Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) (5 page)

(
T
hursday Night
; Kevin Deats’s House, Murray, Virginia)

KEVIN RETURNS TO HIS HOUSE
with a brown paper bag that has grease soaking through the bottom of it.

“I thought you were on a diet,” I tease.

“Even Dr. Oz would allow Frankie’s Philly cheesesteaks on the strictest diet.” He pulls out a wrapped-up sub that also has grease saturated through it. “It tastes like strips of heaven with a layer of magic, dipped into healthy, but still addictive, cocaine.”

“Wow,” I say, as he hands me the sub. I unwrap it. “That is quite the critique. You should write up that review in the newspaper.”

“Nah,” he says. “If I did that, the next PTA would be about how I’m encouraging students to use cocaine and practice witchcraft.”

“Probably,” I say. “And if you mentioned me, Lori Schneider would tell everyone I needed to be burned at the stake.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “That woman is a piece of work. Are you still having problems with her?”

“No, I try to avoid her as much as possible. It’s difficult when they’re still living in the house that I’m trying to sell. But once I have a buyer, they have thirty days to move out and I will never have to talk to her again.”

“Amen,” he says, unwrapping his own sub. His phone rings. “I swear, someone always calls the minute I pick-up my dinner. Excuse me for one moment.”

He walks to the living room to answer his phone, and I take a bite out of the sub. The mixture of steak, provolone, grilled Amoroso bread that’s lightly salted, and the slightest hint of garlic makes it beyond perfection. I take another bite before I finish chewing my first one. It might be unladylike, but when you taste something as good as this, manners are the last thing on your mind.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I think about ignoring it since I’m enjoying this sub and my hands are greasy, but I figure it’s probably Sam and with the murder he was talking about, he might need moral support. I set down the sub, wipe my hands on my jeans, and then I take out my phone. It’s not Sam. It’s my mother. Well, that’s barely worth interrupting my meal.

Then again, she did save my life when she came home and caused Francis Tate to flee after he stabbed me six times.

I click
answer
and hold it up to my ear.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, picking up the sub with my other hand. “I’m kind of busy with some, uh, paperwork for selling the house. Can I call you back?”

“Grace…” she says. There’s a heavy note in her voice that makes me put the sub back down.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…I’m fine,” she says. “It’s…it’s Francis Tate.”

I feel acid swirling in my stomach and threatening to push the steak and cheese back up my throat.

“What…about him?” I ask.

“I don’t know how to tell you this…I only found out because of the nice policewoman we worked with—you remember Officer Spencer, don’t you? She was the policewoman we worked with while trying to catch him…but—” She stops. “I can’t even believe that the judge would allow this—”

“Allow what, Mom?” I want to say,
spit it out
, but I can barely articulate myself and I’m fairly certain that whatever she is about to tell me, I don’t want to hear.

“Francis Tate…he struck a deal with a prosecutor. The prosecutor was working on a case where this man killed his wife and child. Francis Tate told the jury that the man confessed to killing them. His sentence was shortened and…he’s free now.”

Kevin walks back into the room as I stare at my sub, my phone still held up to my ear. I must look stricken because he takes a step toward me, his face filled with concern.

“Grace, are you okay?” he asks.

I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t comprehend how the justice system could fail so spectacularly.

“Grace, I’m sure you’ll be fine. He doesn’t know that you moved. I have some neighbors and Officer Spencer watching out for me. You’re with Sam and I know that he will take care of you. You’re safe. I’m safe. Everything will be okay. I’m sure that after two years he’s a little less insane…” I can hear the doubt in her voice with every word she speaks. She doesn’t believe anything she’s saying.

“I gotta go,” I tell her then hang up. Kevin continues to look at me as if I might have a complete breakdown. I can’t breakdown right now. I can’t show any sign of weakness or I will never be able to move past this. He was bound to get out at one point or another. This is just too soon for me.

“Excuse me,” I tell Kevin. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

I walk past him and down the hall. Once I’m in the bathroom, I lock the door. I take my phone back out and get onto the Internet. I search Francis Tate’s name. There are articles about his attack on me and he’s briefly mentioned for testifying against a guy named Lyle Douglas, who killed his wife and four-year-old daughter. It never mentions that he was given a Get-out-of-Jail-Free card for his testimony.

I stare at his mug shot that pops up in the Images section of the search engine. His eyes stare straight back at me and his smile taunts me. It clearly says,
welcome back to the hunt.

I
try to sleep
.

Kevin offered me his bed, but I elected to sleep on the couch. His puppy, who he let me name Rhett Butler after one of my favorite characters in film, keeps nudging his cold, wet nose against my arm. When I pat the couch cushion, he jumps up on top of me, circles around my stomach, and lies down on my chest. It makes it hard to breathe, but breathing is overrated.

His warm, puppy breath causes condensation along my clavicle. I stroke his back and he stretches for a second before quickly falling back asleep. I wish it were that easy. I wish I could fall asleep on top of somebody, learning the rhythm of his heartbeat as my cheek rests against his chest, and all of my concerns would fall away as my body lets sleep take over. Sam and I slept like that a few times, but since December, it’s been a frosty relationship.

My phone vibrates. I take it off the armrest and glance at the screen.

Sam
: I’m heading home to crash. Stay with Kevin. I’ll see you in the morning.

Me
: Did you figure out anything new about the victim or murder?

A couple of minutes pass without an answer. I feel Rhett Butler’s paws twitch as he dreams. As I close my eyes, my phone vibrates again.

Sam
: Nothing helpful.

Me
: Okay. I’m sorry :(

Sam
: It’s fine. Can I pick you up tomorrow? I still don’t want you to be alone.

I should tell him about Francis, but typing out the words seems absurd. How do I explain that he’s out of prison already? How would Sam, who has difficulty dealing with any strong emotions, be able to deal with the idea that the man who tried to kill me could return and try to kill me again?

Me
: Sure.

Sam
: Love you. Good night.

Me
: Love you. Night.

I set the phone back down on the armrest. I close my eyes. Rhett Butler whines and his whole body jerks as his nightmare becomes so real that it seeps into reality.

(
D
ecember
; Main Street, Murray, Virginia)

THE SNOW DRIFTS DOWN
onto Sam and I as we walk out of Treasures and Treats, a gift shop filled with classic children’s toys and ornaments. I expected Sam to be bored and reluctant to be in the store, but instead he seemed nervous. As we walk, with my arm looped around his, I can feel his muscles move as his hands fidget inside his coat pocket.

“Are you okay?” I ask. He glances over at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m here with you. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

I shrug. “You’re acting anxious and I’ve never seen you anxious.”

He pulls his hand out of his pocket and wraps his arm around my shoulders. He kisses my temple.

“I’m great,” he says. “I just don’t like the crowds. There could be pickpockets and there’s too many people bumping into you.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” I say. “Nobody ever got hurt from being bumped into.”

“I’m pretty sure someone has been hurt by it at some point in history.”

I catch a glimpse of the Christmas tree set up in the center of town. It’s almost as tall as the one-story buildings around it and it’s covered with decorations and bright white lights.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Let’s go check it out. People always donate cool ornaments for it and I love checking them all out. I bet they all have unique stories.”

“Unless they were just bought at the store on a whim,” Sam mutters, but follows me to the pine tree. I stare up at the sparkling lights and admire all of the ornaments. I touch a snowflake carved out of wood with stained glass in the center.

“Do you think someone made this for a loved one or do you think they bought it?” I ask.

“Grace…”

“Ooh, look at this one,” I say, pointing up to a steampunk angel with wings formed out of clock gears. “That is such a good idea. I wonder if I could make that.”

“Grace,” he repeats. I turn to look at him. He’s on one knee with a diamond ring in a red velvet box held up toward me. The ring has a single larger diamond with two smaller diamonds on both sides of it. The band is platinum. The box shakes as Sam’s hands tremble. “Grace Anna Ellery, will you—”

“Sam,” I interrupt, covering the box with my hand. “Don’t do this.”

“What?” he asks. “What do you mean? This is what I’m supposed to do. This is what our relationship has led up to—”

“Sam,” I say again as people keep turning to look at what’s happening between us. “Stop.”

He gets back onto his feet, his face burning a bright red.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice stiff. “I thought that…you would want commitment. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“Sam, it’s not like that,” I say. “I’m just not ready for that level of commitment yet. We’ve only known each other for a few months.”

“It’s been three and a half months,” he says. “And in that amount of time, I know you’re the one I want to spend my life with. Do you not know if I’m the one you want to marry? Are you not sure if our relationship will work long term?”

More people are staring now. I lower my voice.

“Sam, I love you, I just…I haven’t had the time to think about marriage,” I say. “I just need time.”

“Okay,” he says, but his movements are rigid as he puts the box back in his coat pocket. Oh. That’s why he kept fidgeting inside of his coat. “We should head back to my house. It’s getting cold.”

“Good idea,” I murmur. He walks away from the crowd, his stride length long and deliberate. I follow him. Even without seeing his face, I can feel his pain over my rejection. It falls down onto me, colder than the snow that is now whipping around us.

I try to keep up, but the crowd is hard to navigate through and he’s always a step ahead of me

(
F
riday Morning
; The Guardian Inn, Room #403, Murray, Virginia)

AFTER I DRESS IN JEANS
and a white dress shirt, I open up the hotel drawer that holds the Bible. I pick it up and flip it open. I had cut out a square in the center of the pages and slipped Bryce’s teeth into it. I pick the teeth up and set them on top of the dresser. Teeth seem so much smaller when they are outside of someone’s mouth. They’re almost like baby teeth. I wonder if his sister’s teeth are exactly the same.

I grab my cell phone and check my messages. The last one sent was last night.

Kayla
: I love you.

Me
: Okay

I type a new message to her.

Me
: How’s school?

I sit down on the hotel bed as I wait for her to answer. I roll her brother’s teeth in my hand. They feel smooth like pearls. My phone vibrates. I pick it up.

Kayla
: Eh. It sucks. Tim is dating Marie again.

I have no idea who Tim is, but I can make some assumptions.

Me
: That sucks. Do you want me to beat him up?

Or slit his throat. Why am I becoming so defensive of this young girl that I don’t even know? Am I becoming soft? Am I letting emotions control me again?

Kayla
: I wish you could.

I forgot that Bryce probably couldn’t lift fifty pounds. If he had gone to prison, he surely would have been below me on the totem pole. At least that makes one person that would have been.

Me
: I have a friend that could. His name is Francis
.

As I press the send button, tension rolls under my skin. Why did I give her my real name? Why did I mention myself at all? I have zero desire to be caught by the police…at least not until I reach Grace.

Kayla
: :) Maybe you should send him down here then. Is he cute?

I smile.

Me
: You’re 13. You shouldn’t be thinking about boys my age.

Kayla
: But boys my age suck.

I shake my head. I’m not a pedophile and I’ve truly come to see her as a younger sister. I wish I knew what her voice sounded like or what she looks like on Christmas Day when she sees presents under the tree. I want to know her as well as a brother would know her.

My phone vibrates again, surprising me since I haven’t answered her yet.

Kayla
: Have you ever been in love?

Two images of Grace flash through my mind: one is when she was teaching me at Bishop Alternative High School—formerly known as Bishop High School—and she used to give me this small smile whenever she handed me back a test or rewarded me with chocolate when I answered a question right. I thought it was a secret smile, reserved just for me, but looking back now, I’m certain that she was leading on several other students. The second image is right before I stabbed her—the burst of panic on her face made her look like a small child…or at least it made her look like I did as a small child when my father’s anger came down on me like a hail of bullets.

Me
: Yes, I have.

Kayla
: What was her name?

Me
: Grace

What is wrong with me? Why am I not lying to this thirteen-year-old girl? Is it trust or apathy?

Kayla
: Did I ever meet her?

Me
: No.

Kayla
: How do you know when you’re in love?

I stop texting. How do you know when you’re in love? Well, it’s a feeling that you get—like that person completes you—but that doesn’t answer her question very well. I close my eyes, imagining Grace is with me in this hotel room. I can smell her light white floral scent and her skin is so soft that the tip of a blade would scratch it simply by touching it.

I imagine her undressing in front of me, her clothes pooling at her feet. I would beckon her closer and she would fall onto my lap, straddling my legs. I would kiss each of her scars that I caused on her abdomen and make her arch back as I ran my fingers over her. Then, I would tie her to the bed and become her god.

Kayla
: Bryce?

I open my eyes and type back to her.

Me
: You know you’re in love when you give someone all of your power and they don’t use it to destroy you.

Kayla
: What happens if they destroy you?

I remember the lines of disgust and pity in Grace’s face as I confessed my love for her. She completely annihilated me—my hope, my love, my dreams of a future. It was all replaced by hatred. Her attack and Bryce’s death are on her hands. She will never be able to wash the blood off.

Me
: You kill them.

I turn off my phone before she can ask if I’m joking. I can’t be honest for much longer. I can’t be humane.

I open the Bible again and put Bryce’s teeth back inside it.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—
but all I want is a butchered heart for a butchered heart. The only difference will be that Grace’s slaughter will be literal.