The Dark Divine(8)

“I think I saw a gas station a couple of blocks back,” Pete said. “Maybe I should walk there and get some help.”

“That gas station is closed.” I breathed on my frozen hands. “It’s been abandoned for a while.”

Pete looked back and forth down the street. Nothing much was visible outside the veil of orange light cast from the streetlamp. The night’s sky was completely blotted out by clouds, and a frigid wind tousled Pete’s rusty hair. “Of all the nights to forget to charge my cell phone.”

“At least you have one,” I said. “My parents are seriously stuck in the twentieth century.”

Pete only half smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll go find a pay phone,” he grumbled.

Suddenly, I felt like all of this was my fault. Only a few minutes before, Pete and I had been joking about Brett Johnson’s hiccupping fit during the chem test. Pete looked at me when we laughed at the same time, and our eyes met in that cosmic sort of way. Then the car made this horrible clunking noise and lurched to a stop in an alley on our way to the shelter.

“I’ll come with you.” I flinched at the sound of shattering glass in the not-so-far distance. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“No. Someone needs to stay with this stuff.”

The Corolla was packed full of the boxes that didn’t fit in the truck. But I wasn’t sure I was the one who should stay behind to protect it. “I’ll go. You’ve done enough already.”

“No way, Grace. Pastor or not, your dad would kill me if I let you walk by yourself in this part of town.” Pete opened the car door and pushed me inside. “You’ll be safer—and warmer—in here.”

“But …”

“No.” Pete pointed to the squatty building across the street. I could hear a couple of guys shouting at each other from one of the broken windows. “I’ll just go knock on the door of one of those apartments.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Your best bet is the shelter. It’s a mile or so that way.” I pointed down the dark street. We were parked under the only working lamp on the block. “There are mostly apartments along the way, and a couple of bars. But stay away from those unless you want to get your teeth kicked in.”

Pete smirked. “You spend a lot of time on the mean streets?”

“Something like that.” I frowned. “Hurry … and be careful, okay?”

Pete leaned in through the doorway with one of his triple-threat grins. “This is some date, huh?” he said, and kissed me on the cheek.

My face prickled with heat. “So this is a date?”

Pete chuckled and rocked back on his heels. “Lock the car.” He shut the door and shoved his hands into the pockets of his letterman’s jacket.

I clicked the door lock and watched him kick an empty beer can as he walked away. I couldn’t see him once he left the light of the streetlamp. I scrunched down in my coat for warmth and sighed. It might be going badly, but at least I was on a date with Pete Bradshaw, sort of.


Sc-rape.

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.”