Intro

~Keats~

I've spent so long on my own. My sister, Suzette, is the only person I've really had in my life, and her just barely. We just don't see eye-to-eye on things; at times, I wonder if she's really even my sister. She's had her life, and I've had mine, and I guess that must be why we're different. When I was old enough to get out of the orphanage I took her with me and worked hard to keep both of us going until she grew up, too. I guess all the work, and being alone, made it hard for me to get much practice getting along with others. When it comes right down to it, I guess I prefer to be alone…and, I guess, my sister didn't have that experience, and that's why she's so different from me. Not that she's a party girl, but she's better with people than me…

We believed our parents were both dead; I know our mother died giving birth to my sister. Mother never talked about my father while she was alive, so I don't really know what happened to him. I have no memories of him at all…in fact, I don't remember anything of my childhood…

But now, I've gotten a letter from my father, saying he's alive! How can that be? Why did he send a letter to me, but not Suzette? And why did he wait so long? I'm not sure if I believe it's really him…but I have to know!

~o~

Keats and Suzette sat on the tiny boat. It was night, and a storm was raging, and the captain had warned them that he wouldn't be able to take them all the way there. Keats had insisted that it was fine, and Suzette had gone along, knowing there was no point in arguing with her brother about this; he'd been practically obsessed ever since he'd read that letter…

Suzette's eyes were focused on the cape, which was just visible through the rain and darkness, but Keats was staring at the letter, his expression ponderous.

Suzette glanced over at her brother.

"You must have that thing memorized by now," she commented.

Keats sighed, not looking up. "I wish I could remember something about him," he said. "Then maybe I'd have a better idea of whether or not he's really the one who wrote this…"

Suzette laughed. "Come on, Keats, who else could it be? Why would anyone write a fake letter to lure someone to a tiny village in the middle of nowhere? And to be honest, you don't really know anyone, so no one would have a reason to target you for anything anyway," she pointed out matter-of-factly.

He sighed, then finally looked up at her. "You're right," he conceded. "I just think it's odd that he'd contact me, but not you…"

Suzette shrugged. "You knew him once; I didn't. You're probably the only one in our family that he'd feel close enough to to contact, since mum died."

Keats nodded but didn't say anything more.

"I still want to meet him, though," she finally added. "I won't regret coming, no matter what happens."

Keats nodded silently again, his gaze drifting back down to the letter.

"It's no use!" The captain's shout drew both of their attentions.

Keats stood up, maintaining a wide stance so he could keep his balance; the ship was rocking and pitching with the waves the storm made.

"What do you mean?" he called back.

"I told you; this is as far as I go!" the captain called in reply.

"Oh, come on, just a bit closer to the shore!" Keats urged.

The captain shook his head. "It'll be the death of all of us."

Keats stood there for a moment, glanced down at the letter he held, then looked back at the captain and said softly, "Thank you for helping me. I'll take it from here."

"Sir? Wait!" the captain called as Keats took off his glasses and pocketed them, then turned and ran off the front of the boat.

"No!" he cried as Keats hit the water.

Suzette stood, hurrying to the edge of the boat to see if she could see her brother. It was hard to tell, but she didn't think she could see him…

She took a breath, then made up her mind.

"Miss! Wait! What are you doing?" the captain called to her as she put one foot on the edge of the boat, ready to vault overboard.

She paused and looked back. "I have to go after him. If he makes it, he needs me to make sure he doesn't do anything else stupid."

Without waiting for a reply, she jumped after her brother and plunged into the turbulent water.

~Ellen~

It's not easy, being a painter in the modern world. People don't appreciate any style of hand-made art very much these days. Still, there are enough romantics left who want portraits of themselves or loved ones done, or who will come in and take a look at my other paintings and like them enough to buy, for me to pay the bills. Really, though, the only payment that matters to me is the joy of painting something beautiful. My life may not be luxurious one, but I'm happy, and that's what counts.

I don't get out much, but that's fine with me. Inspiration can strike at any time, and I prefer to be around my paints, brushes, and canvasses when it does, so I spent most of my time at home. I set up my tiny shop in my house, and the local diner delivers, so I have everything I need right here, really…

~o~

Ellen was painting a picture of the sun rising over the ocean, looking as though it was revealing a path that led into the sea, when the phone rang.

She sighed, set down her brush, stood up, and walked over to the phone. She really hated it when someone called her to ask her to do a portrait while she was in the middle of her work, but a paying customer was a paying customer, and she always needed money.

She picked up the phone. "Hello?" she asked.

"Please, I need your help!" A man's voice, sounding out of breath, spoke urgently.

"Wh-?"

"Please, help me!" he repeated. "These faeries are going to kill me!"

With a jolt, Ellen realized the man was panting with fear, not exhaustion, which momentarily surprised her out of responding.

"Please, hurry!" the man practically begged. "Doolin Village - the Cliff of Sidhe - please come, quickly!"

"Sir, you-!"

The man hung up.

"…have the wrong number," Ellen finished into the dead phone. She sighed and hung up the phone.

She went back to her painting and sat down, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up her brush again. Whoever that was, he must have been so frantic that he dialed the wrong number, she thought. There's no way that call was for me…

…But whoever he was trying to reach doesn't know he's in trouble, now. Then again…what was that about faeries? Perhaps he's mad, whoever he is.

She sighed. Whoever he is, he might be in real trouble, and the only one who knows about it is me, which means I should go, she decided. I may not be the one he was trying to reach, but if he needs help, it would be wrong of me to ignore it, even if he is mad…

Doolin Village…I'll find out where that is and go right away.

~Keats & Ellen~

"That was a blasted fool thing to do," Suzette snapped at her older brother.

"I'm sorry, but I had to," Keats replied. "It was the only way."

The two of them were soaking wet. The storm had passed, and the sun had risen, by the time they had gotten to shore, but it was almost winter, and therefore very cold out, which didn't help either of them.

"Look, I want to meet Father, too," Suzette panted as they reached the top of the hill by the shore, "but I wouldn't jump into the ocean, in November, at night, in the middle of a storm, just to meet him one day sooner than I would have if I had just waited until the next day!"

Keats didn't reply. He had stopped walking, and his eyes were fixed on something on the cliff.

Suzette turned, following her brother's gaze. For a moment, she thought he was staring at the archway that stood on the edge of the cliff. Then, she saw the figure sitting under it. The person had a cloth draped over his or her shoulders, so it was almost impossible to distinguish anything about him or her at all. A few crows were poking around the person, but neither Keats nor Suzette thought anything of it just then.

Suzette took a step forward. "Is that you, Father?" she asked.

The person gave no indication that he or she was aware of the two siblings' presence.

"Father, if that's you…it's me," said Keats. "Your son. You asked me here. I brought my sister. She wanted to meet you, too."

Still no response.

"Why won't you answer us?" asked Suzette.

"Excuse me."

Keats and Suzette turned to see a young woman with long blond hair tied in a braid walking towards them.

"Are you the one who called for help?" Ellen asked, addressing Keats.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Hmm…guess not," Ellen said, almost to herself. She gestured at the figure seated on the cliff. "What about the person over there? No, wait," she said, answering her own question, "it can't be that person; that's a woman."

"A woman?" Suzette exclaimed, turning back.

Keats squinted at the seated figure through his glasses. "Huh," he said, "so it is. That's odd."

"Well, it certainly can't be Father," Suzette commented. "Still, maybe she knows where he is."

Suddenly, the woman swayed, then fell on her side, and suddenly, the presence of the crows made sense.

She was dead.

Ellen gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. Suzette took another step forward, but Keats caught her arm.

"No, don't touch, she's dead!" he told her. "We need to call the police."

A sudden gust of wind caught the cloth draped over the woman and blew it into the air as she slid off the cliff.

Suzette broke free of her brother's grasp and ran to the edge of the cliff. Keats and Ellen ran up beside her.

They all looked over the edge. None of them could see the woman.

Suzette turned and ran back the way she and Keats had come, with Ellen close behind her. Keats stayed at the cliff's edge for a minute longer, thinking about what he'd found out about Doolin Village before coming.

"A murder in the village of the dead," he muttered to himself. "Tell me this is a joke."