Grams would know something was wrong the minute I walked through those doors. I honestly didn't know what to say. She was probably worried as hell and not sure what to do. They’d taken my cell phone away, so it wasn’t like I could call to let her know that I was okay. Not to mention Malice had been at my house. He was in my space, near my grandmother. She was probably scared out of her mind. I needed to face the music. Every second I prolonged the inevitable was torture.
I walked up the steps, noting the lavender roses she'd planted a few years ago. I knew exactly where to step on the dilapidated front porch so that I wouldn't break through the rotted wood. The front door was scuffed, showing off the many layers of paint that had been slathered on it. Some homes you merely stayed in, but we lived in ours. We boldly used up every square inch this place had to offer.
I opened the door and walked inside, my eyes immediately scanning the room for my grandmother. I needed to change and scrub my skin raw, but it would have to wait. To the right of the entryway was our tiny living room, and in the old leather recliner we owned, Grams was sitting. "There you are," she exclaimed while touching her chest. "Where have you been? Why..." Grams paused while slowly standing up. Her hand shook at her side, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if frustrated with her words for not spilling from her mouth. "Why are you wearing that?"
I marched up to her and gave her an enormous hug. The second I was in her arms, a sigh of relief escaped my lips. Grams was my safe space, my home. Reunited with her after such a tragic night, I was so relieved that I cried tears of relief. "I’m okay," I whispered. I pulled away, assessing every inch of her appearance. Her short, brown curly hair with wisps of gray seasoned in. Her kind, but concerned, brown eyes. The deep-set lines in her face. She wore a tank top with a bright red strawberry pattern and loose trousers. She was barefoot—she was always barefoot—but her toes were painted a bright shade of red. "I had to borrow a friend’s clothes today. Are you okay?"
"I’m fine now that you’re home. I’m sorry your cell phone broke. I’ve got some money saved up in the cookie jar to get a new one. I didn’t like not being able to get a hold of you all day. Nicholas gave me his number, but he seemed real busy-like."
I shook my head in confusion. "My cell phone?"
Grams arched her brow. "Nicholas told me how it broke when he came to grab your work uniform. Such a gentleman. He said you ended up having to work overnight and just stayed with your friend, Vicky. Was so sweet when he stopped by..." she whispered. "He was real polite...but unsettling. Kind of a strange boy, isn’t he?"
Nicholas.
I held her hands and guided her to our thrift store couch. "Did he ask you anything?" I asked. Anger burned in my chest. How dare he come here? How dare he invade my space and trick my Grams like that? I was so furious with him for showing up here that I could hardly think straight.
"Not really. He just said he was excited to finally meet me. I was so ashamed that I didn’t even know your friend’s name. Are..." She huffed and sat down, pausing for a lingering moment to calm herself. "Are you embarrassed of me, baby? Is that why I haven’t met your friend?"
"Of course not, Grams," I immediately replied, though she didn’t look convinced. I looked around our tiny house, trying to see what Nicholas saw. Our home was small and run-down. We got everything we needed second- or sometimes third-hand. It wasn't extravagant. I had a few things I wanted to fix up, but we lived well. Grandpa's life insurance paid off the mortgage, so we only had to come up with taxes. "Vicky is just really private. She prefers for us to go to her house."
She nodded nervously at the scratched coffee table before speaking again. "Oh! He left you something." Grams then nodded at a crisp box with a bow wrapped around it on our coffee table. Grams grinned. "I think he has a crush on you. Was real excited to see your baby pictures. I handed him the whole album!" she teased.
I swallowed while standing up. I trusted my Grams with my life. I could tell her about what I'd done today, and it wouldn't change the way she looked at me. She loved me so fiercely she probably would have helped me bury the body. But…
But I refused to incriminate the only family I had. Parkinson’s was triggered by stress. The knowledge of what I’d done today would wreak havoc on her body, and I couldn’t allow that.
The box started vibrating on the coffee table, and I slowly went to pick it up. Grams watched in silence as I opened the box and stared at the brand new phone waiting for me. "Oh! Did he get you a new phone?" she asked. "He definitely likes you. I’ll go get some stationery so you can write him a proper thank-you note. How kind."
The name on the caller ID said Malice. I debated answering it, but my sense of self-preservation won out in the end.
"Hello," Malice greeted.
I let out a shaky exhale and stared at Grams. I was slightly emboldened by her expression of concern. "Hello, Nick."
"Only the people I like may call me Nick. My business associates call me boss. And my toys?" He paused for dramatic effect. "My toys call me Malice." I swallowed and remained silent. I didn't know what more he wanted with me.
I considered Malice to be a suitable name for him. Malice was the desire to cause pain, injury, or distress to another. He made it perfectly clear today that this was his primary goal.
"How was your afternoon with Anthony?" he asked conversationally.
"We did what you asked," I snapped back. If he wanted an update on the job, couldn't he have asked his brother?
"That's not what I asked. Did you enjoy your time with him?" Nicholas—Malice—asked.
Grams was shuffling around her bedroom, searching for stationery for the man who forced me to kill someone. I walked to my bedroom and quietly shut the door.
"Are you still there?" Malice asked.
"I had to go to my bedroom. I didn't want Grams to hear," I replied quietly. "I want to keep her out of this as much as possible."
"Such a predictable weakness, you have," Malice replied. "Not only did you show your cards the first moment we met, but you made her so incredibly accessible. I walked right into your house and learned everything I needed to know about you in a matter of minutes. It was almost refreshing how open she was."
There was something chilling about the way he threatened me without actually threatening me. Malice wanted me to know that he was in my space, near my grandmother, and capable of hurting us both. "What is the point of all of this?" I asked.
"I don't owe you an explanation. I believe I asked you a question first, Juliet."
I rolled my eyes. Being out of the torture room gave me a false sense of bravery. "My afternoon with him was fine. He's a little quirky but reminds me a lot of Vicky," I admitted. "Speaking of Vicky, is she okay?" I could only worry about one thing at a time. I spent my day in survival mode, but now, I finally had the mental capacity to question whether or not my best friend was in danger. All in all, I had a strong impression that Vicky's brothers were all deeply concerned about her. I couldn’t quite piece together what had them worried, though. This Cora lady had their nuts all in a twist. I wanted to know why.