Page 36 of Kill For Me Kill For You
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Amanda
Amanda passed the entrance to the musical instrument store, and pressed the buzzer for the separate entrance to the upstairs space for her support group. Her phone started to ring.
She thought it might be Wendy, or Naomi, as she insisted upon being referred to now.
It wasn’t Naomi. The screen saidFarrow. He’d already called her earlier that day to remind her to go to tonight’s meeting. She picked up.
‘Tell me you’re on 43rdStreet right now and headed for your session,’ he said.
‘Believe it or not that’s exactly where I am,’ she said, with some pride.
The door opened and Matt greeted her.
‘Hi, Matt,’ she said, then into the phone, ‘Do you want to say hi to the counselor?’
‘That’s not necessary. I’m just glad you’re going through with it. If you need me, you know how to reach me. Hang in there. You’re doing great.’
Amanda made her way upstairs, past the coffee station and looked out over some of the assembled group. Betty was there, and a few others.
No sign of Naomi.
She checked her watch. It was almost eight. Amanda grabbed coffee and made sure to take a seat with another empty one beside it. She put her coat on that chair to keep it for Naomi.
It was only three days since they’d had their night out on the rooftop bar of Pod 39, and they’d made it a late one. They had sunk a lot of cocktails, a lot of beer and ended up in an all-night pizzeria with the rest of the drunks and addicts who only seemed to venture out in Manhattan during the small hours of the morning.
Even after they’d finished a large pepperoni pizza, Amanda still felt buzzed from the conversation and the booze. Naomi wouldn’t shut up, asking questions about Crone. His routine, his background, the case against him, whether the police were really sure it had been him who had murdered Amanda’s daughter. She’d wanted to know how he lived, where he worked, his social life. Every last detail.
It was all they had talked about that night. Right until the end when Naomi drained the last of her vanilla Coke, threw down a pizza crust and said, ‘I can’t believe we’re really talking about this. That’s something I had not expected at the start of the night. You know, you can be quite persuasive.’
‘I need this,’ said Amanda. ‘I haven’t thought about anything else for months.’
‘Do you think you could do it? You think you could kill Quinn?’ asked Naomi.
Amanda knew she could kill someone. There was no doubting the strength of that desire – but it was aimed at a specific target. The man who had murdered her little girl. She knew Crone wasn’t the only monster. There were more like him. And Quinn sounded just as bad. Could she kill someonelikeCrone? She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the company, or both, but the answer came quickly.
‘Sure I could.’
Naomi nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
Amanda saw the doubt on Naomi’s face straight away and latched on to it. Amanda drained her soda, put down the cup and said, ‘Let’s make a promise. We’re not going to forget this night, what we’ve talked about. We could do this for real. Together. Like real sisters.’
And, with that, Amanda extended a shaky hand. Naomi smiled, took it, and Amanda was surprised by the strength of her friend’s grip.
‘I promise I won’t back out,’ said Amanda. ‘Now you.’
‘I promise,’ said Naomi, and relaxed her grip. Amanda did not. She held firm.
‘Nah, nah, nah, you gotta do this for real. Promise me you won’t back out. Say it.’
‘IpromiseI won’t back out,’ said Naomi.
Neither of them spoke another word. They stood up from the table, moved out onto the street, turned and embraced one another. There were no words required. The strength in their arms, as they held each other, said it all.
In the three days since, they hadn’t spoken, and the more time elapsed the more embarrassed Amanda felt about that night. Those three days had passed quickly in Amanda’s new routine. She met with her probation officer as requested, started taking some pills, cleaned the apartment and made an effort to stay in at night. With Crone suing her for harassment, she had to cut back on surveillance. He was more alert in the evenings, so she stayed at home. In the morning, when the city heaved with cars and people in rush hour, Amanda observed him from afar on his daily commute. It was easier to hide during the day.
If Amanda wasn’t focused on getting Crone, there was nothing else to occupy her mind. There was only her loss. Unending. An empty void that threatened to consume her. When she saw him, it fired her rage. Her anger at the injustice was a real feeling. It electrified her senses, made her feel alive. It made her feel there was something worth living for – even if it was just the simple act of willing his murder. To imagine his death wassomething. Without that – there wasnothing.
