Chapter 5 New Home

• Kayla Grace,” a gruff voice calls as David opens the door. An elderly man in a black business suit and crisp white shirt stands on the porch. He stands as still as a statue, his chocolate brown eyes fixed on me. His face is passive, and I cannot tell what he is thinking. His eyes hold no emotions. His posture is straight and rigid, as if he is one of the Queen’s men, standing to attention. The sight of him brings my haunting sadness back to life.
• Secretly I was hoping he would not show. I was praying the hard face woman was not my grandmother.
• “Miss Grace. My name is Owen, and I will be escorting you to your grandmother’s home in Scotland.” He holds out his hand, I stare blankly. Slowly he withdraws the gesture. I do not want to shake his hand or pretend that I am happy about being ripped away from my life. I want him to turn around and walk away.
• “We need to be heading on our way. The car is waiting.” Owen states. His chocolate eyes look at me with pity. I turn away. I don’t need his pity.
• I did not want to move, I didn’t speak.
• “Miss Grace, will you please, grab your things, we have to leave.” His voice becomes more urgent. I cannot will my body to move. Telling myself that I have nothing to fear, I will be back to visit them often, I pull my back straight and clear my mind.
• With one last look back at my family, I step forward into my new life.
• Parked outside, a limousine awaits us; the driver is hidden behind dark tinted windows. Owen ushers me into the back before climbing in himself. I should be excited, but I am not. I have never been in a limousine, I have often wandered what it would feel like to ride around town feeling like a star, but my emotions are numb to happiness, the sadness I feel runs too deep.
• Misty and I have often talked about hiring a limousine for prom, even going as far has putting little money away to make it happen.
• Thinking about Misty brings on more sadness and pain, I never got the chance to say goodbye, and her phone goes straight to voice-mail every time I try to call.
• ***
• We have been sitting in the car for over an hour. No one speaks. Owen sits with his back straight, staring straight ahead, as the roar of loud, thunderous engines fill the car.
• Minutes later we stop, and Owen guides me out of the vehicle. We walk towards a private jet that is set apart from the other aircrafts. The limousine we have just exited drives away briskly, leaving the smell of exhaust fumes in the air.
• Owen leads the way up the metal steps and into the plane. I look up into the sky and see the dark clouds roll in. I wipe the stray tears that have trickled down my face and bow my head to hide the sorrow.
• I wish I did not have to leave. I wish the lady who calls herself my grandmother would change her mind. I just must believe that this is not goodbye. With one last look back into the county that I had called home, I enter the plane.
• Vibrant white recliner seats, with pine polished tables that shine, are lined in a neat row. The seats look comfortable and inviting, making me want to curl up on one and drop off into a deep sleep. Owen takes a window seat, and gestures for me to sit. From the window of the plane the wing engine is semi illuminated, the lower half shining around the rim, the upper half several shades darker.
• The engine roars to life, I grip the armrest tight and close my eyes. The plane taxis down the runway and my heart hammers in my chest. The strange sensation of ascending brings on nausea.
• Once we are in the air, I lay my seat back wanting nothing more than to sleep, to dream of happier times. Sleep has never been a friend of mine. Sleeping would be easy, to shut out the world and forget recent events. My mind has been cruel, not allowing me that simple pleasure.
• The flight lasted around seven hours. Seven hours of silence and dozing in and out of sleep. I am agitated, nervous of what life has in store for me. Moving to Scotland from California is going to be a tremendous change, a change I do not think I am ready or prepared for.
• From the airport we drive in another limousine that is patiently waiting for our arrival. The driver hides behind a black screen. We drive down narrow dirt lanes, much different to the roads in America.
• The sky is overcast, black clouds forming together ready to weep their sorrow from above. Gone is the sun and muggy climate that I’m used to. In its place, howling winds rip through the trees which scatter around the open space, lining the dirt road. The road weaves and turns with sharp, narrow corners. Vast open spaces lay beyond the trees, and striking green fields go as far as my eyes can see, a beautiful canvas of the countryside, no sign of civilization anywhere. The countryside rises and falls like giant waves on a gentle ocean.
• We come upon large black iron gate that stands at least ten feet tall and ten feet wide. A white brick Victorian wall runs from either side of the gate. It is the highest wall I have ever seen. It would put the Great Wall of China to shame.
• The gate has interlacing markings, all entwined throughout. They look like symbols or ancient writing but seem familiar. After several moments, the gates slowly open, allowing us through. On passing through, my body feels like insects are climbing all over me, making me shudder, itch and scratch. Looking at Owen, he seems unaffected, his gaze fixed straight forward.
• We are met with another dirt trail and more trees. We follow the road for fifteen minutes before houses come into view.
• Each house is stunning, all built in a unique way, the gardens well kept. All kinds of flowers bloom, casting a rainbow of colours.
• As we drive further, the houses grow larger and more spaced out. People mill around the streets, carrying on with their daily business.
• We come upon another set of black iron gates. These gates are plain black, but as large as the last pair.
• We park in a circular gravel driveway that goes on forever. My eyes grow large at the sight before me, a huge house towers above us. Pure white bricks that look recently painted gleam in the evening sun, giving off golden tints. Transparent glass windows sparkle like diamonds. Bright red stone steps lead up to a wide-open porch, a mixture of amazing, bright and cheery roses dance in the soft wind.
• A sturdy swing sits alone, overlooking the grounds. An old, worn mahogany door gives me the chills, as a fierce brass lion-head door knocker with ruby red eyes stares at me from the centre. Almost as if the lion is alive and ready to pounce.
• Taking in a deep, sharp breath to steady my racing heart and calm the swarm of butterflies that have gathered in the pit of my stomach, I step out of the car. The cool night air bursts forward. My legs feel like jelly and begin to tremble, threatening to give way.
• Owen ushers me forward, walking briskly, the smell of fresh flowers is beautiful and sweet, their scent wraps around me.
• Stepping into the foyer, my mouth drops; black and white tiles glisten on the floor, sparkling and shining. A grand circular staircase takes centre stage, with a royal blue carpet that runs down the centre, leaving the edges white. The staircase splits into two at the top. To the left of the staircase is a statue of a woman. The stone of the statue looks ancient and scratched, out of place considering the modernization of the foyer.
• The woman’s hands are in front of her chest, holding a clock in the shape of a star. The sound of the clock ticking is the only sound to be heard.
• We walk left and enter the first room. The room is filled with three over-sized couches with green coloured cushions, the colour of vibrant grass on a warm summer’s day. A large green rug fills the space in between the couches, the shaggy pile soft and inviting, with a solid wood coffee table at its centre. The walls are a pristine white, making the room look bigger and brighter, but giving off a clinical look, not a shadow can be seen. In the centre of the far wall sits a large open fireplace. Glowing embers leap and twirl in a fiery dance casting a soft, warm glow, creating a cosy and warm atmosphere.
• “Please sit, I will let Mrs. Grace know you are here.” Owen motions to the sofas as he leaves the room. My grandmother must be someone of importance with the size and look of her home. Everything looks neat and tidy, not a thing out of place.
• Everything shines and sparkles, reflecting the soft artificial light. What I have seen of the house so far looks more like a showroom than a home.
• I sit on a couch closest to the fire. The hypnotizing flames help to calm my raging nerves. The hissing and crackling fire soothes and relaxes me.
• Within minutes the sound of heels walking along a marble floor echo. My heartbeat picks up, the thumping matching the sound of galloping as the sound inches closer.
• “I am glad you made it, Kayla,” my grandmother addresses me as she takes a seat beside me.
• It wasn’t like I had a choice.
• Clara’s soft voice echoes in my mind.
• “If you have nothing nice to say, you are better off not talking at all.”
• I keep my lips sealed. My instinct tells me not to trust this woman. If I have learned anything in life it would be to trust my instinct.
• She is nothing but a stranger.
• “I loved your mother, my daughter, very much. I was heartbroken to hear the devastating news; if only she would have let me help her.” She sighs, and compassion tinges her voice. The first glimpse of emotion I have seen from this stone-faced woman. She quickly conceals the tiny bit of feelings that she portrayed, and her face becomes as cold as steel once again.
• “Why would she need your help and not let you?” The words are out of my mouth before I even know what I am thinking. So many questions swarm my mind, all fighting to come out and be answered. I don’t know where to start.
• “We will have time for questions later. Right, now all you need to know are the basics. What I am going to tell you may be hard to believe. But it is the truth, you must accept, and quickly. Your life is in danger; I fear they already know who you are.” She pauses, her eyes stare into mine. I look away. Her piercing gaze makes my nerves hit an all-new level.
• Who has found me? She is not making any sense.
• “Tomorrow morning after breakfast we shall discuss everything, for now Mary-Anne will show you to your room. Get a good-night’s sleep, my dear, as tomorrow is going to be a busy day. You have a lot to catch up on.”
• An elderly lady with emerald, green eyes leads me out.
• ***
• Wall length windows line the far wall with baby pink curtains, perfectly tied back. The stars twinkle brightly in the night sky. Against the wall, a large four poster bed stands proudly. Pink drapes hang loosely, giving the sense of privacy, accompanied by shocking pink blankets and a variety of decorative pillows in all kinds of shades of pink.
• A clear white bedside table lies to the side of the bed with a rosy coloured lamp. To the left of the room a big pale pink rug covers the floor, leaving little of the plush beige carpet free. Two black couches overlook the stunning views with fluffy cushions and a deep pink throw. Pink is not really my colour, but the room is magnificent.
• I lay under the soft comforter, feeling like a pauper in a princess’s bed; I feel out of place and unhinged in my new surroundings. I have never been one for change. Holidays are difficult for me, in new surroundings and unfamiliar faces.
• My eyes sting and burn as they coax me into closing them, looking for the sweet relief sleep will bring. I know better. Sleep only brings terror. My blinks become longer. My eyes become heavy.