True Evil_A fast-paced psychological thriller that will keep you hooked Page 3

  I smiled at the thought of my neighbor. After I’d informed her I was a convicted murderer, she’d acted like she wasn’t quite as eager to hang around talking to me. You know, the way a normal girl would act. But she wasn’t a normal girl. She had already known what I had been in jail for, so no harm had been done. Surely, the plan all along was for her to seduce me or something, put me up to something bad so Mom could haul me back to jail.

  I felt pretty sure that the next time I saw Sophie, she’d not only have gotten over that I was a murderer, but she would also find it hot. I was a bad boy. A really, really bad boy. Chicks loved bad boys, didn’t they? That’s what I had been told at least. I could hardly wait for her to come back to me and start her games to get me hooked on her. It would be entertaining to see what Mom had cooked up for me this time. Not that I would fall for it, obviously. Instead, I’d find a way to turn the tables on Mom. Sighing, I found myself thinking how I wished I was wrong about Sophie. I had to admit that I really liked her. Unfortunately, my suspicions made too much sense.

  I washed my hands and removed the apron I had tied in front of my too-tight khaki shorts. My shift was finally over. I couldn’t wait to get to eat my late lunch; all I had eaten today were those Pop Tarts and that was almost seven hours ago. I was starving and the food at this joint looked and smelled great.

  Maybe when I had gotten some food in my stomach and my blood sugar was back to where it should be, I wouldn’t feel like I was under constant surveillance any longer. One could only hope.

  I did feel a lot better once I had devoured a heaping plate of moussaka and Greek salad, followed by some tasty baklava for dessert. Not nearly as paranoid. I chugged the rest of the Coke in my glass and then went to have some more; always tired, I could never get enough caffeine. Then I went to pick up my part of the tips from the waiter pool and left the restaurant. It was as nice and warm out as it had looked from my kitchen window, so I wore a T-shirt only, with a pair of better-fitting shorts.

  I turned my face up to the strong sun and enjoyed the warm rays. For the first time it fully sank into my mind that I was no longer behind bars. I didn’t have to worry if someone wanted to fight me during break or about someone attacking me at night. While I had eventually gotten strong and managed to flip the power structure around on my fellow juvenile prisoners, I had never been allowed to really relax. I had to always sleep with one eye open, watch my back, especially once my friends, Carlos and his brother, were let go. On my own once again, I did everything I could to stay out of fights, keep a low profile. I was more determined than ever to get out as soon as I was eligible for parole. If not, I seriously worried I’d go insane sleeping as little as I did.

  And I did get out after my first round of interviews with the parole board. No one was more surprised than I was, having been attacked by a couple of kids the week before that I had been forced to take down. That did not look good for me. Well, I guess Mom might have been more surprised; surely, she had secretly put them up to it. I remember the way she had looked when it was announced that I was going to be paroled. She had been sitting in the room with me at the time.

  Her pale face had turned dark and her green eyes had flashed with fury. But the anger had only been visible for a second perhaps, then she had been all smiles and tears. Crocodile tears, something she had mastered a long time ago. I’d come to learn the hard way that she was a great actress. So great that, sometimes, she had me fooled that she actually did care about me. At one point, when I was unusually tired, I forgot that I hadn’t killed either of the people I had been convicted of and accepted responsibility for. I believed I had done what she wanted me to think. But then, at long last, she’d reminded me how much she hated me again. She only did that once in a blue moon, when she could be certain that no one would be able to see her true nature, find out what she was really all about.

  As I walked down the street, I thought about how it had been a while since she’d reminded me how much she hated me for what I had done to my father. A long while. Maybe a few months? Five, six even? Yes, something like that. Instead, all she’d talked about was how glad she was that I had been able to pay my dues for what I had done.

  I chewed on the inside of my lip. Was it possible that she’d meant what she was saying?

  I shook my head and laughed. I must be experiencing a food coma that was affecting my brain negatively. Obviously, she had not forgiven me. Psychos like her didn’t have the capability to forgive; all they did was manipulate. All that talk was only part of her plan to avenge herself. Lull me into feeling safe until she could make sure I was thoroughly destroyed.

  Well, that would not happen. I was not so stupid that I’d make the same mistake twice.

  6

  It was late, almost eleven at night, and I was doing the dishes in my kitchen when I heard the knock on the front door. I considered ignoring it because I was exhausted and not in the mood to talk to anyone, but then there was a second knock. Whoever was there wasn’t about to give up easily. Wiping my hands on a towel, I walked out into the tiny hallway and opened the door.

  “Good evening,” Sophie said with a big smile on her face. There was a Tupperware container in her hands filled with something dark brown and moist because the container looked steamy. “You like brownies? I just baked a bunch of them. I thought maybe you wanted some.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, glad to see it was my hot neighbor. I no longer felt tired but excited instead. “Sure. Who doesn’t like brownies?” I took the container from her outstretched hands.

  “Open it and taste them,” she urged me eagerly. She sounded so excited about me trying her bakery that I felt I had no choice but to do what she wanted. I peeled off the top and stuck my hand into the container, a yummy, rich smell of warm chocolate entering my nostrils. I brought the brownie to my mouth and took a bite. It literally melted on my tongue, tasting even better than it had smelled.

  “You like?” she asked, watching me with childlike anticipation.

  I swallowed and stuck the rest into my mouth, nodding vigorously. She waited patiently until I had finished chewing and swallowed the rest. “Mmm. That’s some brownie. Best one I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “No, I mean it. It was incredible.”

  She smiled prettily. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I love them too. It’s a family recipe.” She stuck her hand into the container and grabbed a brownie for herself. She had a bite.

  “A family recipe, huh?” I said. “A secret one?”

  “Very.” She swallowed and cleared her throat, then said, “Anyway, I just wanted to give you some of these to apologize for being rude this morning. It’s late, so I should get going. You’re probably about to go to bed.”

  “Not at all. I’m a total night owl.” I stepped aside. “Wanna come in? That is, if you dare coming into a killer’s house…” I wiggled my eyebrows teasingly at her. I had no doubt whatsoever that she would accept my invite.

  She rolled her eyes at me and walked into my place. “About that. I read up on you in the papers. So you made a couple of mistakes. You paid for them, so it’s all good. You’ve gone through a lot of trauma in your life, you poor thing.”

  “Yes, I have,” I said and motioned for her to continue into the living room. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. Are you sure you should be hanging out with someone like me all on your own?”

  She sent me a lopsided smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure they wouldn’t have let you out of juvie if you were so dangerous still.”

  She took a seat on the blue-striped loveseat, her short yellow dress sliding up her shapely legs, and finished her brownie. I did my best not to stare at them.

  “You’re probably right about that,” I agreed and put the brownie container on the wooden coffee table. I realized I should offer her something to drink. “You want some soda or tea or something? It’s too late for coffee, huh?”

  “Yeah, but some tea would be
nice.”

  I grimaced, then slapped my forehead. “I just realized I forgot to go to the grocery store. All I have is Coke. And tap water.”

  “I’ll have some Coke then. No ice. I hate ice.”

  “Good, because I don’t have any.”

  As I went out into the kitchen, I thought about how funny it was that this chick and I seemed to have so much in common. I hated ice in my soda, too, and from the looks of it, she was a loner who liked to stay up late as well. I found a couple of glasses to pour the soda in at the same time as I patted myself on the back for being right all along. Not even a day had passed before she came back to see me—wearing a sexy dress and offering me goodies. She had to be my mom’s plant, put here to seduce me. A girl like that would not waste her time on someone like me unless there was something seriously wrong with her. I was good-looking but not that good-looking. Normal girls liked successful dudes, not ex-cons. I smirked inwardly. I sure didn’t belong in that category.

  I paused as I screwed the top back on the Coke bottle. Maybe something was wrong with her… Hmm. I guess that was another possibility. I stuck the bottle into the fridge, then walked back into the living room, determined to figure out what was up with this chick.

  Handing her a glass, I took a seat on the armless leather chair next to the loveseat.

  “Thanks,” she said and had a big sip.

  “You’re welcome. Thanks again for the brownies. You must be a mind-reader. Brownies are my favorite.” I put my soda glass on the coffee table and reached for another brownie.

  “Oh yeah? Mine too.” She had another brownie, too.

  I smiled at her. “We seem to have a lot in common. Are you also a convicted murderer?” I didn’t see a reason to hold back; this chick clearly didn’t have a problem with my background. Or at least she acted like she didn’t.

  “Ha, ha. No, I’m just a criminology student at John Jay. I’m a junior.”

  “Ah. A criminology student. You want to become a detective or something?”

  She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Maybe. I haven’t thought that far yet. I just think criminology is a very interesting subject.”

  “I guess it is.” I stuck the brownie into my mouth and chewed. I swallowed most of it before I added, “No wonder you want to hang out with me. I must be an interesting case study for you.”

  “You could be. Would you let me interview you?”

  “Sure. But only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” She glanced at me challengingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She clearly enjoyed herself as much as I did.

  “You’ll let me interview you first.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest, a surprised look on her face; it seemed she had expected me to suggest something a lot more tantalizing. Well, if she sticks around long enough, we might get to that, I thought, excitement streaming through me.

  She recovered quickly, however. “Sure. What do you want to know? I’m like an open book.”

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Sophie Teresa Restivo.”

  “Restivo…” I stroked my chin and pretended to be pensive. “Italian descent?”

  “Yes. But only on my father’s side. My mom is American. From England originally.”

  “How long have you lived in this building?”

  She cocked her head. “Is that important?”

  “Maybe.” I smiled at her in a way that I hoped seemed mysterious.

  “Let’s see.” She screwed up her features. “I’ve been here almost a year. I moved in here last summer. In June.”

  “Do you know any of the neighbors?”

  “Not really. I like to stick to myself.”

  “So I should feel honored then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I didn’t answer, just looked at her until she caught on.

  “Oh!” She giggled. “Right. Yes, you should. To be honest, I felt I recognized you right away. I saw pics of you in the paper. Years ago. When you were much younger. But you haven’t changed all that much.”

  “You mean I still look like a kid?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant! Just that you still look the way you did in the photos. It’s that haunted look in your eyes. On your face. I remember feeling for you. It stuck with me.”

  “Huh.”

  “Was it hard?” She gazed at me with serious eyes.

  “What?”

  “To be in prison.”

  I thought about her question, then said, “Sometimes.”

  “What was the hardest part?”

  “That everyone thought I was guilty when I wasn’t.” I wanted to clap a hand over my mouth. Why did I say that? Did I really want this girl to know so much about me so fast? Why would I want her to know the truth about me when she was likely Mom’s spy?

  “It’s okay,” she said soothingly when I looked away momentarily, putting a hand on my arm. “Please keep talking. You said you weren’t guilty?”

  I looked at her again, saw how she studied me. Tried to gauge what I was about to say next. No, I didn’t want her to know the truth about me yet, if ever. I didn’t think my parole officer would like to hear what I had been about to confess. My mom, on the other hand, would love it.

  I wasn’t about to give her what she wanted.

  7

  The following afternoon I didn’t go back home once I had finished my lunch shift at the restaurant. Instead, I headed to a public library in Astoria to do some research online. I could always use the laptop that sat in the apartment that I was supposed to use for school, but I didn’t want to risk running into Sophie. I needed some space away from her. She had too much pull on me, made me lose control too easily. Yesterday, soon after I had blurted out to her that I wasn’t guilty of my crimes, I had told her that I had to go to bed because I had to be up early. That had been a lie and she had been able to tell, but it didn’t matter. The notion of ending up behind bars again had rattled me so much that I’d needed to be alone so I could think. Assess how much I had screwed up, if at all.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t put up a fight but played along with me when I claimed to be suddenly sleepy. The second she was gone, I stretched out on the loveseat, pondering what we had discussed to reassure myself that I hadn’t said anything overly stupid. Soon enough, I concluded that I was probably okay, that I had only overreacted. Still, it was good that I’d made her leave, I thought as I entered the library. Who knew what other stupid thing would have come out of me last night?

  When I saw her again, I would act like I had totally forgotten what I had said and she would hopefully not remind me. I couldn’t talk about it until I knew for sure that contradicting my parole statements couldn’t hurt me in any way.

  I found an available computer as soon as I spotted the table with them in the library. Inhaling the stale air of old books, unwashed clothes, and dust-filled carpets, I took a seat behind the computer and logged on. The first thing I would do was look up Sophie and ensure that she was a student at John Jay as she had claimed. I should be able to find out all kinds of stuff about her by googling her.

  So I did. There were a few Sophie Restivos in the New York area, but none of them seemed to be the one in my building. I tried finding her on Facebook. Out of the five profiles I pulled up, none looked like Sophie. I tried to find her on Twitter and on Instagram. No luck there either. Was it possible that she was one of the rare few who refused to participate in social media? I supposed it was, but I didn’t think it was possible for someone her age to have absolutely no digital footprint.

  I tried using her full name and nothing of interest came up. I tried her name with the words John Jay College. There were no records of her that way, either.

  She must be using a fake name then, I mused. I chewed on a hangnail, thinking about how I could use this piece of knowledge to my advantage. Asking Mom about her was out of the question. Mom would obviously not admit to putting any spies on me, nor would she tell me what Sophie’s real
name was anyway.

  For all I knew, Sophie wasn’t even Mom’s plant, even though I felt sure she was. Still, I couldn’t allow myself to forget that.

  Either way, it was far better that Mom had no idea I kept tabs on her. I’d get to the bottom of what Sophie was all about by following her around. Maybe, by following Sophie around for a bit, I’d find out more stuff about Mom. When I got back home, I’d check the mailboxes in the entrance. I knew Sophie lived on the third floor, so it would be easy to figure out which one out of the two apartments there was hers. Not that I expected her name to be on a mailbox. I chuckled inwardly. I could hardly wait until I got that verified. Then, when I saw her next, I’d ask her about it. See what she had to say. I’d enjoy watching her squirm before me.

  I pushed away from the table, eager to get back home and find Sophie so I could put her on the spot.

  I half jogged along the streets, making a quick stop at the grocery store on the way to the apartment building. I needed to get more stuff to eat and drink for the house. The things Mom had filled it with were not what I preferred these days. Not that she knew or even cared. As I dropped grocery items into the shopping basket, I fantasized about what I would do if I could manage to get Mom to confess to what she had done to me on tape. How I would celebrate then. I would probably head to California and then to Hawaii, be a beach bum for a while. Soak up the sun, surf the big waves in the Pacific Ocean. There would be no restrictions on what I could and couldn’t do, as my record would be cleared. The best part was that the government would have to pay me money for not believing me and making me do time for crimes I hadn’t committed. I could only imagine it would be a lot of money. Not only that, my story would make a lot better movie than Mom’s. I’d write it myself and sell it to Hollywood. Maybe I could also be in it. I grinned to myself. I’d be famous and chicks would throw themselves at me!

  “Hey, watch out!”