Chapter 1 BREWING STORM
CHAPTER 1
GRACE'S POV
BREWING STORM
The road to Raven's End seems more restricted than I've remembered. The same bent trees appeared over the road, their branches twist like two hands grasped in an attempt to stop me. Ten years, ten years of feigning the past was somewhere else, and now here I was going back to it head on.
I held the steering wheels, until my knuckles turned white, trying to calm my thumping heart. No temptation, no lies, no blood. This has been my mantra since I packed up my stuff to come here. But returning here was to walk into a storm, and I couldn't master it and couldn't depart. You can do this, Grace.
When the Welcome signs came into sight, Welcome to Raven's End, I thought about turning back. I rolled down my window instead. The air still has the same scent, damp pine, wild honeysuckle, and the faint metallic scent of the lake. All these scents are ghosts of my past.
My cottage was situated at the outskirts of town, white paint dulled with age. There was a small unattended garden overrun with weeds and wildflowers, and an old gate which screeches when you push it open. But all of this feels like some kind of safe haven that I just discovered. Somewhere that's small enough but far enough away to survive. I put my suitcase in the doorway and stood there for a while, listening and taking it all in. Not a sound was ever heard but the clock ticks and my heartbeat. I reminded myself that I am done running. No more cities, no more glances over my shoulder. Just me, Grace Bennett, a shy widow who prefers solitude. This deception is quite familiar to me.
Tonight I had a dream that I was drowning. I was sinking, my hair was floating, moonlight bending over me. When I woke up, I could have sworn I heard a voice whispering my name through the window. It was only the wind, it was only the wind I repeated.
The library smells of papers and calmness. My first morning, Mrs Harlow at the front desk greets me too kindly, the kindness that masks questions. Colleagues pop by to greet and welcome me. They say it like a question, I smile as I arrange books until my hands no longer tremble.
At the window i noticed a person standing at the entrance, tall, broad shoulders, glaring at me. When I glanced once again he disappeared. For a second i thought if I'd imagined him, if all these years away from home had not made me lose my sight in broad daylight.
By lunchtime, rumors fly faster than the hands of the clock. I hear them now behind the stacks, wisps thinner than the paper's curve. She's out here…. After all…. Poor girl. I pretend not to hear, not see anything. Acting is something I've mastered and worn like a honour badge.
After work I drove down to the grocery store, as I had chocolate bars for dinner last evening. The bell above the door jingled, and a lot of eyes looked up from the aisles and cash registers at me. I pushed my cart more slowly than it would move, looking over the same cans of soup that I once bought when I was eighteen. The same cashier, Mr Tommy, attended to me like he didn't want to touch my hands.
Outside, the sky had an orange hue now. I'm almost to my car when I see it, a cream colored envelope slipped under my wiper. My name in elegant script, Grace E. Bennet, inside an invitation shone gold.
The Mayor of Raven's End invites you to the Annual Charity Gala, this evening at the Town Hall.
No signature, because everyone knows who the Mayor is, Richard Meyers. The same man whose wife i killed by drowning that night I escaped and left Raven’s End.
I held the card up for a long time, feeling the paper come to live in my hands. Part of me wants to drop it, but the other part of me that still believes in punishment is smiling as curiosity gets the better of me.
At home, I dress slowly, trembling hands on the zipper of my black silk dress. The fabric sticks to me, easy but dark enough to hide the part of me that I won't ever reveal to anyone. I put my hair up with my dark claw clip, tint up my lips, and looked at the stranger before me in the mirror. She almost looks innocent.
The town hall is situated on the side of the lake. Light filters from the windows, golden and soothing. Cars are parked on the gravel road, laughter resonating through doors. I left my car at the end and walked the rest in. Gravel crunches under the heel of my shoes, the nearer I get the more, I feel that crawling sensation that someone was watching me come.
Inside, the music hits me first, violins and talk are too vivid. Eyes glances and words come out, then they carry on with their conversation. I nodded, smiled and proceeded to the edge of the hall.
Mrs Harlow, waves from the other side of the room. And I raised my drink pretending not to see the group of women who were whispering quietly by the buffet. She is different, she remains the same, I heard she…. I didn't stay long enough to hear the rest of their conversation.
And then the back doors suddenly swung open, and again the noise changed. I felt it before i actually saw it, it was warm and still like before a battle.
There was a tall, dark haired man standing by the doorway, suit unbuttoned at the collar, and eyes scanning the room until they found mine. Something in those eyes pinned me in place. I don't know this man, but the air around us tightens as if the room itself carries a recollection of something our heads have had and forgotten.
I looked away nervously. My heart gives out a nervous beat, as if to remind me why I came back here, to be unseen, to be good and repentant of my sin. But tension between us is palpable, silent but lethal.
Behind me, somewhere, there is the sound i am not quite hearing or locating that keeps calling out my name again and again. And each time I looked back I could not locate anyone.
