by K. R. Rowe
Their primary target—The South.
******
Chapter 5 First Attempt
Weary and worn, but in harmony with his world, the old Rastaman stood on the corner of Fifth and Market. His dreadlocks swung long and gnarled to his waist, and were salted with the gray of old age. His clothing hung loose and ragged on his small thin frame, but he held his shoulders back with his chin up. He was a proud man, and he smiled. Some days he held a sign—Liberate Jamaica. Other days, he stood with a tray strapped across his shoulders, while hawking an assortment of scented oils and perfumes.
"Have a nice day," he would call out, as he greeted the capitalists in their three-piece suits. They pushed by without a glance. To them—he was invisible.
"Hi Russell!" Grace yelled when he breezed through the door of the shelter.
"Hello Grace, how are you on this beautiful day?" The rhythmic sound of his accent lilted through the noisy room like music, making heavy heads lift and the downtrodden smile.
"Much better since you’re here!" she said.
She was always happy to see Russell, which was often, when she volunteered at the shelter. His smiling eyes and kind heart left a lingering peace with every soul that he touched.
The dinner rush had come and gone and the stifling heat of the kitchen became unbearable. She needed a break. Outside, she leaned back against the crumbling brick wall at the rear of the building. She rested her eyes and enjoyed the slight breeze, while fanning her face with a thick paper plate. Long, stray, wisps of dark hair escaped from her twist, and stuck fast to the sweat that rolled down her neck. She twirled the strands together and stuffed them behind her ears, before turning to go back inside.
"Excuse me mam," a man said. He stood with his hands in his pockets, near the entrance of an alley next to the building. "Do you work here?"
She stopped and turned his way. "Yes sir, I do, kind of."
Despite the warmth of the day, he had the hood of his blue jacket drawn over his head and down to cover his brow. His head hung low but two amber orbs peered out with a rapt intensity.
"Maybe you can help me," he said. "My young son is ill, and we need a place to stay for the night."
"He’s sick?" She walked toward him. "Poor little fella, how old is he?"
"Come see," he said. "He’s in the car."
"Grace!" Russell’s voice called from behind her. "Come here!"
She turned back to see an anxious Russell furiously waving her toward him.
"I’ll be right back," she said to the man, as she made her way to where Russell stood.
"Grace," he said. "You stay away from that man!"
"But his son is sick—"
"No, girl," he said. "I have a bad feeling—very bad. I’ve never seen him before and I’ve been around here a long, long time."
She looked over her shoulder but the man had vanished.
"Look, you see," he said. "Now he’s gone."
"Where’d he go?" She walked to the edge of the building and leaned around the corner.
"Does your father know you’re here today?" he asked.
"No," she replied with a guilty smile.
"You scare me, child," Russell said coming to stand beside her. "You trust too easy."
******
Chapter 6-The Near Confession
This time, Grace thought with a smile, he couldn’t ignore her. She put aside her hurt feelings and hoped to have a good time. Her neighborhood association sponsored monthly dances to allow the young people to socialize safely.
She was going with Sebastian—alone. They would be married in a year and they would eventually have to get to know one another. Perched on the banks of the Tennessee River, the venue was the perfect choice for a dance. The night was clear, and the stars seemed so close, she felt like she could reach up, pull one down, and illuminate the darkness from the palm of her hand. A slight warm breeze carried the sweet smell of fresh magnolia blossoms through the night air and the scent made her smile.
Snubbed yet again, she found herself alone for most of the dance. Occasionally scanning the room for Sebastian, she found it odd that he seemed to have vanished. Near the end of the evening, he appeared out of nowhere, and escorted her outside to leave.
"Wait here." His tone was cold and harsh, and he motioned her toward a pine bench near the door outside. "I'll be right back."
Grace leaned back on the bench, twirled her hair around her finger and waited. It was not long before her friend Lydia, blew like a microburst through the front doors.
"Damn it!" Lydia said, when a sudden draft from outside, lifted and tangled her copper red hair. She brushed it aside when it licked around her face, like a kiln of hot flames on a porcelain vase. Unperturbed and in the midst of an off-color joke, she snorted with laughter, shushed her date, and looked around to be sure no one heard.
"Grace! What are you doing out here in the dark?" she asked. "Did Sebastian leave you alone again? He is such a jackass!"
Grace couldn’t help but laugh at her usual choice of words.
"It's ok, he'll be right back."
Lydia was not convinced and held out her hand. "You’re always making excuses for him. Come on, we'll take you home. He's probably in there slobbering all over one of his whores."
Grace was shocked that it was so obvious, and embarrassed that Lydia had noticed. She knew he was a womanizer but assumed it would end once they were married.
"Lydia, really, I’ll be ok," she said. "Surely, he wouldn't leave me here alone."
"All right then, I'll trust him—this time," Lydia's eyes narrowed, "but I swear, if he leaves you out here," she said, "I'm gonna snatch out his arm and beat him with the bloody stump."
"Ok." Grace couldn't help but laugh again. "Only if I can help."
She watched and waved as Lydia walked away, and another burst of raucous laughter followed her into the darkness. The last of the guests went home from the dance and the hour began to grow late. The moon expanded and filled the night sky, as the earth rolled away from the sun. The loud click from the door lock startled her, and the outside lights went black. Grace sat alone in the dark. Her usual bravado disappeared, and the fearless young woman soon vanished.
The songs of the cicada grew eerily quiet. Before her eyes, shadows morphed into inhuman shapes. Innocent noises in the light of day took on an ominous tone by dark of night. She swallowed hard to rid herself of the lump that grew in her throat. How could he leave her like this? She was right—he never loved her, and he never will. She put her face in her hands, and the years of pent up tears came at the thought of the miserable life that loomed ahead of her.
"Don't cry …." she heard a voice in front of her. Startled, she looked up and the guard was there. He knelt just inches away. His blue eyes blazed into hers. His hands gently stroked her upper arms. She sniffed, and he brushed her hair back, away from her face.
"He left me," she whispered.
"Shhh … It’s ok, you're safe," he said.
"I left my phone in his car and—where did you come from?" She thought her dad had given security the night off.
"I'm always close by."
Even though he was in street clothes and no helmet, she recognized his voice. She had heard it many times before. She tried to drag her eyes away but she couldn't help but stare. His hair was short and his lashes were long, but both were dark and thick. His eyes were so incredibly—familiar.
"I'm sorry," she looked down at her lap. "I guess Sebastian’s right. I probably am an annoying nuisance. I don’t mean to be .…" Her voice hitched, and a fresh tear dripped from her lash and fell to his hand.
"No." He reached up, touched her cheek, and shook his head slowly. "You’re not a nuisance. Don’t ever think that."
He was only being nice, she thought. She always felt like a bother, a pest, and now—forgotten.
"Grace …." he said. He sat quiet for a moment. She watched his jaw muscle tense. He looked away, like he wanted to say something more, but ins
tead he stood slowly. "Your parents are probably worried. I need to get you home." He looked around and checked his pockets as if he had lost something. "I'll be right back."
Her eyes followed as he crossed the street and rummaged around in the deep shadows of a large oak tree. He returned with his phone and only minutes passed before the electric hum of the driverless cab drew near.
"Careful," he said as he helped her inside.
From the shadows of the cab, she could still see him clearly. He stood with his hands in his pockets, in the dark roadway, watching the cab drive away. He never moved, as the darkness engulfed him and he faded from sight.
The cab pulled into the long circular drive of her house, and her mother rushed outside.
"Grace! Thank the Lord! I was so worried!" she said. "I called but your phone was off." Her relief gave way to her surfacing anger. "I called Sebastian and he didn't answer. Then I called Lydia. She told me he abandoned you." Her mother’s dislike for Sebastian was no secret to Grace. "What happened?" she asked. She put her arm around Grace and led her inside the house.
"He just left me there, Mom. He acts like he hates me."
"Oh honey," Anne said, trying to sooth her hurt feelings. "He doesn't hate you. He's just very inconsiderate."
"I’d probably still be sitting there if not for one of dad’s security men."
"I know," Anne said. "He called your dad while I was talking to Lydia. Atticus is very particular who he hires, and we’ve been fortunate to keep him so long."
"How long?"
"Oh … I don’t know. The last time we hired someone new was at least," she thought for a minute, "two years ago."
"Two years?" Grace said. "I've never even seen him—not once." She scratched her head. "Now that I think of it, I don't know what any of them look like—or their names."
"That’s because your dad makes them wear those ridiculous helmets when they're on duty," Anne said. "He argues that they’re for the guard’s protection, but I don’t like it. How can we be safe when we can’t even see who they are?"
The guards were like fixtures. They were always around. They blended in with the woodwork and more often than not, she forgot they were even there. Grace wondered why he had been there at all.
Security had the night off.
******
Chapter 7-Leave of Absence
He didn’t trust Sebastian. He had one of those uneasy feelings that he just couldn’t shake. He waited by the tree, in the shadows, for hours. He only wanted to be near, to be sure she was safe, but … he never expected to see her cry.
When he knelt in front of her and gazed into her eyes, a thousand unspoken words clung to the tip of his tongue. He forced himself to turn away. He could never reveal how he felt. All he was and ever could be was her security, and that was it.
He needed advice.
"No!" Matt yelled into the headset. "They're around the corner! Watch out! You'll be killed!" He jumped from his seat and yelled again with the game controller gripped tight in his hands. "Damn it!" he said, and fell into his sofa defeated. "Sorry man, maybe we'll have better luck next time."
It was late Saturday night, and Alex leaned with his forehead against the door, and knocked persistently. Matt’s restaurant would not be open until noon the next day, so Alex hoped that he was staying up late. At that time of night, he half expected to be greeted with a gun.
"Who is it?" Matt yelled from the other side.
"It’s me."
With an evil grin, Matt yanked the door open and Alex stumbled in. "What are you drunk or something?" Matt said and laughed. "Hell man, the way you were knocking, I thought you were the police."
"Who were you yelling at?" Alex took a step in and looked around the room.
"Oh, I was playing that new satellite war game," Matt said. "You’ve gotta try it—why are you out so late?"
Alex shrugged. "I just felt like getting out."
Matt eyed him with suspicion. "I don’t know … you usually don’t just roam around for no apparent reason."
"Well, I’ve been thinking." Alex plopped his big, six foot three, frame onto a tiny stool in the corner. "I might head up to the mountains for a while."
"Want a beer?" Matt grabbed two from the full size refrigerator next to his sofa.
"Sure."
"Is your mom ok?" Matt fell back into his seat and threw his feet on the table.
"Yeah, she’s fine," he said. "I just need a break."
"And?"
"To be honest," he said, "I almost did something stupid tonight." He put his elbows on his knees and looked at the floor.
"What’d you do, shoot at somebody?"
"Now why would you think that?"
"Cause I know you."
"No," Alex said. "It was nothing like that." He steadied himself as the tiny stool wobbled under his weight.
"Oh … I get it!" Matt suddenly burst into laughter. "Let me guess, it's her, right? She's eighteen, the marriage is coming up, and you—are losing your mind."
Alex groaned and put his head in his hands. "I’m not sure I can do this anymore."
"Now I know why you’re out so late," Matt said. "Why were you following her around on your night off?"
"I was bored?"
"You've been obsessed with her since we were kids. The same week, year after year, up at the crack of dawn, home after dark. You waited for her … lurking around in the woods like—"
"Her parents never watched her," Alex said. "She was almost killed. She needed some kind of protection."
"Whatever you wanna call it—"
"Come on—she was just a little kid."
"Yeah, well, not anymore," Matt said.
"Trust me," Alex looked up and rubbed his eyes with his palms. "I’ve noticed."
"She don't even know you exist."
Alex hacked a short laugh. "She does now."
"Man, you’re insane," Matt said. "You know, you weren’t born to protect her."
"Sometimes I feel like it."
"You should find another woman—"
"Been there, done that."
"Find a new job and just move on. She's getting married, for God’s sake. What are your plans then, stalk her after she's married?" Matt said. "You know … that just ain't right."
"You’re right—I mean—what do I have to offer her anyway?" he said. "I don’t have much money. Basically, I’m just a redneck with a big truck that she probably can’t even climb into."
"Hey!" Matt said. "Now hold on! There’s nothin’ wrong with being a redneck!"
"I figured you’d say that," he said and grinned.
"And there’s nothin’ wrong with your truck either."
"But seriously … I really do need a vacation."
"And a little therapy won't hurt."
"Yeah, maybe some of that too," Alex said, and laughed. "If I go, will you keep an eye on her?"
"Yeah, I might, but I'll probably keep a closer eye on that cute little redhead friend of hers," Matt said, grinning. "Wanna play?" He dug out a spare controller from a drawer, and threw it Alex's way.
"Sure, why not. It's been awhile." He hoped for a little distraction. "Do you have another chair?"
Monday, he planned to go in, ask for time off, and go home. He had at least a month coming, not to mention, he missed his mom.
He was just a kid when he first saw her—maybe thirteen—but the memory was as clear as a fresh mountain spring. He would have guessed her age to be around seven. Her long dark hair framed a face of fair skin, and her eyes were as green as a new budding leaf. Her delicate features matched her tiny voice, and she looked like she was dressed for Easter in her white flowered sundress. The white leather sandals she wore seemed an odd choice and out of place for the mountains.
She was much too young to be wandering alone. He was afraid for her. He knew the dangers of the mountains, and he knew how to handle them, but she did not. He continued to watch for her safety until he heard her mother call for her, and she skipp
ed away in the direction of a nearby lodge. Why were her parents not watching her?
The next day, he was helping his dad in the smokehouse, when his mother shouted from the kitchen window.
"He’s in the garden again!"
Alex grabbed his bow, and slung the smokehouse door wide, as he ran out with his dad right behind him. The startled boar bolted at the sound of their voices, but this time they swore they would get him.
"You go that way," his dad said, "and I’ll circle around and we can corner him."
Alex crashed through the woods, close on his tail, but the boar was too fast and he lost him. Frustrated and out of breath, he stopped to look around, and glimpsed a flash of black in the distance. In a quick sprint, he tore through dense brush, and stumbled over rocks, but his fear ground him to a halt at the edge of a meadow.
The same little girl that he had seen the day before was sitting in a patch of wildflowers. She was dangerously unaware of the furious boar that stood only inches away. His heart pounded in his chest, he could not breathe, and his hands shook when he reached behind his back for his arrow. It was almost on her when she saw the boar. Too late ... she ran.
He drew back his bow and prayed that he hit his mark. The boar crashed to the ground. Sick with fear, he ran to be sure that it was dead. The girl fell hard and didn’t move. As he stood over the animal, she finally raised her head to look back. He wanted to pick her up and run with her to safety, he wanted to scream at her parents, but he composed himself instead. When he reached her, he helped her up, and they walked together to the edge of the lodge property and parted ways.
He knew her name. He had heard her mother call for her the day before.
"Rosalyn Grace Astor! What have I told you about running off? Your father would have a heart attack!"
That day was no different. Still shaken, he jogged back toward the meadow. He stopped when he noticed a necklace made of white clover flowers lying on the ground. He picked it up, hung it around his neck, and ran to look for his dad.