Page 102 of The Wedding Party

A few minutes later, I’m outside a cell set up for high-risk visitations.

“You sure you want to do this?” Warden Green asks.

“Very,” I say, but what I don’t say is that I have sat across from a serial killer; I’ve looked in his unshuttered eyes. That man is proud of the evil inside him. And I’m thankful we put him away for life. I need just that with Carrie. Because she, too, is evil walking, hidden behind the sweet facade of a nurse. In some ways, that makes her more dangerous than the Spider Man.

“We’ll be close and watching.” He motions to the guard to open the door. He turns a lock.

The door opens and I step inside to find a man sitting behind a table, his hands cuffed underneath the wooden top. A man who looks too young to be Carrie’s father, with thick, dark hair and pale, chiseled features. The door slams behind me and I manage not to flinch.

“Agent Castle, is it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, claiming the seat across from him.

Once we’re face-to-face, I can see that his eyes are brown like Carrie’s.

“What can I help you with, Agent?”

“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

“I know what they say I’ve done.”

“You don’t believe them?”

“I didn’t kill anyone. I would never hurt anyone.”

There is an honest, believable quality about him that is so very Carrie. “Have you looked at photos of your victims?”

“Not my victims,” he says. “I would never, ever.” He looks up, his bottom lip trembling before he levels me with a stare. “I wouldn’t do those horrid things to anyone.”

“Did you know you have a daughter, Mr. Morrow?”

“I do not.”

“You do,” I insist. “Selma Summer gave birth to your child and put her up for adoption.”

“I don’t know a Selma Summer.”

“She says you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Has your daughter ever come to visit you?”

“I don’t have a daughter.”

“You do have a daughter,” I push. “You raped her mother.”

“I did not rape—” he begins and then reels himself in. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Why do you think she says that you did?”

“I think they all have me confused with someone else. I think there must be a look-alike. But I’ve given up hope that anyone will ever find him. This is my life now.”

“Your daughter looks like you.”

“What is her name? This woman you say is my daughter.”

“Carrie.”