Saving Grace

Chapter One: The Madelyn

Henry Charles and his three children, Preston, Gracie, and Murray all stood in front of the two boarded up glass doors of the graffiti-stained, crumbling building that rose high above them. They each held one box containing their personal possessions and not one of them appeared impressed to be there. The man tried to force a smile as he ran a skeletal hand through his greasy graying-brown locks.

"It's just for a few months kids, just until we get back on our feet," he tried to reassure with a weak, uneasy voice. His dull gray eyes filled with moisture as the weight of everything that had been happening crashed down on top of him. Despair wrapped him in its cloak, pushing him towards the darkest edge of his thinking.

A small hand on his pulled him from the wicked thoughts that plagued his mind. "Maybe the inside is nicer," Murray said without much confidence.

"Yeah, Dad," Gracie offered him a supportive smile, "and if it isn't, we could make it awesome." A scream from somewhere inside the building echoed in their ears and the startling sound of police sirens rang shrilly a few blocks away, making the man jump. A wary sigh escaped his lips. But as he looked over at his children, he couldn't help the thin smile that spread across his face. Even his oldest son, hadn't uttered a single complaint. They'd already sacrificed so much, and yet there they were, standing by his side once again. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Thanks kids," he muttered, his voice cracking. He never used to be such an emotional man, but as he'd begun to wither away, he somehow couldn't fight the emotions that raged rampant, ready to come out after so many years trapped inside.

"We're family," Preston replied in a low voice. He took a step forward. "Come on guys, no use standing here, it's gonna get dark soon. What floor'd you say we're on?" he asked as he led his family inside the building, toward the elevators that were right in front of them.

"Fifth. Number 506," he answered hoarsely. The box he held tightly started to shake, but he kept his grip on it, not wanting to seem like he couldn't even handle the simplest task anymore. It may have been irrational, but he despised the sympathetic looks he received from his children more and more those days. They tried to hide it, but he could still see it behind their eyes, they knew what it meant just as much as he did.

"Dad? Can I ask just one question?" Murray's eyes shot to his older siblings, who gave him the "shut the hell up" look in return. His gaze darted back to his father, pretending he hadn't seen them. "What happens if there's a fire? How do we get out? Are there rules like at school?" the youngest asked, unable to contain the questions he had any longer. He'd never lived in an apartment before.

"That was more than one question, and there are fire escapes for a reason, Murray," his older brother answered, rolling his eyes as his younger sister pressed the button for the elevator.

Murray stuck out his bottom lip and crossed his arms. "How many times I gotta tell you not to call me that!"

"What?" Preston muttered innocently, "I can't call you by your name?"

"Knock it off, Preston," their father cut in before another word could be said. "Charlie, these buildings have been designed to accommodate most disasters or dangers. If they weren't suitable for people, they wouldn't let us live here," he reassured the boy, but he wasn't so sure he believed it himself as the elevator doors creaked open and the kids stepped in.

"It smells like piss in here," came the muffled words from his daughter's lovely mouth, horrible vocabulary and all.

"Took the words right outta my mouth, Gray," Preston remarked, covering his nose with his sleeve, while balancing his box on his hip.