The battered notebook on the pavement looked small and useless, but when Donald saw it he felt his chest dropped like a stone.
He jumped back into his car and shoved it into gear. His hands shook on the wheel.
Grace's phone still would not connect. He drove fast down the narrow street, cursing at every red light.
"I need to find her," he told himself.
Then he saw it. A black van parked awkwardly by the roadside. It rocked faintly, like something, or someone was struggling inside.
At first glance, it could have been kids fooling around or men unloading cargo. Donald didn't want to take chances.
He came down from the car, then walked to the vehicle. He heard faint sounds.
Every step he took, the sound became louder: muffled, raw and strangled. Like a woman trying to scream with a cloth pressed over her mouth.
His blood went cold.
He ran to the van. The windows were dark; he could not see in. He kicked the side and leaned close.
The sound came again. This time louder and desperate.
Without thinking, Donald smashed the windows with his elbow, and forced the door open.
The men inside turned toward him, surprise flashing across their face.
In their middle was Grace. Her blouse was torn, her wrists bound painfully behind her back, her mouth gagged. Sweat and tears streaked her face, mixing into a silent cry for help.
One of the men already had their trousers open, grinning with filthy hunger.
Donald did not wait, he dragged the first man out as he landed him a blow. He slammed his face against the edge of the Van door.
Another tried to stab Donald, but he dodged. Donald caught his wrist, twisted it until the bones cracked. He hit the man on his stomach with his knee.
The third barely had time to zip his trousers before Donald dragged him by his collar and hit his head against the street light pole.
Donald wasn't just angry, he was possessed. Every punch carried the weight of his rage. He kept hitting them until they were too weak to stand or run.
Only then did he turn.
Grace knelt. Her dress was tattered, and her hair was messy. He removed her gag. And untied her hands.
"Grace." He said with so much fear in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer. When he reached for her, she flinched and slid back as if his touch burned. Her eyes were wide and empty with shock.
"It's me, Donald." He said, touching his chest like a pledge. Grace stared at him like she didn't recognize him.
Donald took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. He lifted her into his arms in bridal style and carried her out of that cursed van.
The car ride was silent. Only her soft, broken sobs filled the air. She sat almost pressed against the window and did not want to look at him.
Donald felt so helpless. He swore to find those men and make them suffer for laying their hands on her.
When they reached the mansion, he parked in the driveway and turned to her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Grace turned to him, her eyes and face were red and swollen. She lifted up her hand and landed on Donald's face. The slap cut through the air.
Donald felt hurt not because of the slap but because of the pain she was going through.
He couldn't do anything but look at her.
"You bastard," Grace spat angrily. "Do you think I am stupid?"
The words hung between them, sharp as glass.
Something moved in the hedges beyond the driveway. It moved fast that they almost missed. A light blinked then went out.