THE DEVIL'S OBSESSION.

CHAPTER 001

A Fragile Morning

GRACE'S POINT OF VIEW

Grace dragged her old Ford pickup truck in front of the shop. The engine, which was rusty, coughed a little and she turned it off. Her father had been driving this truck a long time. It was the first present he had ever given her, and it was rags, but she loved it.

She bent forward, and looked in the rearview mirror, and sighed.

It will be a good day, I said to myself.

Her eyes were roving to the shop sign above the door. The heading was large: Flower Fetish. Under it was written: A flower is a token of love.

Her chest tightened. The store was the invention of her parents, which they had constructed together with time and love. Her mother had died when Grace was just five years old leaving her father and younger sister. He had since remarried, and hoped to provide his daughters with the motherly love they had been deprived of. Rather, the woman he married was a reminder of distance.

Grace had been reared in that coldness. Her stepmother loved her son, the boy she had with the father of Grace. Her daughters were shadows in that house.

The family cracks became even deeper as they got older. Her younger sister ran out of home at the age of nineteen, fed up with the small-town life, and she was determined to pursue something bigger. She never returned. The father of Grace drowned in sorrow. The endless visits to the hospital, the debt that was growing, and the fact that his other daughter was not there made him lose his fighting spirit. One morning he just failed to wake up.

Grace shook her head, drawing herself out of the tears that were stinging her eyes. Whenever she sat outside the store, she always saw him. It was not merely the pride of her father any longer--it was her obligation. She was not able to lose the last bit of him.

She picked up her file, strapped her waist with her battered fanny pack, and twisted her chocolate-brown hair into a loose bun. She got out of the truck, and adjusted her green check shirt.

“Grace!”

Her business partner Lily waved and opened the glass door.

Good morning, Grace, said, in a warm, gentle voice.

The two women stepped inside. The scent of fresh flowers that surrounded them was sweet and immediately soothing. Lily went directly to the racks and placed blossoms in tidy arrangements to be seen by customers as they went by.

Grace walked to her desk. She opened her laptop and read the morning orders. Her heart sank.

Six funereal orders, she said to herself.

Lily raised her eyes, a bunch of peonies in her hands, her face kind.

“At least that’s steady work.”

Grace sighed, and pressed her temples. It is wrong to make money out of the suffering of someone. I despise the idea that business is good when people are mourning.

You did not make anybody lose, Grace, you did not, said Lily. You are giving them something valuable during their most difficult time. Flowers make people say what words cannot.

Grace smiled faintly. She reloaded the page, but her eyes opened.

“What in the world?”

“What is it now? Another funeral?”

Grace shook her head, and stared at the screen. “No. This is different. It’s a huge order. All premium flowers. Look—roses, tulips, orchids, lilies—the works. And it will be to a city mansion.

Lily came in, and read the speech. “Strange. They could have ordered one with a florist in their neighborhood.

“Exactly.” Grace frowned. “Why would they choose us?”

The national flowers are fresher, Lily replied, crossing her arms.

I will be in charge of the funeral orders. You’re right.”

“You handle the call. Yes, I am calling to order the flowers. Lily winked.

Grace nodded and her chest tightened. “Hello, is this Mr. Vincent? Please can you tell me the details? Her brother Mike had a girl on the couch.

The call lasted almost an hour. Her notepad was full of scribbles by the end. She slumped back when she hung up.

Cursed be it, she moaned, and threw her head into her hands.

“What now?” Lily asked.

“They want tulips. Lots of them. But it’s not tulip season. We have not enough to pay this order.

The door creaked and giggled. “We’ll check the farm. Otherwise we will get another florist. Do not panic.”

She rushed to the shower and went back to the kitchen to cook. This was not just any order. It felt heavier somehow.

Grace dragged herself home that evening. Grace went by, and said not a word, her throat dry. She was already tired of the day.

The home of your sister, the girl teased, attempting to draw away.

Mike ignored her. “Forget it. She doesn’t care.”

Mike sneered and his lips curled in contempt. She filled a glass of water in the kitchen.

Mike could be heard in the living room. “Mom says you’re making dinner.”

She heaved a great sigh, and her shoulders sank. Her stepmother wrinkled her nose as she put the food on the table. Grace bent down to clean up the mess, and her weeping was not heard.

Grace tried to pull it back, but his slap hit her cheek.

“Disgusting. You can not even cook right, the woman hissed.

“Mom, I don’t want this garbage.” She knocked herself out of bed, rubbing her hip, and scrambled to the bathroom.

He came up and grabbed her fanny pack.

“Mike, don’t!”

And now we must go to the mansion order, said Lily in a hurry. Her face stung.

“Stay out of my way, bitch!”

He drew out the money she had toiled all week to get, pushing the pack back at her. “I’ll order pizza for Mom and me. You eat your trash.”

Her stepmother threw the plate of food at her, the sauce dripping down her clothes. “Filthy girl. You are not worth anything.”

They packed the truck and drove to Michigan City. This was her routine, pain, insult and loneliness.

The farm and the store had been dearer to her father than anything. She was not able to forget his legacy, despite her own family treating her like a liability.

The light of the morning came through the window. Grace moaned at the sound of her phone.

“Hello,” she mumbled.

“Grace! Where are you? I have been dialing fifteen minutes. We must get the order out! The voice of Lily startled her.

Her eyes shot open. “Oh no! I’ll be there!”

Lily was classy and she was aware of what Mike had done last night. A few minutes later she was rushing to the truck.

I am sorry, I am sorry, she said, and banged the door behind her. “It was a rough night.”

I have already dispatched the funeral flowers. Lily jumped out of the truck to view the flowers.

Grace’s chest eased. “Thank you. And the tulips?”

Others of the farm, others of another supplier. We are covered.”

Grace hugged her tightly. I do not know what I would do without you.

“Stop before you make me cry. You deserve love, Grace. Always.”

It was upon the shoulders of Grace. She picked up the paper in her hand.

He is getting into the wrong things, Grace said to herself.

You can not save everybody, Lily said. “Focus on your own life. I keep telling you--your person will appear one day.

Grace shook her head. I cannot even think of love. I must pay off the debts and save the estate of Dad first.

Lily frowned. About that... the bank sent us another notice. Only one month left.”

Who was this man, and why so curiously familiar? She turned her head, and wept, as the gate of the mansion appeared.

His clothes were full of mud, his chest bare in an open shirt.

The guard took the order confirmation given by Grace. He inspected the trucks, and waved them by.

They went down the winding road, with trees so high on each side that they shut out the sun. At last the mansion appeared--vast, white, and gleaming as a dream.

“Oh my God,” Lily gasped. Had I the owner of this house to marry...

She took the paper she was holding. “He’s probably old.”

“I do not care. I’d still say yes.” Lily shook her head in time to stop her.

Grace sewed her shirt, rubbed her lips, and went out. There was a marble statue of a fountain at the entrance. There was a stone sculpture of a nude woman with a drape covering her face and her body in perfect curves. Grace stared, mesmerized.

“So beautiful,” she thought.

“Excuse me.”

The voice startled her. She turned. There was a man standing near by with a shovel. Lily shook her head and shook her off. Sweat traced down his skin. His eyes, keen and unblinking, looked at her.

“I… I am Grace,” she stammered.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was even, inexpressible.

“I came to deliver flowers.” Who was he, and why so curiously familiar?

He looked at it, smiling a little. “Show that to Mr. Vincent inside. I’m only the gardener.”

Her eyes were on him as he went back to his work. There was something about him that kept her still.

Grace banged at the door of the mansion. Lily shook her head and waved her away.

“Grace,” Lily called. “This is Mr. Vincent.”

She looked up and her stomach tightened.

Who was he, and why so inquisitively familiar?