by Kathy Miner
He nodded, sharply, once.
“And you’re not sorry.”
He shook his head.
Grace looked away. She didn’t need or want to know more. What she’d suffered at the hands of the gang had been fundamentally the same. Look what we can do, had been the message. Look at the atrocities we’re willing to commit. We’re in charge. You can’t stop us. We have the power. Grace, as a person, had meant nothing to them. She had just been a female body upon which they could carve their message of might for all to see.
She thought he’d get up and leave then, or at least wait for her to ask another question, but he surprised her by speaking. “I don’t know how to be sorry. The path unfolds, and we walk it. We survive and learn, then move on to the next lesson. From Piper, I learned that control is an illusion. It’s a trap. You think you’re the puppeteer, and all along, you’re the puppet.” Again, he touched the center of his chest. “I won’t say I’m sorry for what I did to Piper. I had a lesson to learn, and I learned it. But I wouldn’t treat her so again.”
Grace turned her head slowly, taking her time in meeting his eyes. “Did you fall in love with her?”
Brody closed his eyes, then opened them. “I don’t think that’s in me. I wanted her to…fill an emptiness. I had something very specific in mind, and when she didn’t meet my expectations, I made her pay. By the time I figured out she’d been maneuvering me, that she was so much more than I had suspected, it was already ruined between us. Love can’t grow where you plant hate.”
He did leave then, left her sitting in the growing dark of a summer night, thinking about forgiveness and responsibility, justification and the complexities of the human experience.
They were very alike, she and Brody. They both preferred to think instead of feel, preferred to deal with data and logic. Emotions were unpredictable, feelings were frequently baseless. They were inferior as a basis for decision-making. Why, then, was Grace feeling a growing imperative in her chest to forgive Brody, to speak the words? Not on Piper’s behalf; she hadn’t the right. She didn’t understand the compulsion, but it moved in the depths of her, a Truth that was just beyond her ability to grasp.
As with any problem she couldn’t readily solve, she decided to leave it until morning. Her brain frequently sorted and rearranged as she slept, and in a day or so, she was likely to wake with the answer. She stood up, cradling Persephone in her arms, and it hit her: she might not live long enough for her brain to puzzle this question out. For the first time, the desire to live lifted its head and roared.
Grace set her teeth and forced her feet to follow the path back up to the house. She wished Verity and the boys a quiet good night, then carried Persephone upstairs to her room. She slept in the tiny room on the northwest corner of the house, what used to be the servant’s room, as evidenced by the mismatched wallpaper on the sloping walls and ceiling. She didn’t bother changing her clothes, just slipped her shoes off and lay down still cradling Persephone. She did not expect to sleep.
She had set this course, and she would not deviate from it. “The path unfolds,” she whispered to the darkness – her last darkness? “And we walk it.”
She did sleep, to her surprise, so deeply that Adam had to wake her in the dark before dawn. He took Persephone with him while she changed into the clothes they’d found for her – skinny jeans, a brightly patterned, slim-fitting top and brand new, black leather boots that rose up to her knees. She jogged down the stairs, then slipped outside to use the outhouse. Back inside, she commandeered the bathroom, where several hurricane lamps were already burning.
The makeup and hairstyling products seemed like archaeological relics. She picked the items up one by one, turning them in her hands, remembering her mom teaching her how to “make the most of her beautiful eyes,” remembering the line of girls in front of the mirror in her high school locker room, heads tilted back, mouths slightly open, as they applied mascara. She remembered painting her lips with strawberry-flavored gloss and pouting those lips until William gave in with a laugh and kissed them. She looked at the mirror, at the girl there, and realized she had no idea who she was anymore.
Fifteen minutes later she left the bathroom, hair scrunched and tousled, mascara and liner neatly applied, cheeks warmed with blush and lips subtly colored with a tinted balm. She felt self-conscious, as if she was overdressed at a party. Verity, Brody and the boys were waiting in the kitchen, and Verity clapped her hands, gasping with delight.
“Oh, look! Look what a pretty dolly our Gracie is!” Her hands fluttered around Grace, touching, adjusting, smoothing, each touch accompanied by a glow of golden light and a tingle down Grace’s spine. Her hands came to rest on Grace’s shoulders, surrounding them both with glow and warmth. Her blue eyes were ancient and tender. “There will be no pain,” she said softly, speaking for Grace’s ears only. “My brother told me. When you’re about to die, nothing hurts, and you will not feel fear. All your guides are with you, and the archangels as well. They will stay with you to the very end. You will never be alone.”
It stirred and rumbled again, the longing for life. So much to learn. So much to do and see. Grace twisted her hands together to keep from grabbing onto Verity and clinging. “You know, you could maybe do a Divine intervention sort of thing. Just walk in there with your Heavenly Host and,” Grace waved her hands, a hocus-pocus gesture. “End them. End this.”
“Beloved Grace.” Verity reached up to smooth a piece of Grace’s hair behind her ear, and for a moment, choir-like music resonated. “It doesn’t work that way. Angels don’t work that way. They leave us to our dramas and lessons and contracts, and they love us through it all. They don’t interfere with Soul Journeys.”
She leaned to press a tender kiss to Grace’s forehead, then pirouetted away to scoop Persephone up, as silly as if the moments between them had never occurred. “Give us a smoochie, Gracie, yes, smoochies for the yittle puppy.”
Grace obediently kissed Persephone, and Verity twirled away. Grace blinked at the sudden darkness, shivered at the sudden chill, and looked up to find Adam and Tyler both gazing at her doubtfully. “What?”
They exchanged glances. Adam gestured to her face. “You look beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but you’re too…too…”
“Tasteful,” Tyler finished for him. “And innocent.” He ducked into the bathroom, emerging a moment later with a handful of items. “Hold these,” he commanded Adam, and set to work. “Look down. Good, now look up.” He smudged and layered, swirling a tiny brush around her eyes in skillful circles, his big hands deft and talented. “I started out doing my sister’s makeup. Then, I did makeup for the school theatre productions.” He pointed a finger at Adam without looking away from Grace’s face. “And you can shut the hell up. I can kick your ass seventeen ways from Sunday, and you know it.” He held a tissue to Grace’s lips. “Blot.”
When he was finished, both he and Adam were nodding. “Much better.”
Grace leaned to look in the bathroom mirror. It was a shock at first, but after a moment, she nodded, too. Tyler had given her a mask, a hard-edged, used-up mask. Much more suitable to the day’s work than the subtle smoky eyes her mom had taught her, and her features – or rather “Stinky’s” features – were obscured. She turned, and this time, found herself the object of Brody’s scrutiny.
“Adam and Tyler will have to touch you,” he said without preamble. She realized that he was instructing them, as much as he was informing her. “They’ll have to disrespect you, handle you familiarly, maybe even hurt you, to convince these men.”
“I know.” She met Adam’s and Tyler’s eyes in turn. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
A muscle was flexing in Adam’s jaw. Of all of them, he had the most trouble with this plan, with the risk Grace was taking. “I’m the oldest of five,” he had told her once. “And the only boy. Four younger sisters, all of them too cute for their own good. That’ll make a guy protective.”
Adam gazed at her now, squi
nting suspiciously. “We’ve been through every plan and contingency plan over and over,” he said, “But we’ve hardly talked about the rendezvous. Yes, we agreed to meet back here, but what’s our secondary?”
Grace and Brody exchanged a look, and Brody answered. “World Arena. Stay for two days, and if no one else shows, make tracks. If we don’t take everyone out, whoever survives will be hunting all of us.”
“And does Grace know how to find the World Arena?” Adam was not going to let this go.
“She does,” Grace answered, though she didn’t. Not really. She looked between Adam and Tyler and made a decision. “Before we go, I need to ask you a favor.”
Her eyes did not include Brody; she’d already burdened him, and in any case, this was not something he could do. “I have a daughter, in Woodland Park. She’s with my friend Quinn. Her name is Lark.” Her sweet name felt soft and loving on Grace’s lips, so she repeated it. “Lark. She’s just a baby, not even a year old. If this all goes to hell, I want whoever makes it through to get her out of Woodland Park. Make Quinn leave at gunpoint if you have to, but get her out of harm’s way.” Her eyes traveled between Adam and Tyler, and she knew she should feel bad, trading on the guilt they were feeling for wrongs they hadn’t even done her yet. But she didn’t. “Swear it to me.”
Adam huffed out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Grace, you got any other bombs to drop?”
Grace smiled, equally humorless. “Yep. One of the men we’re going to kill today is her father. I have no idea which.”
“Christ.” Tyler’s face was stricken. “What the hell, Gracie? Haven’t you been through enough? Why didn’t you tell us before?”
“Because this isn’t about me.” She looked around at all of them. “This is for Lark. We’re going to give her a chance.” She turned and walked out the door. “Let’s go.”
They walked through dead streets, past wreckage and ruin, past the corpses all their eyes had learned to slide past. As they walked, Grace fell into a kind of trance, a place of free association and drifting memory. A song beat in her head, an old Coolio tune her dad had taught her when she was no more than three or four. How it had made him laugh, to see his dainty little daughter brassin’ and struttin’, flashing sign and rapping in her flouncy pink dress.
Her mom had hated that song, Grace remembered. Hated rap music, hated any reminder of Martin’s upbringing, of the cold and neglected childhood that had hardened him into a Marine. That had probably been the beginning of the end, Grace realized, in a small moment of clarity. How could a marriage survive diametrically opposed senses of humor? Should have seen the signs, Mom. You despised something that made him laugh. She wondered if her dad recognized how often Naomi made him laugh, hoped so, and walked on through the valley of the shadow of death.
The sun was nearing its zenith when they approached the main gate of Fort Carson. The boys had flanked her all this way, but now Adam took the lead and Tyler dropped back. Adam turned to look at her, his brown eyes locking onto hers.
“Show time, little sister.” He held two fingers up under his eyes, emphasizing the connection. “You get scared, you remember this, you remember me looking at you right now, promising you that we got you. We got you, baby girl.”
They walked right in, all smooth and swagger, violent men who owned a violent world. So fast, Grace thought. So easy. Just like that, they were trading military-speak, companies and battalions, fists bumping and palms meeting in whispering slides. Then, the rough hands on the back of her neck, the exclamations, the hard hand gripping her chin, forcing her head up for a better look.
“Fuck me,” a man spat. “It is her. Get Thompson.”
And then Sleeper was there. They didn’t need to force her head up this time; she searched his features, searched for resemblance, searched for Lark. No. Not him. He gazed at her for a long time with regret in his eyes, then shook his head.
“Radio north and tell them what we got going on. Then get the truck and load her up. There’ll be a hell of a show in the arena tonight.” He turned away, addressing Tyler and Adam. “You boys want to ride along and watch?”
Tyler spat on the toes of her dusty new boots. “Nah,” he drawled. He cupped the back of her head roughly, suggestively, and the men who had gathered around them sniggered. When he let her go, his fingers brushed her cheek in secret apology. “We’ve had her about every which way you can think of, and some ways I’ll bet you haven’t even imagined.” He turned away. “I’ll tell the man who buys me a beer all about it.”
“Shit, if you’ve got beer, we’ll draw you pictures and write out instructions.” Adam’s hand lifted as if to brush away an insect, his fingers briefly pointing to his eyes. “Thanks for the memories, cowgirl.” He, too, turned away. “Now, whatcha got that’s fresh?”
A truck rumbled up, army green with a canvas tarp covering the cargo bed. Sleeper ushered Tyler and Adam away as Grace was lifted inside. A man climbed in behind her, already reaching for the buckle of his belt. “However shall we pass the time, cowgirl? Never got a piece of you before. Gonna fix that right quick, bet your sweet ass on that.”
Sleeper spun around to walk backwards. “Pull up your god-damned pants, Fletcher. You’re going to deliver her just as fresh and pretty as she is right now, you got that?”
“What the hell for?” Fletcher’s voice was a grating whine. “They’re going to fuck the life out of her before they kill her, bet your damn ass on that. Why shouldn’t I take the first bite?”
Sleeper could move fast, faster than Grace would have thought. He was at the back of the truck, his hand fisted on the crotch of Fletcher’s pants before the man could even get them all the way back up. “In part, because I don’t like you. But mostly, because I said so. It’s called an order. So you keep this –” Sleeper’s hand squeezed, then jerked, hard. Fletcher gasped for air. “Zipped. If I hear you so much as got it out and waved it at her, I will make you profoundly sorry. And by the way, stop saying ‘bet your ass.’ It’s a crass expression and it irritates me.”
He released Fletcher, then walked to rejoin Adam and Tyler without so much as a backward glance. Fletcher collapsed on the seat across from her. As soon as the truck started, he began cursing, a steady, low stream of dissatisfaction and vitriol, some of it directed at Sleeper, some of it directed at Grace, most of it directed at the world in general. He kept it up until the truck ground to a stop after half an hour of swaying stops and starts. Grace rose, then crashed backwards when Fletcher’s closed fist caught the side of her head, full roundhouse.
“Take that to remember me by, bitch.” He grabbed his crotch in an obscene gesture, winced, then kicked at her viciously. “I’m looking forward to tonight, I really am. You’re going to beg to die, and I am gonna laugh and laugh.” He kicked at her again. “Bet your ass.”
A blur of people’s faces, staring, pointing, then Loudmouth parted the crowd, strutting towards her. He, too, grabbed her chin, cranking her head from side to side. “Son of a bitch,” he crowed. “You little slut, you missed us? Back for more?” Then his eyes narrowed. “Huh. You make me think of someone. Can’t think who, though.” He released her chin with a hard flick of his wrist, then grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her head, forcing her along beside him. “I got it from here, Fletch. Dismissed.”
Grace fought to pull air in and out of her lungs steadily. Her death must not be imminent, because Loudmouth’s grip in her hair hurt, hurt so much. He gave her a shake every now and then as they walked, making her eyes sting with tears, making her gasp, which seemed to delight him. As they walked, he crooned to her.
“Thought you were so smart, huh? Thought you were so damn smart. You got any idea the problems you caused us? You got away, and people started thinking. Started talking amongst themselves.” He shook her violently. “That’s why we had to start with the arena. Had to up the ante, show people the consequences of thinking and shit. All because of you, being so smart.”
Grace stopped walking, and r
ipped her head free, leaving him holding several chunks of her hair. What the hell did she have to lose? She was done just taking this. “Try ‘clever.’ It’s a synonym for ‘smart,’ and it keeps your speech from redundancy.”
For a few seconds, she actually shut him up. He stared at her, mouth agape, then round-housed her, fast as a snake. That hurt, too, an explosion on her cheekbone that made her spin and nearly stumble to her knees. Loudmouth caught her arm and jerked her to face him.
“Okay, clever bitch.” He hissed the words in her face, and she watched his eyes dart from side to side. People were watching, and he knew it. “Keep it up. Sass me again. See how you like the consequences.”
Grace crowded right up in his face, like she’d done with Karleigh in Woodland Park, and felt the same exhilaration seize her. “What can you do to me that you haven’t already done?” She hissed back. She looked around deliberately, and raised her voice. “Are you afraid these fine people will figure out you’re too stupid to know what a synonym is?” She raised her voice even louder. “Are you afraid they’ll figure out they’re better off without you and your scare-mongering, might-is-right posse of wannabe warlords? Are you –”
His next punch did knock her down, crunching along her jaw, filling her mouth with blood. She stared up at him from flat on her back, then leaned on an elbow to spit out a long, drooling stream of blood. She scanned the crowd around them, and shot her fist in the air. “Overthrow the grasshoppers! Long live the ants!”
She learned, then, what the expression “beat the shit out of” really meant. For as long as she could, she curled in a tight ball, covering her head from the raining kicks and punches. After a while, it stopped hurting, and everything started to fade in and out. Was this death coming? The thought was vague and not all that worrisome. Dimly, she was aware of being dragged along the ground, then into a building. She was dumped on a blessedly cool concrete floor. Then a door slammed. The darkness was broken only by a line of light under the door. Grace shut her eyes and either lost consciousness or slept.