When she wakes up, he is the first thing she sees. That's the way he wanted it. He'd told Charlie at least six times in the car.
"When she wakes up, man, I want it to just be me and her. You can do whatever you have to do, okay? But later. I want her to see me first."
"If you say that again, asshole, this whole thing's off." Charlie has never raised his voice, never talked in anything other than a flat, monotone calm, but his annoyance now was clear anyway. "I already agreed."
"I'm just making sure," He said, the same way he'd said the first five times. There was something about Charlie that always made him feel like he was not completely in control. The boy was almost two full years his junior, but he made Garrett feel like a chump sometimes.
Most times.
"It's my house," he says, for the fourth time. "My rules."
Charlie smiles, but for some reason it makes his little kid's face look like a man's. It's a leering, jack-o-lantern smile.
"Your rules," he says quietly. "No problem."
So that's why it's just him and her in the room when she opens her eyes for the first time. Her cheekbone is already purpling from the blow he'd landed early that morning. The sight of it makes something like happiness glow in Garrett's chest for the first time in months. He can remember the way it felt to land it.
Charlie had wanted to go softer. He'd wanted to use something untraceable. Put it in her drink. Drag her off when no one is looking. Not that her parents were ever actually looking. Charlie had wanted no muss, and no fuss. The real fun starts at the house, boy. But Garrett had held firm, even when it was clear that the bitch was no slouch when it came to defending herself. He'd been determined to leave something on her that other people could see.
He'd wanted to leave his mark.
"Hi," he says, as she blinks at him. Her eyes clear and focus and if she's concussed, it's only minor. If she has a concussion, it is not enough to keep her from recognizing his face. She blinks at him, and she recognizes him.
And she is afraid.
Garrett is happy for the first time since the funeral. He can feel the smile stretching his lips, and he doesn't try to stop it.
"Hey, Jane."
…
…
For a long, long moment, all he does is stand and stare.
That's his sister in bed with another girl. And it is not 'in bed' the way she meant it three or four years ago, when her school friends would show up with their sleeping bags and cases of make-up. When they would giggle long into the night, and eventually all end up squished together in the big, queen sized bed.
No.
This is his baby sister with her leg wrapped around the other girl's waist, and her hands in dark brown hair, eyes closed and mouth gasping as she…as they...
"What the fuck!?"
Grace screams. She yanks the covers up around her body, simultaneously shoving the dark haired girl away from her, and Garrett realizes she is topless.
"Garrett," she yells. "What the hell?! Don't you know how to knock?" It is this indignation, her indignation at his apparent breech of her privacy that pushes him over the threshold into the room, his face still hot from the rush of seeing his little sister with no clothes on.
"Who the fuck are you?" He yells at the stranger, who stands now on the other side of Grace's bed, close to the window.
She is not naked, but dressed in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and the muscles of her stomach and shoulders are defined.
"Chill," she says, her voice deep, calm.
"Don't tell me to fucking chill," Garrett is still yelling. He sees Grace pull a shirt over her head out of the corner of his eye. "I should knock you out for assaulting my sister."
Is that what he thinks? The words are just there, on the tip of his tongue, and he realizes as he says them that they must be the truth. Grace would never, could never betray him in such a way. She is his sister. She adores him.
She knows better.
"Woah," the girl's eyes go round. "I didn't assault your-"
"Get out, Garrett," Grace says harshly. She's pushing herself out of bed now, her t-shirt falling down past her thighs. "Get out of my room!"
Garrett stares at her in disbelief. This is all so wrong. "Me?" his voice sounds screeching, even to his own ears. "You want me out?"
"Yes!" Grace shouts. She has tears in her eyes. "Get out! Jesus. Get out!"
It's not until the door is slamming in his face that he realizes that the shirt his sister threw on is emblazoned with the Boston Red Sox Logo.
It doesn't belong to her.
Things that make Garrett happy, now that the only thing he cared about is gone:
The sound of Jane Rizzoli's palms as they hit the concrete of the basement in his Cape Cod Summer home, closed up for the winter.
The rough, raw sound her throat makes when she spits blood.
Telling her, over and over, that she is the reason his sister has died.
Watching her resist, and resist, and then finally, after nearly fourteen hours, to beg.
"You want me to stop?"
He only gets a nod in return.
"Bring Grace back. Then I'll fucking stop."
She doesn't answer, and he kicks her. It's not the hardest he can, or even the hardest he has previously, but she still makes a noise, hard and grunted through her teeth. It sets the hairs on the back of his neck on end. He loves it.
He waits until she's breathing somewhat evenly again, and then kneels down and pushes her hair away from her face so he can see her eyes. With her hands bound like that, she doesn't have any choice but to let him.
"I fucking hate you," he says, right up close to her ear. "I'm going to kill you for what you did to her."
Jane blinks slowly. "Feeling's mutual," she murmurs. "I'd have killed you first. If she'd have let me."
This catches him off guard, and he leans back abruptly, yanking her hair. "What?"
She turns her head to keep him in her sights. Black eye, split lip, split cheek. It doesn't make her look weak, he realizes. She doesn't look broken. On the contrary…she looks ferocious.
"I know what you did," she says evenly. "I wouldn't bring her back to you if I could. Not even if it meant she'd come back to me too. I wouldn't."
He doesn't remember too much after that, but the next time he looks at the clock, three hours have disappeared.
The only movement Jane makes is the quick rise and fall of her chest.
Still alive.
…
When he comes upstairs and into the kitchen, he finds Charlie at the breakfast bar, watching Comedy Central and drinking a glass of juice. He turns and looks at Garrett, and his eyes are alive with what looks like excitement.
"You kept her on the tarp, right?"
Garrett nods, feeling his earlier annoyance return. "Of course I did." Charlie doesn't answer, and Garrett's irritation turns quickly to apprehension. "Anyway. Your turn, dude," he says, and then, lamely, "have fun."
Charlie swigs the last of his drink and stands up. His smile this time is wider than Garrett has ever seen it. There is a bulge at the front of his pants, and Garrett tries to look elsewhere. If he does not acknowledge that he's seen it, then they might not have to talk about what it means.
But Charlie's full attention is on the closed door to the basement. He pats Garrett on the shoulder as he passes.
"We'll have a ball."
…
…
He's on his bed, thumbing through a magazine when she bursts through the door.
"Hey," she yells at him, "stay out of my room, and stay away from my stuff!"
Garrett sits up slowly, trying to fix his face into one of affronted confusion. "Excuse me?" he asks.
"Don't play stupid, Garrett," Grace shakes her finger at him. "I know you've been going through my stuff. I know it was you who took the earrings she gave me. Those were important to me, you douchebag."
Garrett shuts his magazine. "I haven't-" he begins, but Grace cuts him off. She is angrier at him than he can ever remember her being.
"Don't lie to me! I know it's you. You've been stealing my letters from Jane."
Garrett pushes up off his bed, noticing that when he stands, his sister falters a little bit. "So what if I have been?" he asks. "You really want to read the disgusting filth she writes you?"
Grace colors, but she holds her ground. "It's not filth," she says angrily. "And they're not yours. They're my letters."
"What would mom and dad think if they knew that their baby girl was a dyke? Worse, that she'd fallen for trailer trash who writes love letters like dime store porn novels."
Grace's eyes fill with tears, and Garrett feels his resolve weaken just a little bit. He reaches out for her, wanting to hug her, to feel her melt against him the way she used to when he comforted her after a bad day. He hates being the one who hurts her, who brings the harsh realities of life in to their safe little world. "Look," he starts, "G,"
But she smacks his hand away, and turns on her heel. "I don't want to hear it," she says over her shoulder. "I don't care what Mom and Dad think. I don't care what you think. I'm not a kid, and I know what I want."
Rage explodes inside of Garrett. He has grabbed her and pulled her back by the arm before he can register his movements.
"Ow!" she cries.
"You think you can just walk away from me?" he asks.
Grace looks at him. She is afraid, he registers confusedly. He is scaring her. "Garret!" she says. Fear. "Let go! You're hurting me."
"I get to say what you can and can't-"
But then something slams into his side, and he is knocked off of his feet, to the floor. When he looks up, Jane is there.
Jane Rizzoli is in his house, in his room, and she has knocked him over. She stands between them now, inspecting Grace's arm intently.
"You!" he says, pulling himself to his feet.
Jane lets Grace go so she can face him. She is nearly snarling. "You sick, fucking pervert," she growls. "I'm going to-"
"Jane," Grace says quickly. "Let's go."
Jane's whole body freezes at Grace's command. She looks like she would rather do anything else in the world.
Garrett's mind is frozen too. It whirls and returns and whirls again over the same word.
Pervert.
Pervert.
You sick, fucking…
You pervert.
"I'm not just going to let him-"
But Grace takes Jane's hand and pulls her away. "I'm fine," she insists. "I want to go. Please, can we go?"
"Yes," Jane says. Garrett might not even exist. Jane takes his sister's hand. She kisses his sister's knuckles. "Let's go."
He watches them leave.
And then he follows them.
…
At the pool hall he tracks them to, he sits in the corner on the far side of the room, watching his sister as she eats pizza with Jane and three other kids that Garrett doesn't recognize, a black boy and two other girls, both with dark hair and tan skin. One of the girls tries constantly to attract Jane's attention, but it seems the brunette only has eyes for Grace.
His Grace.
During a game of pool that involves more laughing than playing, Garrett watches in horror as his sister takes Jane's face in her hands and kisses her hard.
One of the girls and the boy wolf whistle.
The crowd around them cheers.
Garrett looks away in disgust.
"Hi." A voice close by makes him look up.
A pale, thin boy is sliding into the booth across from him, holding out his hands as if to say, 'I'm not a threat to you.'
"What do you want?" Garrett snarls. He is not in the mood for company. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The boy's smile widens. He's younger than Garrett, but his confidence is noticeable. "Oh yeah," he says, as though Garrett has told a Joke. "I can definitely see that."
He holds out his hand. "My name's Charlie Hoyt," he says, unperturbed that Garrett declines his handshake. "Can I buy you a soda?"
…
At 3:19am the next morning, Garrett is jolted out of sleep by screaming.
No, not screaming, just one long, hoarse scream. Someone in pain.
He throws back the covers of his makeshift bed on the couch and sprints to the basement door without stopping to think. He pulls it open and peers down the stairs, trying to make out shapes in the dim light coming from around the corner.
If Jane has gotten free, and Charlie is hurt, barreling down the stairs to his own incapacitation isn't going to do anyone any good.
"Charlie?" he calls tentatively. "Are you still down there?"
There is silence for a beat, and then his companion's voice calls back to him, sounding cheerful and fully alert.
"Hey, Garrett, did Jane wake you? I'm sorry about that. Jane, you woke Garrett. Why don't you apologize."
Garrett descends three steps and then pauses. Charlie sounds almost manic with happiness. He sounds a little deranged.
"Is everything okay, man?" Garrett calls. "I heard…" but there aren't any words to accurately categorize the sound Jane had made. "I'm coming down," he calls instead. "Okay?"
The laugh that Charlie gives in response is almost like a giggle, but it does nothing to ease Garrett's nerves. "Okay!" he calls back. "Come on down. I'm presentable, and, well, there's nothing to be done about Jane."
Garrett descends the last couple stairs and rounds the corner to the small back room where they've been keeping their captive tied.
His stomach heaves at the sight.
Jane is still there, still bruised and still bloody, and now barely conscious. Her hands are up, above her head, and through the palm of each one, is a silver instrument that catches the light as Garret blinks.
"Holy fuck, man," he says around the urge to be sick. "Holy...fuck."
Charlie's smile is wide and excited. He looks, quite literally, like a kid at Christmas. "I know, right?" he says, taking Garrett's shock for awe. "Lookit this." he turns his head so that Garrett can see the scratches on his chin, three perfect nail marks. "She put up one fucking hell of a fight. Just like I totally thought she would."
"Jesus," Garrett says. "Are those...are those...scalpels?"
"Hell yeah!" Charlie looks high. He looks ecstatic. "You didn't tell me your dad was a doctor, man! He's got a shit ton of cool torture stuff down here."
Garrett shakes his head. He hasn't been able to look away from Jane. The happiness he'd felt earlier, the sense of justice, it all seems to be draining away from him. "Uh...no," he says, unable to think of any other retort. "My mom's a...she's a Pediatrician. She was, I mean. She left after she had Grace."
Charlie isn't listening. He moves back over to Jane and squats down beside her, brushing her hair out of her face. The gesture is tender. "Tell Garrett how much fun you had," he whispers to her.
Jane's mouth moves, but if she says anything, Garrett can't hear her.
It doesn't seem to phase Charlie. He goes on whispering to her, almost as if Garrett isn't there.
After watching for about five more minutes, Garrett turns and heads back upstairs.
In the kitchen, Garrett opens the fridge, but he doesn't make a move to retrieve anything. He just stares in at the few provisions he and Charlie had carried with them. He is thinking about Grace, two days before he'd told his parents about her secret girlfriend. He is thinking about how she'd looked, sitting in the window seat in her room, keeping watch for Jane.
She didn't even turn around when he'd come in. When he'd said her name, she'd made a motion with her shoulders, like she was brushing off a fly.
Charlie appears in the doorway, shirt askew, looking tired but happy. "All yours!" he says.
Garrett feels irrational anger at this boy. It is his fault that this plan is souring. It is his fault that all the beautiful vengeance is being sucked from the day.
"Thanks," he says, not looking around from the fridge. He tries to remember the way Grace looked the last time he saw her. Really truly saw her and not just a lump under the covers. Not just a silhouette in the darkness of her bedroom.
"I'm gonna get some shut eye," Charlie doesn't notice Garrett's malaise. Or rather, if he notices, he does not comment. "Big day tomorrow."
Garrett doesn't bother to answer.
When he finally shuts the door to the fridge and straightens up, he is alone in the kitchen in the light of the predawn.
…
Jane is still pinned to the basement floor when he rounds the corner. The first time he'd seen her there, almost two days ago now, the overwhelming emotion had been one of elation. Now, it is just disgust.
He is disgusted by her.
He holds his breath as he nears her, and he kneels down and reaches out to pull the scalpels from her hands. She makes a sound like a kicked dog when he does, and his disgust is replaced fleetingly by pity.
"It hurts," she whimpers. "It hurts."
Garrett isn't sure whether she's talking about her hands or the numerous other injuries she's sustained. Charlie has pulled her ruined jeans back up onto her hips, and the long sleeve t-shirt they took her in has lost most of the left sleeve.
Garrett can see a scattering of little cuts along the girl's neck, disappearing into her collar.
The pity is replaced by disgust again. He wants to kill her.
He wants to kill her and be done with it. But first…
"Say you're sorry," he sneers, kneeling down beside her again. "Say you're sorry for what you did to my sister."
Jane's eyes are out of focus when she looks up at his voice. He watches her lick her lips in preparation, and feels some of the old excitement return. This is the reason he took her.
For Grace. Not for Charlie Hoyt.
"Say you're sorry," he prompts again.
Jane blinks heavily.
"No."
…...
…...
Grace stays in her bed for four days. The maid brings her trays of food and then takes them away, untouched.
Malcolm and Felicia put a guard outside the window that Jane uses to sneak in. They tell Grace she is not to leave the house without an escort.
Grace stays in bed.
Garrett tells his parents that she should be sent somewhere. He tells them that Jane is still finding a way to reach her. He tells them he heard the two of them last night, that he pressed his ear to her door and heard them whispering.
Heard when they went silent.
Malcolm and Felicia tell him that he is Grace's brother, not her father. They tell him to let them handle it. They know what's best for their daughter.
Garrett seethes with rage. He dreams at night about running Jane down in his car.
He dreams that Grace comes to him in the night and tells him she was wrong.
He tells only one person about these dreams.
Charlie Hoyt.
Hoyt absolutely eats it up.
…
"Say you're sorry."
Jane's breathing is shallow. She hunches her shoulders. She shakes her head.
He doesn't have any real desire to kick her again, but he does. On principle.
"Say you're sorry for killing my sister, or I swear to God…"
Jane coughs. "I'm not sorry. I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone in the entire world."
"I did!" Garrett answers angrily. "I loved her."
Jane looks up at him, she heaves a breath, and makes sure that each word is clear.
"But she loved me back."
Three chapters.
Three days.
Let's hit it.
