Beyond Grace [ON INDEFINITE HOLD]

Beyond Grace: 9

She sighed, a wispy breath lost to the amber lighting, “Thought we might give your coffee machine a break.”

The corner of her mouth dragged up in a half-smile, quickly mimicked by Cash. He didn’t say anything – words slipping away like omniscient cascading ink. Slowly, he lent down to press a kiss onto her forehead, inhaling the subtle scent of fragrant perfume and rosemary.

They stood placid for minutes in what seemed like eternity, a subdued sway to the pulse of the room and the bliss of the moment. The waitress slid two cappuccinos onto the table, juggling three other cups in the other hand. She had already ordered. Meekly, he accepted the favour, parting from the heated embrace to slip into a creaking chair and sipping on the smoothly bitter aroma of the coffee.

“Jaleel's innocent, you know. Tell them that — that he would never kill — never,” she adamantly murmured, forcefully taking a lingering draught from the cup.

Jaleel. The name felt alien and cold. He frowned, contemplative, before realising she was talking about her brother. It wasn't likely that Cash would be allowed to be involved on the case anyhow. Officer Dawson immediately barred relationships from investigating cases.

It had happened before — a very long time ago, back when John Howard had just begun as Prime Minister and mobile phones doubled as brutish weaponry. Cash had finally graduated from the academy at 19, proudly accepting an invitation into the Harlough police unit. It wasn't long before an officer's mother had been arrested for possession of cocaine. The evidence was revealed to be tampered with, and the case had to be dropped. Soon after, howbeit, they were both arrested for interference. Dawson had always loved to make an example out of them.

Keira knew, and it was almost certain Officer Dawson would be ringing in to chuck him off the case. Admittedly, the prospect of a murder was less appealing than doing the laundry. For Cash anyways. Keira, on the other hand... Well smoke and mirrors were her prime forte.

“Brother?” he queried, receiving a brief nod; yes. He sighed, continuing “I dunno. I don't think he'll do time.”

It may have been the tone of sincerity, the assertiveness as they clasped hands, yet she accepted the words as truths. Bittersweet relief flooded Cash as genuine joy illuminated Mariah's face. Regret immediately followed; gnawing at the pit of his organs.

And it scared him — how easily and smoothly the words crawled out of his mouth. Spewing forth, unmitigated and irreversible. Yet, augmenting her worries with the obscurity of truth seemed ridiculous. Preposterously ridiculous, in fact. He frowned. Paranoia — that was what it was. Logic whispered that it was unnecessary to dwell on a mere sentence like a woman. If Jaleel was innocent — Cash would claim full glory. If not... Well it would be “unforeseen”.

The thought of the crime scene developed, the blood pooling on the ground, bullet-hole flowers scattering the lifeless body. Murder was disgusting, heinous and repugnant. Lewd ‘business’ acts carried out vile scum. Retched up were images of grotesque oceans of blood and the perverted fantasies of the murderer. Unsurprisingly, most perpetrators didn't come quietly, either.

Cash sighed and took another gulp from the polished ceramic cup.

The coffee seemed more acrid with each sip, aroma dwelling on his taste buds. Crinkling his nose ever-so-slightly, Cash sculled the final third of the coffee. A dour expression was the only remnant of the drink.

Not far away, a baby was crying. The buoyant smiles of the young parents surrounded the small child, cooing soft lullabies. The lady's mouth formed to shape words. “Amazing Grace...” The background noise obliterated any distinguishable words, but it was obvious. The words had shadowed Melody's lips too many times.

Look away now.

It was the right thing to do. The baby’s wails had diminished to naïve gurgles, the parents equally as pleased as the infant – another reminder of the child lost long ago. He could remember the false fantasies, the baby shopping, the fresh lick of paint all over the house and the baby showers. The meds were irrelevant, the disease irrelevant. It used to be just him and her, just a beating heart shared across two bodies.

Their babe would five now, maybe with a flop of silky blonde hair, or wild any-which-way brown curls. Melody would be linking hands to bring them to their first day of school, with an enamoring smile that could reignite the sun.

“Cute, aren't they,” Mariah stated, toying with a wayward strand of hair.

Her eyes traced his fascination with the scene; the doting couple nursing the small baby. Cash paused, sucking in a deep breath. He wanted his child; the wondrous life once-growing within Melody's womb.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Like energy drinks on legs.”

She laughed softly, coyly fluttering heavily lidded eyes and beaming an effortlessly sublime smile.

Sultry and enigmatic laughter — as genuine as a mother's love and more fervent than a hot chocolate on a cold day, spilled from their lips. The joy seemed to linger within the crowded room, permeating every crevice with whispers of euphoria. Joviality crept through the rest of the evening; in the second, third, round of coffees, in the way each chair cautiously crept closer to the other until they pressed side by side, hand in hand.

And it wasn't love. Their days were still young and naïve to the wrinkles of aging. Yet, it was close — déjà vu kisses and an all-too-familiar addiction to the other. Like with Melody. Almost. Closed eyes still retched up images of pain, of the way she would neatly tuck a rebellious strand of hair behind an ear, and her voice painting worlds of fantasy in smooth honeyed vocals.

It hurt how time stole — maliciously so — moments of memories. Sticky fingertips constantly grasped at the slippery periphery of recollections of Melody. They would dance tauntingly; gifting him a glimpse, a murmur of the past.

But no amount of wishing could ever awaken the long dead.

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If you have actually read my story, include: "clocks" in your comment

gah... I'm sorry for taking forever. Truely, truely sorry. been having a really bad couple of weeks so far...

- School laptop was stolen (government piece of shit but still ad anbout 10000 words of assn.s due soon that i've now lost). considering it's locked with a passwoord, I don't know what they would want with it.

- mobile phone was stolen and parents won't get me a new one. 

- ipod got smashed

- parents are in partially psychotic mood

- editing (hours and hours worth) was deleted somehow

- school does this weird thing where they kick us out and make us reapply for yr 11 (cause they're uptight bitches who only want students with good marks)...

- art project costs around $250 and i have to finance it

- I'm stuck in an epic writers block

Oh wow... you're done with my ranting. you probably didn't actually need to read this... I just needed to rant and I'm lol probs gonna remove the rant in a few days anyways