Monster in His Eyes(55)

"I'm looking for Carrie," I say.

"I know," he responds, the thick accent striking me. The same guy from  the call. He steps aside, motioning for me to come in. Hesitantly, I  step inside, seeing the house is mostly empty. He stands at the door for  a moment longer, his gaze sweeping along the street. "You come alone?"

"Of course."

Satisfied, he shuts the door. He strolls past me, a peculiar sway to his  walk, a strange limp like he can't quite bend one of his knees. "Your  mother's not here."

I stare at him, tensing as he heads into the living room and sits down  on the shabby old couch-the only stitch of furniture in the room. "Where  is she?"

"Have a seat," he says casually, motioning toward the torn, filthy cushion beside him.

"Where is she?" I ask again, making no move to come any closer. My eyes  shift to the door, making sure it's unlocked in case I need to make a  hasty exit, before I glance back at him. He's watching me, his lips  curving with amusement as he strikes a match and lights his cigar. He  tosses the match down on the wooden floor, stomping it out with his  shiny black dress shoes.

"I'm not going to harm you, girl."

I try for the third time. "Where is she?"

He slouches on the couch, resting his arm along the back of it as he  stretches out, his gaze still firmly on me. "She stepped out."

"Why? Where did she go?"

"She thought it was best if she wasn't here, if I explain it to you."

"Explain what?"

He takes a drag from his cigar and is quiet for a moment, flicking his ashes straight onto the floor. "Why I left you."                       
       
           



       

I stare at him, as every ounce of strength I tried to build, putting me  on guard, fades away in a wave of shock. No way. I stare in disbelief,  those words sinking in, my eyes roaming his face. Even from this  distance, the freckles dotting his skin stand out like tiny beacons,  displaying the truth before he even has to say it.

I haven't been able to get ahold of my mother in weeks because she's  been with my father, the man who abandoned us, who walked out on us.  It's his fault she is the way she is, his fault she was constantly  chasing ghosts, chasing him …  and she found him. She fucking found him.

And she's obviously even worse off for having done so.

"I know why you left," I say, taking a step back. There are a few feet  between us, but it suddenly feels way too close. "You left because  you're a fucking coward."

"Kissimmee … "

"No," I say, shaking my head, the sound of that nickname coming from him  stirring up anger. "Don't dare call me that! What gives you the right?"

"Considering I gave you the nickname, I say I have plenty of right," he  says. "I called you that when she was pregnant, my little Kissimmee  baby. You were made there, you know, down in Kissimmee. So that's what  gives me the right."

"You have no right to even talk to me. You're nobody to me. Nothing. You  lost all rights when you walked away. I didn't need you. I don't need  you. But she loved you."

"I loved her, too. I still love her. She knows that, she always has."

"You're wrong," I say. "She was a mess, could never settle down or trust, always running because of you."

He stands up. His presence feels imposing, intimidating. I take another step back as he starts toward me.

"It wasn't me that had her running."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy," I say. "You weren't there.  You didn't see it. You didn't live it. I don't care what bullshit excuse  you make up …  running out on us is unforgivable, and if she thought you  explaining it to me would make it any better, she's sorely mistaken."

"Don't act that way," he says. "I deserve to be heard out. I'm your father."

"You're nothing," I say. "John Reed is nobody to me."

I spit the words with as much hostility as I can conjure up, meaning  them with everything in me, but instead of flinching, instead of being  hurt, he laughs. His laughter is loud and amused, striking me harder  than fists.

"John Reed," he says, shaking his head. "You're right-he is nobody. He's  nothing. He doesn't even exist. But I'm your father, Johnny Rita, and  you're my daughter, and your mother …  your mother's my wife. Carmela  Rita."

"Her name is Carrie Reed."

He shakes his head, his tone mocking as he says, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, girl."

"I'm not a girl-I'm a woman. And I don't care what you have to say. I'm done talking to you."

I storm outside, slamming the door behind me. I half-expect him to come  after me, but he doesn't. Of course. My eyes sting as I walk away from  the rundown house, trying to put space between that man and me.

It isn't until I'm a few blocks away with tears streaking my cheeks that  I realize the predicament I'm in. Frustrated, exhausted, I sit down on  the curb by the street sign on a corner and pull out my phone to call a  cab.

It takes them twenty insufferable minutes to get to me. It drops me off  at the train station in Newark, and I buy a ticket back home.

It's nearing dark when I make it back to the house in Brooklyn. The sun  is setting, everything looking as I left it, the driveway vacant of  Naz's car. I'm in a daze, my stomach in knots. I feel like I've been  drained, and I'm not sure which way is up.

John Reed. Johnny Rita.

Carrie Reed. Carmela Rita.

Who are they?

Who am I?

I thought I knew, but now I'm not sure. I'm drowning in a river of  secrets, living in a world built upon lies. Does Karissa Reed even  exist? Or am I Karissa Rita?

Who the fuck is that?

Tears swim in my eyes again as I unlock the door and step inside the  dark house. Things make even less sense now. What was real? What was a  lie? I shut the door and lock it again, turning to head straight for the  stairs, when a sharp voice in the darkness stops me dead in my tracks.

"Where'd you go?"

Jumping, I turn around and come face-to-face with Naz in the living  room. I grab my chest, startled. "You scared me. I didn't realize you  were home. Your car isn't in the driveway."

"It's in the garage," he says, stepping toward me, his hands in his pockets. "Where'd you go?"

"I, uh... I went to see my mother."

"You found her?"

"More like she found me," I mumble, reaching into my pocket and pulling  out the crinkled note. "Melody gave me this yesterday …  I called the  number, and my mom gave me an address, told me to come see her."                       
       
           



       

He steps closer, reaching his hand out, silently asking to see the note.  I hand it over to him and he reads it, cringing. "You went to this  place alone?"

"She told me to. Said it was important."

He folds up the note and hands it back to me as he meets my eyes. He  stares hard as he reaches over and cups my cheek. "You've been crying."

"It's been a long day."

"Did you see her?" he asks. "Did you talk to her?"

"No, she wasn't there."

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Was somebody else?"

I nod. "My father, if you can believe it."

I can hardly believe it myself.

Naz's expression hardens. He's so still I'm not sure he's breathing. "What did he say to you?"

"A lot," I mutter. "But nothing really. All lies, or maybe it's all the truth. I don't know. I figured out who he was and left."

"What did he want?"

"To explain why he left."

"And did he?"

"No, I didn't give him the chance."

Naz's thumb strokes my cheek as he lets out a deep sigh. "Maybe you should."

My brow furrows. "You think so?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'm interested to hear what he has to say."





The trip to Jersey is quicker with Naz driving. I feel better now having  him with me, like instead of being on defense maybe I'm on the offense  this time. He holds my hand on the center console, his thumb soothingly  stroking my skin.

He has no issue finding the house, navigating the streets of Newark like  he's well versed on the dilapidated neighborhood. My mother's car is  there now, parked out front. Naz pulls the Mercedes to a stop behind it,  cutting the engine and getting out without a word.

He opens my door for me and I get out, taking a few steps toward the  house when Naz grabs my wrist, pulling me to a stop. I look at him  peculiarly, and he shakes his head. "Wait here."

My brow furrows. "Why?"

"Just trust me."

I shrug it off, walking back toward Naz and pausing right in front of  him, my eyes on the house. It's completely dark, illuminated only by the  streetlight out front. It's nine at night, maybe a little later. "Maybe  they're asleep."