His Witness To Love by Summer Rose
CHAPTER FOUR
The drive to the would-be safe house was mostly uneventful. Mack eased the car along, trying to sneak glances at Brie. An hour had ended up being the whole day. Rachel would not be pleased; he had decided to leave the details to the women.
The city seemed to be cast in a brown tint that came with a 5:30 glow at late noon. Glass flashed lazily as he drove past, and everyone was either home or on their way there.
Brie snored in her sleep; it was almost a purr, the rhythm lulled him as he listened. He had to make an effort not to join her in her nap. A red light stalled them, and he really got the chance to look at her. Anyone would wonder at the tilt of his head as he leaned to take all of her in, her hair was a mess, and her glasses threatened to fall off with the next bump. He eased the frames off her face, stirring her as he did so. However, with a low murmur, she turned over in her seat, and Mack could only stare at the back of her neck. He turned back to the wheel with the change of the lights.
Rachel was waiting for them at the metal let-in to her home. She watched them drive in, trailing slowly behind as Mack found a spot to set the car in. She made her way to Brie’s seat and gently tried waking her up.
“Oh, let me.” Mack came up behind her and scooped her off the seat.
“A deep sleeper, this one.”
Rachel watched him take Brie into the house; he held her like something he couldn’t afford to let go off, almost like she’d slip out of his grasp if he looked away.
“You can forget about the duffels, for now, Rach. I’ll come back for them later.”
She rushed ahead to open the door for him. Rachel loved it for her; she loved it all for her. She chose to fight the other feeling creeping up the back of her neck, the same thing that had her chest all tight, forcing her to smile even when she didn’t feel like it. She chose not to envy her friend. Nothing that had happened to them had been Brie's fault. They had stuck with each other through a lot of difficult things. Now she needed Brie as much as Brie needed her. This was no time for envy.
The house was bigger than Mack had thought. From the outside, you could call it a manor, but it went even further as you walked in, high reaching ceilings and a winding set of stairs. The wood all had a gleam set to finish and ivory replica paint-coated metal excesses everywhere.
“Nice house,” was all Mack could manage.
“They call it their castle; you’ll quickly learn that my parents are dramatic.”
“Bah! I’m old, Rachel. The drama makes everything I have left interesting,” Rachel’s grandfather muttered as he made his way down the stairs, a booming laughing frame of a man. He was old and looked the part with crow’s feet and a few too many crinkles when he smiled. His skin curled like an old rug, and his gait was frail. He looked old, but he didn’t feel it. His frail step bounced, his eyes were sharp, and his smile whispered that it only existed when he meant it. He was a force to be acknowledged; Mack could see him leading a football team back in his prime.
“Good day, sir.”
“Ah, please, just take old Brie upstairs; my wife will hold her from there.”
Mack made his way up the stairs with Brie still in his arms; the stairs were easy on the feet, none too high, and easy to glide through. Praise as he may, he couldn't deny that he liked it simply because it made it easier to move Brie without waking her up. He had had her on him for so long he developed a new commitment to the task, her utmost comfort. He came to the nearest room. The bed was made, and he came face to face with who he could assume to be the man’s wife.
She smiled and raised a finger to her lips while pulling back the covers for him to set Brie down. She responded slightly to the new movement and grabbed at his shirt. He smiled as he undid her grip on him and left her with the woman not too far behind.
“You must be Mack,” she said as they closed the door behind them
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Rachel has spoken of you. Thank you for saving our granddaughter.”
“Please, ma’am, I could have done more; no thanks necessary. If only I had gotten there sooner," Mack said demurely.
“The way I see it, no matter what happens, she’s with us now, and she’s alive; wounds will heal. Besides, I find it hard to hold a grudge against you when the child herself lives in gratitude. You’ve done your best; that is all we could have asked of you. Now, come downstairs for something to eat,” the old woman smiled kindly.
Mack did his best to keep himself together.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Downstairs, Rachel sat across from her grandfather, each of them with a mug in hand. A conversation jumped from mug to mug, stopping only when Mack walked in with her grandmother, whose name he had just learned was Lidia.
“There now, you’re all done; I believe we need to have a talk, too,” Rachel's grandfather said through his mug, never breaking eye contact with his granddaughter.
“Come now, dear, the poor boy isn’t running away. Let him at least have a chance to change his clothes.”
“I suppose so; your room is the second one from your left after the stairs; you’ll have the room next to Brianna’s.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, Sonny, thank Rachel. Little June bug here is always fussing about the two of you.”
“Stop it, grandpa. Don’t worry about it too much, Mack. As I said, it's all alright,” Rachel murmured through her mug; she was not enjoying being put on the spot.
***
Brie woke up with wool still on her head; she couldn't remember where she was or how she had gotten there. Flashes of moans, groans, and muffled screams drifted across her mind, and she pulled her covers to her chin, realizing she had pushed remembering a little too far back. She could remember leaving late in the afternoon, the peaceful car ride where she must have undoubtedly fallen asleep. She remembered gripping onto a top. His top. She had been carried, and it seems Mack had been the one to carry her for quite a bit, too. Her face grew red from embarrassment, and her mind settled. She could hear voices downstairs, and she remembered it all.
Rachel’s grandparents had agreed to let their home serve as a safe house for their granddaughter and Brie, and the assigned guard, Mack; they were expected to stay indefinitely.
She hurriedly put on some more clothes and made her way to the voices coming from downstairs.
“Ah yes! There you are, my dear,” the old man’s voice boomed across the room.
His wife got up to help her to the table.
“Really, ma’am, I'm fine. There’s nothing wrong.”
“Nonsense, even then, I’d like to help you. Go on, on with you.”
Brie got to the table and exchanged a few pleasantries with the old couple. Mack seemed content to watch it all unfold. The old man’s initial ice seemed to have melted off; they were even on a first-name basis now. It was refreshing to watch Brie be so carefree, so taken in by mundane discussion. Not constantly stuck in some power struggle between some ultimate good and evil. He wished her a simple life, well, a simpler life.
The afternoon was quickly spent, and soon enough, the sun was out of sight. Mack found himself making rounds with Rachel’s grandfather.
“Call me Robert, son, forget about the initial gruff testing, you know? You’re alright; you seem like a good man,” is how the exchange had gone.
It was a single sliding gate on a metal rut lowered into the ground. Locks were checked, and the gate itself was eased shut. Robert checked for snakes or any signs of them.
“The tall grass is brittle around these parts; winders tend to make a subtle path through the little fields we have.”
The path showed no signs of being moved through, so they made their way back inside.
Mack opted to sit outside for a few more minutes to clear his head.
The night sky was nearly starless, and the wind was still. Mack stared off and tried to breathe away the fear he had begun to feel. A growing sense of paranoia. The last few hours had been magical, but he had no idea when the next one of them could be in danger.
His mind kept wandering to the texts both he and Brie had gotten. It bothered him that he couldn’t place at least one suspect to it all. His mind repeatedly conjured up Kamal in front of him. A leering condescending grin plastered on his face. That tattoo, that blasted tattoo. He reserved the rest of his moments outside for Dave and his brother. Choosing grief over rage, he looked up to count the stars, if any could be found.
He finally decided to walk back; the dead would always be there for him to mourn over. Brie was still here, still alive. Rachel and every other woman the Brotherhood might get their claws on, too. He refused to let the bodies pile up in front of him. He refused to have these things end up a loss.
The door closed behind him.
“Eleven, eleven is a fair amount.”