2019.

“Well, one piece of good news,” Hancock told Gracie over the phone, “is that you not being on the lease means you don’t have to worry about rent. You’re free and clear when it comes to that. 

“The not-quite-as-good news is that we probably could have used you being on the lease to argue that you were defending your home, which includes the people in it. Zack not being on the lease himself, he wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on — which isn’t a reference to… you know…”

“I get it,” said Gracie, mirthlessly. From the writing desk in her bedroom, Gracie looked out over the front lawn of Finn Manor, scanning the scenery as she took in Hancock’s words. “Go on.”

“Right, so, your name being on the lease also means you aren’t free to pick up the rest of your belongings, since that could be considered trespassing. But sometimes a lawyer can make things happen just by asking the right judge in the right way, and we got lucky there. We got permission for this Saturday morning, so long as there is a sheriff’s deputy on-site to prevent the possibility of further violence between you and Zack.”

Even though Hancock couldn’t see her, Gracie rolled her eyes. Like she was the one who was the problem.

“And you can be sure that he will be there,” Hancock continued. “At this point, the territory in dispute isn’t so much the apartment or your property. It’s your roommate. He’s not going to want you saying anything to her that will make her rethink pressing charges against him. And, as much as you may want to, I’m going to strongly suggest you don’t say anything to her while you are there, not one word.”

That was just too much. “Why the hell not?”

“Look, you’re the defendant. Things are stacked against you. It’s like your Miranda rights. ‘Anything you say can and will be used against you’. That ‘and will’ is no joke. The less you say, the less ammunition they have, preferably none at all.”

“But if Kristen would just fucking listen!” Gracie blurted. “Who knows what kind of lies Zack’s been giving her! And it’s not like she was in a state to see what really went down that night!”

“None of that is going to help your case. If you can’t go through this pick-up without some kind of altercation, that’s going to look bad, and you better believe the deputy will report on everything he sees. So, all we want him to see is that you are a perfectly reasonable person who can respect authority, respect rules, respect other people — someone who isn’t prone to violence.”

Gracie wanted to punch something. But everything in her Finn Manor bedroom was just too nice. So, she gritted her teeth and pounding her own leg through her jeans, knowing that she was proving Hancock’s point even as she did. Maybe she should just let them lock her away after all.

On a Saturday morning, Danny brought a white utility van from the Finn Manor garage to Gracie and Stephen, who waited at the mansion’s front steps. “You sure you guys don’t want another pair of hands?” he asked, giving Stephen the keys.

Gracie shrugged. “Isn’t like I left a washing machine there. Just need a ride, and Jeeves here has that covered.” 

Stephen bowed slightly. He wore his casual weekend attire, a cardigan, khakis, and a pair of loafers. It made him look kind of like a Latino Mr. Rogers.

Danny said, “You sure? I’m more than happy…”

“I’m fine!” Gracie cut him off in a very not-fine way. So, after a breath, she tried saying it again. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“All right then,” said Danny, clearly not believing her but letting it go. “You two have fun.”

It was the first time Gracie had left Finn Manor since Stephen had driven her up into the West Titan hillsides a few days before. The rumbling van didn’t offer the same smooth luxury of the Lincoln-Zephyr. In the gray light of the overcast morning, the homes they passed didn’t seem quite as mysterious and intimidating, but how could they when compared to Finn Manor? 

Anyway, Gracie’s mind was already down there, back in the apartment, facing the life she left. The serene sway of autumn branches bedecked in copper, brass, and gold could do little to distract her.

Eventually, Stephen broke the silence, “Are you looking forward to seeing your roommate again?”

“I don’t know,” said Gracie, unsure of how to detangle dread from the loss of their fractured friendship.

Stephen tried coming from a different angle. “What sort of person is she, would you say?”

“Um… The fucked-up kind? She’s fun. Her taste in men is trash. But she was easy to live with. We always got along, when her boyfriend wasn’t there, anyway.”

“Oh?”

Sitting up in the front seat of the van with Stephen took the whole butler thing down a notch, and Gracie liked that. It made her feel more like sharing. 

“Yeah, I mean, when Zack is over, it isn’t like there is anyone else in the room for her. You could be choking to death and Kristen wouldn’t notice.”

“He enjoys the full focus of her attention then?”

“You betcha. And she does everything for him too. I mean, like, everything. She fixes his dinner, opens bottles for him before he even asks. Oh, and laundry. Every week she does his laundry, folds the underwear and all.” Gracie sighed, “I guess some women are just like that with a guy.”

Stephen smirked, “Well, there can be a joy in service, you know. I perform a similar function for Mr. Snyder, although I am well compensated. But in my romantic relationships, I have also shown affection by taking care of those for whom I care.”

“I don’t know, man. I know I haven’t been with you guyslong, but I’ve already seen you treated way better than Zack treats Kristen. Nothing she ever does for him is right. Always, he finds a reason to complain.”

“That, I think, would be misery,” said Stephen. “If I gave my best to someone and it was not valued, I would have to move on. What do you imagine she gets from their relationship?”

“He does bring the weed. Maybe the sex is good. It’s loud at least.”

“Oh, my…” said Stephen, laughing softly. 

“But, honestly, I don’t get it. I don’t know why she lets him treat her that way. It’s almost like the worse he is, the tighter she holds onto him.”

“The heart can be a very confused creature,” said Stephen. “If a person treats us in the manner we believe we ought to be treated, we may cling to that familiarity and call it love.”

Gracie noticed something in his tone. “Something you’ve got personal experience with?”

The edge of a grin crept up on the corner of Stephen’s lips. “Oh, I assure you, Miss Chapel, I have always had high expectations for how the men in my life treat me. But I’ve loved those who were not so lucky, poor souls who received even the slightest consideration as though it were some grand act of charity.”

“The men in your life?” asked Gracie.

He nodded knowingly, “Yes, Miss Chapel.”

“Nice.” It was worth taking two “Miss Chapels” from Stephen to find out he might have also done some dancing at Terpsichoria back in his day.

When they got to the apartment, they found a police cruiser parked right in front — not exactly subtle. In more than one of the neighbors’ windows, Gracie noticed blinds slightly open for concerned eyes to keep watch. It wasn’t a neighborhood with neutral feelings about cops. 

The deputy met them on the sidewalk, led Gracie and Stephen to the apartment door, and knocked for them. Jerry and Joe started barking in response, and Gracie squeezed her eyes shut as the sound took her back to that night. 

Kristen answered the door, bruises half-faded on a face still bandaged from beating. Zack stood behind her, leaning on a crutch. 

Things went quietly under the deputy’s watchful gaze. Mostly, he looked bored, but when someone wears a gun on their hip, it’s better to have them disinterested in you.

So, with Stephen’s help, Gracie boxed-up and bagged-up her towels, sheets, clothing, toiletries, books, and a few pieces from the kitchen. Yes, it may have just been a red plastic cereal bowl, but it was her red plastic cereal bowl, damn it. 

The whole time, the dogs stayed right at her feet. Hancock had warned her to avoid interacting with them just as much as with Kristen. They weren’t her dogs. But it broke her heart to have those hopeful eyes looking up at her, wanting affection, wanting attention, and not being able to even acknowledge their existence. 

Meanwhile, Kristen and Zack showed no such difficulty ignoring Gracie as she passed back and forth through the living room. Their graze focused resolutely on the science fiction drama on the television screen, with Zack’s bandaged leg propped up on the milk crate coffee table that had knocked him unconscious.

When at last her things were all gathered up and in the van, Gracie said to the deputy, “Okay, that’s it.” He nodded and stood waiting for Gracie to walk out the door.

Although Gracie had managed not to say a single word her whole time there, she couldn’t keep from shooting a last glance over at Kristen. And Kristen noticed. She looked up at Gracie, and there was nothing in her eyes — no sadness, no anger, no recognition even. 

No trace showed of their late nights giggling, drunk and stupid together, no trace of the hung-over mornings when Kristen fixed them pancakes and scrambled eggs, with extra hot sauce for Gracie. It was almost like looking at the picture of a face, which cannot see you even as you meet its gaze.

And before Gracie looked away, she saw Zack take hold of Kristen’s hand, interlocking his fingers with hers — staking claim over his possession. 

For a moment, the walls around her seemed to radiate cold, like she had just stepped into a walk-in freezer. Gracie could hear Hancock’s voice warning her against violence, but what would be the point of throwing a punch? She had lost already. Gracie wanted to puke, but she had to get the hell out of there. 

She managed to keep it together as she wordlessly got back into the van and waited for Stephen to thank the deputy before starting the drive back to Finn Manor. As soon as the apartment disappeared behind them, Gracie erupted into tears. Stephen handed her a tissue. 

By the time they reached the Finn Manor gates, Gracie had a pile of wadded-up tissues at her feet. It seemed to her she had cried out all she needed, but she kept one last tissue squeezed in her fist in case another errant tear made its way to her stinging eyes. 

Stephen paused at the guard station to pick up the latest deliveries, including two items that he handed to Gracie. The first was large, light, and soft, wrapped in plastic. “This should contain a suit appropriate to your role as courier for Snyder-Finn,” he said. “And a letter has arrived for you, apparently not by post.”

“What do you mean?”

“It would seem our mutual friend dropped this off by hand.”

The cream-colored envelope was soft to the touch. It was old-fashioned paper, high quality, maybe hand-made even, something you could draw a pirate’s treasure map on. The wax seal that held it closed had been stamped with the image of a skull. 

Inside, Gracie found a letter that said only: 

Tonight. Midnight. Finn mausoleum.