Chapter Six
GRIFFIN
Ipark my car two blocks down from the McAllister residence. I clutch the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn ghostly white. Emma’s intoxicating scent still lingers on my breath, and I can’t run away from it.
If I was a smart man, I’d continue driving on. If I had any willpower left in me, I’d leave and never look back.
But I’m neither smart nor strong when it comes to Emma McAllister. I’m jelly and she’s the jar holding me together. Pathetic, I know. I can’t even stand on my own feet anymore. A decade and a half of devoting yourself to one person will do that, I guess.
I had the world in my hands tonight. I saw and tasted glory in that woman’s pleasure.
But she’s fragile and I took advantage of her weakness.
I understand her better than she does herself, literally.
I know where it comes from, her terror at the thought of a shadowy figure looming over her; the monster Vincent Daniels. His hands on her…
I can’t finish the thought as a thunderous roar tears through my throat. Even in death, Vincent torments Emma.
A girl never forgets her first.
Those were his words, and my prayers – that time would heal her wounds – have gone unanswered. I’ll have to tell her the truth. I’ll be her rock in the hard times. Tonight isn’t going to be a barricade to my future with Emma, it’s merely a stepping stone we will cross over together.
My body moves without my mind’s consent, and I open my door.
What are you doing?
My legs move involuntarily, until I’m standing in the middle of the street. A car driving at snail’s pace moves past me on its route to wherever.
Get back in the car and go home.
The voice in my head is trying to help, but I don’t listen. I won’t listen. There’s no logic left in my shell. I’m fueled by the urge to see Emma, again. I couldn’t get enough of her before, and now she’s going to consume my every waking thought.
I walk down the sidewalk, cloaked by the black of night, avoiding streetlamps where possible. Unseasonably warm air fills my lungs. It’s thick, heavy, and smells putrid.
It’s a bad omen, I’m sure. A bubble of disgust surrounds me for what I’ve done and what I’m about to do. I get back to the house, where earlier I enjoyed beers with Mark and his work colleagues, joking and jeering in a way only middle-aged men can. Because that’s what I am: an aging wreck.
My youth and glory days are long behind me.
It’s why I shouldn’t be here. Why I shouldn’t delude myself with the notion that I have a chance with this woman.
But, Emma’s changed me. She’s spurred some new desires in my ruined heart.
Not lust, but something more. Love isn’t a word I use, and it’s not one I understand.
But I’m damned sure this is the closest thing I’ll ever get to it.
The McAllister residence is a simple, suburban daydream. There’s no fence in the front, and green hedges line the sides and back, blocking off the view from the neighbors. A gate on the side of the house is the lone obstacle stopping me from entering the backyard.
With my height, I can swing my legs over the small gate easily, and I do. When I’ve cleared it, I press my back against the wall. From over the hedge, Mark’s neighbors are making some noise. Taking out the trash I presume.
I haven’t thought this through. Anyone opposite on the street could’ve seen me stepping onto their property, and climbing the gate. The police could storm the house at any moment, and I’d be caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
It’s not like me to act so brashly, but I can’t stop myself. Not when it comes to Emma.
When I hear the neighbors shut their back door, I press on towards my destination. Emma’s room is on the corner and – if I’m lucky – I’ll be able to see her one last time. That’s all I need. A final glimpse of my goddess before I go back into the bleak world once more.
When I get to the back corner of the house, I peer around the side of the wall. There shouldn’t be anyone slinking in Mark’s backyard, but I’d rather be cautious than face unnecessary repercussions.
The coast is clear. Look your fill and leave.
It’s the worst of the good advice I’ve given myself so far.
I listen to it anyway, stepping around the corner and heading to Emma’s bedroom window.
As suspected, the curtains are drawn. A desperate part of me wants to knock on her window and get her to come outside, but I don’t.
I’ve put this poor girl through enough for one night; and forced her to relive a memory she has no conscious sense about.
I’ve caused too much suffering. Feeding into this delusion is going to wind up being bad for both of us.
With a sigh, I start my trek back through the dark side of the garden. But I barely make it to the gate, before I notice the headlights of a car being shut off as it pulls into the driveway.
This can’t be good.