Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from NCIS.
A/N: Thank you for your reviews everyone! So far I'm keeping to my promise, and working on Grace every day – keep up the reviews and I'll keep posting!!
Chapter 19
The figure stood over Rothman, her slender hands wrapped around the trigger of the gun.
Every muscle in her body tensed as her eyes locked onto the man's dark form, now still, blood seeping through his shirt from a wound in his chest. She tried to move, tried to prise her hands from the gun, but something stopped her.
Her breath was slow and shallow, and she knew that if she were to talk at this moment that the words would be barely audible. A tiny, frightened whisper that would sound more like a child than a grown woman.
She saw a shadow of a man on the other side of the tiny cell, and although she thought she recognised him, she didn't dare take her eyes off Rothman's deathly pale form.
Her eyes locked onto his chest, watching and waiting for a sign of life. There was none.
Her breath became more laboured and she struggled for breath, her hands began to shake as the gun fell to the floor with a clunk. She had barely felt it leave her hands.
Her legs went weak as she collapsed to the ground of the iron cell. She didn't notice the pain that shot through her knees as they struck the floor, jarring her violently and sending her against the wall.
Sobs echoed though the cell, but she didn't recognise the sound. It was if it was not her own voice, but an empty, hollow sound. It scared her. She didn't know why she was upset – she knew what he was, she knew what he had done.
She was about to close her eyes, to collapse on the floor when a sound made her jolt upright. A shiver ran up her spine as she suddenly regained control of her body.
Grace. She'd know what sound anywhere. The terrified, desperate sound of a child who had lost everything, yet seemed to have nothing to lose. Their eyes met as Grace shoved past her, the white billowing nightie sticking to her skin, her bare feet scratched and the nails on her fingers dark with grime.
Her eyes said it all, a single two-syllable word that would be forever imprinted in her mind.
Rachel.
Grace didn't need to speak to be able to say her name. It was all in the eyes, the terrified eyes of a child. Rachel had the sudden realisation that what used to be of Grace was no more. All that was left was a broken, hollow shell, now so seemingly immune to the world of evil. The world of lies, corruption, betrayal. And now death.
Grace flung herself towards her father's body, but stopped inches from him. Images flashed before her eyes as she tries to reach out, wanting desperately to save him.
The pain was evident. Grace didn't know why she wanted to save this man, only that without him he was alone. He was a monster. But once Grace was alone she would lose the only connection she had to the world.
----------------------------------
Rachel didn't know how long Grace stayed like that, staring at her father's body, her face almost void of emotions.
The only evidence that she felt anything was her eyes.
Rachel had seen photos of Grace when she was younger – but none as a baby. She remembered, years ago, how Grace's dark eyes would light up at the sound of her voice, and how her dark wavy hair would flow softly to her shoulders after Rachel had brushed it. Grace felt like a daughter to her.
In some ways bothered and amazed her how Grace's parents would ignore such a beautiful, happy child. Her father could be possessive of her, but it was a different kind of possessive love that most parents have with their children. She knew that Grace would tense up when her father entered the room, yet she never had the courage to ask her why he frightened her.
Grace's mother was a different story – a heroin addict, much like her husband, Melanie Rothman would have been beautiful in her youth. Now she looked old and haggard, despite her only being in her early 30's. She would ignore Grace, leaving her to her own devices whilst she lay slumped on the couch, needle in hand. It was no wonder Grace spent so much time with Rachel and her daughter, Ebony.
Ebony, Rachel thought sadly. She was such a beautiful child, almost identical in personalities to Grace, yet the complete opposite in looks. Ebony had soft blonde hair and huge cobalt blue eyes that always startled people when they first saw her. Those eyes and cheeky smile could get Ebony anything she wanted – yet she never asked for material things, not like you could expect a child to do. All she ever wanted was to be with her mother, and to play with her best friend, Grace.
Suddenly she snapped out of her daze at the sound of a small voice coming from nearby. She slid forward from her space against the wall, crawling forward on her knees. It was only then that she felt the pain in her knees from when she had collapsed only moments ago.
Rachel stopped suddenly as she looked towards Grace. The child was draped across her father's still-warm body, her tiny hands clasping the blood stained shirt he was wearing. The front of her once white nightgown was stained with crimson blotches near the hem, and a much larger red patch across her chest. Suddenly it hit her – the noise was coming from Grace.
Rachel reached out to Grace, trying to pull her away from her father's body, suddenly realising the full extent of what she had done. The child spun around, her face once again void of emotion.
All of a sudden, the expression on Grace's face changed as her hand came out and hit Rachel across the face. She spun back in shock, her eyes never leaving Grace's. Then, as quickly as she had hit out in anger, she slumped over and burst into tears. They clung to each other for what seemed like an eternity, their only thoughts on the body lying close to them, the life taken by Rachel's own hand.
Rachel barely heard the sirens, barely heard the voices, barely felt the hands pulling her out of the cell and away from Grace. The child began screaming, the noise so sudden and frantic that it sent shivers up Rachel's spine.
The police didn't offer explanations as to how they had known that any of them were there, but only concentrated on guiding Rachel and Grace to the police car, and of course, on Tony. Rachel barely noticed him lying there, yet was too shocked and traumatised to deal with the possibility of another life being lost. Grace noticed, however, and put up a fight with the young female police officer to try to get back to the cell – whether she wanted to get back to her father's body or to Tony, Rachel wasn't sure.
An ambulance was called as another officer tried to help Tony, but it was evident he was unconscious. Grace sobbed softly, the screams subsiding as she kicked out at the policewoman, torn between going back to her father and seeing if Tony was alright.
Guilt tore at her for not going to him sooner, but she was terrified that he would be dead – and that the silent promises she had made to Kate would be broken.
That alone was almost enough to tear her up inside, let alone everything else that had happened.
First Ebony, her best friend. Then Kate – her saviour, the only one who understood, who cared. And now, her father. The monster, but nevertheless, her father.
There were, of course, the events before that. Horrible events. But Grace never spoke of them, and remained quiet.
She never remembered the day she stopped talking, never remembered why or how it happened. Yet, to this day, she remained silent.
A perfect silence.
A/N: Please review!