Broken Grace (11 page)

“When did I do that?”

“About a year ago. You told him that you’d come out of work and found them slashed, but you told me the truth.”

The drugs had a strong hold on her now. She couldn’t sit up and could barely register a reaction, but something about this story felt familiar. “It was my birthday,” she slurred.

“Yeah, it was. Do you remember that?”

Grace couldn’t keep her eyes open. She didn’t answer, but she pressed for more. “Our parents . . . you said they were bad.”

Lisa pulled the covers higher over Grace’s chest. “The only thing a kid needs from a parent is love. Let’s just say they didn’t do their jobs.”

“Did they hurt us?”

Lisa didn’t answer and Grace forced her eyes open. Lisa was looking around the room, maybe searching for the words.

“Why do I have these?” Grace said, weakly offering her forearm to Lisa, showing her the methodical scars.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” she slurred. “You saw me notice them in the car. You know.”

“I told you. Our parents were not exactly the best.”

“They did this?”

“Dad wasn’t big on spankings. Liked to do little things that carried a big punch.”

Grace looked at her forearm in disbelief, unable to focus.

Lisa smiled. “That’s nothing. Look at this.” She pulled back her sleeve to reveal the inside of her forearm. Five small round scars, each the size of a pencil eraser.

“What’s that?”

“Cigarette burns.”

“He did that to you?”

“Guess he thought he could keep us in line this way.”

It felt like pure fiction—some wild fantasy that didn’t fit any instinct in her confused and darkened mind. But here was the evidence, a history that couldn’t be erased. Two unhappy kids. Abuse. Maybe it was good that their parents were gone, like Lisa said.

“What happened to them?”

“Someone broke in.”

Grace tried to sit up but couldn’t. “Relax,” Lisa said, her voice softening. She took Grace’s hand in hers and held it gently. “It’s an awful thing to think about. I didn’t want to tell you. You don’t remember anything. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“When? How?”

“About three years ago. We weren’t home.”

“It happened here?”

“Yeah.”

“Where were we?”

“You were over at a friend’s house. I’d moved out a while before.”

“How? Who did it?”

“Some drug addict trying to rob them. He’s in prison now.”

“Oh my God.”

Lisa didn’t say a word. She continued to pet Grace’s hand as if Grace were a little girl.

“Why are we living here after such a terrible thing happened? And if they were bad? Why—?” She tried to sit up again. “Was it in here?” She looked around the room in a panic.

“No, not in here. They were asleep. It wasn’t easy to stay, Grace, but this is the only thing they left us. Our parents gave us nothing.” Suddenly her voice was laced with anger. “And life is hard enough. I really don’t want to get into it right now.”

Grace relaxed back into the pillow. It was too difficult to sit up. In fact, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. “I went to the basement the other night. I had the strangest feeling when I was by the washer. I heard this little girl crying.”

Lisa pulled the covers up higher, continuing to prep Grace for sleep like a small child. “Maybe your brain is protecting you. Some things are better left behind. Some memories are too painful. I’ve been trying my whole life to forget. You just got the slate wiped clean.”

She had so many questions, but she could feel that the words weren’t coming out right. She was losing consciousness. She heard Lisa walk out of the room, her footsteps crossing the hall, the squeak of her door shutting, and then a click. Had she just locked her door? Was she afraid? And then every thought in her head faded to black.

TWELVE

G
RACE WAS TRAPPED UNDER SOMETHING HEAVY.
It was dark. She broke free and began crawling out of the darkness. When she stood, tiny blue and white flowers covered the walls in front of her. Her vision telescoped in on the pattern, then expanded to a circle of fuzzy images surrounded by blackness, as if they were miles away. She walked closer. Closer. The images became clearer. The wrought-iron-frame bed. Mom. Dad. The bed covered in blood. Grace stood at the side of her parents’ bed, screaming. Her own nightgown drenched with red.
“No no no no no no.”

The shaking finally woke her. When she opened her eyes and saw Lisa, she grabbed her and held her tight, ignoring the pain it brought.

“You were having a nightmare. What happened? Did you remember something?” Lisa maneuvered to sit by her side, still bracing Grace’s shoulders. “What is it?”

“I saw them.”

“Who?”

“Mom and Dad. They were dead. There was blood everywhere. I was standing there. Mom’s face was frozen. Her mouth open like she was shouting. Did I see it happen?”

“No. No. It was just a dream.”

“But I was there. I was there!”

Lisa relaxed her grip and pulled the covers up over Grace. “I just told you about the murder. You were probably imagining it. See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I thought it might be too upsetting.”

“But it was real.” Sweat trickled down her forehead. “Please, get these covers off me.”

Lisa left the room and returned a moment later with a wet rag, gently laying it on Grace’s forehead. “It’s okay. You weren’t there. It was just a dream.” Lisa sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair.

“I’ll never sleep.”

Lisa checked the clock, then left the room. The stairs creaked beneath her as she went down, and a minute later she returned with a glass of water and a pill.

“Here.” She sat. “It’s been more than four hours. You can have another.”

Grace swallowed the pill and relaxed back into the pillow.

Lisa put aside the empty glass and stroked Grace’s hair. “It’s going to be fine,” she said again and again.

The pill took effect. Like a wave, Grace floated out to sea.

She woke several times in the night, but she didn’t dare get up, terrified of the visions and sounds that exploration brought. She stared at the water spots on the ceiling, the room dimly lit by the moon. She thought about Michael—and the photograph of the two of them—trying to make his face come to life, to see his smile, to hear his voice. But she couldn’t conjure him. Instead, those officers’ faces filled her mind, the younger one’s especially.
Justin
.

Hackett sat on the couch, beer in hand, staring at the console that used to house his TV. Olivia had convinced him that she had to have it. Joe didn’t have a flat screen, she’d pleaded, and Donny watched
Yo Gabba Gabba!
every afternoon.
Please don’t make this worse
, she’d said. Bullshit. All of it. But it had all happened so fast, and his goal had been to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, to leave and never look back, so he’d caved.

It was late, but he put on his coat and walked the two blocks to The Pub, hoping it would still be open. He needed some ESPN on a big screen to turn off his racing mind.

Alice was pouring drinks for a few men at the far end of the bar, but otherwise the place was empty.

“Hey, Officer!” Alice waved. She knew his name at this point, but he was pretty sure she’d be calling him “Officer” forever. She’d carded him his first time in. He’d smiled and pulled out his ID and newly acquired badge. “Sorry, honey, but you do have a baby face,” she’d said. They’d both had a good laugh, and she’d welcomed him to the neighborhood.

She brought him a draft Bud, his usual—it was good enough and he was on a budget—and told him to holler if he needed anything.

Hackett turned his attention to the television in the corner and tried to focus on the scores, but his mind was on the case. There was something about that Jacks guy. He had a thing for Grace, Hackett could feel it. He didn’t trust Sheri Preston either, though it may have just been that her air was too reminiscent of Olivia. But after they’d left New Buffalo, Bishop wasn’t as impressed. He was more excited by the engagement news, which bolstered his working theory: Grace got engaged on Thursday, found pictures of her fiancé cheating on Friday, ran out, then returned Saturday morning to blow his brains out.

Other than getting those pills from Jacks’s apartment analyzed, Bishop was ready to move on. But Hackett knew that couldn’t be it. There was something wrong with that guy.

Twenty minutes later, the men at the other end of the bar left, and Alice offered Hackett a refill. He agreed, not ready to go home yet, even though
SportsCenter
was ending.

“So, Officer, why don’t I ever see you in here with friends or girls? You gotta be beatin’ them off with a stick.”

It made him smile, which set her off again. “Look at those dimples. Come on, don’t tell me you don’t have a girl.”

He shook his head and laughed.

Alice had already offered up her life story during a previous evening: divorced, two kids, deadbeat ex-husband, but a new boyfriend who was her true love, her destiny. She was nice and friendly, but he couldn’t help but wonder why he had such bad luck when this woman—forty pounds overweight; an unruly mound of frizzy, gray-streaked hair; and arms covered in decades-old tattoos that were stretched and faded into unidentifiable blobs of black ink—was so in love. Maybe it was her edge. Maybe nice guys did finish last. His brothers had pounded that mantra into his brain for years, trying to get him to be more aloof, cooler, somehow more appealing to the girls.

“Come on,” she continued. “What about that pretty young thing I saw you with a few weeks back?”

Shit
. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but I remember you were talking in the corner there. Seemed to be getting along. I think you walked her out—you remember?”

“No, I guess not.”
Fuck
. “Well, couldn’t have been anything, or I’d remember, right?”

Alice smiled flirtatiously and took a sip of her beer. “If you say so.”

When Grace woke on Wednesday, Lisa was already gone. She’d left another note in the bathroom about her work schedule and more reminders about taking the prescriptions.

Grace was heading downstairs when a squad car pulled into the driveway. She froze on the step. Were they coming for her? Or perhaps there was good news.

The young officer—
Justin
—got out of the car and came to the door. She opened it before he had a chance to knock.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly hopeful.

“Hi, Grace.”

“What’s happening? Do you have news?”

He shook his head and flushed slightly. “I just wanted to check on you. I’m on my way to the station, but I was wondering if you’re feeling any better. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she said, stifling her disappointment. “Come in.”

She led him to the living room, and they both sat. When the silence between them grew awkward, Grace finally broke the ice. “This is kind of weird, but I kept seeing your face last night.”

He smiled, a shallow dimple appearing on one cheek. “What do you mean? Did you remember something?”

“Not exactly.” It didn’t seem right to talk about her parents and the blood. “I was having these disturbing thoughts and, for some reason, when your face came to mind, it kind of calmed me down. Weird, huh?”

Hackett leaned forward in his chair, lips parting slightly, as if he wanted to say something, as if maybe he knew something he wasn’t telling her, but he didn’t speak.

“What is it?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I probably shouldn’t be here right now. I’m guessing my partner wouldn’t be happy about it, but I . . . I want you to know that I don’t think you did this.”

Relief nearly made her laugh. “You don’t? Because I’m sure it doesn’t look good.”

He sat back and said gravely, “We have to follow the evidence, and some of it doesn’t help you, but I also have to follow my gut. I don’t think you killed Michael.”

She hadn’t even realized how much that meant until he said it. She’d been focusing simply on piecing together her history, unable to deal with her present reality, but somewhere in the back of her mind, the idea of having committed a crime, of killing another person, of being sent away for life for something she didn’t even understand, felt like a rockslide that had buried her alive. The moment he said he believed in her, it was as if a boulder had rolled aside, light streamed in, hope emerged.

“You know, I almost feel like you and I are doing the same things,” she said lightly. “I feel a little like an investigator. I’ve got almost nothing to go on but the contents of this house and the fragments of memories that seem to pop up, but I spend most of my time around here searching for answers.”

“And have you figured anything out yet?”

“Only that I didn’t have a great childhood. It seems there might have been some abuse, and something about this place scares me. Last night I found out my parents were murdered here.”

He nodded, brows furrowed. “I know. I’m really sorry, Grace.”

“You know?” she asked, but she answered before he could. “You’ve investigated me.”

He nodded. “That crime was solved, and we’ll solve this one too.”

She looked down, picking at a seam in the leather. “I just can’t believe that nothing really clicks. I obviously lived here. I have fragments of memories, but everything I learn is like this crazy fiction.”

“You can talk to me. If you remember anything. I’m on your side.”

But those words,
I’m on your side
, took on a menacing tone as they repeated in her head. A little voice inside suddenly wondered if this was a trap, if she could trust him. Maybe this was a good cop/bad cop routine. But how could they trap her into some sort of confession when she didn’t know anything? She sat back, distancing herself, suddenly anxious.

Officer Hackett looked around the room, combing his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I wish I could snap my fingers and give you your memories. But I want you to know that I’m working on leads that are pointing away from you.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated. “Michael won a lot of money the day before he was killed. Ten thousand dollars. I’m thinking maybe his death was about the money, that someone knew about the winnings, or maybe he owed someone a lot of money.”

“I wish that meant something to me. It doesn’t.”

“There’s also reason to believe someone may have had a longstanding beef with Michael. Someone threw a rock through his window, and about a year ago his tires were slashed . . .”

“On my birthday,” she said.
Shit
. She couldn’t say what Lisa had shared, that she’d done it.

“Do you remember that?” Hackett asked.

“I don’t know, exactly.” She smiled, nervousness pinballing through her. “This must seem nuts to you.”

“Not at all.” He stood and walked to the mantel before turning back to face her. “Grace, do you remember your boss, Dave Jacks?”

She swallowed hard, remembering the unpleasant feeling when he’d touched her on the beach. If she’d cheated on Michael, that wouldn’t look good. “I . . . met him. I went to the restaurant for my check.” That was true. “Why?”

“I think he has feelings for you.”

She said nothing. She felt trapped again. Maybe he was just supposed to come here with his good looks and his kind smile and trick her into some sort of confession. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel very good. I think I’d better lie down now.”

Hackett nodded, obviously surprised, but he walked to the door, then turned back. “I’m on your side. I just wanted you to know that.”

She watched him walk to his car. Was she getting paranoid? His face, his expression, his voice soothed her, but he was a cop. There’d been a murder and she was a suspect. Lisa had warned her not to say too much. And suddenly she was equally sure she shouldn’t tell Officer Hackett’s gruff partner that he’d been to see her.

She went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, but before she could even take a sip, she heard her phone vibrating in her purse. When she pulled out the phone, a reminder filled the screen: She was supposed to see that doctor today.