The Gift, page 10
part #1 of McKenna Mysteries Series
“Hey, Mom. I thought you came for your book?” Grace kicked her Jeep door shut while she balanced her lunch sack and workbag in one hand and her coffee mug in the other.
“Stay right there! Don’t move!” Ellen placed a determined flat hand out in front of herself.
“Mom, I don’t have time for this. I’m in a rush.” The impatience rose in Grace’s voice. She was not in the mood for her mother’s silly antics.
“Oh no. There’s always time for—” Ellen bent down and struggled to plug in the thick orange extension cord that was draped across the front porch, “—Christmas lights! Voila!” She waved her arms in front of Grace as a row of colorful lights outlined the small house.
“What is this?” Grace said, unable to help being uplifted by her mother’s positive energy and the hundreds of twinkling lights before her.
“I thought it was time you start showing a little Christmas spirit. You know, Bug, if your house is lit up, maybe some of your neighbors won’t think you’re a single workaholic who doesn’t have time to be invited to holiday parties. I’m just sayin.” Ellen raised another hand, putting up her defenses.
“Mom, even if I had time to socialize with my neighbors, you know how I feel about Christmas.”
Ever since that Christmas by the skating rink when she was paralyzed by her first vision, Grace had a bad association with the holiday. She had even given up wanting to be a professional ice dancer, because every time she thought about the ice, she inevitably thought about the red-haired woman being swallowed by the water.
“I know, honey, and I’m not saying that your gift is an easy thing to deal with, but I don’t think you need to take it out on the most wonderful time of the year.” Ellen opened her arms and did a little jig mimicking the Christmas song.
“I appreciate your effort.” Grace surveyed the lights that hung slightly uneven along the entryway of the house and branching out along the outline of the roof. “How did you even get those up by yourself?” Grace started to loosen up, forgetting about Mackenzie Waterford for a few seconds.
“Never underestimate the power of a woman with a staple gun and a ladder.” Ellen smiled as she picked up the tool and held it up.
“Where did you even get that?” Grace asked. Her mother barely knew how to work a pair of scissors, let alone a staple gun. Grace ducked away from her as she held it up high.
“Steven. Your neighbor.” Ellen pointed the staple gun at the small red house next door.
“You’re talking to my neighbors?” Grace said, realizing that she had never even been next door to thank them for leaving her a basket full of muffins when she moved in nearly two years ago.
“Well, one of us has too. Besides, his wife just passed. I thought he’d want to help a young lady like me to get his mind off things.”
“His wife died? When?” Grace felt like a horrible person. She had been so consumed with her own life, she didn’t even stop to see what was going on in the world.
“Like two months ago. Get with it, kid.” Ellen set the tool down and grabbed the lunch sack and coffee mug from Grace’s hand. “Let’s go inside, my hands are freezing.”
If Grace didn’t slow down soon, she was going to miss out a lot more than the passing of her neighbor’s wife. She promised herself that as soon as she figured out this Mackenzie Waterford thing, she’d settle down. Maybe even take a yoga class or something.
Chapter Thirteen
As expected, The 21st Amendment was bustling with the typical crowd. Grace took a deep breath as she pulled open the heavy door, nearly smacking herself in the face. It took seeing a few stars from the exertion to make her realize that she had hardly eaten anything all day because she had been so consumed with Mackenzie Waterford and Jenny Silva. She was starving.
The crowd was thick, but Eric wasn’t hard to find. He sat perched at one of the high-tops near the bar. His legs were thick and splayed open in typical man fashion. One hand rested on his cell phone, the other was wrapped around a Diet Coke. Barb must’ve shown him pictures of her, because he nearly fell off the barstool, he stood so fast when Grace sandwiched her way between a chair at the bar and another high-top, and appeared before him.
“Eric?” she asked in that way that was always awkward on a first date. The usual way around it was to talk about the person who set up the blind date. That had been Grace’s plan; keep the focus on Barb. She was an easy enough subject to keep a conversation on. The woman was a spitfire.
“Grace McKenna?” Eric leaned in like he was going to give a hug, but instead thought better of it and extended a hand. Grace noticed his hair first, the tiny glints of red just like Barb’s, shimmering against the low lighting of the bar.
“Nice to meet you.” Grace settled her eyes onto his for the first time and when she did she realized she had made a big mistake. Her mind was penetrated by a half dozen flashes of a girl who looked no older than seventeen. Two pink-rimmed hazel eyes stared at her on a backdrop of a round pink face. Tears carved out the girl’s puffy cheeks as they dropped off her slightly jutted chin. Grace was frozen for a moment, the background of the bar noise pulsating in her ears.
“Hey . . . are you okay?” The placement of Eric’s hands on her shoulders was enough to pull her out of the trance. Her natural instinct was to shake off his contaminated hands, but she stopped herself.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just a bit tired. Long day at the office, ya know.” Grace slid onto the barstool opposite him and almost instantly started fiddling with the appetizer menu so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. In most cases, when she saw a vision, it was a passing stranger on the street and she could walk away and feel the wrath of their wrongdoing cemented on her memory forever. But with Eric, she was trapped. She had to sit through a date and act like he was a normal guy. Grace started counting down the minutes in her head, calculating how long she would have to sit through their date. More importantly, she had to figure out how she was going to tell Barb about her nephew.
“I hear days at the station can be draining.” Eric used a finger to sop up the liquid that was sweating off his icy glass. “At least, that’s what Aunt Barb says.”
“Yeah, Barb is a hard worker. Knows the place inside and out. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be able to do my job if it wasn’t for her,” Grace said, as her heart grew heavy. She knew that Barb thought of Eric like a son and they had spent a lot of time together. The woman would be devastated when she found out that her beloved nephew was definitely a pedophile, possibly even a murderer.
Unfortunately, most of Grace’s visions presented themselves when it was too late, when a victim had already had their last breath. But there was always that chance that maybe Grace could’ve met Eric at the right time; maybe the hazel-eyed girl was still alive. Based on the photos she had seen Barb flaunting, this girl wasn’t one of his daughters, a tad older. That left a massive question burning inside Grace. Who is the young girl with the beseeching hazel eyes?
“Can I get you anything to drink?” A pretty waitress appeared at their table, placing two menus in front of them. She was wearing a form-fitting black tank top, matching the rest of the servers in the bar. Grace wondered how these girls were wearing skimpy little tops in the midst of December when a storm was brewing, but quickly realized that she was hot in the overcrowded watering hole. She slid her jacket off and let it fall limply on the chair behind her.
“I’ll have a soda water with lime,” Grace said as she looked over at Eric’s non-alcoholic beverage, remembering what Barb had told her about his dedicated recovery. She couldn’t help but wonder if the hazel-eyed girl was a victim during one of Eric’s binges, or if he had been sober. Either way, something was wrong with the man.
“Have you had a chance to look at the appetizer menu?” The waitress looked directly at Grace as she absent-mindedly clutched the menu in her hand.
“Yeah, we’ll take the . . . do you like stuffed mushrooms?” Eric asked. Grace could tell he was trying hard to be courteous. He was nervous. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re a criminal and you go on a date with a detective. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, Grace thought to herself.
“Actually, no, I don’t.” Grace took a chance at shutting down his game of chivalry. “How about the quesadillas?” She looked at the server, not even asking Eric his opinion. The girl’s heavily lined eyes looked back at her, a tad shocked by Grace’s shortness.
“You got it. Do you still want the stuffed mushrooms?” She looked over at Eric, hesitant.
“Um, no, that’s okay. Quesadillas it is. Whatever the lady wants.” An annoying smile appeared on Eric’s lips. Enough with the cheesy lines, Grace thought to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would be falling for this, had she not seen the vision. She raised her right eyebrow at him, the move practiced and rehearsed for moments like this.
“And will you guys be having dinner as well?” The girl asked, tossing her long, shiny brown mane over one shoulder as she hinted to the crowded restaurant. A small tattoo on the inside of her wrist revealed itself with the movement. Strength was inscribed in small black print.
“No, just an app is fine.” Grace stepped in, knowing full well that if they weren’t boosting their check with two over-priced meals, then the server would rush them out to accommodate another couple who would be more likely to leave a bigger tip. She could feel Eric’s eyes burning a hole through her, but she refused to look.
“Is everything okay? You seem a bit on edge. Bad day at work?” He wrapped a hand around his sweating glass. “I can only imagine what it’s like being a female police officer. Gosh, you must get hit on all the time, huh?”
“Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to use the restroom.”
Grace slid off the chair and made her way through the crowd that parted for her, as if they sensed her mission to get somewhere, anywhere but across from Eric. Luckily the bathroom was small, uncomfortable enough for a crowd of ladies to gather in and get in her way. Plenty of privacy to smooth out the thoughts that were bumping around in her head. She placed her hands on the side of the small white sink and looked in the oval mirror that hung above it. A few water spots on the mirror made her face look contorted, almost like she was in a watery dream-like state.
“Why? Why me, God?” she asked the reflection that looked back at her. She stared into her own eyes as if she were trying to reach for answers. The so-called gift that she was born with was once again going to keep her up all night. The part that scared her the most was that when she looked at her future, all she could see was a lifetime of witnessing other people’s pain. It was like that feeling she got whenever she saw people fighting in a physical brawl. She felt it deep in her gut, the sadness that gripped her when she saw others hurting. Sure, it was part of her job as a police officer; she saw domestic disturbances several times a week, but with those clean-cut cases she had the power to stop them. With the visions she was in a constant state of inquisition and melancholy.
She took a deep breath and ran a finger across the small scar that ran through her right eyebrow. Whenever she was feeling weak or at a loss, she would rub the scar and think back to that day when she felt the grip of anguish that could be left on one’s heart when witnessing violence. She had been plucking dandelions in the small shared yard of the apartment complex that they were living in at the time. Ellen had one eye on six-year-old Grace and one eye on the community garden she was assisting with in the common area. Grace heard some boys arguing on the basketball court nearby. She looked in their direction as she blew the fuzzy head off a white dandelion. “Titty baby! Titty baby!” The two boys chanted as they surrounded the third, smallest boy. They gathered around him closer and closer, until both of the teasing boys were on top of the defenseless boy, pummeling him repeatedly. Grace could still hear the boy’s screams when she thought about the incident today. Before the boys even had a chance to look up from the scuffle, she was on the two bullies, clawing at their faces with sharp, unfiled nails and pulling at their hair with such strength she had a clump of varying shades of brown in her grip. She had formed her hands into fists, her spiky little knuckles protruding as an extra weapon and punched at the boys with the force of a ruthless fighter. The fight started to come to a close as one of the boys tried shielding his face from Grace with a beefy forearm, the metal edge of his watch creating a slice through the outer edge of her right eyebrow. A stream of blood trickled down the side of her face and landed on the beefy boy below her, leaving little red droplets on his Pac-Man T-shirt, the yellow cartoon spotted with red dots.
“I was protecting him, Mama.” She pointed at the little boy. “They were being mean to him.”
“Honey, I know that you felt really bad for the little boy . . . but you can’t save everyone.
Grace thought of her mother’s words from so many years ago, as she appraised the scar and tried to figure out how she was going to get out of this date and tell Barb about her awful nephew. “Damn it God . . . why me? Couldn’t you have passed this on to someone else?” Grace wasn’t church-going and God-fearing, but she did believe in something; there had to be a reason why she was the recipient of such perception. “Put your big girl pants on and be strong,” she said as she gave herself one last look in the mirror, smoothing out the knit sweater that ran the length of her backside and halfway down her thighs. The less she offered to show Eric, the easier it would be to keep him from being interested in her. It’s just the way men worked. Eric didn’t seem like the type of guy who would put in the effort to chase her and dote on her until she gave in.
As she pushed the narrow wooden door open, it nearly swung into a girl with long blonde hair and too much makeup. The girl gave her a dirty look and bumped her arm as she walked by. Grace had to force herself not to hiss profanities over her shoulder. The crowd had thickened in the five minutes since she had gone into the bathroom. She could hear talk of the upcoming storm drifting off of different conversations as she made her way back to the table. It was as if the anticipation of a snowstorm sent a ripple of energy through the room, creating a heightened buzz. Everyone was prepared to be landlocked for a few days, some even free of work and school commitments like they were packing up for a long vacation.
By the time Grace made her way back to the high-top, Eric had already moved on. He was looking up at their waitress with eyes so ravenous Grace could’ve sat down at the table, had a meal, and he wouldn’t have noticed her presence. Grace could see the waitress giggling as he most likely passed along some cheesy line while he caressed her hand. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, she thought. She could kill Barb right now. Not only did the woman set her up with a criminal, but he was an impatient cocky hornball on top of it.
“Well, I guess I’m interrupting something, so I’m gonna head out.” Grace tore off a slice of the fresh quesadilla and popped it into her mouth, sliding her arms into her navy blue peacoat.
“No, it’s not what you think. I swear.” Eric looked up, startled as the girl melted away embarrassed, blending in with the crowd.
“Listen, I didn’t want to go on this ‘date’ to begin with, but I thought I’d do your aunt a favor. Barb’s a good woman, you know. She’s just looking out for you. And this is how you thank her?” Grace pulled off another slice of the cheesy appetizer, ravenous from the long day and having forgotten to eat anything. She didn’t care about manners. She’d reserve those for someone else.
She pushed her way through the crowd and slammed out the front door. The cold hit her like a blast, pushing the breath out of her. She walked to her car and looked up at the stars. “Why God . . . why me?” she said, as the first snowflake fluttered down from the sky, landing on her eyelash.
“Wait up! Grace, come on—wait up!” Eric’s voice came from behind her. She could tell he was running by the breathy gasps between his words. She started walking faster, placing one hand on her holster. She hoped to God she didn’t have to claim self-defense on a blind date, but based on what she’d already seen of Eric, she couldn’t be sure. She carried her department-issued Sig Sauer 40 with her at all times. When people knew you were a cop and you were out in public places in civilian wear, you were either bashed and treated with little respect, or you were pulled into unsafe situations. Grace had always preferred to carry her gun, who she had named “Siggy,” to remove the threat of violence. Siggy always had her back, so she deserved a name.
“Listen, Eric. I know who you are and I know what you did.” Grace used her shoulder to drive him into the brick wall in one fluid motion. He was by no means feeble, but he didn’t have the build of a world-class athlete, either. She had seen the slight protrusion of a beer belly, most likely left over from his years as an alcoholic.
“What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Red blotches made their way up his neck and covered his face like a chameleon taking on its defensive coloring. His eyes darted everywhere except on Grace, and she was grateful for that. Lack of eye contact was a sure sign that the person was guilty or lying. She had learned that the first day at the academy. And she certainly didn’t want to see his doings with one shared glance.
“Don’t make me have to tell Barb what you’ve done. I’m not fucking around!” Grace couldn’t help herself. She’d had enough. She was sick of seeing through the eyes of murderers, abusers and rapists. She was sick of hiding, and it was time she took matters into her own hands. She used a thumb and forefinger to grip his neck, stubbles of red hair stabbed at her hand as she squeezed just hard enough to make him beg, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Another skill learned at the academy. “Now say it . . . say what you did,” Grace hissed, the words sounded so raspy and almost inhuman that she surprised herself. She squeezed harder.
“Is this about Allie?” He looked at her through two reddened lenses. She looked away. She didn’t need to stamp the vision on her memory again when he could tell her the truth.
