Previously on Saving Grace: When Connor jumps onto the ledge of a bridge, Grace realizes that the day she fell was never a dream.

“I…” It wasn’t a dream. “I remember. I remember the fall.” But that did not make sense, how could she have possibly fell from such a height and still be here…

“You aren’t dead,” Connor supplied, watching her intently from where he stood, leaning against the ledge. His knuckles were white, as if in anticipation.

“There is no way I could have survived that fall,” she murmured, shaking her head, walking way from him, her head in her hands as her shoulders shook. She could not get the images of the water out of her head now.

Maybe it would have been better if she had never remembered in the first place. “And … and if it was not a dream, none of this can be real! You … you are not real.”

“I am here Grace,” he reached forward to place a hand on her shoulder, “I am real.” But he couldn’t possibly be here, not him.

Where was her mother? Where. Where was the big city?

I’m dead, she thought with wide eyes, I’m dead and this is my own version of hell, my punishment for wanting to end my life before it was my time.

She was in his arms before she realized when he had even moved closer, his chin resting on the top of her head, swaying with her slowly side to side, humming a familiar tune under his breath, the tune she used to hum when she was feeling lonely.

“What is this?” she whispered, unsure whether she was asking about this world or his comfort.

“A second chance.” He paused for a moment, pulling back and staring at her with that same concerned look that he had used before, when it looked like he was searching for something inside of her, only now, he had seemed to find it.

“Grace, this place … it is not what you think it is. We need to get you back home before things get worse.”

“What do you mean?” How would she even get home? If she was not dead then this … this must be all some creation of her mind.

“Piper was only the first,” he responded with a sigh, averting his eyes from her. “If you don’t do something soon then…”

“Then what? Spit it out Connor.” The moment he was starting to give her actual answers was when he went back to his vague self! If it was so important, why didn’t he tell her?

“I can’t tell you that,” he admitted with downcast eyes, his hands spread out before him in some kind of sign of defeat. He looked terrible, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed, his bangs hanging over his face. It was as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders, but he could do nothing to save it from itself.

“Then tell me what I can do,” she murmured, “help me wake up.”

He raised his head to look at her with eyes that were endless pools of blue, wise beyond his years. “You already know what you need to do, Grace,” he told her. “Paint.”