The Grasp of Nighttide (4 page)

She lurched to the fence, hoping the gift was the miracle she had been waiting for−the miracle that would make her feel safe, and if possible, happy. 

The edge of the box was perfectly nested between the lines of wood. The tag was flipped over and Alice wiped the watery eyes with her sleeve to see what was written on it. 

To Derek… from Anna.

Derek was Anna’s boyfriend. It was odd that the gift was at her doorstep. 
The kids, 
Alice decided. The kids in the neighborhood were often up to mischief−especially the Draver kids. Once they had thrown her shoes beyond the fence and even teased her before running away. Another time, Alice had kept a punnet of strawberries near her door. It disappeared, and later she found it empty on the sidewalk near the houses. 

“So much for a miracle.” Alice raised the featherweight box to throw it over the fence. It meant nothing to her, and Anna was in no way of any concern to Alice. In addition, returning it meant that she had to 
go
 to Anna’s place. After debating with herself for five whole minutes, her frenzied mind settled and she resolved to return it. Though Alice did not back down from being rude at times, cruelty was not just her thing. 

              Stephanie Frost sat on the edge of the chair, feeling like she was being interrogated. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal for a twenty-one year old to be boarding a plane, but her Aunt Jane took it seriously. Her small forehead remained wrinkled from the moment Steph declared she was leaving New York last night, and she’d been dragging her feet everywhere since this morning. It looked as if it was some blackmail to change Steph’s mind, but Steph knew better. Aunt Jane’s behavior was that of a concerned parent, and Steph knew if she was given one wish right now, she’d wish for Steph to be seventeen again so that she could make her stay. 

“Why don’t you put this off a while longer?” Aunt Jane finally fired her first question, stopping in front of her. She had on a loose lavender dress which had belonged to Steph’s own mother−Rosalie. Rosalie used to say that wearing the dress made her feel good about herself and Steph was sure she’d wear it still if she were alive. 

I am responsible for mom’s accident, for her death. 
Anger burned underneath her expression and came up to the point where it was enough to lash out and destroy the room.

Steph flashed back to Lesson One of her therapy class: 
Control anger before anger controls you.
 

She had always found that lesson lame. If her dad, John, had read it, he’d have laughed his ass off, but Steph modified the motto to make it sound meaningful, the way she liked it and the way her dad would like it: 
Build up your anger and tunnel it in the right direction at the right time.
 

“I need to do this now,” Steph managed to say in an appropriate tone. 

As Steph grew up, she became more familiar with what her dad was like. Her mom told her every bit she knew; she let it out in little snippets between conversations, or stories on days she was depressed. John was a member of a group called ‘Grasp.’ He had killed and ruined the lives of many people. He hadn’t left Rosalie, or anyone for that matter, room for suspicion of any sort. Upholding the image of a reputable business man, smart and modern and with a secret side, he was able to fool everyone. Circumstances had made him confess all the sins he’d committed to Rosalie. The only thing that had saved him from being arrested, or worse, was that cancer had already raced him to death’s door by the time she had found out. 

Steph, on the other hand, knew her dad was different. John would show her magic, they’d walk on the walls, but her favorite time was always when he’d first come home. When Rosalie wasn’t around, John wouldn’t knock. Steph would come running to the door and shout excitedly for him to come in, he’d unlock it by magic, and Steph would run to him for a hug. She thought that he was a super hero, like the ones on TV, but she saw his darker side when she stepped into his “school.” It was an extra weekend class apart from her regular school curriculum, held upstairs in the attic.

“I’m following what your grandma Diane taught me, and you shall follow me,” he told Steph, referring to a heavy, old-looking book. She was startled the first time, but quickly became interested. So what if dad wasn’t a superhero? He’s still the greatest super villain. She wasn’t scared, but more fascinated with the evil instead of the fun magic. Like many little girls, she wanted to be just like her dad when she grew up. 

When he learned about his terminal cancer, he told Steph, “I have laid everything out for you. I might not be able to monitor your progress now, but it is important that you continue. You’ll have to take over. In a few years, you will understand. The book that will explain everything is under your cupboard where Rosalie won’t find it. Remember, walking on this path is your mission. Being a Summoner will let you establish your rank within the Grasp like I did. Grasp will prevail.” Even at Stephanie’s young age, she understood the intensity of his words and nodded solemnly. She would continue, she would finish. Steph was losing her father, her hero. Despite everything else he had done or how the world might see him, she would not fail him in this.

There was a complaint for the second time from Steph’s new school when her father was at the hospital. She had honestly not wanted to get into trouble, but the kids at school were pushing their luck, messing with her. Debbie Smithson had made fun of Steph’s short and uncombed hair before class, and that pissed her off more than the boy she had kicked for stomping on her foot. She wasn’t sorry for dumping the water-glue-newspaper mixture on her pretty dark hair, but the teacher had called Rosalie to say that it would be the last warning about Steph’s violent behavior. She said no action would be taken this time only because Steph was going through an emotional time due to her father’s illness. Steph had listened with half an ear, not really caring about consequences or what anyone else thought of her, sullen and defiant. 

Then, after a long lecture from her mother, John called her to his bedside. “You weren’t supposed to do that.”

When Rosalie stepped out to talk with the doctor, he said something more surprising, though he was speaking more to himself in disappointment, “Can’t believe that you actually got caught.” 

That sentence struck a chord in Steph and she knew exactly what he meant. He had never been caught, and she was his daughter. He expected more from her, and she had let him down. The disappointment stung more sharply than any of the lectures she had received.

After a week, Steph had secretly tipped a bottle of juice in a bully’s bag. It was a small thing, but she sensed triumph, and she had to tell her father. When she reached home, though, she wasn’t allowed to go to the hospital, and she never got the chance again. Her father passed away quietly in the hospital that night.  Steph never got to share any more triumphs with him.

From then on, Rosalie tried to keep Steph from her dad’s footsteps. Lessons on humanity, God, forgiveness; all of these were drilled into Steph’s head daily. She talked to Steph on almost every matter, and made her promise that she would never follow her father. Hundreds of promises−big ones, small ones, petty ones. Making promises was a regular affair and she kept her word on most of them. 

However, she didn’t believe she could keep those promises since her mother’s death. The promise count dropped from hundreds to one. Her anger was on the rise. Once, she hit a bartender with a glass when he asked for payment. When he yelled at her, she threw the neighbor’s glass too. She smiled when his arm flashed red, embedded with shards of glass. Soon after that, she pushed a man down the stairs for asking her for directions when she was trying to figure out something more important. He toppled down a number of stairs; she could hear bones snap, and as he lay motionless at the bottom of the stairs, she simply walked away. Her stepdad, Jacob, paid both of them very generously for not pressing charges against her. With all his wealth, Steph was sure the losers were grateful for the reward they got. 

She left the kids’ karate class she was coaching because of her desire to snap all of their little necks. The same month, she slammed the cook’s head on the table. Saved by money again. After all the years since her dad’s death, a sentence re-emerged for Steph that day−
Can’t believe you actually got caught.
 

Stephanie stirred in her seat. Each time she thought about the last words her father had said to her, an uneasy wave swept over her. 

“Stay safe and uh, out of trouble, which I know you will,” Aunt Jane said, her eyes almost teary. “Keep in touch with Derek, okay?” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Steph waved it off and got up. If she stayed put any longer, she would miss her flight. 

Aunt Jane suddenly stopped talking. She knew Steph could handle herself. Steph was just like Rosalie. Her eyes were the same color blue, she had the same blonde hair, and even her cheeks had the same rosy color. After Rosalie’s death, Steph had even donned the same layered hairstyle. Steph wanted her independence, and Aunt Jane knew that she had to give her the chance to be on her own. 

“Rose, you need not worry about her. She isn’t like John,” Aunt Jane muttered under her breath to her dearly departed sister. Tears of mixed emotions swelled; sorrow of missing Rosalie and happiness of having Steph intermingled in Aunt Jane’s heart. 

***** 

Steph flung open the door to her messy closet, which blended in with the unkempt room. She had packed all of her things beforehand, but there were still two important items left. She shuffled through the heaps of clothes till she hit the bottom shelf. Her black cloak was there, bundled with her shirts. Steph took a deep breath. Now for the other thing. She pulled out a cardboard box of books from under the bed and tossed the contents aside. These were useless anger control and self-motivation books that would now never again be touched or glanced at. When she got to the newspaper spread out evenly at the bottom, she grinned. The butcher’s knife was under it, one she kept safe. She checked if it was sharp by lightly brushing her thumb along the blade. The action left a red trail, proving it was still the sharp knife she had bought a year ago. Before a drop of her blood could even escape from the cut, the blood dried and clotted. The next moment, the mark disappeared. More proof that she was one of the Grasp. Steph wrapped the knife in her clothes and shoved it in her suitcase. 

The door knob rattled and twisted and with one swoop the books were back in place. 

“Are you leaving now, Steph?” a little girl came in. 

“Yes, Kate,” she answered. 

“Like, right now?” Kim came after her twin. 

Kim and Kate were six years old and very close to Stephanie, more like her own sisters. Steph was their role model and she tried her best to keep the darkness within her out of their sight.

Steph put her hand on her hip and dramatically looked at her watch, “Well, I suppose there might be some time left for ice-cream.” Kim and Kate jumped up with glee and raced back out the door and downstairs before Steph could even get up. She grinned, unable to be anything but proud of her girls. 

Stephanie made the most of the time she had left. It was an emotional battle. Each passing moment was a minute lost, a minute less of the last bonding with her family. 

No matter how hard she tried to hold onto this moment of happiness and innocence, it was soon time to leave. Steph put on her vanity bag and steadied her rolling suitcase before turning to Aunt Jane. 

“Love you,” Steph planted a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “Take care.” There was so much said in those few words, but both women knew, knew what they meant to each other, and the love that they shared between them. 

“You too,” she said. “I’m so proud of you and I know your mom is too.” 

 “See ya sissies. Take care of each other and mom for me,” Steph said absent-mindedly, doubting if her mom would be really proud of her. 

 “Is something wrong?” Kate asked sternly. 

“Nothing, sweetie” 

“Then why aren’t you singing us your poem?” 

The poem! 
Stephanie remembered. She had been singing them a poem from the time they were very little. “My good little angels, my two shiny eyes, my dear sisters, smart and wise... Keep out of trouble, please be nice, come and give me a hug, I can’t say good-byes.” Her legs trembled as finished. It would be the last time she’d recite it in front of them. It would be the last hug she gave them. It was most likely the last time she’d ever be with them. Unbidden, thoughts of the last time she had seen her father swept through her mind. 

She squatted, and the twins almost knocked her over with a double hug. Kim was already crying and Kate started after her. Stephanie wiped their tears. 

“Shhh... I won’t stay away for long.” She consoled them with her false words.

“Awww,” Aunt Jane got down and wrapped her arms around all the three of them. “My girls.” 

There was one last group hug before Stephanie got into the cab and gave them a final wave. The feeling of sickness overpowered her as the distance pulled her away. There was no turning back.

The white clouds made small cotton balls in the blue sky. They hung suspended in the blue, seemingly waiting to be connected by someone like ‘connect the dots’ in drawing books. Her only friend-turned-brother used to help her out with those when she was younger. Derek, whom she now hated so much. She raised the tinted window of the cab and looked ahead. Castle Pines was her destination, and her mind turned away from the goodbyes and towards her goals and her thirst. The day wasn’t too far when that thirst would be satisfied- with blood,
lots of blood
.