I shot straight up. Was that the shuffle of gravel on the pavement? Was Pete back already? I looked around. Nothing. I checked the passenger's-side door. It was locked. I sat back and rested my hand on Pete's hockey stick, which lay in between the front seats. I had almost died when Don Mooney asked if he could ride along with Pete and me in the Corolla. I couldn't tell if he was clueless or if he thought we needed a chaperone. Luckily, Jude had saved me by plunking down a box of women's coats on the backseat of the car. "No room here," he said, and convinced Don to squeeze into the truck with Dad and him. They pulled out first and Pete and I followed, but I had to drop off a bag from the pharmacy to Maryanne Duke on the way. Even though she looked tired, she invited us in for some rhubarb pie--she makes the best ever. But I knew she'd give Pete the third degree worse than my real grandmother, so I promised to stay longer the next time I came. Then, to make up time, when we got into the city, I took the shortcut down Markham Street, a decision I totally regretted at the moment.
Things had been quieter for the past few years, but this area of the city had once been infamous for strange happenings and disappearances. And then, on a monthly basis, dead bodies had started turning up like daisies. The police and the newspapers speculated about a serial killer--but others talked about a hairy beast that stalked the city by night. They called it the Markham Street Monster.
Nonsense, right?
Like I said, it had been years since something truly weird had happened around here, but I still found myself wondering if I'd be better off now if Don had come with us. Would I feel more or less uneasy if Don were alone in this alley with me?
More!
That thought was followed by an instant surge of guilt. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander, trying to stay calm. For some reason, I thought about the time I'd asked my father why he'd helped someone who'd hurt him.
"You know the meaning of your name, don't you, Grace?"
"Yes. It means heavenly help, guidance, or mercy," I'd said, repeating what my father had always told me.
"No one can make it in this life without grace. We all need help," he'd said. "There's a difference between people who do hurtful things because they're evil and people who do bad things because of their circumstances. Some people are desperate because they don't know how to ask for His grace."
"But how do you know if someone is bad or if they just need help?"
"God is the ultimate judge of what is truly in our souls. But we are required to forgive everyone." My father left the conversation at that. To be honest, I was more confused than ever. What if the person who hurt you didn't deserve to be forgiven? What if what they'd done was so terrible--?
Sc-rape. Sc-rape.
It was the shifting of gravel again. On both sides of the car now? I gripped the hockey stick.
"Pete?" No response.
Rattle. Rattle.
The door handle?! Electricity shot up my spine and surged through my arms. My heart hammered in my chest, and my lungs ached with heavy breaths. I peered out the window. Why couldn't I see anything? Rattle, rattle, rattle.
The car shook. I screamed. A high, piercing noise echoed outside the car. The windows moaned and shrieked like they were about to shatter. I smashed my hands over my ears and screamed louder. The noise died. Something clanked on the asphalt outside my door. My pulse pounded in my ears--it sounded like running footsteps.
Silence.
Every nerve seared under my skin. I shifted and heard the rattling again. It was just my shaking knee against the dangling keys in the ignition. I let out a short laugh and closed my eyes. I waited, listening to the silence, for as long as I could hold my breath. I let it out in a long sigh and eased my grip on the hockey stick.
Tap, tap, tap.
My eyes popped open. My arm flew up. I whacked my head with the hockey stick. A shadowed face stared at me through the fogged window.
"Pop the hood," a muffled voice said. It wasn't Pete.
"Get lost!" I shouted, trying to make my voice sound huskier.
"Do it," he said. "It'll be okay, Gracie. I promise." I put my hand to my mouth. I knew that voice. I knew that face. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Okay," and pulled the hood release. His footsteps scraped against the frozen pavement as he walked around to the front of the car. I opened the door and saw a crowbar lying at my feet. My spine tingled as I stepped over it and followed Daniel. His head and shoulders disappeared under the hood, but I could see he wore the same ratty jeans and T-shirt from yesterday. Did he even own another set of clothes?
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Daniel twisted off the cap to something in the engine and pulled up an oily metal stick. "You dating that Bradshaw guy?" He screwed the cap back on. He was being so matter-of-fact I wondered if I'd dreamed all that commotion. Could I have fallen asleep while waiting for Pete? But that crowbar wasn't there before. "What just happened?" I asked. "Were you watching me?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"You aren't answering mine." I took a step toward him. "Did you see what happened?" Did you stop what almost happened?
"Maybe."
I ducked under the hood so I could see him better. "Tell me." Daniel wiped his greasy hands on his pants. "Just some kids playing around."
"With a crowbar?"
"Yeah, they're all the rage these days."
"And you expect me to just believe that?"
Daniel shrugged. "You can believe whatever want, but that's all I saw." Daniel fiddled with something else in the engine. "Your turn," he said. "You going out with Bradshaw?"
"Maybe."
"You picked a real prince," he said sarcastically. "Pete's a nice guy." Daniel snorted. "I'd watch out for that prick if I were you."
"Shut up!" I grabbed one of his bare arms. His skin was like ice. "How dare you say things like that about my friends. How dare you come back here and try to weasel your way into my life!
Stop following me around." I yanked him away from my father's car. "Get lost and leave me alone."
Daniel chuckled. "Same old Gracie," he said. "You're just as bossy as ever. Always ordering people around. 'Tell me.' 'Get lost.' 'Give it back.' 'Shut up.' Does your daddy know you talk like that?" He wrenched his arm out of my grasp and turned back to the engine. "Just let me get you moving, and then you'll never have to see my filthy face again." I stood back and watched his movements. Daniel had that way about him that could shut me down in an instant. I rubbed my hands together and jumped up and down to generate some heat. Most Minnesotans have thick blood, but how could Daniel even stand to be outside in only short sleeves? I kicked the gravel a couple of times and worked up my courage again. "Tell me ... I mean ... why did you come back? Why now, after all this time?'"