This one goes out to Allegra! For her wonderful writing in this chapter and for just being awesome in general!!
The song is "Angel In Blue Jeans," by Train.
August 10, 2016. 10:34.
Nightvale.
Connor Grace stoops low over his drink in the coffee house. A cinnamon latte with whipped cream. He got it not for the taste, but because the smell reminded him of her. Of Scarlett. She was always there in the corners of his mind, and lately it was so strong it drove him crazy with sorrow. To ease his pain he puts in his headphones, and presses the play button on his iPod.
The little silver bell on the door chimes cheerfully and a young woman walks in. Her sleek honey colored hair has one black streak, and is in a messy bun. A flame shaped hairpin in it that seemed to glow and shift in the light keeps it in place. She wears a grey shirt with a black stylized crescent moon, a thin black open jacket, a dark purple scarf, black boots, sliver framed glasses, and slim blue jeans.
“And though I never got her name
Or time to find out anything
I loved her just the same…
And though I rode a different road
And sang a different song
I'll love her till my last breath’s gone”
He watches her, mesmerized, as she orders her drink and starts to leave. He knows in his heart he has to talk to her, and for one shining moment, their eyes meet.
Her eyes are the color of violets, with bits of green near the pupil. She narrows them at him, turns swiftly, and leaves. The slight breeze from her movement she left in her wake smelled of lilac and cinnamon.
His heart stops.
One of the workers comes over to him.
“Sir, are you alright?” She asks, sounding concerned.
“I’m fine,” he replies, staring at the door.
“Like a river made of silver
Everyone came running to the scene
I was shot down in cold blood
By an angel in blue jeans…”
He stood suddenly, placing a ten-dollar bill on the table.
“Keep the change,” he says distractedly, and bolts out the front door.
He whips his head about frantically, in search of that girl. He catches her turning around a far off corner and disappearing.
He ponders briefly about how he is acting a bit weird, but he at least has to know her name. She is driving him insane.
He spots her again, in the crowded commons area of the local park. He tries to catch up, but he trips on someone’s discarded Frisbee and goes tumbling into the duck pond. After being helped out of the pond, he looks around for her, but she is gone.
“Late that night she got away
I chased her to the turnpike
Then lost her where the music never plays
And though I rolled upon the stones and fell into the water
I'll love her till my judgment day
Like a sunrise made of white lies
Everything was nothing as it seems
I was shot down in cold blood
By an angel in blue jeans…”
He is on his way back to his parent’s house, running his hands through his hair. His father is in very poor health, so he's staying there for a while to help out. Throughout afternoon tea with his parents, he is distracted. Their voices sound blurred and out of reach.
“I hear voices calling all around
I keep falling down
I think my heart could pound right out of me
I see a million different ways
To never leave this maze alive”
Before dinner, as the sun sets, he decides to take a walk. He wanders around, and inevitably winds up at Scarlett’s old house. The remains of the house have long since been removed, but he knows the stump of the willow tree still remained in the back yard.
He rounds the corner to the back, and there she is. The girl. She is just standing there, looking at it. He steels himself, and takes a step forward.
“I woke up in somebody's arms
Strange and so familiar
Where nothing could go wrong
Barely alive or nearly dead
Somehow awake in my own bed
And there you are
Like a highway headed my way
Life is but a dream
I was shot down by your love
My angel in blue jeans…”
He takes a deep breath.
“Miss?” he enquires, trying his best to sound calm.
She turns around and looks at him. Tears sparkling in her eyes. Then she speaks in a soft, quiet tone of voice.
“What happened here?” she asks, wiping under her glasses at her eyes.
He is shocked. He expected her to tell him to go away, or ask angrily what he wanted, not ask questions and cry.
“There was a fire.” He replies simply. “The tree caught fire too somehow, and it died. They cut it down.” His gaze diverts to the ground.
“An old friend of mine, Scarlett Ray, lived here once, but she disappeared after the fire. The tree meant so much to her, it would break her heart if she knew.”
~~Willow~~
My tree is gone. My house is gone. My family is gone, but maybe…
“Who are you?” I asked him, both desperately wanting and not wanting to hear the answer.
“My name is Connor Grace, miss.”
~~Connor~~
She didn’t reply. She just stood there, and wiped tears out of her eyes.
“What’s yours?” I asked her, quietly.
“Willow.” She said.
“Did you know my friend too?” I couldn’t help it. I just had to ask her.
“Yes, I did.” Willow whispered, almost inaudibly. I could tell she was very upset. I had to do something.
“Well, Miss Willow, I can tell you’re upset, and probably from out of town. Maybe you could come back with me and have dinner at my house with my parents and I. My mom always says it’s impossible to be sad while eating my dad’s cooking. Besides, any friend of Scarlett’s is a friend of mine.”
~~Willow~~
“Okay.” I replied, and followed him back. When we got there, I was “introduced” to his parents, who were warm and welcoming, delighted their son had made a new friend.
Dinner was quiet. I didn’t talk much, I listened mostly. Connor’s parents told stories from when he was younger, which made him splutter in protest, but I knew most of them. When I thought no one was looking, I snuck glances at him. He was tall now, with slight muscle toning, and his voice was clear and rich. His hazel eyes showed so much emotion when he talked. It struck me that my childhood friend was very handsome now. After dinner, Mr. Grace broke out the photo albums, and we adjourned to the living room with plates of apple pie.
“So dear,” Mrs. Grace suddenly piped up, after about fifteen minutes, “I hear you knew little Scarlett Ray?” her face was pleasant and friendly, and she had no idea what she had just unleashed.
“I had no idea I would be saying this so soon,” I replied.
I cast my eyes down at the scraps of apple pie on the plate in my lap. It would have had to be said sooner or later now that I had found them, better to say now and let time fix it.
“You’re going to find this very hard to believe. But…”
A silence fell over the well maintained living room.
“I’m Scarlett, Mrs. Grace. I’ve been searching for home for a long while, but I’m back now.”
The silence thickened. The Grace’s were too stunned to speak or move, but there was skepticism.
“I can prove it,” I said, “when I was young I played with your son in the willow tree that burned with my house, my brother had Leukemia, and when he died I wouldn’t speak for a month until Connor helped me. We said we were going to build a company better that Bruce Way-“
Suddenly I felt arms around me.
“Oh, Scarlett!” Mrs. Grace sobbed, “It is you, after all these years!”
I awkwardly patted her on the back. I hadn’t expected her to believe me so quickly. Suddenly, I heard footsteps race up the stairs and the slamming of a door. Connor had left. My heart sunk.
“Don’t fret little lady.” Mr. Grace told me, using the nickname he used for me when I was young. He patted my shoulder. “He’s just trying to cope.”
“After you disappeared, it tore his poor little heart in two, and he was never quite the same,” Mrs. Grace declared tearfully, blotting her eyes with a handkerchief.
I didn’t say anything. I tried to get up and leave, but Mr. Grace stopped me, a slight limp in his step.
“Now, now, where do you think you’re going? It’s late out. You’re our guest, and you can stay here while you look for a new home.”
His tone was very final, and I knew I didn’t have much choice. Showing back up after years and leaving again without notice would be cruel.
“Danke,” I muttered gratefully, remembering that Mrs. Grace’s family hailed from Germany, and they spoke German when Connor’s relatives came for a visit. I thought it would be polite to speak what little German I knew from going on missions. Mrs. Grace, however, found it so sweet and thoughtful, she cried again.
"You're an angel dear," she declared, dabbing her eyes again, and then proceeded to show me into the cozy little guest room.
As I curled up under the lavender scented sheets of the bed, watched the stars from my window, and began to drift off, I wondered if I deserved to be called an angel.