Saving Grace

Chapter Sixteen: Us Against the World

The first thing Gracie did after leaving the hospital, was jump on the two buses it took her to get all the way to Visionary, and it didn't occur to her until she stood outside of the locked, black gates, that nobody would be inside at two o'clock in the morning. Her head throbbed, her feet were sore, her shoulder ached where the strap of her book bag dug into it, and the freezing wind blew through her thin jacket, but she hardly noticed any of that due to the adrenaline and rage that pumped through her veins. She had to find Clara.

As she walked back toward the bus stop, five cents shy of ride fare, she stopped at an ancient phone booth and dialed Clara's number without even looking at the buttons. Predictably enough the woman ignored her phone call. So she tried Preston instead, hoping maybe he'd realize that this was important, it wasn't just her trying to test him or something, which he probably thought.

"Hi. You've reached Preston and Tillie, leave a message," his answering machine spoke calmly through the phone, and the sound of his voice – even on a recording – was the first soothing thing she'd heard since she left Charlie standing at the bus stop. I should've looked back, she thought with tears filling her eyes and one fist clenched at her side, I should've made sure he got on the bus. But she hadn't, and he'd followed her and got hurt and it was her fault.

Gracie almost hung up when she realized she was accidentally leaving a silent message, but instead, she cleared her throat and said, "Press, I'm really, really sorry. You trusted me to take care of Charlie and I failed. He's-" her voice cracked and she couldn't force herself to speak as silent sobs ripped through her aching chest, and she wrapped one arm around herself as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, doubled over, the phone still pressed to her ear as she waited for the pain to subside. "I told him not to follow me. I know that's no excuse, but I told him to go and he said he would. I didn't think this would happen! But, now he's lying in a hospital bed and they don't know when he's gonna wake up and I tried to call you but you wouldn't answer and I tried to call Clara and I tried to call everybody. But nobody will help!" She slid to the ground, crying so hard snot and tears ran in streams from her nose and eyes, and knowing every other word that came out was completely incoherent. She counted to ten in her head and took deep breaths, attempting to pull herself together before somebody called the cops. "I don't know what to do. I need help-"

"End of message. To replay press pound, to erase and start over press star, to-" Gracie straightened herself up, slamming the receiver back onto the hook, and swiping at the salty tears, trying to make them go away for good, one thought running through her mind: Can't give up, you have to find Clara. Shoving her hands into the depths of her jean pockets among the lint and a few rusted coins, she took one last deep breath and started moving in the direction that would take her back to the Madelyn. Since Clara wasn't going to answer the phone, Gracie would just drag her ass out of bed instead.

But an hour later, when Gracie stood in the middle of the lot, where Clara usually parked, all she found was an empty parking space. She jogged to the front of the building, ducking inside and making a beeline to the front office, where there was almost always a security guard on duty; they were supposed to be protecting the building, but mostly they just ended up sleeping through the shit that happened during the wee hours of the morning.

"Excuse me!" Gracie hissed, slamming her fists on the desk in front of the glass. Predictably enough the security guard sat snoring on the other side, and he jumped immediately when he heard Gracie's loud voice.

His eyes narrowed instantly. "What do you want 506?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Is Clara Storm here?" she demanded, rolling her eyes when the man stared at her blankly. "The woman in 512?" That seemed to jog his memory.