Page 103 of Grace

This place is creepy. For miles, there’s nothing but fields, meadows, and patches of forest—groves of different sizes.

Cawing crows circle above the old, shabby building, a hair’s breadth from collapsing in on itself. You can see the passage of time in the inevitable decay it drags behind it.

I pull off the chains that hold the two wings of the massive door together, then swing the creaking, cracking doors open and let the bloody reality stare us in the face. The boy’s terrified, pale face turns toward us.

I hope Grace will recognize the red bandana that asshole gave him. I tore it apart and used it to gag him and blindfold him.

A painful knot tightens in my throat. That motherfucker forced himself on her and defiled her with those huge hands. He was greedy and dumb. I click my tongue. Maybe I should’ve killed the old hag to make my message crystal clear.

Jason is hanging from a crane bolted into the barn’s roof trusses. Beneath him sits a metal grain tank, filled to the brim with water. I swing the crane and slowly reel him down. His thin body drops into the hay, and he lets out a muffled moan. I walk over and untie him. The boy has mosquito bites all over him. His pants are wet, and he reeks of piss and shit. The stench makes my stomach turn. I grab a fistful of his thick hair and lift his face.

“You’re lucky,” I whisper low into the ear of the boy who inherited his father’s red hair and pale, freckled skin. “An angel saved your life.”

My dark gaze slides to Grace, who watches us, motionless—tears in her eyes, her mouth hanging open.

The boy ran across the wheat field in stumbling steps, the heads of grain lashing his face, his wet clothes dragging him down, the rough soil stealing his footing. His bare feet were raw and cut open by the fallen awns. He swallowed his tears. He trembled, but he didn’t take off the bandana wrapped around his head. He just kept running straight ahead, blind—because he’d been told to.

It wasn’t just the fear twisting in his gut that made him cry—it was the shame, too. His dad always told him he was a brave boy—yet his trousers were reeking of pee and shit. How could he stand in front of his parents? In front of his dad—the cop who fights the bad guys, the one people respect? Even the teachers at school treated him differently because he was the son of the local Chief of Police.

He bit his lower lip, because the mocking words looping through his mind made his skin flush. He was dizzy and exhausted. He wanted his mom to stroke his hair and read him his favorite story. He wanted his pajamas with the superheroes on them and his soft bed. He wanted his room, full of toy cars and soldiers.

His body was already numb to the mosquitoes—he had been hanging in the void for two days, and the tiny vampires had sucked as much blood out of him as they could. His skin had itched for a long time. He had been shouting and crying… He wanted the ordeal to be over—the game the man kept whispering about, his name breathed into the boy’s ear. The man wanted him to remember his name forever: Chase Baker.

That’s what made him piss himself for the first time: the sound of the man whispering. He would never forget those horrible days, or that woman. She terrified him the most, so much, that sometimes his breath even stopped when she was there. Her laughter was rough and scary—it sounded like two pebbles grinding against each other. The whole barn echoed with it.

An icy chill ran down his spine, and hot tears streamed over his scared, flushing face. His heart was pounding in his throat—he could hear it in his ears. He pressed his tiny fists against his sides. His legs were tired, and his throat and lungs burned. He tasted metal. He wanted to give up, to collapse in the darkness in the middle of nowhere. But on his next step, the road disappeared, and his weak, overheated body plunged into cold, muddy water. He opened his mouth wide and sucked in filthy water.

He grabbed a patch of grass and hauled himself out of the water, coughing. He panted, each breath wheezing, his heart racing, and his ears ringing.

Anger took over—it blanketed his mind like toxic smoke. He yelled. He felt brave and strong. He tore the bandanna from his eyes, yanked off his T-shirt, and kicked off his dirty pants and underwear. He threw the reeking rags into the filthy water, then waded back in. He hid every sign of his shame.

He was proud of himself. He straightened up, just like his dad taught him. Like a soldier. He jutted his chin and pressed his fists to his sides. But the next moment, he felt small and fragile again, like a tiny insect.

“Where are your clothes, Jason?”

He couldn’t see her face, but deep down he could feel her smiling, her warm breath burning against his cold skin.

His pride shattered into pieces. Warm pee ran down his trembling legs, making him shiver.

Chapter 12

Grace

To say that I was shocked is an understatement.

I haven’t said a word to him since yesterday. I can’t even look at him. I keep pinching the skin of my arm—first, it turned red, then blue like an evening sky. I wanted to believe this was only another horrible nightmare and Chase didn’t kidnap the boy. Didn’t keep him as a prisoner for two days without food or water because of me. But he did. He didn’t even let him keep his dignity—he had to pee and crap into his pants. Disgust is a huge knot in my throat, the muscles around my eyes tighten. There is sadness on my face, because the relieving moment I am waiting for—when I realize this was only another nightmare—is not coming.

This is fucking reality. This is the product of Chase’s degenerate mind.

We slept in the car, near the barn. As soon as I opened my eyes, the first thing I did was turn on the radio and listen to the news. Jerry Jeff, who is usually upbeat, cracking jokes, wasn’t talking in his characteristic high-pitched voice. His words stumbled over each other, and he kept clearing his throat. What happened had gotten to him.

“The boy had got home covered in mud and bloody wounds. His parents found him pounding on their front door in the middle of the night, naked. The police still haven't found the perpetrators”, he listed the facts mechanically, in an emotionless voice.

Knowing Jason got home lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Chase kept his word, just like I kept mine—I’m still sitting here next to him. Even though I really have to pee.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. His thick black eyelashes are like fans over his cheeks. He’s goddamn good at feigning sleep. His eyes don’t twitch—still, I know he’s awake. The memory of the night when Lucas beat him is still vivid in my mind. I watched him then until I fell asleep—I know when he’s awake and when he’s asleep.

Lazy sunshine drifts over his dark hair and soft skin. That cursed lock of hair has fallen across his forehead again, and the freckles on his nose look golden-brown in the morning light. He is so… beautiful. A sinfully handsome face and a body more attractive than it has any right to be. Seductive, dark eyes that look straight through you. Soft, full lips. But his mind… It’s like the darkest night, full of the cruelest nightmares.