Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

"And yet here we are," I say. "A double homicide, in broad daylight, with you caught in the middle of it."

She starts crying, the tears breaking free, streaming down her cheeks as she looks away from me.

My chest tightens, and I'm nauseated from the anger and adrenaline overdose in my system. "Don't cry, okay? You're okay. We're okay. I just need you to understand how serious this is."

I motion to the open door of the car, and wordlessly, she climbs in. I close it, walking around to the driver's side, starting the car up and pulling it back off the curb.

She's quiet for a moment, staring out the side window, as I head the direction of the hospital. She waits until I pull into the parking lot, the car coming to a stop, before she lets out a deep sigh. "He said he knew my parents."

Her voice is so low I barely understand what she's saying, but I get it. She's telling me what she didn't tell the detectives. "Your parents."

She nods.

Huh.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just to tell you that he sends his regards."

The moment she says that, I know.

I know.

I know who did it, who attacked them, who damn near put my wife in a grave this afternoon. "Lorenzo."

"You know him," she says, or asks... I'm not sure. I guess it's a logical conclusion, if he knew her parents…

"Come on," I say. "Let's get you checked out."

Usually people can wait around hours at the emergency room to be seen, but Jameson must've called ahead, because the second they lay eyes on Karissa, they know who she is.

They know what happened.

They know why she's here.

They jump into procedure, whisking her into the back to clean her up and run some tests. Time passes as I sit in the waiting room, stewing. That son of a bitch made a big mistake. He messed with the wrong person. He should've known better. I could look the other way when he attacked my father's business, and when he attacked other people, but my wife?

He knew she was off limits.

He fucking knew it.

Jameson shows up eventually, but he doesn't stay long, heading to the back and returning with a paper bag full of what I assume are Karissa's clothes. He approaches me carefully, pausing out of arm's reach. I'm angry, fuming, and I think he can tell it.

"We're going to—"

He starts to talk, but I cut him off. "Don't tell me you're going to catch whoever did this, because I know better, Jameson. You didn't catch them last time. You won't do it now."

He pauses, frowning, before speaking again. "I was going to say, we're going to need her to come down to the station when she gets the chance to make an official statement."

I nod. "Our lawyer will be in touch."

He leaves then.

Leaves me alone.

Alone to stew some more.

To let my anger flourish.

I'm damn near jumping out of my own skin, too anxious to just sit here, waiting.

Standing up, I walk over to the desk, to the nurse in charge of this place. "Look, any chance I can go check on my wife? She's been back there for a while."

She looks torn and picks up the phone to make a call, asking whoever answers if it was fine if I was allowed back. She buzzes me through then, offering a sympathetic smile. "Down the hall, take the first left, and it'll be the second door on the right. They're just finishing up."

I follow her directions, and approach the door just as the doctor exists. He glances at me before averting his eyes, grumbling a greeting as he hurries past.

I don't bother to knock, instead walking right in. Karissa doesn't even look up when I enter. The nurse is finishing whatever she's doing and glances my way before turning to leave. "We're done here, so you're free to leave. We'll call in that prescription for you."

Karissa mouths the words 'thank you' but I certainly don't hear it. She's pale, almost ghostly white. It's like she's trapped in her own world.

"Prescription?" I ask. "Is there a problem?"

She shakes her head. "It's just a vitamin or whatever. I told them I hadn't been feeling well. The doctor thought... well, I mean, said I should take something."

Vitamins.

After what she went through, that's the least of our worries. "Otherwise?"

"I'm okay. They'll probably have to run more tests later, just in case, but he assured me everything was fine. Got a few shots, and you know... a pair of these."

She motions down at herself.

She's wearing some oversize paper scrubs, flimsy plastic looking things. Guess they're tired of people stealing their real ones. "I can almost see through them."

"Yeah, well, the alternative was the backless gown."

She stares at the floor.

Something's wrong.

I can sense it.

She won't even look at me.

"What's wrong?"

"You're angry."

I pause. "Is that what's wrong?"

"Just an observation."

I walk over to her, cupping her chin, tilting her face so she'll look up at me. Her eyes look all around me for a moment before finally meeting my gaze. Sadness, along with a healthy dose of fear. That's what greets me.

I hate it.

She should be happy.

She certainly deserves it.

This was supposed to be her happy ending.

What happened to it?

"I'm not mad at you," I say. "I'm mad this happened to you, that I have to be paranoid about you going places. I'm mad that I have to be mad, Karissa, but I'm trying to not take my anger out on you, because it's not your fault. It's mine."

It's my fault without a doubt. I got her into this.

It's my job to get her out of it.

I don't know if that matters to her right now, though.

If that even makes a difference.

It sure didn't alleviate any of that sadness or fear.

"Can we get out of here?" she asks. "I'd like to really be anywhere but here."

Can't argue with that.

I hate hospitals more than most people.

I'd like to be anywhere but here, too.

She doesn't say anything as she's discharged and we head out to the car, but she notices right away when I start driving the wrong direction. She tenses, staring out the side mirror. "Brooklyn isn't north of here."