Dark Corners / ✓

five: grant cutkosky

I didn't see Griffin for the next two days.

After the police told Griffin why they were at his apartment, he talked to them for a few minutes before following them outside and, presumably, going to the police station. Griffin had come home in the middle of the night that day and, by the time I was up and out of my apartment, he had already left. It seemed like Griffin was gone all hours of the day - I never had a chance to talk to him anymore.

I sighed and stepped out of my apartment, a philosophy textbook in one arm and an English one in the other. I kicked the door shut and turned around, making it halfway done the hall before my eyes landing on Griffin.

Griffin was turned around, leaning against the railing on the stairs as he looked down at something. His hair was as messy as ever and he was obviously tense, if his tight, coiled position said anything. I didn't focus on any of that, though. I practically started jogging forward, hurt thumping in my chest because I hadn't talked to yet alone even seen Griffin days. 

"Griffin!" I called, stopping a few feet behind him. Griffin didn't turn and I frowned, clutching my books a little tighter, "Griffin?"

Griffin turned around, but suddenly he wasn't Griffin.

The guy staring at me looked like Griffin - the same dark, messy blond hair and angled face - but there was clear differences. This guy had dark blue eyes and thicker lips then Griffin, lips that always seemed to be upturned in a smile, if the smile lines by his mouth meant anything. This guy was shorter than Griffin and thinner, all long legs and arms.

"Grant, actually," he said, shooting me a bright smile. The guy - Grant - took a step forward, fingers dancing lightly on the railing next to him, "I'm looking for Griffin, though. He's my brother."

I didn't know much about Griffin Cutkosky, and I definitely didn't know that he had a brother. But I could easily see the resemblance. Griffin and Grant both had the same facial structure, same long, thin fingers that constantly seemed to be tapping something. It wasn't really much of a shock to find out that they were brothers.

"Emmy," I said, smiling back at him. Grant walked up the steps suddenly and stopped next to me, holding out his hand. I blinked in surprise and shook his hand, wincing at how tightly Grant gripped, "I can show you Griffin's apartment if you want. I'm not sure if he's home, though. He rarely is."

Grant seemed surprise by that, dark blue eyes widening what looked like a fraction of an inch, "Really?" he asked, trailing behind me as I started the way back to Griffin's apartment, "I called and told him I'd be on my way. It would be kind of embarrassing if he left before I even got to show up."

As Grant talked about how annoying it would be if Griffin wasn't home, I couldn't help but wonder if the police had talked to Grant yet. I didn't know much about the case of Mrs. Cutkosky (at the time when she was murdered, ten years ago, everyone in northeast Philadelphia knew about it), and I didn't know why they were re-opening the case ten years later, but I knew the affect it had on Griffin. The boy who I thought I was managing to pull out of his shell and make happier had now been avoiding me for days.

I stopped in front of Griffin's apartment and stepped to the side, letting Grant smile at me, walk forward, and knock loudly on the door. Grant took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets, lips pursing into a straight line. Grant took his hands out of his pockets and instead tugged them through his hair, pushing the blond strands back until they rested perfectly.

"Answer the fucking door, Griffin," Grant muttered, a frown taking place on his face right after he spoke. Grant took another deep breath and rapped his knuckles against the door, leaning forward and calling out in a calm voice, "Griffin, it's Grant. Open up."