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Full of Grace: Chapter 1
A trail of rubber was left on his driveway as he squealed out of the driveway and threw the car into gear, his camaro shooting down the street like a black blur. His hands shook on the steering wheel as houses whirred by the tinted windows. He had driven this route so many times in the late of the night that he knew the route without even consiously thinking about it. He thought of all the times he had walked in to see the mess of another fight spread around the house, the bruises that seemed to get bigger and blacker everytime, the cuts that he had patiently swabbed and bandaged time and again as the whimpers of pain both emotional and physical echoed in his ears.
A chill ran through him as he remembered the sound of the voice on the other end of the phone. It was different this time, there was none of the desperation, the pleading for help, no it was different this time. His foot slammed down harder on the gas as he realized what the difference was. It was the voice of someone who had let go of all hope.
Caught up in his revelation, he nearly passed where he was supposed to be. A screech rang out through the night as he slammed on the breaks and flew out of the car, leaving it in the middle of the road, engine running and door open.
He didn't remember running up the lawn, he just suddenly appeared in the doorway, flinging it open. His heart was in this throat as he quickly scanned the living room to his left and running through the entire downstairs calling out for an answer. None came. His heart sped up and seemed to pump ice water through his veins. "Oh god, please don't let me be too late!"
He took the stairs three at a time, falling twice, not caring about the rug burns leaving paths of fire along his knee and his palms. Finally reaching the top his feet propelled him down the hall to the master bedroom. He could hear the sound of a phone that had been off the hook too long, it's shrill cry the only sound besides his frantically beating heart and heaving breaths in the silence of the room. His eyes scanned over the room, zeroing in on a trail of red smeared across the blank canvass of the white capet from the bathroom leading to the side of the bed. Then he saw it. A hand, the wrist open, wetness seeping from it.
His mouth opened to let loose a cry of horror, but his voice failed him. Falling to his knees he frantically crawled to across the carpet, his hand closing over the opened flesh, trying to stop the flow of blood.
The phone lay on the carpet and his hand reached for it as he felt the warm blood oozing between the fingers of his other hand. He needed help, quickly.
He slammed the button down on the phone, getting a dial tone and dialed 911, when the dispatcher came on, he explained the situation and that discretion was needed. No sirens. The last thing Nick needed was the neighbours waking up or worse yet, the press.
His tears fell onto the face of his friend, as he leaned closer, their foreheads touching, one warm, the other rapidly cooling. "It's going to be ok. I'm going to get you out of here. You just hang on." |
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