The Last Grimm_Red's Hood

by H. L. Wampler

  “This has to be a joke,” I muttered.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s Red Riding Hood. A fairy tale,” I picked up a few more books, “They’re all fairy tales.”

  “That’s what the letter says. Fairy tales.”

  “Connor, come on. Do you really expect me to believe this? A fairy tale killed Blanche? I’m a guardian? This is just too ridiculous,” I said throwing the books down

  He shrugged his shoulders and avoided my eyes.

  “What aren’t you telling me? I know there is something you’re hiding.”

  “There isn’t anything. Really. You know everything,” he said quietly.

  I sat on the floor looking at the books, pursing my lips, and thinking of something to say.

  “Connor.”

  “What?”

  “How did you know where I live?” I asked.

  “You told me.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Sure you did.”

  “No, Connor, I didn’t. Stop lying to me.”

  He stood there like a deer caught in headlights, clearly trying to think of something, maybe another lie.

  “You knew?” I stood, and spun on my heels glaring at him, “But how?”

  He sighed deeply, and looked at me with a mixture of pity and sorrow, “Things aren’t exactly what they appear to be.”

  “No shit. What is going on? What is all this?”

  “Like the letter says, you are a guardian. You are a Grimm.”

  “Yes, yes, I know I’m a Grimm.”

  “No, you don’t understand; being a Grimm has nothing to do with your last name. Yes, you are a Grimm in the sense of being related. But you’re the last Grimm, the last guardian of the fairy tale world. You are the last of your kind. If you die without having any children, that’s it. Fairy tale world is cut off from ever even possibly coming in contact with this world again. You are supposed to keep peace and balance, but like your father said years ago the evil of that world somehow escaped into this world. It seems as though he wasn’t able to put it back. Now, it’s your turn. Only, you cannot die. It is imperative that you stay alive.”

  “My turn? Kids?”

  “Yes. You have to put the villains back in their stories, and if you don’t have kids, the Grimm bloodline stops with you,” he tried to stress to me, I didn't want to listen.

  “What?”

  “What to which part?” he asked.

  “I put them back?” I asked.

  “You figure out what story they’re from, hold on to them, read, and send them back.”

  It was my turn to sit and gawk. The boy was insane. That was it. He was insane. So was my mother. How could they believe all this? Was I supposed to just accept everything that was going on? Was I supposed to forgive my father for leaving, and not telling me this in person? I didn’t realize I’d started crying until the salty tears landed on my hands. I sniffed gracelessly, and looked up at Connor. He stood there, oddly still and quiet. His jaw was clenched and he looked at the ground.

  “Where did you get the axe?” I gazed up at him.

  “What?” he actually looked confused.

  “The axe you attacked the wolf with. Where did you get it?” my voice was quiet and far away.

  “I found it, lying in the street,” his eyes darted around the dimly lit room.

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not,” he protested.

  “Yes you are. You’ve been lying to me since the beginning! I doubt your eyes are really blue!”

  “What?”

  “Contacts. I’ll bet they’re contacts. You’re so full of shit, they’re probably really brown,” I threw one of the books at him.

  He ducked as it slammed into the wall behind him, “Will you be careful with those. You will need them.”

  “Screw you, Connor!” I chucked another one across the room.

  “Abigail! Will you stop.”

  “No. Screw this, screw you. I’m not doing anything!”

  “Really now? Is that any way to act?”

  He stood and picked up the discarded objects, dumping them back in the trunk. I sat on the filthy floor glowering at him.

  “Despite what you may think, Abigail, you will need these. You are the last Grimm, and you will need to face this before shit really hits the fan. So, I suggest you start doing some reading, and figure out what story we're in right now,” he paused in the doorway and turned his head slightly toward me, “And I had the axe with me.”

  “See you lied!” I shouted as he descended the steps two at a time.

  I sat there staring after him, letting the anger seethe. I needed someone to be mad at, why not the big fat liar?

  Chapter Eleven

  I grabbed the books I had chucked at Connor and looked at them. The old leather smelled so good. The pages inside were yellowed, dry, and cracking around the edges. The words were scrawled in a beautiful cursive, which was fading. I didn’t want them to fall apart, so I was going to have to find someone to preserve them. The attic had not done them justice.

  A twinge of sadness did nag at my heart. As much as I hated my father, I did crave his love. Growing up I wanted to be a daddy’s girl. I wanted to go to the father/daughter dances at school, and I was always jealous of the other kids whose dads came in for career day. I never had anyone at career day for me. I had never shed a tear over him though. There was more resentment built up than longing. I mean, why should I be sad about not having this man in my life if he did not want me in his? The hot, salty tears tasted odd. They weren’t the usual tears. These were a mixture of a lifetime of no dad, and hating him for it. This was the first time I had ever cried about not having him. A bit of relief was that I was not an emotionless basket case like my mom after all. I was a little bitter about it.

  I was still sitting in front of the trunk when I heard heavy footed stomps coming up the stairs. I turned my eyes and saw Connor.

  “What?” I muttered.

  “Come downstairs.”

  “No.”

  “Abs…”

  “Connor, I do not think you are grasping the severity of my being pissed off.”

  “I don’t understand why you are so mad,” he said.

  “You don’t? You have no idea why I would be so pissed?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, let me enlighten you then. I have been lied to, mislead, used, and betrayed. And on top of all that, I saw someone eaten tonight. Eaten, Connor! She was fucking chewed on like a damned t-bone steak! Now, try putting yourself in my shoes, and tell me how I am supposed to feel.”

  He stood there staring down at me. I couldn’t help myself; I let my eyes roam over his body. His slacks hung on his hips, and the ripped shirt revealed small pieces of a well maintained torso that somewhat resembled raw hamburger at the moment. Still, it looked even more glorious than I had imagined.

  I mentally slapped myself for having inappropriate thoughts at such an inappropriate time.

  I stood, saying nothing, and walked over to him. His eyes burned into mine. His nostrils flared, and his pupils were dilated. I ran my fingers through the tears in his shirt. I examined his face, looking for any sign of anger. He looked relaxed, and like he was enjoying it. My brows stitched together, and I cocked my head to the side. I traced one finger along the long, red scratch on his face. He winced, but relaxed again as I kept trailing down to the side of his strong jaw. I put one hand on his bicep, never taking my eyes off him, and felt his arm flex under my touch. I knew he was connected to everything somehow. This immaculate specimen of a man had some dark secrets hidden somewhere, but he was so intoxicating. Something about him just made me feel…safe.

  This is wrong. I screamed in my mind.

  “Abigail!" he reached, out and pulled me into his body.

  I was sucked in. My clouded judgment got the best of me. I laid my head on his chest, and wrapped my arms around him. My body seemed to fit into his. My brain was ev
en more fogged over, and I completely forgot I was mad at him. He started running his fingers through my hair, and down my neck. A shudder ran down my spine, and I heard him chuckle. It was such a wonderful sound. He hugged me, and buried his nose in my hair. I heard him take a deep breath, and I regained my composure.

  As I began to regain my senses, I pushed him away.

  “What am I doing?” I muttered.

  “Being in the moment?” he asked smelling my hair again.

  “No. This isn’t right.”

  “Of course it is.”

  His hands began travelling south, closer to my backside.

  “Whoa there buddy, no! If those hands go any further down you’re liable to get a black eye.”

  “What did I do?” he asked trying to nuzzle my neck.

  “Are you kidding me? I am mad at you.”

  “But you started it?”

  “And I’m ending it.”

  “Why?”

  “Pulling your handsome man trick on me will not work at instant forgiveness.”

  “I am not pulling tricks on you,” he protested running his hands up and down my back.

  “Connor, no. I said to stop.”

  “You started it," he protested again.

  “And now I’m stopping it. I am really mad, and I am not getting close to you.”

  “Fine.”

  He turned and walked away. I stood there waiting. I wasn’t going to chase him if that was what he wanted. I held onto the wooden banister, and listened for the sound of a revving BMW. He must have been really mad; I actually heard his tires hitting rock. Rock that was buried under a lot of snow. I walked to the window, and saw the tail lights vanish around a corner. If there was ever an awesome moment ruined, this was it.

  Stick to your guns. Don’t fall for his playgirl tricks. My subconscious yelled at me.

  I stood there just breathing, trying to calm myself down when I heard lighter footsteps coming up behind me.

  “Abigail?”

  “What mom?” I asked without turning around.

  “What happened with Connor?”

  “I’m pissed at him.”

  “Don’t be cross with the boy.”

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t then.”

  “Because you just shouldn’t,” she said.

  “That’s not a very good reason, mom. He did some pretty big fouls today. Some of them are not going to be easily forgivable.”

  “Try. He does like you.”

  I turned and looked at her, “He has known me for two days. I don’t want to hear that.”

  I pushed past her, headed for my room, and climbed under my mountain of blankets. While lying there in the dark and solitude, I cried. I really cried. I had never been through a day like today before, and I did not want to go through it again. This was the most my father had ever interacted with me, and he wasn’t even here. I had a letter. A miserable, fading letter. As I lay there staring out the window, watching the snow fall in the soft, pale moonlight, I thought about going to the police. They needed to know what I saw. They needed to know about Connor. The longer I thought though, the more I realized I could get into trouble. What if they ask why I left? Or if I had anything to do with it?

  Okay, so coming forward probably would not be beneficial to me. And do I really want to get Connor in trouble? The light of the moon shone in through my window. I looked up at the sky, and kept my eyes on it as the hours ticked away. Sleep eluded me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Walter sat at the front desk of One PPG Place with his usual newspaper. I don’t even know if he knew what happened.

  “Morning, Miss Grimm,” he muttered never looking up.

  “Morning, Walter,” I muttered back in the same tone. He seemed to like people who weren’t loud or happy…ever.

  A few other people were standing huddled, waiting for the elevators with cups of coffee and their expensive, wool coats. It all seemed so pointless. Any one of them could be next. I mean, how many own red hooded jackets, or sweaters?

  I stood near the back of the crowded elevator listening to the music and ding of new floors. People slowly filed off at each floor, none of them ever speaking, and a few just looking at the red number change. I was last off. The only one heading to the thirty-ninth floor as usual. I stood at the end of the hall staring at the large glass doors. I could see the reception desk, but no Blanche. It was an empty area. This was the first time I missed her eye rolling and piss-poor attitude.

  Why am I even upset? She as a horrendous bitch! A horrendous bitch who was some man-wolf things late afternoon snack.

  The office seemed different. It was so quiet. I almost felt bad for not trying harder to be nice to the girl. I felt guilty and horrible about what happened not even twenty-four hours before. The chair behind the reception desk was empty. No bottle blonde chewing her gum like a cow, no magazines, just an empty chair and organized desk. I paused for a moment and stared at it. It was just too organized. I reached over to the pen holder and took one out, and scattered a few plain sheets of paper around. Too bad I did not have a magazine to lay there. I made my way back to my office and just sat down. The in-box was even bigger than it had been the day before.

  I didn’t look at the clock. I sat in the dark. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even hear Belinda open my door.

  “Abigail.”

  “Hmm?” I said absent mindedly.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Hexe.”

  “Did you know your light was off?” she asked.

  “I didn’t even realize it.”

  She flipped the switch, and the iridescent light flooded my area.

  “Are you any good at writing?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose so. Why?”

  “I need you to write up an ad for a receptionist,” she said casually, as though her last receptionist had quit without notice and wasn’t eaten by some man-wolf.

  “What?”

  “Well, I need a receptionist. I can’t run this office myself. Write up an ad, and take it to the Post for me,” she said riffling through papers.

  “Now?”

  She looked up at me with a somewhat puzzled look.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hexe; it’s just, with what happened…” I let my voice trail off.

  She lowered the papers, and I swear her expression softened a little, “It’s tragic what happened to Blanche, but work doesn’t stop because one person dies. The office keeps going.”

  “Right. I’ll get that ad written up for you.”

  After she left the room I got up to go to the kitchen. I knew it was going to be a coffee fueled day.

  “Abigail?”

  “I’m not talking to you, Connor,” I whispered.

  “You have to talk to me.”

  I whipped my head around and glared at him, “No I do not!”

  I opened the door to my office and stormed in. Before he could follow me, I slammed it. Leaning my head against the warm wood, I just listened. Connor’s footsteps echoed down the hall as he retreated to his own office. The windows in the tiny room were the same as Belinda’s. Wall to wall and ceiling to floor. The view really made up for the cramped quarters. The glowing computer screen was hypnotizing. All I could do was sit and stare at the blinking cursor. How was I supposed to write an ad for Blanche’s position? I felt like complete scum.

  Fashion diva seeking new receptionist. Previous employee eaten by a fucking fairy tale. I quickly hit the backspace key. I doubted the Post-Gazette would publish that.

  I began tapping away at the keys again. I may not have liked Blanche, but that didn’t mean I had a heart of stone. Sure I wished her teased, blonde hair would fall out, or a bird would shit on her head, but what happened to her was so horrible. It was misery writing the ad. Poor Blanche wasn’t even buried yet, and here I am looking for her replacement. I decided that keeping it nice and short would be best. The bare minimum was all I needed. If I didn’t dwell on the ta
sk at hand, I would be okay. Well, the bare minimum without the sick sarcasm.

  My mind can be so inappropriate.

  I turned on the printer, and listened to it hum to life. The warm paper was out in a few seconds. I got up, and opened my door just enough to see Connor’s door. Thankfully it was closed. I grabbed my coat and crept to Belinda’s office.

  “I’m going to the Post,” I whispered as loudly as I dared.

  “What?” she shouted back.

  I grimaced and looked at his door, “I’m taking the ad to the Post-Gazette.”

  “Alright. Take a lunch break after,” her irritated voice floated out from under the thick door.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  I turned and high-tailed it to the front door. This was getting ridiculous. There was no reason I needed to sneak around the office. I did nothing wrong. If anybody should be avoiding anybody, Connor should be avoiding me. Or at least apologizing.

  Men!

  I held my breath as an icy blast of winter wind punched me in the face. Instantly my eyes closed, and I buried my face in the jacket. The short walk to the Post building was going to be torture.

  “Abigail!”

  I stopped, and looked over my shoulder; Connor was running after me.

  “You have got to be kidding me! Can’t you take a hint? Didn’t I slam the door hard enough in your face?” I screamed at him.

  “Quit acting like a baby. As much as you want to ignore this, you can’t. It’s happening, and you’re involved,” he yelled back.

  “No, you stop acting like a creepy psycho! You and my mother are insane! Do you hear me? Insane!”

  “Then how do you explain the wolf?” he asked.

  “A hallucination.”

  “And Blanche?”

  “A terrible tragedy caused by some stray dog. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an ad to deliver.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “Why? I don’t want you coming with me.”

  “Oh well. I don’t care.”

  “Why are you so psycho?” I asked throwing my arms in the air.