Page 46 of Once Marked
The image of Elaine, smiling serenely despite the storm of Grace’s tantrums, haunted her to this day.There had been love, she realized belatedly, but her recognition had come as Elaine slipped beneath the waves—an accident for which Grace blamed herself.The guilt had burrowed deep, festering into a wound that refused to heal, a constant reminder of a debt unpaid.
Surely, she could have done something to turn that history aside.
Grace Mitchell, once Diana Winters, had long since surrendered to the seductive call of the Outer Banks.For Grace, Darnley had become the start of a new life, and she crafted a new life from the ashes of her old one.Her days flowed in a steady rhythm: open houses, contracts, handshakes.Real estate was her redemption, a way to build something sturdy on a foundation of remorse.
In this quiet corner of the world, where the sea whispered secrets only she could hear, Grace remade herself.The mirror showed a successful businesswoman, poised and polished.But beneath the surface lay the fractured remains of a guilt-ridden soul.Every sale, every satisfied customer, felt like an atonement, a step toward settling the debt of a life taken too soon.
It wasn’t long before the lines blurred further.Walking through Darnley, Grace’s gaze would snag on strangers who bore a passing resemblance to Elaine.A certain angle of light, a familiar posture, and suddenly she was transported back to 1985, to the sun-drenched beaches and the heart-stopping moment when everything changed.
The burden of these visions pulled at Grace, unraveling the edges of her sanity.She fought to keep her composure, to maintain the identity of Grace Mitchell, but the ghost of Diana Winters whispered doubts.Each encounter with a woman who mirrored Elaine became a confrontation with her own haunted past, a reminder that some debts could never be fully repaid.These encounters climaxed when she became friends with Rachel Brennan, who looked more like Elaine than any of the others.
Grace picked up a swimsuit from the floor, admiring the fabric, tracing the bold patterns that she had sewn with meticulous care.This swimsuit, like the others, was an eerie homage to the past.How her stepmother had loved the vintage suits she kept in her store.She’d collected them, sold them to delighted customers, and delighted in wearing certain ones herself.
The memory of Julie’s lifeless body, clothed in turquoise retro attire, flashed before her eyes – a tableau that was both haunting and satisfying.Billie Shearer’s encounter had been similarly orchestrated.The neon pink one-piece and matching headband had transformed her into a vivid echo of Elaine.
But neither of them had fulfilled Grace’s desperate purpose.
She remembered positioning Billie’s body just so, the way Elaine would arch her back to catch the sun’s rays, basking in the attention that always seemed to find her.Standing over Billie, Grace felt as if she had captured a moment in time, a picture-perfect scene where Billie wasn’t Billie anymore; she was Elaine, immortalized in stillness, finally at rest.
These acts, these offerings to the restless spirit of Elaine, they were what Grace clung to.Surely if she got everything right, if the scene was perfect, then the death would be erased, as though life had never been lost beneath the waves.The swimsuits, the staged scenes by the water – they were supposed to be a path to redemption.If the pose and the attire was perfect, surely the death would cease to exist.
Grace looked down at Rachel lying there in the water, seeing not the woman who she had taken, but her stepmother Elaine.It was a delusion born of longing and loss, a desperate attempt to rewrite a past that refused to be forgotten.With a shaking hand, Grace reached out, tracing the line of Rachel’s jaw, feeling the echo of Elaine’s laughter in the silence between them.Rachel let out an unconscious moan.
“Shhh,” Grace cooed.“It’s almost over now,” she murmured.“And this time, maybe you won’t be lost to us.”
Grace allowed herself the fantasy that even though Rachel’s breath ceased, placing her on her comfortable beach chair could bring her back when a new day began.Then Elaine’s death would be ended, and so too would the guilt that had been with Diana/Grace for so long.After all, that was exactly what her stepmother would want.Although it hadn’t worked out that way yet, that could only be because she hadn’t gotten all the details right.
Her hands, those of Grace Mitchell, the successful realtor, the respected member of Darnley, shook as they cradled Rachel’s head.For a fleeting second, a flicker of doubt creased her brow.Was she truly the arbiter of Elaine’s will or merely a vessel for her own fragmented psyche?
In that moment, Grace felt the precarious balance between sanity and madness tip.She steeled herself against the uncertainty, the voice in her head growing insistent, commanding.It was Elaine’s tone, the way she imagined it would be—firm and decisive.
She leaned forward, her hands guiding Rachel’s head with a tenderness that belied the grim finality of her actions.Then, with a resolve that felt like slipping into a role she’d played too many times before, Grace submerged Rachel’s head beneath the surface of the water.
CHAPTERTWENTY THREE
When Sheriff Beeler’s car slid to a stop, its headlights illuminating Grace Mitchell’s home, Riley was relieved to see a vehicle parked in the driveway.If Grace was at home, if they didn’t have to spend time searching for her, they could still save a life tonight.An image of Rachel Brennan—alone, vulnerable—flashed behind Riley’s eyes.
As they all scrambled out and rushed to the front door, her hand brushed the gun at her hip, tracing the cool metal as if to remind herself of the reality they were about to face.Beeler’s knock resonated against the door's wood, hard and demanding.
“Grace Mitchell, this is Sheriff Beeler.We need to speak with you,” he called out, his voice carrying authority that demanded obedience.
Silence was the only reply.
“Ms.Mitchell, it’s Agent Esmer from the FBI.Please open the door,” Ann Marie tried, her voice strong.Again, there was no response.Not even the shuffle of movement sounded to suggest that their presence had been acknowledged.
Riley exchanged a glance with Beeler, her dark eyes reflecting her urgency.When she gave a firm nod, the sheriff stepped back and launched himself at the door.His considerable frame made the wood give way with a violent crack, splintering around the lock.The sound shattered the night’s stillness, a stark declaration of their intrusion.
As they crossed the threshold, Riley’s hand found her weapon with a swiftness borne from years of training and too many encounters that ended in darkness.Her eyes swept the entryway, scanning for threats, her mind already reaching out, trying to sense the killer’s presence.The domestic interior, a stark contrast to the scene she had prepared herself for, appeared to be a nicely arranged home.
“Clear,” Beeler murmured after checking the living room, his voice low, a testament to his experience.Ann Marie nodded, covering the kitchen, moving with quiet efficiency.Riley felt time slipping away from them; every corner and every closed door could mean life or death for Rachel Brennan.
Drowned in fresh water,she remembered.
“Find a bathroom,” she demanded.
Ann Marie opened a few doors and told her, “A half-bath, no tub.”
“Keep checking everything downstairs,” Riley hissed as she moved fast towards the staircase.At the top, the hallway stretched ominously, doors ajar, a bright light shining from one of them.
