Page 48 of Grim

DoggedandDog-Eared

S he’s screaming before her feet even touch the floorboards.

“Take me back. Take me back right now!”

The sound rips out of her high and hoarse. I barely manage to steady her as her fists collide with my chest, again and again. Her hits are ineffective, but she swings like she means it.

Her whole body shakes with the effort. A firm squeeze of her shoulders slows the punching, and then her fingers curl into claws, nails digging into the lapels of my coat.

“You don’t get to do this!” she shouts, voice cracking like fractured glass. “You don’t get to decide!”

Each word tears a piece off her—more gasped than spoken, more sob than sentence. Her face is wet and red, hair falling wild around her cheeks, and I swear I’ve never seen someone look more alive and more broken in the same breath.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” I mutter, hands bracing her shoulders, trying to keep her upright. “Calm down. Easy—”

“Don’t,” she hisses. “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

She throws herself at me again, but her knees buckle the moment she moves. I barely catch her.

A wet cough racks her chest. It doubles her over, and she curls in on herself like she’s trying to hold her insides together.

“Rue,” I say, my tone patient and pleading.

She twists out of my hold, creating distance between us again, like touching me burns her.

Her eyes are unfocused. She reminds me of a rabbit with nowhere left to run. Rage and heartbreak and raw terror rolling through her in waves. Her breath comes too fast, too shallow. Her lips have gone pale.

“I hate you,” she whispers. “You’re a coward. You let them take him. You let them take me.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” I state the obvious, though I wish it lessened its sting.

“I don’t care !” she wails. “I should’ve died with him!”

She sways.

I step forward, arms out, but she slaps my chest, one last useless hit before her hands slide off me.

The fight leaves her, or she leaves the fight. Whichever happens, the effect is the same. She drops like marionette strings have been cut, a piteous pile on the floor.

“Sad mortal,” I sigh before crouching down.

She does not respond to my nearness or my touch. She has gone numb. Her back rising and falling sporadically indicates she is still breathing.

With one hand on her back, I bring the other to the top of her chest and pull her body upright. That hand travels to her sternum. Her heartbeat thrashes like a fly trapped in a glass jar.

Her eyes are open, but she is unresponsive. Without Kane, the fight has left her, and now she is simply a shell.

“Hey.” I tap her cheek gently. “Where’s that stubborn little spitfire the good Doc went and cracked his black heart open for? Hmm?”

She doesn’t answer, still trapped in the middle distance. She sighs a ragged breath as I scoop her into my arms.

“Let’s get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, yeah?”

I carry her down the hall, searching for her bedroom in this foreign place. My search is momentarily interrupted by a massive cat assaulting me in the hallway .

“Easy there, tiger,” I say to the feral feline. “Just looking for the lady’s chambers.”

The fat grey fluff ball visibly relaxes and then, as though she understood me, turns slowly and walks straight to the door I’ve been seeking.

“Much obliged.” I thank the cat, then tell it to get lost as I set Rue down atop her made bed.

Rue’s brow twitches, a little furrow right between her eyes. There’s the whisper of that fight left.

Good girl.

I touch her wrist, feeling her fluttering pulse beneath her pale skin.

Haven’t felt a pulse in ages. I can see the allure, Kane ol’ boy.

I should leave. But I don’t. I have no reason to remain in this room. Yet I do. I stand there, staring down at her.

“What am I going to do with you?” I wonder aloud.

Kane may be a loathsome twit, but honor among reapers or something like that. I decide the path of least resistance makes the most sense for all involved. I will do what I can to make her crossover as smooth as possible. I only hope she’s amenable. Because if she resists …

My fingers tingle at the thought like they can feel the weight of my blade.

She will rue the day , I think to myself on a smirk, then take in the room around me.

You can learn a lot about a person from their bedroom. Their passions and proclivities are on full display in that most sacred of sanctuaries. Rue’s room screams of one thing—stories.

Glancing around, I notice all of her books.

They are everywhere. Books on tables. Books under tables.

Books in stacks beside the heater. Some with broken spines, others pristine because as any good book lover will tell you, there really are two hobbies—reading books and collecting books.

I scan the titles, looking for themes and genres that might give me a glimpse into this fast-fading soul.

The variety of subject matter speaks of a voracious mind, a tireless consumer of tales.

The one through line I feel among all the dusty pages and chaotic stacks?

Love. Rue adores literature. It permeates the room .

I stop when I spot one in particular, the familiar font making the bottom of my stomach drop out.

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell.

I’ve seen this edition before. I inch closer as a more haunting realization dawns.

It can’t be , I insist in my head, even as I reluctantly reach for the book.

I not only recognize this edition; I know this exact copy. Same worn leather. Same bruised corners that speak of much use. Same pages, still dog-eared, even after all these countless years. I finger the edge and open the book to the first flagged passage.

“‘I know you despise me; allow me to say, it is because you do not understand me.’” I read the words aloud, remembering them in her voice.

Madeleine .

“How did you manage to get your copy of this book back into my hands, Maddy? You always were the cleverest girl,” I whisper, secretly expecting a response.

A torrent of long-lost memories pour forth. My head and heart are consumed with the overwhelming feeling of it all. The passion and power of us.

Ash and Maddy.

Forever.

But nothing lasts forever, does it?

Only pain.

Only ever the pain.

That is all that lasts, all that lingers, all that remains.

My fingers tremble as they stroke the letters, as though each spot of ink holds an ocean of memories. Unbidden—and I thought impossible—a single tear jumps off my cheek and lands on the page, blurring the words.

Visions of that old stone prison, of the stench of that place, and the crippling feeling of regret overwhelm me. I slam the book closed in my hand in a futile attempt to shut out the past.

The smoke and the screams echo inside me while the one thing I cannot remember continues to haunt me. Madeleine’s last words.

I look over to the peacefully resting Rue, then back to the book in my hands. I open it to the other folded page .

“ ‘ But the future must be met, however stern and iron it be.’”

I smile sadly as I continue my one-sided conversation with a ghost from my past. “How right you are, Maddy. How right you are.”

Then I close the book and toss it unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed.

From somewhere in the house, an ancient clock chimes the top of the hour.