Panic Attack Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “I don’t want my name, your name, and I definitely don’t want Marissa’s name in there.”
“I don’t think there’s any avoiding it.”
“My God, do you think it’ll be front- page news?”
Adam thought it could make the front page of all the major papers— a shooting in an affluent New York City neighborhood had to be a major news story— but he wanted to placate her and said, “I doubt it.”
“It’ll definitely be on the TV news,” she said, sounding not at all placated. “I saw all the cameras out there. New York One, for sure, and probably all the local news shows.”
“You never know,” Adam said. “By tomorrow there’ll probably be other big news stories, and this one’ll get buried.”
He could tell Dana still wasn’t buying any of this. Well, he’d given it a try, anyway.
“What about the other guy?” she asked. “Did the detective say they think they were gonna find him?”
“I’m sure they’ll find him soon, probably before morning,” Adam said. He could tell how upset she was, so he kissed her and hugged her tightly and said, “I’m so sorry about all of this. I really am.” He held her for a while longer, and he knew that she was thinking about saying something about the gun again, that it took all her self- control to not lay into him about it.
Instead they let go and she said, “I just want this all to go away. I want to go to sleep and wake up and find out none of this ever happened.”
Several minutes later, Marissa returned from talking to the detective, and then Dana went into the dining room to answer a few more questions. Marissa looked distraught, which made Adam feel awful. She’d called him daddy earlier, and how, despite all her acting out lately, she was still his little girl. He hugged her tightly and kissed her on top of her head and said, “Don’t worry, kiddo. Things’ll be back to normal soon, you’ll see.”
There were still cops and other police personnel in the kitchen, in the living room, and especially near the staircase, dusting for fingerprints and apparently looking for other forensic evidence. He looked out a window and saw that. News trucks were still there, and reporters were milling around on the lawn; and some neighbors were there, too. He knew the reporters were probably waiting to talk to someone from the family, to get a few good sound bites, so he figured he might as well get it over with.
He went outside and it was very surreal— standing in front of his house at four in the morning with all the lights in his face and the reporters shouting questions. He recognized a couple of the reporters— What’s Her Name Olsen from Fox News and the young black guy from Channel 11. Somebody was holding a boom with a mike over his head, and people were sticking mikes from ABC, WINS, NY1 and other stations in front of his face. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention; he normally tried to avoid being in the spotlight. For years he’d suffered from glossophobia, a fear of public speaking, and he usually tried to stay in the background, to be an observer. At psychology conferences, he never made a pre sentation unless he absolutely had to, and then he had to use a number of cognitive- behavioral strategies to overcome his anxiety.
“Why did you shoot him?” the guy from Channel 11 asked.
“I didn’t have any choice,” Adam said, already sweaty. “He was coming up the stairs in the middle of the night and when I shouted for him to get out he didn’t leave. I think anyone in my position would’ve done the same thing.”
“Did you know he wasn’t armed?” What’s Her Name Olsen asked.
“No, I did not,” Adam said.
“Would you do it all over again?” a guy in the back shouted.
“Yes,” Adam said. “If I was in the same situation, if someone broke into my house and I thought my family was in danger, I think I would. Absolutely.”
There were a lot more questions, and they all had a similar vaguely accusing tone. Adam was surprised because he’d thought that he’d be treated more sympathetically by