Torture to Her Soul
Page 82

I bang on the door, impatiently, and listen as there's rustling inside. A moment later, locks jingle, the front door pulled open. The man is wearing a pair of pretentious silk pajamas, barefoot, his graying hair wayward, like I'd just wrangled Einstein from sleep. He rubs his eyes as he looks out, his expression falling serious when he sees me standing there.
Dr. Carter.
"Vitale," he says, his voice grave. "Uh, I wasn't expecting you."
"I have another," I say, foregoing greeting. "I need to use the facilities."
Him and I came to a sort of understanding years ago. I pay him handsomely and he hands over the keys to the small crematory out back. It's intended for animals, for the sentimental pet owners, but it works for what I need it for. The doctor's hands stay clean, relatively speaking… all he has to do is look the other way.
He hesitates before turning around and walking away. I step inside the open door, glancing around, as he retrieves the keys. I thank him with a nod and step out, getting in my car to pull around back.
Three hours.
That's all it takes for the incinerator to warm up and for Paul to disappear from the face of the earth. By the time I'm finished, he's little more than dust that's unleashed out my window on the drive back into the city, making the scumbag fade into the wind.
It's around five in the morning when I make it back home, pulling the car back into the garage, shutting the door behind me. I flick on the light and pop the trunk, doing a thorough sweep of it, spraying every inch and vacuuming it out, removing every stitch of DNA left behind.
I look up when I'm finished, freezing when my gaze hits the side door leading into the house. Karissa is standing in the doorway wearing only a long t-shirt. My eyes trail up her bare legs before I meet her curious stare. Her eyes are bloodshot, her face lined with exhaustion. It doesn't look like she's been to sleep.
"What are you doing?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Couldn't sleep," I say. "Decided to clean out the car."
"It wasn't already clean?"
"Not clean enough."
She regards me for a moment before stepping closer, peering around the side of the car, into the open trunk. There's nothing in here. Nothing at all.
After she looks, I close the trunk and offer her a smile as I lean up against the car. My eyes trail her again, unable to help myself. The shirt is loose, the neck stretched out. I can see her collarbones as it drapes along her shoulders. Reaching over, I trace fingertips along her skin around the neckline before grazing my hand along her throat and cupping her chin. I stare into her eyes, drinking in the alarm I find.
"Where'd you go tonight?"
"Out."
"What did you do?"
"Don't worry about it," I say quietly, running my thumb across her lips before leaning down and kissing her. "You have no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you… nobody is."
She stares at me for a moment before reaching up, covering my hand with her own. "How can you be sure?"
"Because I won't let them," I say. "It's as simple as that."
The first day of classes at NYU.
I sit in my car outside the building in Greenwich Village, gazing across the street at the entrance, watching as Karissa strolls inside, clutching a brand new textbook to her chest. She was adamant about taking the subway, but I assured her I had business in the neighborhood to get her to let me drive her today.
She agreed, begrudgingly, but insisted on taking the subway home. It was a tentative agreement, one I don't plan on following.
I'll be here when she gets out this afternoon.
I had her schedule memorized before even she did. Her first class of the day is the one she'd been hesitant to take: Ethics & Society, in the very same classroom she'd taken with Daniel. They'd remodeled it over the summer.
Apparently I left quite a mess and the floors needed replaced.
After that is English, and Math, before her day ends at exactly two o'clock.
I glance at my watch. Nine o'clock in the morning. That gives me exactly five hours to get some work done.
I wait until she's out of sight to pull away, cruising the few blocks through the neighborhood to Cobalt, parking my car in the back lot before heading inside. Kelvin is once more at the door and eyes me curiously when I step inside. He doesn't look down this time, doesn't look away, until I cast him a curious look.
"Vitale," he mutters.
I walk away, strolling right inside as I head for the bar, but I only make it a few steps when Ray's voice cuts through the air. "Hey! Look who it is!"
I turn his way, pausing when I see Brandy is draped over his lap in the chair. She's starting to become a permanent fixture in the place, like the ugly useless lamps they keep on all the end tables. There aren't even any bulbs in the fucking things.
"Ray." I nod in greeting. "Good to see you."
"You, too," Ray says, shifting around, practically throwing the girl to the floor as he gets to his feet. He reaches for my hand, grasping it and pulling me to him to give me a sort of half-hug. "You're up and around awfully early today. What is it, four in the morning? Five?"
"Nine," I tell him, waving for the waitress to bring me a drink as she strolls past. It's early, hell, but never too early for a cold beer.
"Nine?" He sounds incredulous as he glances at his watch, squinting. He's drunk. Real drunk. I can smell it on him as he sways slightly. They must've been here all night. "Shit, my wife's going to kill me. We have an appointment this morning for that, uh… that, you know…" He waves his hand as if I'm supposed to know what he means. "Hell, I don't even know. Guess it wasn't that important."