t want to talk about it, but there would be no escaping it here. “The lawyers say this is the end of the road. The Supreme Court refused to hear the case, so that’s it.” He shrugged.
Silverstein gave him a sympathetic look. “And how’s Danny? Did you get to talk to him?”
Evan thought of the call when he broke the news. He pictured his son’s face pressed to the dirty telephone at Fishkill, knowing he’d probably spend the rest of his life there, or some other godforsaken hole.
“He took it better than I’d anticipated. He actually spent most of our call talking about Linkin Park.”
Dr. Silverstein’s expression was curious. Evan realized she had no idea what he was talking about.
“They’re a band. The day I called Danny about the appeal, the radio said it would’ve been the singer’s birthday. He died a few years ago. Danny and I, we used to…” He trailed off. His mind ventured to the two of them driving home from football practice, Danny, smelly and sweaty, cranking up the car stereo, both of them belting out the lyrics to “Numb.”
“Something the two of you used to bond over?” Silverstein said. “The music…”
Evan smiled in spite of himself. “In high school Danny was obsessed with the band. I never understood why. Their songs are so rage-filled. Songs about teen angst, wrecked father-and-son relationships—the opposite of me and Danny.” More fitting for Evan and Matt.
“How’s the rest of your family dealing with the news? Olivia?” Before Evan started his solo sessions last year, the Pine clan used to trek out to this very office every other Saturday for family therapy, so Silverstein knew them and their brand of dysfunction well.
“Liv?” Evan said. “I think she’s come to terms that Danny isn’t getting out.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
It used to make him angry. Enraged. But now he was jealous—jealous that his wife didn’t spend every waking moment feeling like she’d been thrown into Lake Michigan with cinder blocks anchored to her limbs. Evan had once read about dry drowning, a person slowly dying hours or even days after leaving the water. That’s how he’d felt for the past seven years, oxygen slowly being stolen from his damaged insides. “I understand. We all had to find ways to deal with it.”
Dr. Silverstein seemed to see right through his forced reasonableness. But she’d prodded enough for now.
“And how about the rest of your kids?”
“Maggie’s hanging in there.” He smiled, thinking of his daughter. “She’s busy wrapping up her senior year, so that helps. But she’s always been my trouper—she believes that her big brother will get out, regardless of what the Supreme Court says.”