Trust Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the room. The large bag was still in its spot on the shelf. That was good. He counted the Xanax; there were three missing. With the coke it was hard to tell; he didn’t keep close tabs on his personal stash. He snapped one of the bars in half and ate it, along with a Valium, put everything back in the briefcase, and cleared off the bed.
    He lay down, his heart thumping like a basketball on a gym floor.
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    The next thing he heard was shouting from outside. He looked at his watch; he must have slept for an hour. There was a brief silence, then a crash and the sound of breaking glass, and then he heard Lilah shout, “CAST THE DEVIL FROM YOUR HEART. THE DEVIL IS IN YOUR HEART.” This was followed by a voice from the neighboring apartment building—“Give it a rest, Lilah!”—and laughter. A different voice yelled, “Party time at Lilah’s again!” followed by, “Shut the fuck up, all of you.”
    Another crash. BOOM. Something heavy this time. He could picture her throwing things out of the living room window.
    “CAST THE DEVIL FROM YOUR HEART.” There was a muffled thump, as though a large piece of furniture had just been pushed over. Jeff dozed.
    He woke to a scream. “AAAH! GET AWAY FROM ME! FUCK YOU, DEVIL.” This was way past out of hand. He reached over to his briefcase and fished out another Valium. He needed, and intended to get, at least ten more hours of sleep.
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    This time he was awakened by a new sound. It came from the direction of the front door and had a crisp authority, a staccato rhythm of great purpose. After a silence, it resumed. He sat up on the edge of the bed. There was another silence, followed by, “POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!”
    “Shit.” He froze. He heard the unmistakable sound of the front door frame giving way, followed by heavy footsteps and the squawking of a police radio.
    “YOU,” he heard Lilah shriek, “CAST THE DEVIL FROM YOUR HEART.” She was really out of her tree. More footsteps. A female voice said something he couldn’t hear. A male voice laughed, the walkie-talkie blared, and the footsteps fanned out throughout the apartment.
    He got up and shut the closet door. Then he put his ear to the wall, trying to hear what was going on in the living room. He considered the window, but throwing out the bag and briefcase would surely attract attention. Climbing out was out of the question.
    He couldn’t hear much, but things seemed to be settling down. The female voice asked questions, Lilah’s voice responding in a singsong fashion. He reached in the pocket of his trunks. The amber vial was there. He whisked it out, unscrewed the cap, and inhaled what was left inside, savoring the medicinal smell as he put the vial under the mattress. He licked his thumb and index finger, then used them to clean his nostrils in a pinching motion. A hard object rapped against the door to his room.
    He opened the door and saw a cop holding a big nightstick. The cop was huge. Jeff was six feet tall and he had to look up at the guy.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Jeffrey Fenner, sir.”
    “What’s been going on around here?”
    “Well sir, I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know? What the hell have you been doing?” The cop was incredulous.
    “Sleeping. Well, trying to, anyway.”
    “You slept through this?” The cop gestured for him to step out and look down the hall into the living room.
    He looked out and saw four other cops standing by the door—one was the woman he had heard—and Lilah bound onto a stretcher on wheels. The living room was a mess, with stuff all over the floor and the couch and chairs tumbled over. He stepped back into his room. “It’s probably better if she doesn’t notice me,” he said.
    “Why is that? What’s going on here, anyway?”
    “Well, sir, ah . . .” His nose was about to drip. He started to reach for it, then let his hand drop. “I’m in grad school over at UCLA. Uh, biology, sir.” He saw an opening. “Anyway, I saw an ad for a