ｃｈｒｙｓｓｉｅ

ｔｈｅ ｖｉｓｉｔｏｒ

Chryssie paced nervously.

Perhaps it wasn't the same man. After all, the newspaper described someone completely different from Grayson as the suspect.

But she had her doubts.

She took another look at the paper, biting her lip.

Then she stood up shakily, starting to walk up the stairs.

Grayson was standing at the bedroom window, staring out at something.

"Grayson," she whispered, biting her lip.

When he didn't respond, she walked forward and tapped him gently on his shoulder. Immediately, her hand was snatched up in a firm hold as Grayson whirled around.

His grip went slack when he saw that it was just her. She yanked her hand hurriedly away.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking her up and down. "What do you need?"

Chryssie bit her lip, gaining her senses back.

"I... I saw... what's the name of the man you tried to kill?"

Her hands were twined together anxiously. Dammit. She could be an accessory to murder! She couldn't let anyone find out about it!

"Tried to? I did kill him, what are you on about?" Grayson asked, standing up straighter.

She wished that she knew the thoughts that went through his head - the thoughts that could commend such an act as murder. Then, as though he knew that she was trying to understand him, whatever was going on inside his head was disguised, and he turned away.

"Well, Grayson... you see... I think it might be better if you just read it for yourself," Chryssie finally mumbled, passing him the crumpled front page.

She saw the emotions that went through his head all at once - anger, disbelief, confusion, and maybe even a touch of fear.

"So it was him?" Chryssie asked, creasing her eyebrows. "Forgive my asking, but why would you want to kill a wealthy philanthropist?"

His eyes snapped up to hers. "He - never mind, it doesn't matter. We need to..."

For once, Grayson was at a loss for words.

~

Grayson didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what to fucking do.

He always had a plan. Always. For every single thing that could ever happen, he had a goddamn plan.

But when his long-lost father was lying to the police about who tried to murder him, Grayson couldn't get his mind twisted around it. He had never imagined something like that happening before.

He had never once fucked up.

"Grayson," Chryssie said, and she sounded quite scared. Maybe of him. After all, his jaw was tight and his fists were clenched and he was breathing heavily.

And why, oh why, had Grayson not researched his father further before murdering - no, attempting to murder him?

Actually, Grayson knew the answer to that one: he didn't want to know. He didn't want to put a face to the father that he never had, he wanted him to remain the villain, the bastard that ran away from his only son.

And then, just when he thought the day couldn't possibly be any worse, there was a resounding knock on the front door.

He and his Chryssie looked at each other.