Vertigo

Chapter Twelve - The Messenger

"Guess some habits do die hard." My father spoke, walking up to me. I ran my gloved hands over the slightly damp grass with a sigh. It was late autumn and the icy hand of winter had slowly begun closing its grip around the last rays of summer, dying the leaves of the old tree in the backyard a vivid orange.

"I missed coming here when there was something on my mind," I answered, my voice cracking a bit as he sat down next to me. "I missed rocking on that swing with mum. I remember coming here crying one day because you put jelly on my sandwich. Mum rocked me back and forth until those tears dried," I smiled. "I really hated jelly."

"You two got along famously so that's not really a surprise," He spoke, plucking a single strand of grass from the ground. "I came here every day after you disappeared."

"I can tell... " My voice trailed off as my eyes continued to remain fixated on the tombstone that rose from the ground below where the swing once hung – bright marble with gold trimmings that ran across the corners and in the deep engravings in the centre that spelt out a name. My name. Dawn Grace.

"Look," He sighed, "I'm sorry about what I did back at the–"

"It's okay," I cut him off. I had been seething, running through insults to yell at him as soon as I saw him again since he exposed me in front of everyone the way he did, and yet, once I saw the tombstone, my rage drifted away instantly. I repeated what I said as he looked over to me, "It's okay."

He smiled, placing his hand onto my shoulder. "I'm glad. So, I've heard you and Cassidy have been getting along."

"Yeah, she's a real heavy hitter," I spoke, rubbing my side. "I like her."

"That's good," He laughed, standing up. I followed him as we walked back to the house. "Speaking of her..." He trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"There's something I need to tell yo–" He paused, patting his pockets as his phone rang. He drew it out, putting it to his ear. "Yeah? What do you mean? Are the girls okay?" He exhaled. "I'm on my way."

"One of your models being bratty again?" I asked, stealing one final glance of the tombstone. I stuck my hands in my pockets as he scratched the back of his head. "Grace Industry is still a shit name for a modelling firm."

"Not exactly..." He put his phone back into his pocket before heading to his car. "And what's wrong with the name?"

"Everything," I rolled my eyes. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Come with me," He shrugged, unlocking the door of the Mercedes. "I promise there won't be any cameras this time."

"You work in a goddamn modelling firm, there are cameras everywhere," I spoke.

He paused, laughing. "How about I threaten to turn anyone inside out if they approach you as I did with that Jacob kid."

"Jordan." I corrected him, walking around the car.

"Yes, of course. How could I forget the name of your first boyfriend?"

"He wasn't my boyfriend, you damn chief." I scolded, getting into the car. The scent of rich leather flooded my nose before I turned the window down, letting some air in to cool the entire thing down. My father laughed, hopping in and placing his hands onto the mahogany dashboard before turning his key in the ignition. The vintage car sprung to life in a way no newer make could and we were off.

Grace Industry seemed far more imposing then I had remembered – the building rose thirty stories from the ground and was made of tempered glass and cold concrete. "When last was I here?"

"When you were seven, I think," He answered, straightening his suit as we stepped through the doorway and onto the bubinga flooring that had been varnished to a mirror finish. "You got sick at school."

"Children are so annoying." I shrugged as we walked over to the receptionist who stumbled, nearly tripping over her cup of coffee. She tried fixing her curly hair while tugging onto her shirt that had been fastened a button out of place. I smiled at her.

"Mr Grace! I'm so glad to see you!" She yelled with a voice that had a ya-dude swing to it – an accent I've grown to hate.

"What's going on?" My father asked in his business voice – stern and monotonous – the same voice he used so often throughout my childhood. "Did anything happen to the girls?"

"They never made the flight, Sir," She spoke, her voice drifting away as she stared down. My father's hand tightened into a fist as his expression hardened. "That's not all..."

"Go on, Kelly." He spoke in a near growl.

"Your office. An Italian man came in early and said he'd be waiting for you there. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen..."

"It's okay," My father consoled her, walking over to the elevator with me jogging behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. He stopped after raising his keycard to the elevators scanner. "Stay here."

"You're not leaving me alone here," I spoke, lowering my eyebrows as the door swung open. He sighed as I slipped in around him. "What's this about?"

"Just stay out of the way, Dawn." He threatened in the same tone he had when he spoke to Kelly, reminding me of the father who sent me to the boarding school in London. The elevator jerked to a stop before the door swung open. He stormed out, walking down the corridor before reaching the end, pushing the door open. I followed after him.

"Took you long enough. I was worried they'd call the security before I got to talk to you, old friend," The man spoke, staring over the large glass window that overlooked the city and the east river – both glowing a brilliant shade of silver as the sun hit it. I saw his reflection in the glass, smiling cynically. "And, Dawn Grace. I've heard so much about you."

My father glanced at me as I slipped behind him, then turned his attention back to the intruder. "Delta, what the hell are you doing here?"

What the hell kind of name was Delta? I asked myself as he turned around. He was wearing a white suit that clung perfectly onto his graceful body, with a single white rose tucked into the pocket of his blazer. His eyes were a gorgeous grey that coupled perfectly with his deep brown hair, slightly curled with a single strand running down into his face.

"No other reason but to deliver a message, Mr Grace." He smiled at me.

"I thought the organization would send some small fry to do such trivial work." My father responded, further stepping in front of me.

"How little you know," He spoke, still brandishing that smile. Nothing about him hadn't been attractive. Even the danger he seemed to carry about him had somehow been magnetic. "You do wish to fill the empty seat of the Kabul, Mr Grace."

Kabul? Why do I feel as if I've heard that name before? I asked myself. Delta nodded as if answering my question. I stepped back, hitting the wall.

"And what makes you so certain I want that?" My father's voice was almost as calm and smooth as Delta's and it scared me. Why did it seem like had down this kind of thing on a daily basis?

Delta looked back at me with a glance that sent chills through my spine, making me wish I could phase straight through the wall behind me. "You have so much you do not want to lose, Old friend. That's why you sent her to London, isn't it? Or why you act so coldly while with her? You don't want anyone to know how much you truly care for the girl."

"One more word about my daughter and they'll be picking up your scraps from the pavement!" My father yelled – his composer completely shattering. My eyes widened as Delta broke into a laugher, basking in his victory.

"Whatever you say, old friend. We'll be looking forward to hearing from you as soon as possible," He spoke, still wearing his grin before walking past us. My father remained stood still, staring through the window with his fist clenched. Delta turned to me before walking through the door. "Goodluck with Shi."