Chapter 9

Gracie’s breath hitched. Her eyes, usually so calm, seemed to darken with a different kind of emotion. “Robert Maxwell? Shit, That… that’s horrible. but” She paused, then her voice dropped, almost to a whisper, filled with a deep sorrow. “I actually know about him. Not personally, but… there was a woman who came into the shelter just a few days ago. Sarah. Her face was bruised, and she was terrified. She told us stories about Maxwell, about his temper, his threats, how he controlled her every move.”

My head snapped up. My eyes locked onto hers. “Sarah? Maxwell’s wife?”

Gracie nodded slowly, her gaze steady, confirming the horror in her voice. “Yeah. She was terrified he’d find her. She was really broken, David. He sounds like… well, he sounds like he got what was coming to him, even if it’s a terrible way for it to happen.” She looked away for a second, then back at me, her expression empathetic, but also… tired, like she carried the weight of all the world’s injustices. “She told us things, stories that would curl your hair. He was a real monster, David. Not just a businessman. A terror behind closed doors.”

I felt a sudden, sharp jolt. Sarah. The shelter. The pieces weren’t fitting together, not yet, but a new, unsettling thought was taking root. My mind was suddenly racing, not about Gracie, but about the source of this information. The shelter. The victims’ stories. Could that be the connection? Could someone be using these places to find targets? A cold, investigative gleam ignited in my eyes, pushing aside the weariness. A new lead. A dark, disturbing, but potentially solid lead.

Gracie

David’s words about Maxwell, they hit me hard. The news itself was already everywhere, I'd seen it, felt the city tense up. But it was how he’d told me, and how I'd found myself talking about Sarah's tough time. It just felt like a lot, all at once. A knot of sadness twisted in my stomach, mixed with a general feeling of being on edge because of everything happening.

I felt him stiffen up, like his brain just kicked into high gear, as I talked about Sarah and what Maxwell did. His eyes, usually looking tired, got that sharp, focused look he gets when he’s onto something. He wasn't looking at me like I was suspicious, not at all. He was looking past me, straight at the shelter, seeing it as a place where tough stories came out. That connection. It seemed like it might help him with his case.

“She was scared stiff of him. Really busted up, David.”

I could almost hear the little clicks in his head. The way his shoulders subtly squared up, that faint shine in his eyes. His mind was no longer on me or in our apartment. He was thinking about the shelter. About all the other shelters. All the places where people went to whisper their secrets, to show the ugliness they faced when no one was watching. It seemed like a new direction for his work, a place to look for answers.

He didn’t say much else after that, just a nod, his eyes already miles away, back on the case, even with me still in his arms. He mumbled something about a new idea for the investigation, a messy one, but a path forward. He gave me a tight squeeze, then went to shower, the weight of his job already pulling him back into its dark grip.

I stayed on the couch, the fading warmth of his hug still there, but my mind was already pulling apart every second of the day. The chase in the park, still sharp in my head, mixed with David’s new focus, meant things were about to get… complicated. My life just felt a little more stressed out now. The whole situation felt more tense.

The next morning was just like any other, normal as could be. Toast, coffee, the sound of David getting ready for work, his steps heavy, slower than usual. He was running on empty, I could tell. The pressure was really grinding him down. He gave me a quick kiss, goodbye, just a peck, and then he was out the door, off to another long day.

I went to the school, spent the morning listening to kids talk about their silly fights and their bad dreams. It was good, in a way, the smallness of their problems compared to the heavy stuff I dealt with every day. During my lunch break, I checked the news. Maxwell’s murder was everywhere. Every TV channel, every paper, screaming headlines. They were shouting for answers, demanding action. And David, I knew, was right in the eye of that storm.

My afternoon shift at the shelter was quieter than usual. Maybe the news about Maxwell had scared some folks off, or maybe it was just a slow day. Sarah wasn't there; she was probably still holed up, safe and sound. A new woman came in, named Christina. Her story was different in the details, but the core of it was the same old song: control, fear, a man who thought he owned her. He was a local politician, well-liked, always talking about family values. I listened, my heart aching for her.

The feeling from the park, of being followed, it still hummed under my skin. It wasn't just me being jumpy anymore. It was a clear memory. Someone was there. And it made me feel like I needed to be more careful. Every shadow seemed deeper, every sudden noise felt sharper. I started changing up my routines. Taking different ways home, going to the store at different times. Just being extra aware.

I kept thinking about the guy who chased me. He was big, clumsy, definitely not someone who looked like he knew what he was doing. This felt random, like maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It just made me realize that living in a big city, with all the crazy stuff going on, means you always have to be on your guard.

That calm feeling I usually had, that sense of knowing what to do, it was still there, but now it had a new layer of caution. I’d always been careful, always planned things out. But that chase was a big wake-up call that sometimes unexpected things happen. And now David was looking at shelters, looking for information about men like the ones Christina talked about. That was a new development for his investigation and I was happy he had something to go on.

That night, after David finally dragged himself home, he looked even more wiped out. He pretty much collapsed on the couch, barely touching the pizza I’d ordered. “Commissioner Davies is calling a press conference tomorrow,” he mumbled, rubbing his temples. “He wants to act like we’re ‘actively pursuing all leads.’ Which means me and Ben are gonna be talking about ‘new stuff we’re looking into’ that we don’t even really have yet.”