Torture to Her Soul
Page 58

I glance at her, raising an eyebrow in question. "Did I know what?"
"The last time we went to this airport, when I asked you what was in New Jersey and you gave me all those bullshit answers," she explains. "Did you know that's where my parents were? Did you know what was really in New Jersey then?"
"Ah, no," I say. "I had no idea."
"Really?" she asks. "Because when I told you where I'd been that day, you seemed to know exactly where the house was… exactly where to find them."
"I recognized the address."
"How?"
"Because I'd been there before," I say, hesitating, not sure if I should go on, but I can tell from her expression she's going to ask more questions if I don't just put it out there. "I tracked your father there years ago."
"What happened? When you found him, I mean…"
"Nothing much," I say. "Your mother had already left him, and I wasn't ready to kill him yet. I wanted him to suffer like I had. He ended up settling into his little suburban life while your mother jumped from city to city."
"Did you ever find her again? Did you find us?"
"Yes," I say, "but I was always too late. I'd show up after you were already gone, find a few things that your mother left behind, tracks she forgot to cover, but she got better over time. Smarter. I lost her trail about three years ago, after Syracuse, and didn't pick it up again until you showed up in the city."
Karissa stares at me the entire time I'm speaking, looking me dead in the eyes without flinching.
It's quiet for a few minutes as she stares at me in contemplation, before she asks, "When did you change your mind?"
She's looking for an explanation, some sort of revelation that will justify this trust she's giving me. She wants to believe I'm a changed man, that the person she loves isn't the same monster she fears, but I've got not such admissions for her. I am who I am, and I do what I do, and I can't apologize for it.
But goddamn if that look in her eyes doesn't make me wish I could.
I wish I could be a better man.
I wish I could do that for her.
But I'm not, and I can't, because she's damn stubborn and I'm too fucked up to ever make a difference.
Wishing is for fools.
It doesn't change anything.
"When did I change my mind about what, Karissa?"
"About killing my mother," she whispers. "About killing me."
Although her voice is low, it doesn't tremble. My instinct is to ask, 'what makes you think I've changed my mind?' But she speaks like she's fearless and I don't want to make her afraid of me.
I won't kill her.
I can't.
Her mother, on the other hand, is an entirely different story.
"I'm not sure," I answer. "I don't know when it happened."
"Bullshit."
I admire her bluntness and fight off a smile, knowing laughing at the moment will only cause her hurt. There's nothing funny about this situation. "It wasn't what I'd call a conscious decision. I saw you, I talked to you, I took you home with me… took you into my bed… and somewhere along the way I fell in love with you. And when the time came to actually see my plan through, I realized I couldn't do it. I realized I didn't want to. Maybe it happened later; maybe it happened the first time I laid eyes on you. I don't know, Karissa. All I know is it happened, and that's the truth."
She holds my gaze for a few seconds before breaking eye contact, ducking her head as she turns away to look out the window again. We ride in silence after that, neither of us saying a word the rest of the trip to the airport. She doesn't talk to me when we get out of the car, doesn't talk to me when our bags are unloaded, and doesn't even talk to me as we board the plane. It's smaller than the one Ray chartered during our trip to Vegas, but it's just the two of us now, so we don't need anything too fancy.
Karissa veers as soon as she's inside, plopping down in a single seat off to the side by herself. I pause, wondering if I've upset her, before taking a seat across from her, putting some space between us.
She doesn't look at me. Her eyes are fixed out the window, her elbow propped on the arm of the chair, her chin resting in her palm. I hate it when she drifts away. She looks lost, and I wish I could find her, bring her back where she belongs.
I exchange words with the pilot, and within a few minutes we're up in the air. I relax back in my seat, stretching my legs out. It's going to be a long flight... a very long flight.
Over eight hours from gate to gate.
I watch Karissa as she watches the morning sky. It's starting to lighten outside, but the lights in the cabin are dim, casting her in soft shadows.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Half an hour.
Time drifts away slowly.
It's an hour or so into the flight before I hear her voice again.
"Do you regret it?" she asks quietly. "Do you regret loving me?"
I don't answer. Not right away. I stare at her until she finally turns her head to look at me, until she breaks and can't keep her gaze away a second longer. In her eyes I see apprehension, the kind that tells me my answer might break her the way she once ripped me apart with the word red.
"I have no regrets," I say finally.
Her brow furrows. "None at all?"
"None."