Page 37 of Grace

“Jamie. Jamie is… dead.” Her body contorted. She must have been in horrible pain.

“Don’t talk, Grace. Don’t talk.”

“I have to, Cyrus.”

“You will. But not now. You have to recover first.”

“From this?” she asked, her trembling voice sending a searing arrow into my heart.

“From this,” I replied gently, stroking her hair, matted together with blood and humidity.

“Will you stay with me? I’m afraid to be alone.”

“I will stay with you, but you aren’t alone. Where’s your sister?”

“Nikky…”

The name seemed to shock her. Her body trembled violently, her face twisting in pain. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“She did this. This happened because of her. And Jamie died because of her.”

I listened to her exhausted voice, having no clue what the hell could have happened to them. Half a year ago, they seemed to be doing okay. At least that’s what Grace said when I visited her at work and invited her for a walk after her shift. I knew her sister was a cold-hearted bitch—the first time I met her, I could see she hated Grace. She didn’t try to hide it for a second—she treated her like shit.

And Jamie… I covered my face with my hands as my heart clenched in pain. It had been a mistake to leave her on her own.

“Tell me what happened, Grace.”

She began her story.

2005

Grace

“Hey, miss,” a voice called.

I hadn’t noticed how long I’d been standing in front of Cyrus’s door, my gaze fixed on the indentations his fists had left in the hardboard.

I looked at the uniformed police officer who was being discreet—he didn’t look at me funnily because of how I was dressed.

“Follow me.”

He led me to an interview room where they were already waiting for me. They placed a bottle of water and a disposable plastic cup in front of me and asked me to tell them everything that had happened.

I slouched in my chair. It was difficult to open my mouth and tell them everything I’d been through. The details upset me all over again—I started crying more than once. At one point, I yelled in anger, then apologized for my behavior. They kept telling me it was okay, that everything was all right now. That I was safe.

I did not feel safe. I did not feel okay. I was exhausted, cold, and wanted my mom. I wanted to go home.

But that scared me too.

The thought of my old room, my old things—because I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

“Have you told us everything, Grace?” The old man looked deep into my eyes, furrowing his thick gray eyebrows, his gaze cold and distant. He was a professional, his face an emotionless mask. I looked at the woman on his right—younger than him, older than me—and she nodded.

Tears flooded my eyes. My throat tightened as I held back sobs. I was angry, and I felt like a sticky swamp of shame would swallow me if I told them everything.

“No one will blame you, Grace. But we need to know everything.”

I took a long, deep breath and pushed my tears back.