Saving Grace

15

"He was about five-ten, wide and wearing a hoodie. He was standing in the backyard, he was... he was staring at me through the window."

Grace lowered her haunted eyes, shifted on the creaky porch steps. The air softened to a lonely blue. The officer scoffed.

"Right," she said, brushing her wispy blond hair out of her eyes. "And you don't know who this man was?"

Grace gulped.

"No. I couldn't see his face."

The officer slapped her notebook shut and smiled stiffly.

"Well, Miss Upton, my advice is to keep your doors and windows locked and go down to the station in the morning to file a report. Other than that, I'm afraid there isn't much else we can do."

"What?" I butted in, stepping forward. "But this was a near-home invasion. Surely you could have someone stick around in case He comes back."

The officer shook her head.

"I'm sorry, who are you again?"

My jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

"I'm the one who got here a full fifteen minutes before you did and searched every inch of the house with a cricket bat."

The officer cracked a humourless smile, chuckled bitterly.

"Are you saying you can do our jobs better than we can?"

"I'm saying Grace is in danger and it is your duty to protect and serve."

The officer leaned in, sharpened her narrow eyes.

"We have checked the house and surrounding area and haven't found any reason to be concerned. If you have a problem with that then I suggest you seek help elsewhere."

With a sneer, she turned her back and headed down the steps to the blinking car. I crossed my arms, grinded my teeth.

"I'm sorry, Grace." I said, turning to face her. "I really thought they would do something."

I looked up; saw the police cars pull away into the night, drift back over the horizon from once they came.

"Look," she said, shifting her weight. "I get that I wasn't very... hospitable, last time we spoke – "

"Don't even worry about it, Grace. Honestly. Water under the bridge, and all those other cheesy metaphors."

Grace laughed, but it wasn't funny.

"Well, um, thank you, anyway."

I nodded and Grace turned toward the door, stepping back into the house. With a wandering mind, I followed her.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Grace asked as I shut the door behind us. "I thought you were heading home."

"That was before the cops left you high and dry. I can't leave knowing no one else is here."

"Look, I can protect myself if He comes back."

"With a deodorant can?"

"I'll be sleeping with a knife tonight."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Nope. Nope, I can't do it. I can't leave you like this."

Grace lowered her eyes, crossed her arms. I shifted my weight.

"What's your hesitation?" I asked.

She shook her head, gulped.

"Because," I said, "if it's because of what happened between us – you know, in the bathroom – I promise you I'll never – "

"No, it's not that," she interrupted. "It's just... never mind."

She fell silent, couldn't look at me. I pressed my lips together.

"Because you care?"

She froze, eyes locked with mine. Deep, resonating fear lived and breathed within them – fear that rivalled what she felt when He had broken in. Then she inhaled, pursed her lips and tilted her head.

"There's a spare bedroom," she said. "But it's just for tonight."

I nodded and made my way upstairs, one at a time.

© A.G. Travers 2018