Saving Grace

46

When I awoke the next morning, my senses first realised the scent of sweet summer air, the calming silence, and the warmth of Grace's bed – and that's when I knew something was terribly wrong.

"Scott?"

I peeled back the blankets, set my warm feet against the cool floorboards and wandered into the kitchen.

"Grace, have you seen Scott any – "

I turned the corner, met Grace's hard eyes as she stared me down from the kitchen table. I frowned.

"What?"

She cocked her head, uncrossed her arms to hold up Godric's brown file.

"Want to explain this?" She asked.

I pressed my lips together.

"That," I stuttered, "is a research project my brother is working on. Some serial killer in the states or something. We should ask him about it. Have you seen him this morning?"

"Don't lie to me, Richie."

She dropped the file. I sighed, shifted my weight.

"Look, Grace, it's a long story. But honestly, have you seen Scott?"

"No, I haven't seen Scott," she snapped. "But he should be the least of your concerns right now."

She cut into me with those fiery eyes, lip pursed and muscles tense. I shook my head, eyes darting.

"You know I am always honest with you, Richie. Always. And all I ever wanted was for you to do the same with me – "

"Bacon and eggs," I muttered.

My heart began to hammer in my ears, hands shaking, mind racing. Grace shook her head.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with you?"

"He always makes bacon and eggs."

I pushed past her, looked at the couch – all rumpled sheets and upturned pillows.

"The day our father was diagnosed with cancer, he took Scott aside and taught him how to cook bacon and eggs. It was his way of distracting him, keeping his deep-thinker mind off of our father's impending doom. Ever since then, not one day has gone by when he hasn't make bacon and eggs for breakfast."

I tossed the pillows aside, stripped the couch naked.

"Well, maybe something came up. Maybe he had to leave early or – "

"No, you don't understand," I said, turning to face her. "He never misses a day. Never."

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialled in his number. It rang once and then the squeal of his Ghostbusters ringtone echoed out into the room. I turned, eyebrows furrowed, and pushed the coffee table half way across the room. There, on the carpet, was my brother's cell. Grace and I both stared at it for a long moment as the fear settled into our lungs.

"Richie," she breathed.

I shook my head.

"Nope," I said. "Nope, this is not happening."

I pivoted, stormed towards the front door.

"Richie, wait!"

The door burst open and the fiery sun slid over my skin as my heart hammered like dry thunder. Godric's car was parked at the end of the street, two houses down, and the man who had been watching us was sat inside. I only had to take a few steps before I saw his brain matter had stained the cracked windscreen.

"Richie!"

Grace skidded to a stop, looked up into my eyes.

"What is happening?"

I shook my head.

"My brother is gone," I whispered, "and Nicholas is the one who took him."

© A.G. Travers 2018