Page 5 of Grim
Then I feel the sensation of something brushing my cheek.
So soft. So impossibly gentle that I think I imagined it. A ghost.
A sharp yanking seems to pull from the center ofme, more forceful than the gentle feeling from before. It wraps around my ribs like barbed wire ripping me apart.
The space around me splits open, and I fall. Plummeting headfirst in a weighted free fall through an infinite chasm that feels as though it has no beginning and never ends.
Amid the grief and the loss and sorrow coursing through my mind, I return to the same question I had when this all began.
Where am I?
And I voice the same sad, simple word that wants nothing more than to be answered. “Hello?”
Check.Mate.
Three Hours Before the Present
“Don’t go easy on me just because I’m an old man, kid.” GG squints across the chessboard at me, his liver-spotted hand hovering above his rook like it’s a nuclear trigger.
We’re playing in the rec room of Sunset Gardens,a senior community center. We’re surrounded by floral wallpaper in a maudlin shade of beige that makes it look as though the repeating pattern of daisies never knew color. The gentle wheezing sound of oxygen tanks fills the space with a distant white noise.
“GG,” I say patiently, “you tried to castle into check five moves ago. I’m doing you a mercy.”
He harrumphs. “A mercy? You calling me weak?”
“I’m calling you old, GG. Weak came with the upgrade.”
He snorts. “You know, I fought in a war.”
“And I’ve fought for the remote at a local bar during the playoffs, so really, we’re both soldiers.”
That earns a huff of laughter. He finally moves his bishop, eyeing me like he expects it to bite.
“Checkmate in three,” I announce.
“You’re a menace,” he grumbles.
“And you’re a glutton for punishment. Want to go best out of five?”
He waves me off and starts setting up the board again. “You’re gonna have to pry this win from my cold, arthritic hands.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Across the room, Selma is crocheting something with yarn that isaggressivelypurple, watching us with the smug expression of someone who has read the end of the book before anyone else.
I glance at the clock. “I’ve got to go soon, Selma,” I call over. “Are you ready for our literary showdown next week?”
She perks up. “Of course. We’re still readingRebecca, right?”
I flip my shoulder-length hair from my face. “Obviously. I have strong opinions about Mrs. Danvers, and I need someone to validate my rage.”
“I’ve got opinions aboutyou, Miss Rue.” She smirks while pointing her hook at me.
“Those don’t count. You’re biased. You like me.”
She makes a noncommittal sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a purr. “You bring me peppermint tea and books with bite. You’ll do until Liam is ready for my bath.”
I wiggle my brows at the woman while giving her a suggestive grin. “Now, Selma, you haven’t been pulling out those old photos from your twenties to seduce the poor man, have you?”
