Grace Between Mercy

by S. Ferguson

  The room from my own personal hell is gone, but I am in an unfamiliar place. Dark curtains with a silhouette of light behind them cover a large window. The room is a dark taupe, calming and masculine. I’m in a huge bed, covered with the softest sheets I’ve ever felt. I start to rise but searing pain shoots through my shoulder as I move, stopping me in my tracks. My mind begins to catch up as I recall what had happened. There was a meeting, Abramo started a fight, and I was shot. Fucking shot.

  “Don’t fuckin’ move!” I hear Ron’s voice but I can’t make him out in the darkened room. I hear movement and a bedside light is clicked on. Ron looks exhausted, still wearing the shirt and pants from the suit he wore to the meeting. The sleeves are rolled up and I can see blood smeared across his chest, splattered on his sleeves. His eyes go soft when they meet mine. It makes me feel odd inside my chest.

  “I … didn’t realize ... I had … I had a nightmare,” I mumble, feeling like a child. I’ve spent so long refusing to let some memories fill my mind. I refuse to relive them. I refuse to let him have control over any part of me. I refuse to let what I did, what had to be done, control me. But it’s been a futile fight hasn’t it?

  “I know, you’ve been having them for the last twenty-four hours.” Ron rubs a hand down his face, his fingers grazing over the heavy stubble. Has he not left my side at all since I’ve been out? “Terry, right?”

  “How do you know his name?” I cry against my will. Angry tears, feeling that Ron has violated me in some way.

  “Kella, you’ve been shouting his name in your sleep off and on for the last day and night. I couldn’t not know his fuckin’ name at this point.” Ron sighs, lowering his hand back down to his lap. “He hurt you, yeah?” I nod, not wanting to speak. “He was your first kill, wasn’t he?” Ron asks, and I know that lying would be a waste of my time.

  I glance at the needle in my arm, then take in Ron’s haggard appearance one more time. It’s clear he’s taking care of me. And whether I want it or not, I need it. If he had decided I wasn’t worth it I would probably be close to death or already there right now. Despite the few remaining protests I have right now, I decide if Ron was going to take care of me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, at least some of my past. He’s probably the one person least likely to judge me.

  “He started getting a little too friendly after my first week there, it was my fifth foster home. I’d had a few ‘friendly’ foster dads before, but something about this guy wasn’t right.” I give Ron a wan smile.

  “I should have known he would try that night. He … he usually wasn’t allowed to be home alone with us. His wife, I think she knew what kind of monster she was married to.” I take a shuddering breath before I continue. He came into the room and sat in the rocking chair. He always watched me, thinking I was sleeping but he never tried anything. Not that night though. He laid down on my bed and started touching my legs, telling me I was beautiful.” I want to cry, but I don’t. I reach deep inside of myself, and I find that strength, that something that is always there in between, and I grit my teeth. I cried for that asshole once, that’s all he’ll ever get.

  “He started trying to kiss me, I turned my head, I refused to make it easy for him. I was young though.” Ron gives me a look,.“I was only sixteen, much younger than I am now.” Ron gives me a nod, and I know he gets that I’m not referring to numbers.

  “He had me pinned down, I wasn’t going to win that fight, he was just so strong. Then out of nowhere, Grace came flying into us. She was smaller than me, she was only twelve. We were both lost in the system, but we tried to have each other’s back. We knew there was no one we could count on, not the social workers who saw us as just a number, not the foster parents who just saw us as a monthly check, but we could trust each other. She clawed at his eyes, she kept coming, even after he threw her against the wall. She fought like hell. He slammed her into the metal bed frame and she was knocked out. I was frozen in fear, I was just so scared. I had never seen anyone fight back like that. It wasn’t until I saw blood was pouring from her head that I snapped out of it. I knew this was our chance. I … I don’t really know how, but I managed to get him on the ground. He was stronger than me, holding my arms, and I didn’t know what to do. Then I slammed my forehead into his face as hard as I could. And I did it again. And again. Soon he wasn’t holding me back anymore, there was so much blood. His, Grace’s, mine … I couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.”

  Ron is sitting perfectly still, looking at me with an intensity I almost can’t take. I know he isn’t horrified by what I’m telling him, he’s probably done it himself. I wonder though if he realizes I’m only upset about Grace, I don’t care that I killed Terry.

  “I wasn’t strong enough to strangle him.” I give a wry smile as I remembered the reason I’m in this bed right now. “I didn’t have any kind of weapon, even if I could have made it to the kitchen, in a home full of foster kids the knives were locked up. I knew Judy, his wife, could have come in at any moment and caught me too. So, I grabbed his belt and wrapped it around his neck. He was too weak to fight me, barely conscious as it was. It didn’t take long for me to pull on the belt hard enough to cut off his air. He gasped and struggled one last time, but it wasn’t enough, I was in control by then. Soon he was just gurgling, then he was gone.”

  Ron looks calm, but his eyes show a hint of horror. The brutality of my actions sounds so horrific hearing it aloud. I’ve never shared it with another soul and I would do it again in a heartbeat. That is what makes me a monster.

  “What happened to Grace?” Ron asks, looking like he already knows the answer.

  “She never woke up. I tried so hard, but I knew I had to leave. She wasn’t breathing, there was nothing I could do. I called nine-one-one and left the phone off the hook on my way out.” The shame and guilt hits me even now. I never knew what happened to her. I had always assumed she was dead, but I truly don’t know. I don’t think I ever want to know, the truth would probably make the guilt consume me.

  “And the Grace Killer was born. Who did you kill next?” Ron nods thoughtfully, giving me a look I can’t define.

  “I didn’t set out to be a serial killer if that’s what you’re asking. Life on the streets is hard.” I pause and Ron nods his agreement. “I tried to find a shelter, but you have to wait in line all day for a bed, if they even have one, and the older women always take your stuff. There are always more places for men but so few shelters that will take in women and girls. I couldn’t find food and wait in line for a place to sleep at the same time. I had pimps breathing down my neck, telling me they would fix everything if I would just come work for them. One day, I was trying to find a warm place to sleep, sometimes the hotels have laundry vents that go out into the alleys, it’s like having a heater that smells good. I found a girl pinned to the wall by some dude. He was choking her. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, a piece of wood hanging out of a dumpster. It only took three hits to knock him unconscious. A few minutes later I checked his pulse and realized he was dead. I hadn’t realized there was a nail sticking out of the board when I hit him. There was blood everywhere, splattered across the dirty pavement, the girl. She was terrified and she tried to give me all the money she had on her. I took half, I wasn’t there to rob her blind, but I could use the help. Somehow word started to spread, girls, street kids, lots of people came out of the woodwork to find me. They needed a protector. Someone had to let these guys know, even if the cops wouldn’t do anything, someone would.” I smile smugly.

  “So you’re what? A savior now?” Ron looks completely unimpressed.

  “No, of course not.” I’m pissed now. Why is he being an asshole?

  “You think you have the right to be judge and jury?” Ron’s eyes bore into mine.

  “Yes. I think sometimes I do. And you know what that’s like, you do the exact same thing.” I don’t back down.

  “Yeah, maybe I do.” Ron relaxes in his chair, not taking his eyes from min
e. “Maybe I do.”

  10

  Ron

  Kella doesn’t speak anymore after she finished her story. She looks angry and I feel like an asshole but she has to know that some decisions aren’t hers to make. Life or death isn’t always our call. She was right to call me out though, I’m just as guilty as her of being the judge, jury and executioner. I can’t help but think for a moment how close her story came to being Bree’s. Bree didn’t have to go through foster care, instead living with a monster. Something inside me clicks into place and I know it’s time I dealt with someone I’ve been putting off and I know just the person to get close to her.

  After making sure Kella isn’t due for her next dose of morphine, I tell her to get some sleep and walk out of my bedroom. I don’t think Kella realized she was in my penthouse. I never bring anyone here as a rule, but I wanted her, no I needed her, to be where I could easily keep an eye on her. Somewhere she could be safe and comfortable while healing since taking her to the hospital was out of the question. The doctor we keep on call made quick work of fixing her shoulder. She was damn lucky Abramo had used a smaller gauge gun since he was trying to play off the guise of being unarmed. Rage from the meeting, from Declan refusing to listen, from Kella being fucking shot courses through me all at once. Before I can stop myself, I punch my fist through the wall in my hallway. Drywall and plaster fly out, covering the floor and my hand. My housekeeper, Michelle, isn’t going to be happy about this. She’s not going to like the blood-soaked sheets from Kella’s operation either. Fuck it, she makes five times more than any other housekeeper in the state, she can deal with it.

  The pain throbbing through my hand makes me focus. I make my way down the hallway to the living room. The room is large with vaulted ceilings and completely lined with panoramic windows. Going to the sliding glass doors I open them, stepping out on to my balcony. The sun set a while ago, but the lights from the nearby buildings give the night air an eerie yellow glow. I pull my phone out and find the number I’m looking for.

  “Hello?” Lexi’s voice sounds hopeful, not nearly as arrogant as it did the last time we spoke to each other.

  “I need your help,” I rumble, hoping like hell this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  I’m going to regret this.

  After I finish my call with Lexi which took ten times longer than it should have, I make my way back inside to the couch and my scotch cabinet. Filling a tumbler with the amber liquor, I sit down and stare out at the city, my city.

  I never thought when I was a young cocky asshole that I would be wrong about so many things. I thought I was doing what was right when I left Bree with her mother and took up this life. I’ve worked for every damn thing I have, except for her. The second chance I’ve had with her, the chance to try and make her life something better than the hell she’s living, is the one thing I could have never hoped to get. The one thing I could have never earned. It’s a precious gift I don’t intend to waste.

  I failed her. Just like I failed to protect Kella tonight. Shaking my head, I down the rest of my liquor and set the empty glass on one of the side tables.

  I need to focus, but all I can think about is Kella resting in my damn bed. Something primal in me likes it but the logical side of me knows I’m treading a dangerous line. Fucking kissing her, wanting her.

  “Fuck!” I roar, slapping the tumbler off the table, it lands, shattering into a million scattered pieces on my dark wood floors.

  “So, things are going well I see.” Declan’s voice travels across the room catching me off guard.

  “How the fuck did you get in here?” I growl, not bothering to turn around.

  “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question.” Jake’s voice reaches my ears.

  “Leave me alone.” I sigh, aggravated at the fact that I’m aggravated. I just want to be alone with my scotch bottle to wallow in my failures.

  “Nope. Not tonight.” Jake comes around the side of the couch, jumping on the cushion over from me, making the couch slide across my custom wood floors, before plopping his dirty feet on my antique coffee table.

  “Get your fucking feet off that!” I bitch, slapping his leg.

  “Look, Bree won’t sleep until we check on Kella and more importantly you. It’s not normal for you to bring anyone here …” His voice cuts out for a moment. “Or that we haven’t heard a fucking word from you for almost an entire day. Is there something we need to know?” Declan comes and sits across from me in my recliner. It looks like a regular fucking chair due to the sheer size of him.

  “No,” I say it a little too quickly. Declan’s eyes widen slightly but he takes the smart route and keeps his mouth shut.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jake asks, pulling his phone out and smiling before texting someone back. Probably Greg based on the shit-eating grin he’s sporting.

  “Right now, we need to wait for word from Tony,” I hedge, for once in my life I hadn’t been thinking about work. I’ve been thinking about me, about what I want.

  “Do you really think we’ll hear from him? I mean none of his fucking men made it back.” Jake smirks. “Alive anyway.” He gives an ironic chuckle.

  “You didn’t really send them that package did you?” I groan. Jake can be a scary bastard when he wants to be. He also watches too many movies.

  “Maybe,” Jake says, shrugging his shoulders.

  “You sick and twisted …” I start before Declan cuts me off.

  “How is she?” Declan must be some sort of saint. He’s always full of infinite patience, constantly running to the rescue for his brother.

  “She’s fine. She was lucky, the bullet missed anything vital. Doc says she should have full use of her shoulder and arm in six to eight weeks.” I latch onto his subject change, thankful to talk about something else than the dark, twisted fields that are Jake’s mind.

  “She staying here the whole time?” Jake asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

  “Haven’t decided yet.” It’s the truth, mostly.

  “So, we wait for Tony, again, and then what? Wow, this scenario sure seems familiar.” Jake brings the conversation back to work, thankfully, albeit in a smart-ass way.

  “Easy,” I hiss, not wanting to let his insolence go unchecked. “We need to be ready for war, which is exactly what I didn’t want to fuckin’ happen,” I growl, grabbing the bottle of scotch and not bothering with a glass. I take a swig and lean over, passing it to Declan who takes a healthy swallow. “We’ve got the ammo, we’ve got the men, but that doesn’t mean this fight won’t have a cost.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, letting my head hang.

  “One day at a time,” Declan says quietly and I give him a weak nod in acknowledgment.

  “First there is something I need to take care of. Something personal.” I raise my head, my eyes meeting Declan’s. I’m not sure how, but somehow he knows what I’m thinking. It’s not the first time Declan’s been on top of things, catching on before anyone else. It’s how he managed to save my daughter. I have no illusions, Bree was fading in front of our eyes, and Declan brought her back to life.

  “Is that what you really think the right thing to do is?” he asks calmly.

  “Wouldn’t you if you could?” I say simply.

  “Can you guys stop having a fucking conversation without having a conversation? Shit is annoying as fuck,” Jake complains, grabbing the bottle of scotch from Declan. Instead of taking a drink he sets it on the coffee table in front of me. I’m still not quite used to a sober Jake, but it’s for the best.

  “Bree’s mom,” Declan says, not taking his eyes away from mine.

  “Fuck yeah, let’s kill the bitch,” Jake says, grinning like a madman, slamming a fist into his palm.

  “This is something I’m doing alone,” I say, even though it’s not entirely true.

  “Is that really the smart way to handle it?” Declan asks.

  “Look, I know Bree says she’s over it. I know she thinks we
should just let sleeping dogs lie, but I failed her. I never rescued her, I never even realized what was happening. I need to do this, I need to make that cunt pay for what she’s done.” I lay my cards on the table.

  “She won’t like it.” Declan isn’t saying anything I don’t know.

  “She doesn’t have to.” It’s cold, but it’s true. I will not be swayed on this.

  “Then we do it, but we do it together,” Jake says, going back to texting on his phone.

  I want to argue, but I’m too grateful.

  11

  Kella

  I wake up several times in the night. Ron is always there when I do. I can tell I won’t be going back to sleep this time and glance at the clock. It’s five a.m. Ron is back in his seat by the bedside. He’s showered, in fresh clothes and it’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything but his standard crisp shirt and dress pants. He’s wearing a light gray T-shirt and a pair of soft looking, plaid pajama pants. He looks so normal right now. He could be any suburban guy in America. Except for all the tattoos and scars, I guess. I smile at how much he would probably stick out.

  I want to sit up, my back aching from lying in the same position for so long. I still feel like I’m in a fog, no doubt from whatever magical pain medicine I’m on right now, but I’m sick of sleeping.

  Turning my eyes back to where Ron’s slumped in the chair. He looks serious, even when he’s sleeping. You would think his face would relax, but it seems that even now, he can’t escape whatever it is that keeps him so tense.

  I don’t know how long I watch him before he starts to stir. He cracks his neck side to side. It cracks loudly, making me wince, before he opens his eyes. He can’t be comfortable sleeping in that position.