Grace: An Eternal Beloved Novel (Eternal Beloved Novel Series)

by R. Rodriguez

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…”

  My slow counting ceased as bright lights flooded the construction site. They were so strong that I felt them behind my closed lids. Headlights? It couldn’t be. This section of the bridge was closed for construction. The lights blinded me as I opened my eyes.

  What now? Wait. If the devil came as a panther, then surely God would make his appearance, too. What would it be? An alien descending in his spaceship? That must be it. That explained the blinding lights. Well… would it come to save me or make my imminent transition a bit more disquieting? Because one thing I was certain of now— I couldn’t hold on any longer.

  The unexpected burst of light offered a slight boost of energy into my limbs, but it was just for a moment. I felt my grip slipping again. Here I go, I thought. I braced myself for the fall. I decided that if I was to die, it would no longer be because I did it. It would just happen. I would slip completely and fall. I would not let go voluntarily. It was the only way I could aspire to achieve some kind of redemption in the afterlife. Suddenly, that was very important to me. Maybe I’d have a chance to be taken by the creature of light instead of lying with the panther at the bottom of the Calumet River.

  But it wasn’t a creature that emerged from the light. It was a very earthly man.

  Chapter 2: Chagrin

  He must have caught the wild halo of my auburn hair, or maybe my pale hands. It certainly wouldn’t have been my great cry for help that alerted him to my presence because I was incapable of producing a sound at this point.

  I felt him before I saw him. I felt his firm and powerful grip on my wrists as he hoisted me up. I couldn’t even look up at my rescuer. I was barely even aware that I was still, somehow, holding on to the ledge.

  He must’ve had a phenomenal job at lifting me up. I was dead weight. No help to him at all. All one hundred and twenty pounds of me, at that moment, hardly offered resistance to the force of gravity.

  Suddenly, I felt the absence of steel bolts scraping against my knees. I heard a rustle of thick cloth and then my head rested on a soft fragrant mound.

  Relief washed over me, contrasting with the impending doom I’d felt minutes before, but as the tension started to leave my body, the pain from the ordeal started seeping in. Obviously, I had no idea about the damage a body could sustain while hanging from a 125 feet high bridge.

  My rescuer’s appealing voice comforted me nervously just as the delicious scent from the mound under my head soothed me further.

  “It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re all right, now.” I felt him inspect me. His hands ran over me carefully. It didn’t feel wrong, though. Not like an old lecher running his hands over the innocent suppleness of his prey. It was a careful inspection to assess the amount of damage to my body.

  “How did you end up on the other side of the bridge like that?” I heard him mutter uncomfortably.

  I cringed inside, keeping my eyes shut tight. My savior assumed that I had suffered some unexplainable freak accident.

  How could I explain to him that I had planned my demise in a very elaborate, detailed manner in this very spot? How could I explain that I had almost succeeded, although not in the way I’d envisioned? How could I explain to him that I had been pushed over by one very horrific panther?

  There were no panthers prowling around Chicago and definitely not around closed off construction sites. There were no damsels in distress hanging on to bridges by their fingernails, clothed in designer dresses and stiletto mid calf boots, either. I would lie, I decided. I would lie to hide the shame I felt at my botched up suicide attempt.

  “I got curious and I peered over the bridge. I fell over,” I half stuttered my fib. It sounded like a child’s tale even to my own ears.

  My rescuer didn’t seem at all convinced because he continued to interrogate me.

  “How did you end up peering over the bridge in this section in the first place?”

  I tried to erect myself to a sitting position in the hope that it would help my brain conjure a more believable lie, but all I achieved was to awaken the pain that was throbbing in my arms. It felt as if my arms were out of their sockets.

  I felt darkness envelop me at that point even as I fought against it.

  “I’m going to take you to a hospital.” I felt my rescuer’s strong arms lifting me.

  “No, no. Please don’t. Take me home,” I managed to request feebly before the dark enclosed me. The last thing I needed was for my parents to be contacted, or worse, for me to be admitted to some psychiatric hospital. My actions weren’t a cry for help. They were meant to be an act of independence and bravery.

  Hadn’t I heard that they also charge people and arrest them for attempting suicide? My unexpected encounter with the fearsome panther was all the shock that I needed to be cured from my obsession with seeking death.

  ****

  There must be something repairing in the dreamless state of being “out of it” because when I woke up from my stupor, my body and mind felt weightless. Or maybe, I died and that’s why I felt so light.

  I usually had bad dreams. Well, not the horrific kind with monsters or dying. I just experienced dreams that foretold something troublesome that was going on in the background of my life, or dreams where I would escape some impending harm –like the stalking of a serial killer or an unknown danger.

  I realized soon enough, though, that I was very much alive and was just feeling lightheaded from my ordeal. Pain reverberated through my body. I imagined this was how one must feel after being run over by a truck.

  I assessed a large white room decorated in dark and light gray tones as I opened my eyes. I looked around the room as far as I could in the dim light. A glass wall showcased a striking Chicago skyline. It definitely wasn’t a hospital. Although it was lavishly furnished, it was devoid of people.

  I knew it had to be my rescuer’s place. The air smelled faintly of the heady scent I had perceived in his jacket earlier. I sat upright looking at my hands on my lap trying to take it all in. I noticed that I was clad in pastel colored striped pajamas that were foreign to me.

  I was suddenly alarmed. How I had ended up wearing them? I hoped to God that I hadn’t been gawked at and fondled by this stranger.

  Had I really been through what I’d been through? I was certain that I had set out to end my life, but I wasn’t sure if I’d had imagined that horrible panther pushing me over the edge of the bridge.

  I must really be crazy if I had gotten to the point of hallucinating. What was the condition called when someone starts seeing things that aren’t really there? Um… schizophrenia… No. That’s when you see and hear people talking to you. Psychosis…Losing touch with reality and having delirious thoughts. Yeah. That was more like what I’d experienced. And here I thought I was just majorly depressed.

  “Welcome back!” I jumped, startled, as my rescuer walked into the bedroom unannounced. He must’ve thought I was still zonked out. My first reflex was to smooth my hair down. It was surprisingly smooth and soft. I was pleased, already. My vanity always got the best of me. This was due to years of listening to my mother drill into my brain how a young lady must always look her best. My experience with modeling reaffirmed the same thing.

  “I must look like hell,” I apologized timidly.

  My rescuer regarded me nonchalantly and denied my claim with a shake of his head.

  “You looked worse when I found you,” he assured me.

  Shame suddenly washed over me as I remembered the circumstances that had brought me here. I avoided looking at him at all costs. Wherever I was for that matter. My rescuer pretended to ignore me as I explored my body for further injury.

  I felt around my mouth and noticed that I had all of my teeth. They hadn’t been knocked out as I had feared. My tongue did feel sore, though, which confirmed what I sensed had happened to me in the first place. I probably bit my tongue with the impact on the steel rail.

  “You�
�re all right. I had you checked out already,” he stated reassuringly.

  “You took me to a hospital?” I worried.

  I didn’t even have health insurance at the moment. If he’d taken me, how the heck had I ended up here? I wondered.

  “No. You said no hospitals before you zoned out on me. I tried to respect your wishes,” he explained. “Also, seeing as that you had no identification on you or anything, it would’ve been hard to explain to the authorities how I found you.”

  “I couldn’t take you home, as you requested, because I didn’t know where home was to you,” he continued. “So I took you to my home.”

  Judging from the view and the luxury around me, I guessed home to him was the Gold Coast; Chicago’s most affluent neighborhood.

  “Edgewater,” I muttered. “I live in Edgewater.”

  My revelation was technically true, but in actuality, I hardly lived there. An acquaintance had lent me her studio apartment while she was on assignment in New York for a few months.

  He seemed to ignore my tone.

  “Anyway, a friend of mine who’s a doctor checked you out. My housekeeper, Mrs. Woo, bathed you and dressed you. In case you were worried.” I thought I saw a little smirk forming on the side of his mouth.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” There was a brief silence that he quickly ended. “You should be okay within a couple of days.”

  I managed to utter a quiet “thanks”.

  “No problem.” My rescuer clapped his hands together and opened the door he had shut behind him.

  “So, are you hungry?” he inquired.

  It wasn’t surprising that I was. I hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch on… wait.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Almost two days tonight,” he answered absentmindedly. “Hey, if you need to make a phone call or anything, you’re welcome to use any phone in my apartment.”

  “No, no one’s expecting me,” I said quietly. “I live alone.”

  Thankfully he didn’t ask for more details.

  “So, what will you have?” he pushed on about the food.

  My stomach growled at the prospect of food again.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having. All I ever eat from takeout is Chinese,” I babbled.

  “Well, you have to eat something lighter for now. Doctor’s orders.” My rescuer smiled and punched some numbers into his cell phone before leaving the room.

  I took a few minutes to freshen up in the bathroom. It was as big as my entire studio. I suddenly felt inadequate. I tried to ignore the expensive fixtures in the bathroom and concentrated my efforts on fixing myself up instead.

  I secured my hair high at the back of my head with one of its long locks. I splashed some water on my face. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, I thanked my mom for at least bestowing her classic beauty upon me. Even without make up, I knew I looked attractive. The soft colors of the pajamas I donned made my face glow.

  Next, I set out to clean my teeth. I smeared a glob of his expensive toothpaste on my index finger and rubbed it on my teeth and tongue for lack of a toothbrush. In less than fifteen minutes I heard a doorbell ringing somewhere outside the bedroom.

  Satisfied by my efforts, I pulled down my pajama top and walked out as dignified as I could into the hallway. My bare feet sunk into the plush pale gray carpet. I caught a glimpse of a much larger and more lavishly decorated bedroom on the way. It must be his bedroom. I felt like I had intruded upon his private life. In essence, I had.

  The nighttime showcase ran the full length of his apartment. It was beautiful. My rescuer had already set the food cartons on the dining room table and had set two place settings in one of the corners. He was serving himself a healthy portion of vegetables on a ridiculously modern piece of china.

  “Come, sit, eat.” He beckoned me with his hand.

  I did so quietly, partly because I was feeling shy in these surroundings and partly because I was quiet inside. This was the consequence of what I had tried to do. I had experienced this complete stillness in my being before.

  “Dig in,” he urged me.

  I indulged him. I really was hungry— and eating was a lot safer than talking at this point. To my relief, he kept his focus on eating his food heartily. I kept my focus on taking as many small bites as I was able to stomach, while I took in the amazing view behind him.

  The anonymity didn’t last long, though. Soon enough, he broke the silence.

  “So… I think it’s time for introductions.” His eating began to slow down. He put his fork down and leaned back to regard me.

  I swallowed one last zucchini and fidgeted with my food, avoiding his intense eyes that were so obviously full of questions.

  “My name’s Lucian.” He reached out to offer me his hand in a handshake.

  “Lucian Lake.”

  Lucian Lake. What a fitting name, I thought. His eyes were like calming gray pools of water. I wiped my own hand clean on the cloth napkin next to my plate and nervously offered it to him. His handshake was firm and warm, the handshake of a confident and industrious man.

  “I’m Grace.” Grace Coventry, I repeated in my mind. I forgot to give him my full name.

  “Nice to meet you, Grace,” he said, flashing a perfect smile.

  My rescuer, now Lucian, seemed to be content with the short introduction because he resumed his eating. Taking his cue, I did so as well. I chewed my food finally daring to look at him full on. I guessed that he was in his early twenties, maybe mid twenties.

  I knew that he had strong arms and that standing up he was probably over six feet tall. Now I noticed that he had sandy brown hair and fairly tanned skin, which was really rare for the chilly fall season in Chicago. I guessed that he traveled to warmer places often.

  Overall, he was very pleasant to look at. If I had been in my right state of mind, I might even think of him as a catch sent from heaven just for me. But, there was an underlying unpretentiousness under his striking looks despite the luxury he lived in. I could sense that he was genuinely kind.

  There was, however, a slight edge to him, too. It took the few seconds of surveying him to realize that he wasn’t the type of guy that I was attracted to despite his looks. This discovery was all for the better because he didn’t seem interested in me in that way anyhow. The awareness of this was rare to me. Guys were usually coming on to me.

  I was also so distraught at the moment that I couldn’t get past the mortification I felt for what I had tried to do and the realization that this kind and handsome stranger sitting next to me, probably knew exactly what that was. His amazingly sincere eyes were brimming with silent questions that I wasn’t ready to answer yet.

  I dropped my fork.

  “Look,” I began, but he cut me off.

  “No. No. Grace. You don’t have to explain a thing to me,” he said.

  I appreciated his discretion, but I had the urge to tell all to someone. I had been repressing my feelings for so many months. Maybe even years, I realized. Why not him? I thought. Why not my unexpected savior? I would probably never see him again.

  I had been struggling to make it and just when everything was supposed to fall into place, I received another blow. My job was ending in a couple of weeks. I had no more modeling assignments lined up and little hope of gaining any in the Chicago market. I had been approached on the street back home by a supposed reputable agency in Chicago during my last year of high school. I had no other definite plans at the time. I had decided to take a year off after high school to explore my options before settling down at college, like everyone expected.

  In the process, I had failed to show my parents that I could make it on my own. The thought of stripping for a living, as my boss suggested, actually entered my mind, if even for a second. He said I was too voluptuous to make it in the modeling world.

  I hoped Lucian wouldn’t suggest therapy once I got things off my chest because I had been to a good share of psychologists and they all had deduced what I
already knew. I was the black sheep of the family. Always had been. I was born melancholic and underachieving, despite the fact that I have an above average IQ. I always attributed it to my wretched birth date. October 31.

  My mom made sure I took the test as soon as I had my first F in school. She wanted to make sure that I understood that my failures were entirely the fault of my flawed character, not my genes or my upbringing, since I had been raised in the same environment as my Ivy League graduate older sister.

  And …I had wanted to die since I was at least fifteen. I wanted to die on Halloween, too, as sure as I refused to later when I was hanging on by my fingernails when he found me.

  My eyes began to burn with unshed tears.

  “I need to… get this all off my chest,” I heaved.

  Lucian moved his plate aside and grew still. He leaned in slightly to listen.

  “I want to thank you for what you did. If you hadn’t happened along, I would be dead. I couldn’t hold on a second longer,” I confessed.

  He looked at me with his intense gray eyes.

  “I didn’t just happen along, Grace. I was doing my job. I oversee the progress of the construction going on there. I’m the engineer for the project on the Skyway,” he stated.

  “So, I was lucky,” I said.

  “There was nothing lucky about that. You were in trouble at the exact same time I was arriving for a routine check up on the bridge. That was fate.”

  Chapter 3: The Well Inside

  Lucian insisted that I stay at his place a while longer. Although I felt embarrassed about imposing on him, I finally obliged. In part because I felt alone and in part because I was doing my hardest to avoid reality. It was comforting to take solace in another person who didn’t seem to expect much of me. He took care of my car and my neighbors so that they wouldn’t have to wonder if I was alright. He even took pains to have Mrs. Woo pack a small suitcase of clothes for me and provided whatever else I needed.

  I could only imagine what Mrs. Granada would think as she saw this handsome monument of a man taking care of my affairs.