Saving Grace

17

"He said there's nothing they can do," I told Scott, slipping out of my thongs and into a pair of black lace-ups. "They can't even have someone come by and make sure He doesn't come back."

"Well, Uncle wouldn't lie, and you know he'd do everything he could."

"I know," I said, fumbling with the laces. "It doesn't make me feel much better, though."

"We have an old alarm system in storage," Scott said. "You know, the one we had at the old house. I could grab it on the way home from work this afternoon and you could take it over."

"That'd be great," I said, leaping up from the couch.

"Do you really think this guy is dangerous?"

"I really don't know," I admitted, straightening my school tie. "But He keeps showing up at her house, leaving gifts, sending messages, and it's scaring her."

"It sounds like some sort of twisted secret admirer."

"I suppose it is," I paused. "But what will happen with the admirer doesn't get what he admires?"

Scott breathed in deep, lowered his eyes.

"Dammit," I swore. "I've got to go. Class starts in twenty minutes."

"Richie," Scott called, eyes darkening. "Have you thought about... calling Godric?"

I bit my lip, shook my head.

"I won't be calling Godric unless I have to. I think there are still options to exhaust first."

Scott nodded and I hurried across the room, slinging my back pack over my shoulder.

"And, uh, are we..." his voice faltered. "Are we still on for the thirteenth?"

I pressed my lips together, forced a smile.

"Of course," I said. "Have a good day at work. Don't forget the alarm."

"I won't."

The door shut behind me.

***

Grace's house was a picture of serenity when I arrived that evening – the near-summer sun setting over the ocean and a great leak of orange and pink staining the glorious November sky. Those vibrant colours spilled over her house, its cream-white walls acting as a blank canvas for such radiant hues, and they even managed to creep up the porch steps and wrap themselves around me as I knocked, for the second time, on Grace's door.

She answered carelessly, swinging the door wide open and walking away as she fumbled with an earring.

"Hey, Richie," she said lazily, barely looking at me.

I would've replied quickly, if not for the German Shepherd that came bounding at the door and jumped with all her might at my chest.

"Jesus," I exclaimed, stumbling backwards onto the porch.

The puppy couldn't have been more than six months old, with a silky black coat, golden paws, and enormous eyes, whose shade fell somewhere between chestnut brown and American honey. I grinned at her excited face, rubbed her behind the ears.

"Who's this?" I asked.

"I named her Danica – Dani for short. I bought her from a pet shop this afternoon."

"Well, aren't you gorgeous?" I said. "Come on, now. Back inside."

Gently, I pushed her off my chest and back onto all fours. With a wide grin, she followed me inside and I shut the door. Grace was pacing the kitchen, grimacing as she struggled with the earring. However, it was not what she was doing that made me eye her with dreadful confusion; it was what she was wearing – a cocktail dress, lacy black, frilly at the knee-high hem. Her hair was in a loose bun and her jewellery was real gold. I walked to the beat of her tapping heels.

"Grace," I treaded lightly, "why are you all dressed up?"

"There's a new club opening in the city. Figured I'd go check it out. You can come if you want."

I stood in shock for a brief moment, wondering if she was serious – how could she be serious?

"Grace," I said, sitting the alarm on the kitchen table. "You do realise there's a lunatic after you, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, I completely forgot."

"Well, you must have if you intend on going out tonight."

Finally, Grace got the earring to sit right and she met my eye with a look of nonchalance.

"I'll be fine, Richie. I've got my phone. I've got extra cash. I even bought pepper spray – look." She pointed to her purse sitting on the recliner.

I scoffed, shook my head.

"Unbelievable," I murmured, crossing my arms. "You find out that some nut job is obsessing over you, coming to your house and sending you constant messages and your solution is to what? Go to one of the most dangerous places in the city and pretend it's not happening? What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me," she snapped. "This is what I do, Richie. You know that."

"That was before it became so damn dangerous. Grace, he knows where you live. Chances are he's watching us right now, waiting for the perfect moment to do something horrible to you."

"He's already doing something horrible to me!"

Her eyes were on fire, like two roaring blue flames. My shoulders tensed and my jaw locked. Images of Grace, drunk and alone on some dark street, filled my panicked mind, and I began to tremble with both fear and frustration.

"Why can't you just have a night in?" I said. "Why must you go to every club, pub and strip bar in town to feel okay? Are you really that broken inside that all this isn't enough for you?"

"If anyone is broken Richie, it's you. Look at yourself! Obsessing over school and grades and homework and wasting your youth on some dream of being a doctor! Not once have you even mentioned why you want to be one, why all this means anything. What are you running from, Richie? What pain are you trying to bury with all this trivial shit?"

At the last syllable, I felt that terrible stir – pain, turning over my insides, knotting up my chest, swelling in my eyes and closing over my throat. I gulped, sucked in a battered breath.

"I am trying to save you, Grace."

"Save me?" She laughed. "Maybe you should be more worried about saving yourself."

She grabbed her bag from the couch and headed towards the front door.

"Grace," I called, the click-clock of her heels drifting away. "Please don't go. Grace!"

The door slammed shut behind her.

© A.G. Travers 2018