Torture to Her Soul

by J. M. Darhower

  Their dining room table is massive, packed to the brim on both sides with chairs. The two closest to the head of the table adjacent to Ray remain empty. I pause as I give the room a glance, surveying the others, before leading Karissa to the empty chairs. I pull one out, whispering for her to take a seat.

  She does so hesitantly.

  I push it back in, offering Ray a polite nod as I sit down, taking my place between them.

  Caught in the middle…

  Dinner is strained. I can feel the tension all around me, wrapping its hands around my throat and squeezing. The others eat heartedly, laughing and drinking, happy to be here. A few months ago, I would've felt the same way.

  But something changed.

  I changed.

  I'm not sure if it's in a good way.

  I cut my eyes toward Karissa, watching as she stirs her food around with a fork. I don't think she's eaten any of it.

  Neither have I.

  Leaning over, I whisper in her ear. "Not hungry?"

  She edges closer, her voice only loud enough for me to hear. "You weren't eating, so I figured it might not be safe for me, either."

  Her lips curve into a small smile as I laugh, shrugging when she cuts her eyes at me. Her smile turns to laughter before Ray clears his throat beside us, garnering our attention. "Got something funny you'd like to share?"

  Karissa silences immediately, as I turn to Ray. "Private joke."

  He doesn't look amused.

  His gaze burns through me for a moment before his focus turns to Karissa. "So, Miss Rita—"

  "Reed," she interjects. "My name is Karissa Reed… not Rita."

  The entire room grows silent, the sound of clanking forks so loud I see Karissa flinch at the unexpected noise. People don't correct the boss, nor do they talk back to him. He could call you fucking Benedict Arnold and the rest of these guys would tolerate it so not to rock the boat.

  But boat rocking is in Karissa's nature.

  It's a side effect of her mother's smothering.

  "Reed," Ray says, his voice terse. He's not sure how to react to her declaration. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your father's Johnny Rita."

  There's a sharp exhale through the room. That name is like poison—nobody wants to breathe it. Karissa glances around before clearing her throat and looking at Ray. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no father. My name has always been Karissa Reed."

  Ray looks to me and lets out a laugh. It's cold, sending a chill through the air. "She certainly doesn't have a father now, does she, Vitale?"

  He's usually not one to discuss these sorts of things in public, but he's trying to prove a point—a point that's clearly made when I see Karissa tense from my peripheral. Shaking my head, I look down at my plate. "No, she doesn't."

  "Good thing, too," Ray says. "One less Rita means one less traitor in the world. Isn't that right?"

  He's staring right at me. I can feel his eyes burning through my skull. My fingertips tingle, itching to wrap around his throat for him asking me these questions in front of her. But I have no choice but to respond, and to give him the answer he wants to hear.

  "Right," I say. "One less traitor."

  Ray laughs again, his voice barely loud enough for us to hear. "So many more to go."

  As if dinner weren't strained before, it's practically torture now. They all go back to acting as if the exchange hadn't happened, and Ray drops the subject like he hadn't been about to address Karissa in the first place. His work here is done, his goal accomplished. He wanted to put me in my place, wanted to show her who called the shots, and she saw it. She's feeling it. I can tell from the way she's not looking at me, the way she's not looking at anything.

  She's still here, but she's gone.

  Dessert is on the table, Double Chocolate Biscotti being served with coffee. I know Karissa would love it, but she doesn't even acknowledge it's there. The others are laughing, but she's on the cusp of tears. I can see her hands shaking in her lap as she fights to hold her emotion in, but it's getting to be too much.

  Grabbing my napkin from my lap, I toss it on the table and stand. Leaning toward Ray, I whisper, "We're heading out now."

  He looks at me. "So soon?"

  I don't have to respond. He doesn't give me a chance, anyway. He stands up the same time Karissa does and reaches for her. His hands clasp a hold of hers before she can pull them away.

  "I'm glad you could join us," he says, pressing yet another kiss to the back of her hand. "Always a pleasure, Miss Rita. Always a pleasure."

  She pulls away without responding and jets from the room. Ray turns to me, slapping a hand on my shoulder and squeezing before sitting back down.

  "Thanks for dinner," I say, although he knows I didn't eat a bite of it.

  "You're welcome any time, Vitale," he says. "Be in touch about that thing we talked about. After it's handled, you and I will talk about the girl."

  Karissa is standing at the car when I step outside, resting on the back bumper, leaning against the trunk. My footsteps waver, my muscles tensing. I unlock the doors, and she pushes away from the car, walking the rest of the way to get in the passenger seat.

  She says nothing to me on the drive home.

  Says nothing to me once we get there.

  I pull the car into the garage and cut the engine, sitting there for a moment in silence. Karissa gets out, wordlessly using her keys to go inside without me. I give it a few minutes before following, finding her upstairs, already in bed, blanket pulled up over her head.

  I don't disturb her, staring at her for a moment before I walk back out. I go down to the den and sit there for a while in the darkness, my mind a flurry of thoughts, before I grab my keys again and head back out.

  I have things to take care of.

  I'm not sure what to say to her.

  I drive through the boroughs, out of the city, to a small rural town to the north, heading down familiar roads I've driven dozens of times before. I pull up in front of the cabin situated on the edge of a span of woods. It's nighttime, and the windows are obscured with darkness, but the familiar Chevy Suburban parked out front tells me the one I need to see is home.

  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."

  "Guess not," I respond. "I'm sure Martina would call if it were important."

  "Yeah, or try to show up here," Ray says with a laugh. "Good thing she knows women aren't allowed inside."

  My gaze darts to Brandy as she smiles, clearly listening, obviously the exception to the rules.

  We all have those, I think.

  Exceptions.

  I used to be one of his.

  "So what are you doing here?" Ray asks when the waitress brings my beer. I pop the top off with the bottle opener on my keys and take a long pull, letting it soothe my nerves. He retakes his seat, Brandy draping herself once more over his lap, as he motions to the chair beside him for me to sit.

  I hadn't come here to socialize, or even to see Ray, but denying him isn't smart at the moment, so I sit.

  "Just handling some business," I reply, taking another drink.

  "Same business you were handling the other night before the dinner party?" he asks, raising an eyebrow curiously. "It's not like you to be late for things. Makes me wonder what was so important."

  "Had to take care of a guy," I say. "No big deal."

  "What guy? What did he do?"

  "Endangered Karissa."

  He smiles, letting out a little laugh. "Endangered Karissa."

  "Yes."

  "Funny, how you can go from wanting to kill her yourself to wanting to kill anyone who hurts her," Ray says. "Who was the guy, anyway? Anyone I know?"

  "No," I say. "Just the boyfriend of one of her friends."

  "So you took care of her friend's boyfriend because he endangered her?"

  "Yes."

  "How chivalrous," he mutters. "Something my daughter loved in you, might I add. Maria always went on and on about your manners, how you'd open doors and pull out chairs and offer her your coat when she was cold. She always said she found a hero in you."

  I shake my head as I guzzle the rest of the beer, setting the empty bottle down on the table beside me. No amount of alcohol will dilute the bitterness of this conversation. "I'm nobody's hero."

  "You're trying to be Karissa's."

  "No, I just don't want to be her villain."

  "Ah, hero, villain… what's the difference anymore? These days, killing kids in the name of love is more honorable than putting someone out of their misery. The world's gone backward."

  "Maybe you're just looking at it the wrong way."

  "Maybe," Ray agrees, "or maybe you aren't looking at it at all. Maybe you're blind to it."

  "Maybe you are."

  Ray shrugs. "One of us certainly is."

  We're at an impasse, one we'll probably never get past. My gaze shifts from Ray to his girlfriend as she eyes me curiously. She hasn't said a word, but she's still listening.

  "Maybe we should talk about this in private," I suggest.

  "No need," Ray says flippantly as he motions around the scarce bar. "We're all friends here."

  I don't have friends. I have family. And I don't trust half of them these days. But Ray believes what he wants to believe, and no amount of coaxing will change that with him.

  Sighing, I stand up and walk away, heading toward the administrative office beside Ray's. I've put this off way too long as it is, but I can't delay it any longer. Ray is growing impatient, especially after that display at his house, and I need to put an end to this so we can all move on and salvage whatever is left.

  I need to find Carmela.

  The manager is in, sitting at his desk. It takes him a moment to recognize me, and he rises to his feet. "Mr. Vitale. What can I do for you?"

  "I need to see the outside security footage from a few weeks ago," I say. "Around the beginning of June. There was an incident in the back lot."

  "Ah, yes, that."

  "You know what I'm referring to?"

  He sits back down and shifts through some things on his desk. "The same incident Mr. Angelo inquired about? Your shooting?"

  I tense. "Ray asked about it?"

  "Of course," he says. "The night it happened. He watched the footage."

  My stomach sinks. Ray saw. He knows who fired the shot that night. He knows I lied to him, he's known since the beginn
ing, but he hasn't called me out on it.

  Why?

  "I need copies of the footage made for me," I say. "All outside angles for the week leading up to the incident and the next day."

  He raises his eyebrows as he gazes at me. "That's hundreds of hours. If you're looking for something specific, I can—"

  "Don't worry about what I'm looking for," I say, cutting him off. "Just get me what I need, and make it quick."

  "Yes, sir. I can have it for you this afternoon."

  When I walk back out of his office, the bar is deserted. Ray and his girlfriend are both gone and the door is unmanned, as Kelvin likely made an exit with them. Strolling over, I plop back down in the leather chair, motioning for the waitress to bring me another beer.

  Maybe I can enjoy this one…

  A few hours later, the footage is ready. I grab the disks from the manager, nodding my thanks, and head out of Cobalt. I have just enough time to stop by the small café nearby and order a Chocolate Mint Tea before Karissa's school day ends. The café is in chaos. Seems one of their workers hasn't shown up for a few days, leaving them short staffed.

  Go figure.

  I'm in my car, parked in front of the math classroom, when two o'clock rolls around. I sit there, watching the building as the students stream out, looking for her, scanning the crowd for a hint of the pink sweater she wore today, but it's nowhere to be seen. The crowd thins, minutes ticking away.

  She's not here.

  My insides coil as I pull out my phone to call her. It goes straight to voicemail. I scan the neighborhood once more, double-checking I have the right place, and start up the car. I speed away, trying her phone again on the drive home with no luck.

  She's not answering.

  It's not even ringing.

  I pull the car in the driveway when I get to the house and head straight for the front door. The knob turns as soon as I grasp it. Unlocked. I shove the door open, a shuddering breath hitting me right away, the sound of crying in the distance. My feet root into the ground, coldness running through me. "Karissa?"

  The crying continues, a hiccupping sob, but above it I hear Karissa's calm voice call out. "In here."

  The den.

  I walk that way, pausing in the doorway. Karissa is sitting on the couch, her arm around Melody as the girl cries on her shoulder. My apprehension lessens just a bit with the swell of relief, but it doesn't completely fade away.