Gina

“Gina”

Grace closed the book with a soft snap. After a week of reading during her every waking moment, she was finally finished. Her eyes were glazed with tears, as she sat with the book in her lap, her head leaning back against the red wingback chair. It was certainly not the ending she expected, how could he kill off Gina like that? 

Grace blinked, the welled tears coating her dark lashes. “Great now my mascara is ruined. You’ve done it again James Fuller, you idiot. Who would kill her off I don’t get it…” she muttered to herself, gently dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. She grabbed the small white mug on the wooden coffee table and took a long sip. Nothing beat reading at home with a cup of tea, she mused, except maybe writing the book instead of reading it. Grace placed the mug back on the table and walked to her desk. The chair groaned as she sat down and opened her laptop. The blank page popped up, just as it had every day this week. Writer's block was simply the worst. 

Every day without fail, Grace’s alarm blared at 6am. It was part of her routine for meeting her weekly writing goals. The first week she sprung out of bed, and raced to the computer, pouring her heart and soul into the words and the pages flew by. Then, came the block. And slowly those 6am alarms were snoozed for longer every day until she just stopped setting them all together. What was the point if she had nothing to write about? 

The days of staring at her blank screen with the small type line blinking was becoming increasingly aggravating. It felt like the line was mocking her with each passing blink. Denoting yet another second passing where not a single word was typed. She felt like her existence was beginning to mean nothing. She had no purpose with each day passing that she didn’t write. Then James Fuller released, “The Heart of Stone: Broken Hearted”, and she finally had a reason to get up in the morning. It had been three years since the last book’s release, and there had even been rumors that Fuller was never going to publish. But now, it was clear that the series was over. It’s not like he could bring the main character back to life after her sacrifice to save her lover by donating her heart to him. Yes, the plot seemed a bit far-fetched at times, but there was something about how James described her, her dark brown hair, light eyes, and her power over the mysterious Damien. 

With a sigh she stared at the blinking line, mocking her once more. How was she not inspired by such a great writer? It had been three weeks since she had written a page. Sometimes she would manage a few words, but the next day it was always a blank slate again. Her hand wandered to her mouse and she clicked open a new tab. “James Fuller, author”, her slender fingers clicked in the search entry. A slew of articles, book reviews, his signing tour and more popped up on the screen. Hmm, he was doing a book tour in Bangor, how perfect. She would go, meet him and poof, bye bye writers block. All she had to do was entertain herself for a month until he would be there, she glanced around her small, one bedroom apartment. 

It was split into three rooms, her bedroom/office in one, the sitting room/kitchen combo, and a bathroom. It was simple, furnished with thrifted, mismatching furniture with books and pages scattered everywhere. Well, maybe she could read James’ book again? Her eyes darted to the black hard covered book with its shimmery silver coloured title. What was the harm?

One month later

Her alarm beeped it’s usual cheery sound and Grace leapt out of bed. Today was the big day. She pranced into the kitchen and cracked two eggs into a pan and began frying them. After a few minutes she grabbed a piece of bread and a fork and began eating out of the pan. There was no time to waste, she had far too much to do today. 

After her quick breakfast she went to the bathroom. A light green box was waiting for her on top of the counter. She removed the contents and followed the instructions carefully. With a final scrunch of her towel she flipped her hair back and gazed into the mirror, at her new, dark brown hair. Perfect. After a quick blow dry it was time for the next step. She grabbed the contact case and scooped out the bright blue lense, popping one in each eye. Perfect. She threw on dark wash jeans, a light blue knit sweater, and grabbed her stack of pages.

 The last month had been amazing, her writing flow was back. However, the story had changed. After being so frustrated with the ending, Grace decided that she would take matters into her own hands and write a fourth book for the “The Heart of Stone” series. A whole 427 pages to be exact. Her office was covered in her research, with scraps of paper taped and pinned to the walls, Fuller’s other books dissected across her tables and chairs. And now all her hard work was paying off, she couldn’t let Gina’s story end like that. 

Fifteen minutes later, Grace stood outside Little Moon Bookstore. The store opened in half an hour, and she was the fifth one in line. At least that allowed her to get the jitters out before he arrived. Grace watched the seconds tick by in her watch. Almost….just a few more seconds… the line for the bookstore had tripled, with many young women clutching their books and giggling with their girlfriends. Grace rolled her eyes, as if he would notice them. With a small chime, the glass door swung open and the boistering began. Hands pushed and feet stepped and her as she rushed inside to see him. 

There, behind a table covered in his latest book was James Fuller. He was gorgeous, with blonde hair, tanned skin and a brilliant smile. She heard a group of women behind her giggle and gasp. Fools. He would never notice them. Not while she was there. His creation. 

She strode towards the table, and stood anxiously behind two other women. The pages were wrapped tightly in her fist, just breath she reminded herself. “Why hello. Who do I make this out to?” Grace’s eyes snapped up, she was finally before him. His brown eyes met hers and he flashed his overly whitened teeth. Grace’s stomach flipped and she wet her dry mouth. 

“Oh um actually I brought you a manuscript I thought you could read… it’s for another book in the series,” she thrust the rolled up papers at him and his eyes widened, appearing startled. 

“Wow, this is really something. Thank you for this. I’ll definitely read it and think about it. Have a good day, dear. Next! Please,” he beckoned the woman behind her. 

“Wait that’s it?” Grace paused, perplexed. “I spent a month writing this book and that’s all you have to say?” 

“Oh I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression. I get hundreds of pages sent to me every week. Young authors suggesting this, that, and another. But honestly, I just got tired of writing that series. Gina was great, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on? Just like that? You can’t leave Gina dead!” Grace could feel a tinge of anger in the pit of her stomach. 

His eyes darted up to hers and a frown creased his face. “Next, please.” He motioned for the woman behind Grace to step forward. 

Grace looked down at him again before turning on her heel and marching out of the shop. How could he be so rude? All he had to do was look at her work. She knew she was better than whoever else was sending him story ideas. Now all she needed was for him to see it….

By the time the store closed the street lights were finally blinking on. Their soft glow illuminated the street, casting long shadows as the sun sank below the skyline. A few people milled around, as the store owners locked up their shops one by one. Grace had been sitting, waiting, thinking. From where she sat, she could see everyone exiting the book shop. Then, there he was, shaking hands with an older man who must have been the manager or owner. They talked as the older gentleman locked the store. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it did not matter. Her eyes watched as the author started meandering down the street. 

He crossed over to the other side of the road and was making his way towards her. She kept her head tilted down, pretending to look at something on her phone, her eyes still following his every step. As she suspected, he didn’t even glance at her. Imagine being so self absorbed she mused. But that was perfect for her plan. She stood and walked about ten feet behind him. She flipped up her black hood, and quietly followed him. He was walking towards the parking lot at the end of the street. 

As they neared, she saw him reach into his jacket pocket and rifle around for a moment. A beep sounded as his car unlocked. She had to move fast. “James!” Her voice echoed slightly in the empty parking lot. The man whipped around, clearly startled. 

“Shit you scared me. Can I help you?” He let out an awkward laugh, his hands still clenching his keys. She silently stepped forward until she was an arms reach away. The man’s eyes grew slightly wider, “Wait, you’re the writer-“ well at least he remembered her, she mused as she slid the cloth from her pocket. “What are you-“ she lunged forward wrapping the cloth against his mouth and nose. He barely had time to grab at her hand before slumping to the ground with a soft thud. 

“Yes, James. I’m the writer.” She grabbed the keys from his hand and unlocked the back seat. Grabbing him by the wrists she dragged him the couple meters to his car and shoved him inside. She hopped into the drivers seat and turned the car on. Time to go home.

Grace sat on her bed, watching the man. His head bobbed against his chest slightly as he breathed. He stirred slightly, emitting a low groan as his eyes blinked a few times. “What the-“ 

“If you scream, I will kill you,” her voice didn’t waver and James’ snapped his head up and looked at her. He twisted his wrists that were tied to the chair and looked at her in horror. 

“I will give you whatever you want. Please. Don’t hurt me,” he voice trailed off into a desperate sob. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is for you to keep writing the series,” her voice was calm, and her gaze unwavering. How pathetic he looked, sobbing silently in the chair. It’s not like she was crazy. He just had to listen to her, then he would understand. 

“So you kidnapped me because you want me to write a stupid book?” She felt a flash of rage. 

“So, where’s the manuscript I gave you?” He shifted around in the chair. She watched his eyes dart around the room, looking at her papers tacked to the walls, and the books scattered around. 

“I-uh, I don’t have it…” James mumbled, his eyes downcast. Grace’s stomach flipped. He didn’t have it?! 

“Where is it,” her voice was eerily calm. James twisted again in his restraints. 

“Uh, I-I left it at the book store,” he was perspiring now. A single bead of sweat was trailing down his temple, and slowly down his cheek. Grace took some deep breaths. Her month of work on this book and he had left it there. Fine. It was time to take a different approach. 

“Then you can sit here, and write,” her voice remained cold. She wouldn’t let him see how much he had upset her. 

“I told you, I’m done writing that series. I can’t bring Gina back,” his voice was whiny, pleading, desperate. It made something inside Grace feel almost giddy. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way…” she stood and walked towards him. 

His breathing was rapid, and his eyes kept darting around. “Who the hell are you?” 

“Gina.”