Silent Rain

by Karin Salvalaggio

  Grace felt unsteady. “Well, I’m through for the night. I can barely stand up straight.”

  “I hear you. All this drinking is getting me nowhere. I need to focus on my writing.”

  Grace held tight to the wooden walkway’s railing. Their conversation had landed on familiar territory. Lara hadn’t been able to work on her new novel for weeks. She’d sit for hours, declare it was all crap, and delete everything she’d written. All Grace had to do was say the same things she always did and it would be fine.

  “Sounds good,” said Grace. “Stop messing around so much and focus on what matters. Writing is what keeps you sane.”

  Lara pulled her hair back from her face. For someone with so much bravado she looked incredibly vulnerable.

  “It’s getting embarrassing. I made all that noise about getting published and nothing has happened.” Cigarette ash flicked into the wind. “I think my agent is going to dump me if I don’t get a contract soon.”

  “You’re not going to get dumped. Aren’t you their wunderkind? Tomorrow you can make a new start. “

  “Tomorrow I’ll be too hungover to do much of anything.”

  “Same here.” Grace checked to see if Jordan was loitering nearby. Satisfied, she started to make a move. “I’m going home now. Do you want to come?”

  “We really should find Clare first.”

  “Her car’s gone so I bet she’s gone too.”

  “We’ll freeze without our coats,” said Lara.

  Grace adjusted her faux fur cape so it covered her shoulders.

  “No one is freezing. Fifteen minutes and we’re home.”

  Lara stubbed out her cigarette. “I’ll go find Clare. She’ll be pissed if she thinks we left without her. Are you really going to be okay on your own?”

  “Better on my own than hanging out with fat Elvis,” said Grace, thinking heels or not, she’d run all the way home if she had to.

  * * *

  A historic residential neighborhood separated Main Street and the small liberal arts college where Grace was majoring in art. The crowded bars were only a few blocks away, but here it seemed everyone had already gone to sleep. Mature trees arched gracefully over well-tended lawns and wide driveways. Streetlamps glowed at precise intervals and light pooled beneath deep front porches.

  Grace ran with her arms spread wide and her high heels slapping the empty stretch of sidewalk, bursting into laugher every time she stumbled. Halfway home she bent over and clutched her side. She took a few deep breaths before continuing at a slower pace. The night air didn’t feel as cold here among the houses and sheltering trees. The long hem of her prom dress dragged on the ground, picking up twigs, leaves, and candy wrappers. She occasionally stopped to admire the Halloween decorations draped from every house.

  A bowl of candy had been left on the front steps of a particularly grand red brick home. Grace stopped to pick through the remains before settling back on the wide sloping front lawn. She worked her way through several miniature candy bars, tossing the wrappers over her shoulder one by one. She pulled off one of her shoes and held it up to the porch light. It was ruined, but then again so was her foot. The skin was creased and there was a blister the size of a quarter on her left heel. She slipped the other shoe off and laced the straps through her fingertips. It was only ten minutes further to her apartment building. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d walked home barefoot.

  The bump on the side of her head was tender to the touch. She couldn’t figure out what she’d struck as she’d fallen to the floor but assumed it was someone’s knee. She felt the top of her head. Lara’s tiara was missing. Grace checked the lawn surrounding her before retracing her steps. She’d briefly become entangled in the low-lying branches of an elm tree as she ran down a particularly dark stretch of sidewalk. If the tiara was anywhere to be found, it would be there. She guessed that the tree was a couple of blocks away but she couldn’t really be sure of anything except for the fact that she was still very drunk. She lay back on the lawn and flung her arms out to her sides.

  Surrender.

  She was actually feeling content. Now she just had to make that feeling last longer than the alcohol buzz. She closed her eyes and imagined the childhood home she’d left behind in Collier. She’d recently come across an article in the newspaper. The house on Summit Road had been vandalized. Someone had spray-painted a warning on the garage door. They’d wanted to be sure the world remembered what kind of monster her uncle was. They’d even been thoughtful enough to leave a postscript. Apparently they were hoping he’d burn in hell. Grace let her mind drift through the empty rooms they’d once occupied. Her uncle had taught her how to drive, fish, and fire a gun. He’d put a roof over her head when no one else wanted her. Not once did he touch her. Not once did he raise his hand in anger. Not once did Grace meet the monster.

  An emergency vehicle’s sirens woke Grace from a deep sleep. Her back was damp from lying on the grass and she was shaking from the cold. She fumbled with her phone but no amount of button pushing would bring the dead battery to life. She strained her ears and heard what might have been the dull roar of traffic and crowds along Main Street. She stumbled to her feet and headed toward her apartment, only to turn back a few seconds later. She still needed to find Lara’s tiara. A few blocks ahead a fire engine raced through an intersection. Nearby a dog barked from the other side of a garden fence. She held her finger to her lips.

  “No need for that,” she said. “I won’t hurt you, boy.”

  As Grace made her way along the darkened streets she did a quick tally of the number of drinks she’d consumed. The fact that she and her friends had been to three different bars was very clear in her mind. She’d drunk wine at the first one, but after that it got muddled. She started counting again and was surprised when she’d hit six drinks. Grace was petite and prone to being underweight so one or two drinks was usually her limit. She couldn’t believe she’d managed six. No wonder she’d passed out. She was more surprised that she’d managed to wake up.

  The tiara glittered like a Christmas ornament in the low-lying branches of the suspected elm tree. Grace set it back down on her wig, being sure to dig the combs deep into the weave. The beams from a pair of headlights swept across the houses on the opposite side of the street as a car made a sharp right-hand turn and headed toward her. It was the guy that had been following her. Grace pressed her body up against the elm and watched as Jordan’s late-model Bronco cruised along the block, its familiar engine rumbling out of tune. She stepped out into the open once he’d passed. One of the car’s taillights was out and the other blinked like an eye. She couldn’t make out the license plate. The Bronco stopped at the next intersection, but instead of going forward, it reversed at full speed.

  Grace ducked through the nearest hedge and took off across a backyard in a sprint, stumbling on the hidden tree roots that snaked beneath the grass. She scrambled through an opening in a fence on the far side of the lawn and continued running across another property. Three more blocks of this and she’d nearly be home. In a break in the treetops she could just make up the dark outline of Pilot Hill, the highest point in the municipal park opposite her apartment building. She stopped running. It didn’t matter if she made it home or not. Jordan had been following her around Bolton for two weeks. He would know where she lived by now. As usual she’d let things go for far too long. Now she really had no choice. She had to call the police.

  The lights in the back of the next house were still on. She climbed the steps to the porch and stood at the back door. Music was playing inside. It would be okay. All she had to do was knock and ask for help. She leaned her forehead against the door. She didn’t want to knock and she certainly didn’t want to ask for help. The people who tracked her down were mostly harmless; they usually moved on after a few days. She imagined they had a long list of famous crimes and the people associated with them. Like bird watchers they ticked them off one by one. As far as they were concerned Grace Adams was ju
st another name.

  A window to her right swung open and a man leaned outside. He lit a joint and rested his elbows on the sill to smoke. A woman laughed as she put her arms around him. He shrugged her off. She tried holding him again and he raised his voice.

  “You really need to stop smothering me,” he said.

  “Quit coming over if that’s the way you feel.”

  A door slammed somewhere in the house. The man flicked some ash onto the porch and took another drag. Grace was only a few feet away from him. If he looked in her direction he’d see her standing there looking ridiculous in a soiled prom dress, her shoes missing. A wooden board creaked beneath her bare feet and the man’s head snapped up.

  “Who’s there?”

  Grace didn’t answer. She was ready to run if she had to. By the time he made it outside, she’d be long gone.

  “I see you.” He struck another match and cupped the flame. “What are you doing hiding back here?”

  “I was scared,” said Grace.

  He frowned. “You’re all alone in the dark. It’s not exactly surprising.”

  “I’ll go now. I’m sorry for trespassing.”

  “Ain’t my house so I don’t give a shit. Want some?” he asked, holding up the joint. It was burned halfway down and looked like it had spent a long time in someone’s back pocket.

  Grace said a quiet no.

  “Do you need to come in and call someone?” he asked.

  “It’s okay, I’m fine now. I just had a scare.”

  “It’s Halloween. Isn’t that what you signed up for? Come into the light. I want to see what you’re wearing.”

  Grace shuffled past him with her head down. She had no interest in showing off her costume. She was embarrassed and wanted to go home.

  “It’s a lame costume,” she said. “No one knew who I was.”

  “Let me have a guess.”

  Grace stopped and looked up at him. He was older, probably in his late thirties, but had long hair. He didn’t look anything like Peter Pan but she could tell he was the type of man who never grew up.

  “I know exactly who you are,” he said.

  Grace checked that her blond wig and tiara were still in place. Her disguise was intact. He couldn’t know who she really was so she played along.

  “I’ll give you three guesses,” she said.

  “I don’t need three guesses. It’s obvious. You’re Carrie. Great movie, by the way.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve met tonight who’s heard of it.”

  “You need to hang out with a better class of friends. Are you sure you’re okay out there on your own?”

  “Thank you but I’m fine. I just want to get home.”

  He held up his hands. “Suit yourself. I’m not going to ask again.” He tilted his head. “Hear those sirens? There’s fires all over town tonight. I saw it on the news. Apparently, there’s a house on Madison…”

  “Probably just kids.” Grace started down the steps. “I should go. My friends will be worried.”

  “Don’t let anyone give you any shit,” he said. “As I recall, Carrie got her own back in that film.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “No need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

  He’d done more than he realized. Grace was no longer scared. Jordan was a coward. She’d been through too much in her life to let someone like him frighten her.

  * * *

  Grace took a shortcut through the narrow side yard and headed east, sticking to the long shadows thrown down by a fence bordering the sidewalk. She was on more familiar ground but that didn’t ease her troubled mind as much as it should have. Peter and Hannah Granger’s house was a short distance away. There was a time when Grace had felt like she was part of their family, but now she was careful to avoid Madison Road. Peter refused to speak to her since kicking her out of his writing workshop, and Hannah ignored Grace when they passed each other in the halls of the college’s art department, where Hannah was a professor. Grace had not coped well with her sudden exile. There’d been nights she’d been so miserable that she’d wanted to give up on college and go back home to Collier. She was still in Bolton only because Lara had hidden her car keys when those feelings had become overwhelming.

  A police car sped past with its emergency lights on, only slowing as it turned onto Madison Road. Several people were gathered on the corner. Some stood alone and silent while others spoke among themselves. Their faces glowed warm and bright in reflected light. Grace smelled smoke before she saw flames. She rounded the corner and nearly tripped into the road. For a few seconds she couldn’t understand what she was seeing.

  Two fire engines and several patrol cars were parked in front of what was left of Peter and Hannah’s home. Plumes of thick black smoke rose into the night sky as the fire engulfed the upper and lower floors. Paramedics were treating a fireman for smoke inhalation. He sat on the back bumper of an ambulance with an oxygen mask pressed to his face. A police officer shouted a question in the fireman’s ear and the fireman slowly shook his head. Grace made her way to the police barrier. Two officers stood with their backs to the growing crowd. She was about to tap the closest officer on the shoulder when Lara came rushing up. Her mascara had pooled in the hollows beneath her eyes. She grabbed hold of Grace with both hands and shook her hard.

  “Oh my God, Grace. Where have you been?” Lara held up her phone as evidence. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  Grace swallowed back the lump that was forming in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off the house.

  “My battery died,” said Grace.

  Lara twisted Grace around so they were facing each other.

  “You scared the shit out of me.”

  Grace almost said something about Jordan, but now that she was sobering up he no longer seemed as threatening. She didn’t trust herself not to have exaggerated what happened.

  “I passed out on someone’s front lawn,” said Grace, hoping that would be enough of an explanation.

  “You said you’d be okay.”

  “You probably shouldn’t trust drunk people when they say they’re going to be okay.”

  Grace focused on the small round window positioned above the Granger’s front door. Backlit by fire, it glowed like an eye. It was as if Peter Granger was throwing her one last angry glance. She was tempted to throw one right back.

  Grace had changed her surname from Adams to Larson before enrolling at Bolton College. For the most part it was easy to hide her past. It turned out that college was full of people who were trying to reinvent themselves, so Grace fit right in. The police only knew she lived in Bolton because she’d asked them for assistance on a few occasions. Jordan wasn’t the first man to track her down and wouldn’t be the last. She didn’t know how these men found her. She’d never spoken to the press and had only used the name Grace Larson online.

  Grace was pretty sure it was Lara who’d told Peter Granger her real name. It was just the type of thing Lara would have done to get his attention. Grace had thought of bringing it up but couldn’t risk it. Flawed as she was, Lara was the closest thing Grace had to a real friend.

  Peter had never really cared for Grace’s writing. He’d only asked her to join his writing group because he wanted to write a book based on what had happened to her in Collier. He’d freaked out when she refused to give him permission. Grace had been sitting next to Lara on a sofa in his office when he’d grabbed hold of her shoulders. He shook her so hard her nose started to bleed.

  God knows I didn’t pick you to join this group because of your writing, which is shit by the way. For weeks you’ve wasted my time with schoolgirl fantasies. He’d dug his fingers into her shoulders and screamed. You’re Grace Adams for fuck sake. Quit hiding.

  That was the moment she’d told Peter Granger to fuck off.

  “I’m trying to figure out why I still care what happens to Peter and Hannah,” said Grace.

  “You have every reason to hate
them,” said Lara.

  Lara’s continued loyalty to Peter had felt like another betrayal. Lara said she didn’t have a choice. It was Peter who’d helped her find an agent and had been giving her feedback on her debut novel. He was a famous author. She needed his help to get published.

  Grace caught something in Lara’s eye.

  “Have you finally seen Peter for the asshole he always was?” asked Grace.

  “This isn’t the time to discuss our issues with the Grangers,” said Lara. She steered Grace away from the police officers. “We may have our reasons to hate them, but neither of us would ever wish them dead.”

  “Were they inside?”

  “I don’t know. The police won’t tell me anything.”

  “Have you tried calling them?”

  “They’re not picking up.” Lara’s fingers flew over her phone’s keys. Her voice was measured. “It doesn’t mean anything. They could be away somewhere. They’re always going on trips.”

  Grace’s teeth were chattering. She needed to go home.

  “Did you find Clare?” asked Grace.

  “She’s on her way. Not sure where Taylor has been all evening, but the fact that she’s checked out of our lives again is hardly a surprise.”

  “Could you call Clare back and tell her to bring our coats?” Grace hesitated. “I’ve also lost my shoes.”

  Lara looked down at Grace’s bare feet and frowned. “How on earth did you ever survive all these years without me?”

  Sparks shot up into the sky as a large section of the roof collapsed and the fire crew scrambled for safer ground. A cloud of dust and ash rolled across the road and blanketed the onlookers. Grit coated Grace’s bare skin. She could taste it on her tongue. It stung her eyes. This was all that remained of the home where Grace had once been so welcome. She’d drunk Peter and Hannah’s wine, shared their meals, and slept in their spare bedrooms. It was the first time Grace had felt like she was part of a proper family.

  She’d met them at a party they’d thrown a year earlier. They’d been very specific when they invited Lara. She was to bring her friend Grace. Grace had thought it was odd but Lara wouldn’t let her say no, adding that Grace was her plus one. Grace had been so naive she’d had to ask what that meant. She’d been raised by a man who owned a trucking company and a woman whose life revolved around the church. Artists, authors, and intellectuals were outside her experience. She’d said that she wouldn’t fit in but Lara reassured her.