The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  “Yes. I’m on my way.” Grace hung up the phone, placed her head between her knees and vomited on her shoes.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE HUMMINGBIRD

  B ack at the office, Grace squared her shoulders and sat tall. Her face remained expressionless. “Have the nightmares stopped?”

  The big man shifted in his chair. “Yessim.” His eyes seemed yellow and empty, but his mouth spread wide like a shark posing for a headshot. “Nice service they had for Miz Arlene.” The dingy orbs intensified.

  Grace felt like a hell-cat craving blood. “And you’re sleeping well?”

  “Very well,” he replied, leaning over to straighten the tongue of his large shoe.

  When he raised his head, Grace’s face became set like steel against his intimidating stare. Had something snapped inside her? Yes. The “thing” that made her feel vulnerable and afraid no longer existed. Love is my armor. “Will you turn yourself in?”

  “Fuck no. What chu be thinkin’? Da bitch is dead. The dead don’t talk.”

  “No, they don’t.” Grace rose. “It’s time for us to stop now.”

  “I still got five minutes.”

  I don’t. “We can make up the five minutes another time.”

  Resentful brown eyes followed her across the room. “Maybe dey ain’t gonna be another time.”

  Grace glanced at his baggy jeans. How much weight had he lost since she last saw him? Ten, maybe even twenty pounds? His disease turned him into a misshapen mass of blotches and sores. His immune system struggled to eek out healthy cells, but his liver was failing, the battle lost. Unprofessional. She checked herself gloating of his demise. She recalled Arlene’s broken body lying on her deathbed. Grace shook off the urge to share details of the suffering Arlene endured until her last breath. She never hated a client before. I never hated anyone. Never had a reason, but as Tiny took his sweet time, getting up from the chair Grace didn’t give a fig if he was in pain. She remained cool. How unethical, she thought. Tough. My rules now. She opened the office door.

  “I guess I’ll have to take my chances. Check with Sal on the way out.”

  ***

  Weeks had passed since Arlene Pratt’s funeral. “You have to eat, chèr.” His coaxing met with resistance. “One more bite for me?” Paul scooped mashed potatoes onto his fork and held it close to Grace’s tight lips.

  “I’m not hungry, Paul. Don’t push.”

  Paul threw his fork down on the plate releasing frustration. Grace had been behaving like a zombie since Arlene died; he felt helpless. “What makes you think you have control over someone else’s life?” he asked.

  “I was with her. I could’ve helped her! I could’ve said, ‘Fuck the rules! I’m gonna do the decent thing and take her to the police station myself!’”

  “When are you going to stop persecuting yourself, Grace? You can’t change what happened. You weren’t driving the car. Quit making it about you.” Paul felt the sting on his cheek before he realized what hit him. His focus was on catching Grace’s slight form before it crumpled to the floor. He picked her up and carried her to the couch.

  “It’s just you and me here, chèri,” he said softly. “Let it go.”

  “All my life I have tried to do the right thing. My goal has been to help heal people. Provide them with tools to make them strong. Look at me! I’m a mess! I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, Paul. I’m lost. Too many things have happened. I fucked up…again!”

  “Who are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who do you want to be?”

  “I want to be the girl who freed a hummingbird from a spider’s web.”

  “Only you’ve become the hummingbird,” he said, scooping her into his arms.

  He took her upstairs and deposited her onto the bed while he ran a bath sprinkled with lavender oil and Epsom salts. He lit scented candles and placed fluffy bath sheets nearby. Once the water was the perfect height and temperature, he began undressing her.

  She didn’t resist.

  He placed her into the Roman tub and stripped down. Her eyes followed his moves. She didn’t speak. He climbed into the water and sat behind her. He pulled her to his chest and held her tight. Suddenly he felt her body convulse into sobs. “That’s it, honey,” he whispered. “Let it go.”

  Soul-deep anguish surfaced as she wept, purging a year’s worth of toxic retention. Paul squeezed water from a sea sponge, letting warm suds trickle down her breasts. When she finished crying, he circled his arms around her, massaging her temples. She surprised him when she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. Silently she spoke of trust. He lathered soft mounds as she pressed her flesh against his hands, letting him know she wanted more. His hands moved down her slender hips until they cupped her buttocks. He kneaded gently and then began alternating movements. As her breathing increased, he journeyed to other parts of her body, exploring their sweetness with his fingertips. A moan escaped her lips. He struggled not to rush their lovemaking. He wanted her badly.

  Grace felt as though she were drugged. The aromas, the warmth of the water and Paul’s tender touch—all perfect medicine to heal her broken heart. The emotion erupting from within mingled with tiny bubbles and melted away. She hadn’t cried that hard since—never. Something about Paul made her feel safe. She loved his touch, the feel of his body against hers. Her skin tingled with excitement down to the core. She should’ve felt drained after expending that kind of emotional energy, but his fingertips danced across her body, making her come alive. She wanted more.

  Paul’s response to her gyration was uncontrollable. He hardened against her. When she reached for him, she took his breath away. Her firm grip seemed urgent and he writhed with pleasure.

  Grace turned to face Paul. Her eyes, red-rimmed, now burned with desire. Lips that trembled with grief moments ago met his in an arduous kiss. Water lapped at the edge of the tub as they adjusted their bodies to unite as one. When he slipped inside, a new emotion erupted, one she greeted with heart and soul.

  Paul tasted whatever his lips could reach, never having tasted anything as delicious as Grace. He felt a bolt of lightning surge through him as she placed him between her legs and mounted him. Never had he experienced such pleasure. The fit was perfect, their rhythm sublime. Water sloshing over the side of the tub didn’t deter their passion. Their eyes communicated the need to go the distance. Words weren’t necessary. They both arrived at their peak of sensitivity at same time, and the epitome of heightened sexuality held them captive. It was Paul who broke the code of silence between them.

  “Mother of God!” he cried.

  Their bodies shook in unison.

  Grace collapsed against Paul’s chest. Stroking the patch of damp curls between his pectoral muscles slowed her breathing. “I think I’ve worked up an appetite,” she announced.

  Concern showed on Paul’s face.

  “I’m hungry,” she rephrased.

  His eyes grew wide.

  “Food, silly.” He sighed relief.

  “Crepes?” he nibbled her ear, making her giggle. “Specialty of the house.”

  They rose, wrapping themselves in thick, terry softness, stepping gingerly around puddles on the floor. “I’ll mop; you cook,” she sang sweetly.

  He tilted her chin until their eyes met. “Thank you for sharing your beautiful, delectable body with me,” he said. “I can’t think of anything I’ve enjoyed more in my entire life.”

  Grace couldn’t speak. The tenderness in his eyes made her want to make love all over again, yet she felt no sense of urgency. She felt a new beginning in her life, one that was comfortable and complete. Instead, she hugged him tightly and replied, “Crepe Suzette sounds marvelous. I can hardly wait.” Is this what love feels like? For the first time, the question seemed irrelevant. The corners of her mouth lifted spontaneously.

  She knew.

  EPILOGUE

  J uanita Perez, Juanita Perez—isn�
��t there also an actress by that name? Jess leaned closer to the young woman, intent on catching every last word over the droning aircraft.

  “I don’t know. I am not familiar with your country’s films.”

  “Where are you headed?” He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. Woman love that shit. Sincerity. He was a master.

  “Puerto Madero,” Juanita answered shyly.

  “Me too!” He squeezed her hand. “I think fate has brought us together, don’t you? We both hate to fly; we’re going the same way.” He tilted her chin. “I could drown in those beautiful eyes of yours,” he said softly.

  Juanita blushed.

  Jess imagined his hands around her throat, tying her to a bed, stripping the flesh from her bones, and ripping her organs from the remains.

  He imagined Grace, wearing a black dress.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A side from writing romantic suspense novels featuring Psychotherapist Grace Simms, The RED CHAIR, The GREY DOOR, and The BLACK DRESS, Dänna Wilberg is an award-winning short film maker. For fifteen years, she produced and hosted two local TV programs in Sacramento, California, Paranormal Connection and Story Connection. and has been published in several anthologies, including one in London.

  Dänna is inspired by family, friends, and karaoke. Look for her upcoming paranormal suspense series Borrowed Time, featuring intuitive Suzanne Cash.

  Visit Dänna at dannawilberg.com.

  THE THIRD BOOK IN THE GRACE SIMMS TRILOGY:

  With Paul Fortier hot on Jess Bartell’s trail, Jess makes a decision to change his life forever. A new lady in his life, Jess has a plan…

  Paul, determined to keep Grace safe from Jess, calls in more favors from his militant past. When his pursuit dead ends during a train wreck in South America, Paul imagines his troubles are over… until an autopsy bursts his bubble.

  Grace Simms begins to breathe easy believing Jess Bartell is out of the picture for good… until she picks up a call from an unlisted number, and her terror resumes. In her frantic state she turns to Paul, only to find he’s been keeping a secret he can no longer deny.

  Can lies and betrayal lead to a happy ending? Grace’s psychic client begs to differ.