Genesis
Author's Note: Firstly, I apologize to those of you who wrote reviews on the previous one-shots. As noted, I was commencing work on a new Boondock story (what a stretch, I know), and due to the fact that I would like neatness in my stories, I eventually decided that these should be compiled into a single story, for convenience more than anything. Now then, I don't expect anyone to re-write reviews, and I blame fanfiction for getting dicey, and not allowing me to export all three parts of the story (for a reason I can't identify). Therefore, I just want to say that I loved your reviews, reviewers. You are the main reason this story even exists, as such, don't feel obligated to re-write any reviews. Nothing has been changed, this is simply a re-release of the same story. Thanks again, all my readers out there. (And if you really feel compelled, I still enjoy getting constructed criticism, but again, don't feel obligated.)
When they had started this mission, this duty to kill all evil men, it hadn't seemed like it would be this difficult. It hadn't seemed like it would swell and completely consume their lives. And yet, here they were. Neither he nor his brother had a life outside of drinking, shooting, smoking, and sneaking. Their Da was instructing them further in the art of slaughter, but even then, all three were detached, de-synthesized from the violence, and, it was starting to seem, from each other.
That's why Connor was alone tonight. He hadn't had the heart to sit and talk with his Da, a man he scarcely knew outside of the violence and his Ma's stories. A man who still seemed ethereal to him, despite having spent almost every night around him for the last two months. And Murphy…hell, he and Murphy hadn't fought like that since they were fucking teenagers. Connor felt like he was stretched too thin, and, he could admit, that he had taken out his tiredness a little unfairly on Murphy. But what his twin couldn't understand, was that the only way Connor could carry on with the endless killing was to treat it all like a very large and exciting video game. He had to believe that the good guys would always win, that everything would work out, like the movies. It was the only way he could cope. But since Rocco…he had suddenly felt the suffocating effects of reality on their calling. He hadn't really considered what might happen if they didn't win a shoot-out before Rocco. What if Murphy or Da weren't far behind him?
"Shit." Connor muttered aloud to himself, hiding in a back corner of a seedy bar. They still weren't sure how close anyone outside of Smecker was to catching them, but he wasn't willing to risk going to one of his usual haunts. Not right now anyway. He was a little disgusted at himself, for feeling scared. But, he figured a moment later, as soon as he was finished with the whiskey he was planning to start ordering up in a minute, he could drown out the fear, at least a little bit. Liquid courage the stuff was.
And then, his night went to hell.
He hadn't been paying much attention to the Italian guy sitting at the bar, but he had figured the guy for a sleaze ball. He just had that typical, overly-greased, I'm-a-fucking-gangster-and-everyone-should-know-it sort of look. Connor was brought to attention when another Italian came in and started speaking hurriedly, hell, he could have been the first guy's clone, save for the fact he had a rather nasty scar spanning out from one corner of his mouth, dragging that side of his lips down into a perpetual frown. They were speaking in very rushed, quiet tones, but Connor was able to catch enough of it to know that they were up to no good.
The scarred one was muttering about someone being late, and he only had one piece of "merchandise", he had hesitated before saying that, looking over to give a scrutinizing look in Connor's direction, he pretended to be a dumb American, not able to understand them, and the Italian continued. He then said that "it", though he had said 'she' the first time, probably wouldn't be any good, that it/she was completely inactive. The one who had been sitting at the bar instructed him to bring her/it, and Connor was now fairly certain that they were talking about a someone rather than a something, and it sounded female, in so he could have a look. Connor continued to watch out of the corner of his eye as the scarred one left and then returned a few minutes later, this time with a girl in tow. A girl who was obviously too young to be in a bar, but painted up like a hooker, in a tiny skirt and an even smaller shirt; she had the curves of an adult woman, but the naive, wide-eyes of a child. Her short coffee-colored hair was in tangles, looking like someone had been pulling it, and she had the faintest of dark tear tracks of mascara down her cheeks. She shivered under the scrutiny of the two leering Italians, though somehow, Connor figured it was the cold rather than fear. She looked neutrally back at the two of them, her shoulders hunched forward, until one of them snapped at her to stand up straight. Connor felt his brow furrow a little. Firstly, because the girl clearly had no bra on, and he felt rather invasive for looking, and secondly, because he knew she had either been involved in some fucked up shit, or would be in a few minutes, and the bastards hadn't even given her a jacket. It was Boston for Christ's sake, they could have at least let her wear a sweater.
The first guy reached out and gave her a grope, which didn't faze the girl in the least, but made Connor bristle in a vicariously defensive sort of way, and asked if she was real and whether she was on drugs. Scar-face said yes and no, respectively, then added that she was clean, and that he had tried her out himself a little while ago, and that's why he knew that she was no good. At this point, Connor was standing up and dragging a nine-millimeter out from under his jacket, having not come fully armed, but ready for trouble none-the-less, and ready to shoot both the assholes before they seriously harmed this little girl. She may not have fit the average description of good, but she didn't want to be here, and for now, that was enough for him. The first gangster glanced at him as he stood from the booth, gun out of his sight, and nodded his head to the back of the bar, telling Scar-face to bring the girl upstairs. They ducked through a door, girl still in tow, while Connor debated if shooting them in full view of the public was a good idea or not, though there wasn't really much to consider the public, other than the bartender and a waitress. Before he could decide, he locked eyes with the girl, her big brown irises meeting his piteously, and looking partially ashamed. Her eyes begged him for salvation, as though she knew exactly who he was and what he was planning to do to the two Italian guys dragging her through the door.
"Help." She mouthed the single word at him with no change in her expression, then turned and walked willingly away, leaving him to decide, as though she had simply asked and didn't expect him to reciprocate. The door slammed closed just as Connor took the first step toward it.
"Sunuvabitch." He hissed at the door, twisting the knob and finding it locked. Goddamnit, that girl was up there with two complete and utter lecherous creeps, and Connor had been too slow to do anything about it. Some fucking vigilante he was. "Fucker!" He cursed at the door a little louder, giving it a good kick. While he silently and vehemently scolded himself for his slow fucking reaction time, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Connor turned and found the waitress looking up at him expectantly. "Yeah?" He asked, not sure what she wanted.
"Are you going to help that girl?" She nodded to the door behind him.
"Aye. T'at was the plan," He said with a sigh. Except for he had fucked it up.
"Do you have a gun? You're going to need one."
"Yeah…" He looked at the waitress a little suspiciously now, as she was starting to sound like she might be setting him up for something. Though he wasn't sure what.
"Good. I'll take y'round back.," She said, turning toward the door and leading the way. Skeptical, but curious, Connor followed.
"Why're y-"
"I saw her for the first time six months ago. With that scar-faced guy. They took her upstairs and I could hear her screaming all night. I haven't been able to sleep since, knowing that she was still with that fat-fuck somewhere, probably getting beaten and raped. She's been in and out of this place ever since, and she's only sixteen. I want you to save her." Connor didn't respond to the account the waitress had given him, but it sent his blood boiling. He fucking hated rapists, more than he hated any other kind of sinner. He especially hated the kind that preyed on young girls like that, took their childhood and stomped it into the ground. They were definitely dead when he got up there. Straight to fucking hell. He wasn't even going to pray over the assholes. The waitress stopped outside a wide metal door, taking a key out of the pocket of her apron and unlocking the door. "Get out as soon as you're done. The barkeep is a friend of theirs," She motioned up the rickety looking set of wooden stairs she had led him too, obviously meaning the Italian guys. Connor nodded, and steeled himself as the waitress walked away.
He was suddenly unsure. When it had still been spur of the moment, this had seemed like a good idea. Now that he realized he was going in alone, with no plan, and no clue what he was going to do when he rescued the girl, it seemed really stupid. Should he go get Murphy and make him help? What if there wasn't time for that? She could be hurt or gone by the time he got back to the hotel where they were staying, and brought back-up along for the ride.
He thought of the girl, the look in her eyes when she had silently asked him for help. Fuck it. This was his thing now, she fucking needed divine intervention, and it appeared God was busy for the moment. She'd have to make do with him as a stand-in.
Gun in hand, finger itching over the trigger, Connor crept up the stairs, cringing every time his weight made one creak. Halfway up, he could hear shouting, threats and names that were definitely directed at a female, and a short, sharp cry of pain that he guessed was from the girl. And he just about fucking snapped. He forgot stealth of any sort and started up the stairs at a dead run, kicking open the sad excuse that served as the back door into what he guessed was the barkeeper's office. The one with the scar was standing off to the side, his pants undone, and the greasy one had the poor little girl bent over the desk, shouting at her to keep her hands where they were, flat on the desk top, and keep her legs open, yanking her head back by a fistful of her hair, her underwear around her ankles, and a look of distinct pain on her face. She stared over at him, and her eyes pleaded with him. Connor's heart broke for her, and his trigger finger killed for her. Straight shots to the head, both of them, the blood from the one raping her barely missing her as it sprayed through the air.
After they fell, she stood by the desk, her face still locked in the space-cadet look she'd been wearing in the bar, but her eyes darting between him and the dead mobsters on the floor, not fixing her underwear, not that they really counted as much, a scrap of lace that could barely pass as being there, a white stain on her skirt. She glanced at it, and then brushed at it with her fingers, as though she was worried what he would think of it. Honestly, he didn't feel much of anything right now. That was the closest he'd ever been to a rape. He'd never witnessed one before, and was glad he hadn't. What kind of sick fuck could do that to such a young girl? Didn't they feel anything?
"Are…are y'alright?" He asked, not sure what else to say. It was fairly obvious that she wasn't okay, he probably sounded like an idiot for asking. She met his eyes for a brief moment, then looked down again and shrugged, brushing more intently at the stain. "Y'got somewhere t'go?" Her eyes drifted to Scar-face, and then she shook her head. Ah fuck. Now what was he supposed to do with her? Take her to a hospital maybe? He wasn't sure he would trust her in a hospital. She looked like she'd walk out and go right back into the mafia, just for lack of anywhere better to go. Besides, he doubted she had the money or the insurance to pay hospital bills. He made his decision in a matter of seconds. "I'm takin' ya 'ome with me, a'right? Y'can get cleaned up, an' we'll decide wha' t'do from there."
She nodded silently at him. Didn't argue, didn't question. Just agreed. He wondered how she'd gotten like this, so silently complacent, and then thought that perhaps he didn't want to know. She ducked down a bit, and pulled her underwear back up, tugging her skirt down, though it didn't do much but reveal more of her stomach. She was shaking again, and looked at him as though expecting instructions.
"Y'need a coat?" She shook her head. "Yes y'do. Y'look like yer gonna shiver right outta yer skin." Glancing around, and seeing none available, he shrugged out of his, taking the gun out of the pocket, just in case, and held it out to her. She made no move to take it, just eyed the gun warily. Connor sighed a little. He could tell that this was going to be a very difficult girl to help. He tucked the gun into his waistband, not really having anywhere else to put it, and draped the coat around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her skin, and he jolted a little at the contact. She was like ice.
"C'mon then." Once again, she silently obeyed, tailing him down the stairs like a nervous kitten. Afraid to get to close, but not wanting to wander too far away either.
She stayed the same distance behind him the whole way out into the street and down the block, about two feet behind him, never drifting out of step with him, as though she had been taught to march in the military. "Are ya…'ungry or somethin'?" He asked, really wishing she would say something. He'd settle for a simple 'yes' or 'no' right now. No answer. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the dregs of a head shake. She was going to rattle her brain loose at this rate. "Y'got a name?" She stopped abruptly, looking at him in utter surprise. Then her eyes went back to the ground, and she shrugged. "Y'dunno yer own name?" Another shrug. "What'm I s'posed t'call ya then?" Connor almost wanted to shake her when she shrugged again. He prayed the Lord wouldn't let him lose his patience. "If y'don' tell me a name, I'm gonna 'ave to make somethin' up fer ya. I could call y'Catherine. I gotta cousin in Ireland named Catherine, y'kinda look like 'er." She glanced up at him again, but still said nothing, then abruptly veered off to the side, into a small store with a bookshelf in the back, which she made a bee-line for, Connor following, curious and slightly annoyed. She could have just told him. How hard was it to say a name? Then again, he wasn't sure how all-together she was. She could be seriously psychologically or physically damaged and not able to talk, who was he to judge? She picked up a small book bound in fake red leather, and his curiosity grew when he saw it was the Bible. She flipped through the pages, and then held it out to him, one finger on the page, gesturing to the tiny print.
She had opened it to the section about Adam and Eve, pointing at their names. "So…Eve then? Unless…yer really a boy?" She shook her head, though he hoped she knew he was kidding. "Evey?" He tried again, tacking on the 'y' for the sole reason that it sounded more childish. She looked like a girl who had been treated like anything but a child, despite her young age, and he wanted to hand a little of her lost childhood back to her. Besides, it was what came to mind when he looked at her. She flushed a bright red. "Y'mind me callin' y'Evey?" She shook her head, still a bit red in the cheeks. "Well, nice t'meet'cha Evey. I'm Connor," He held out a hand, offering her a shake. She stared at him, and then his hand, clutching the little Bible to her chest, as though terrified he was going to hit her. "A'right…maybe it's not nice t'meet me then," He said, lowering his hand a little awkwardly. About when he had it lowered back to his side, she stuck her hand out suddenly, and grasped his for the briefest moment before pulling her arm back against his jacket, sitting far too large over her narrow shoulders and making her look tiny. Okay. So maybe she wasn't completely terrified of the opposite sex, that had been what he was starting to think, and he couldn't say he blamed her. But, after that, maybe there was still a little hope for her. If she ever started talking she might have a shot at getting a regular life.
He glanced around the store, and noticed that there was a coffee machine in the corner. Praise be. He was going to need some caffeine to wash down what little alcohol he'd managed to consume. He wanted to be sober enough to catch anything this girl said, just in case she told him something useful.
Connor headed for the coffee pots, Eve tailing him after setting the Bible back in it's place, on top of a stack of identical little red books. "Y'want one?" He asked, when he noticed her watching him pour out coffee intently. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded shyly. He handed her a cardboard cup, and held the coffee pot out to her. Gingerly, she apparently expected the coffee pot to shatter the second she touched it, Eve went about making herself coffee, measuring cream and sugar in exact proportions with his. She was definitely precise, he'd give her that.
After counting out a handful of change that added up to two-fifty to pay for the coffees, Connor headed back outside, Eve right back on his heels, two feet behind him, just like before. She carried the coffee in both hands, her feet silently matching his steps. She took a drink only after he did, and made the most awful face he'd ever seen anyone make after a sip of coffee. "Why di'n't ye say so if y'di'n't like it?" He asked, trying not to laugh at her scrunched up expression. It was really…cute, for lack of a better word. She looked at him with the stare of one who thought she was in trouble, but shrugged. "It grows on ya. 'Til it does, y'better stick with a lot o' sugar." She nodded like he'd said something very profound, and Connor just let it go at that, not sure, in her mind, what he had told her to do. Hopefully nothing damaging. "Y'can walk with me if y'want y'know. It's weird 'avin' y'follow me like that," He added, as she fell into step behind him again. He heard her jog the two extra steps to break even with him, and her head appeared in his peripheral, bobbing along as she matched his pace.
Connor attempted to talk to her a few more times on the way to the hotel, not liking the silence, but when he was met with the wall of her head shakes, nods, or shrugs each time, the conversation died pretty quickly. He tried to figure out where she had come from, what she was doing here, things that might be helpful in deciding what to do with her later, but she wouldn't give him even the slightest of hints. Just shrugged to anything that wasn't a direct question, and nodded or shook to those that were yes or no. Sometimes she didn't respond at all, and would more or less ignore him for the coffee that she was seeming to develop a liking too. Or maybe she was only liking it to have something else to do when she didn't want to answer. He hadn't a fucking clue. He didn't understand her. At all.
"Who the fuck izzat?" Murphy asked, pointing an almost accusatory finger at Eve the second she trailed Connor through the door.
"Eve."
"Eve?" His twin repeated skeptically, evidently waiting for Connor to divulge further detail. Pity that all he knew was her name. That and that she probably had a slapstick sense of humor. She had just about smiled when he had nearly tripped and spilled his coffee all over the street, cursing up a storm. She had then promptly offered her half-finished cup to him as a replacement, but after that, her face had gone back to bland.
"Tha's all she's tol' me," He shrugged, Murphy still looking at him, silently demanding an explanation for her. "An' she di'n't even actually tell me, jus' pointed it out in the Bible. I don' think she 'as anywhere to go." Eve corroborated his story with a nod, peering at Murphy from a safe distance, around Connor's shoulder.
"Well, wha' the fuck are we s'posed t'do with her?" Murphy asked, looking her up and down, her half-naked self only partially covered by Connor's coat.
"I dunno," Connor said honestly. Eve fidgeted under Murphy's scrutiny, shifting so she was some-what concealed behind Connor. "Stop starin'. Yer bein' fuckin' rude."
Murphy rolled his eyes heavenward, and then looked back at Da, who was sitting in a chair and reading the newspaper casually, more or less ignoring what was transpiring between his sons. "Looks like Connor brough' a stray kitten 'ome. Wha' should we do with 'er?"
"Well, y'ought t'get the lass proper clothin', hadn't you?" He said, looking up from his paper and nodding to Eve, who had backed even further behind Connor, to the point of almost being wedged between him and the door. "She can't do much dressed like tha'."
"I s'pose not. We ain't got any girls clothes though," Connor said, glancing at Eve with a raised eyebrow. She stared at the floor. Was she embarrassed maybe? What he would give to be telepathic right now.
"S'go t'the store down the street," Da said, giving them both a look that told them they had been assigned the mission. Murphy looked indignant that he had been volunteered, but he wasn't going to argue. Or Connor hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want to go buy girl's clothes alone.
"Y'want to stay here with Da? It's warmer in 'ere," Connor turned to Eve, who just sort of stared back at him neutrally. Then she shrugged. "Can I have m'coat back?" She stripped out of it instantly, holding it out to him. "We'll bring y'some clothes back. Wha' abou' food? Y'hungry yet?" She gave him a very slight nod, as though embarrassed to admit it.
"Y'like chocolate?" Murphy asked, shrugging into his own coat. She turned her big, empty eyes to him and shrugged. Murphy looked a little confused, then simply filled the space for her. "I'll bring y'some, chocolate ne'er hurts anybody." She gave a feeble looking nod as the brothers left the room, closing out the cold before she started shaking again. "Why don' she talk?" Murphy asked, following Connor down the stairs and back into the street. The argument they had been having before all this was silently forgiven and forgotten.
"I dunno. I guess she's just traumatized r'somethin'," Connor shrugged, "She 'asn't said a single word t'me since I saw 'er at the bar."
"Y'found 'er in a bar?" Murphy asked skeptically.
"Some fuckin' Mafioso's were rapin' 'er."
"Oh…oh." Murphy's eyes widened in understanding. "Y'kill 'em?"
"Course I did," Connor said, sighing a little. Not to say he was remorseful, far from it. But hell, shouldn't it bother him that he just went around shooting people? Even though they always fucking well had it coming, shouldn't he feel a little bit…bad about taking a life? Probably not. They didn't usually have much to live for anyway. He hated to think what would have happened to Eve if he hadn't killed them. The image of what he had walked in on was probably going to be haunting his nightmares for awhile though.
"Well hell, now I really don' know wha' we're s'posed t'do. Y'wanna keep 'er?"
"She's not a fuckin' pet Murph'. I can't just go decidin' t'keep 'er like one," Connor grumbled.
"What'd you bring 'er back for then? What y'shoulda done was take 'er to a 'ospital r'somthin'."
"I di'n't think she'd stay there, otherwise I woulda."
"But y'thought she'd be fine goin' to a 'otel room full o' men?" Murphy rolled his eyes, indicating that he thought Connor was an idiot. He usually seemed to think that.
"I di'n't really know what else t'do, a'right? I figured at least this way she di'n't stand around with a coupla dead guys 'til the cops picked 'er up an' she got blamed fer me shootin' the bastards."
"So what, y'wanna jus' let 'er tag along while we go an' shoot down Mafia sonsabitches?"
"No. Course not. I'll find 'er somewhere t'stay. Fer now though, I think she's better off wit' us an' Da."
"Sure." Murphy rolled his eyes, looking annoyed, pushing open the door to the store with a flurry of arms, getting a little carried away in his irritation. Putting it simply, Murphy didn't like having girls around. He had an underlying paranoia about girls getting between he and Connor. The twins were innately competitive, especially for attention, whether it was from a woman or their mutual friends. Going out and meeting them was one thing, but bringing a girl home was stepping over his invisible line. Connor got that, but it wasn't like he was attracted to Eve. She was a cutie, no denying that, but she was a fucking kid. He was three years shy of thirty. There was nothing there, and Murphy was being gross for thinking so. She wasn't even legal for Christ's sake.
The mini-superstore they had arrived in didn't have much in the way of clothes. Most of it was unisex, and very bland. They supposed she didn't really care about being fashionable though. Or they hoped anyway. They had gathered a pair of jeans that looked about her size, one of those packages of three white t-shirts in medium, figuring they couldn't go wrong with a medium, and a rather big sweat-shirt, unable to find any jackets, and assuming she would need something warm.
"Y'supose we should get 'er some…under…things?" Murphy asked as they passed the ladies section, on the way to the grocery portion of the store. "I mean, she wa'n't wearin' a bra, she migh' need one."
"I dunno. How'd ya know she wa'n't wearin' one?" Connor asked, unable to resist poking a little fun at his brother, grinning when Murphy shifted uncomfortably.
"S'fuckin' obvious, i'n'it? Don' tell me y'weren't lookin' at some point. How d'ya know wha' size yer s'posed t'get?"
"Fuck if I know. I don' 'ave tits," Connor said, figuring Murphy was right. She probably needed clean underthings in addition to a bra. Which put them in a predicament. Neither of them had any clue as to what the random letters and numbers on the tags meant. What the fuck was the difference between the numbers and the letters anyway? There were about a million and five choices, and some of them looked the same, but the tags proclaimed them several letters or numbers apart. Connor pulled a purple one off the rack inquisitively, but put it back when he decided it looked too big. The next looked too small. "This's fuckin' ridiculous. Why can't they 'ave fuckin' regular sizes on 'em?"
"D'ya know how big 'er-" Murphy had been waving his hands in front of his chest, apparently indicating breasts, but stopped short when he saw a lady over in the sock section staring at them with her eyebrow raised nearly into her hairline. Connor tossed the bra in his hand back on the rack quickly.
"Uhm-" He started awkwardly, surprised when she smiled a bit at the two of them.
"Girlfriend lose her bra?"
"Well…uhm…"
"Go with a 34 B. That's sort of the end-all size that most girls can squeeze into unless they're really flat, or really huge. Assuming she's not either of those, that's your best bet." Connor gave an unsure nod, and searched through the rack until he found one labeled 34 B, it was plain and a soft pink, he figured Eve wouldn't care about lace and what not. She nodded with a smile when he glanced over, looking for some sort of indication as to whether it was a good choice. He nodded a thanks and tucked the bra under his arm, partially hidden by the sweat-shirt for the sake of not looking like a total pervert, while she started off toward the children's clothes.
"Hey uhm…What kinda underwear d'ya buy fer a girl?" Murphy looked mortified that he had actually said that out loud to someone he didn't know, but Connor didn't want to end up with something two sizes too small. The lady smiled warmly, apparently finding it amusing, and made her way back over to the boys, Murphy drifting off so as not to look like he was involved in shopping for women's underwear.
"About how big is she?"
Noah watched the girl, Eve, Connor had said her name was, as she amused herself with a notepad and a pen from the side table, sitting cross-legged on the bed, she had chosen Connor's he noticed, doodling random little shapes and sketches.
"Can ye write dear?" He asked, curious about her. Connor said she hadn't spoken to him, but she had been able to point out her name in the bible, so maybe she could read and write well enough to communicate that way. She froze in mid-sketch, looking over at him nervously. "Yer alright, nobody is goin' t' 'urt you. Least of all me or m'boys. If ye don' wan' t'speak, t'would make it easier if y'could write for us."
She nodded down at the paper, but didn't offer anything other than that. Noah watched her thoughtfully as she scribbled out the word 'VERITAS', in various different fonts. She was trying to mimic how it was done on Connor's hand he guessed. She seemed like a clever girl, and from what little handwriting she put on the page, it appeared like she had at least gone through basic schooling. What was she doing in a bar, where Connor would have needed to get involved the way he had? He supposed she didn't speak because she was still in a bit of shock, and he could only imagine what from, but if he had to guess based on the clothes, or lack there of, that she was wearing, and the hateful look that had been in Connor's eyes, she had been part of the sex trade. And it seemed like his son had gotten a little close for his comfort. Which was probably why he had brought her here rather than take her to a hospital. It was his first brush with such a thing, and he was determined to fix it himself, help the victim. Killing the evil and helping the innocent were, in equal parts, their calling. But the ones like her, the ones with the permanent look of sadness in their eyes, were the ones that got into your heart, and plastered their faces on the victims of every crime you witnessed after that. It didn't help that she was so young. Connor was probably going to appoint himself her own personal guardian angel without even realizing it. Noah found himself shaking his head slightly, hoping he didn't get too attached too quickly.
"Maybe y'should go clean up, 'fore the boys ge' back wit' yer clean clothes," He suggested, gesturing to the bathroom in the corner. She nodded silently and set her pen and paper down, keeping her eyes averted to the floor as she walked past him. At the door, she paused, and hurried back to her pad of paper, scooping it up in her arms and writing out something quickly, before handing it to him and vanishing into the bathroom, the door closing with a click.
Noah's mouth quirked up into a little smile. Strange, strange girl. She couldn't seem to decide whether she liked him or not. He glanced down at the paper she had shoved into his hand, and found two words jotted down crookedly, but in clear handwriting, the writing of a young girl.
Thank You.
About the time Connor and Murphy hauled their shopping bag apiece into the hotel room, and a pizza box balanced in Connor's hand, Eve had discovered the TV. Sitting on the end of Connor's bed, her hair damp, wearing one of the boys sweaters, which thankfully was long enough to cover her decently, despite falling off one of her shoulders, the remote in her hand, and a re-run of 'Knight Rider' glaring off the screen. Da was looking rather engrossed as well. He probably hadn't seen much TV in prison, but still, you'd think he'd look a little less like a zombie.
Murphy dug around in his plastic bag, producing the Hershey's bar he'd grabbed at the last second. "Here y'go Kit," He smiled, looking proud of himself, holding it out to her. She took it delicately between two fingers, staring at him blankly. "I told ya I was gonna bring ya chocolate." She nodded in understanding, but didn't eat it. Just set it in her lap.
"Did'ya ge' 'er any real food?" Da questioned, giving the chocolate bar a scathing look.
"Course we did. We got pizza." Connor hefted the box to where he could see it.
"One o' ya is gonna 'ave t'learn to cook some day," He said, shaking his head a bit at the two of them. "I s'pose it'll do fer now though."
"'Ow many slices y'want Evey?" Connor asked, setting the box and bag down on the dresser, opening the cardboard in the hope that the smell would entice her, because she didn't look all that motivated to come and eat. She set the chocolate and remote aside, sliding off the bed, tugging the sweater down so she was decently covered, and walked over to peer down at the pizza. Connor and Murphy stood and waited, and she stared down at the pizza like she expected it to move. Figuring a demonstration was in order, just in case she'd like, never eaten pizza or something, Connor reached out and grabbed a slice, setting it in her hands, before taking one himself and taking a bite, waiting for her to follow his example, like she had with the coffee. "Y'gonna like…eat? S'what we got it for." He asked after a moment, Murphy having also taken a slice, also trying to show Eve that it was edible, who was still looking a bit cautious about the slice in her hand. "S'jus' fuckin' food, t'ain't gonna 'urt ya."
She finally shrugged and took a bite, apparently he just had to throw in a 'fuck', and her eyes lit up. "Mm."
"Hey! That was almost a word!" Murphy said, looking excited, like it was his first child learning to talk. Eve abruptly retreated behind Connor, her face flaring. Murphy looked like she had just stomped on his foot. "The fuck y'like 'im more for? 'E's the fuckin' loud one." Eve shrugged, and Connor snickered at his brother a little for being shot down. She probably just felt safer with him because she had gotten familiar with him first. Kind of like a cat. She had very kitten-like characteristics. It seemed Murphy thought so as well, which was probably why he had randomly decided to call her 'Kit'.
"Don' mind Murphy. 'E don' mean y'any harm. 'E fancies 'imself bein' cuter n'me is all." She quirked an eyebrow at him, taking another bite of her pizza.
Murphy pretended to look offended. "Yer breakin' me heart, Kit."
Maybe he really was offended, judging from that tone.
The jeans were about two sizes too big, nearly falling around Eve's knees before Connor made a return trip to the store to buy her a belt, the shirts fit alright, but they had misjudged the size of the sweatshirt, because it was also at least a size too big, but she seemed happy with the outfit, rolling up the sleeves so that they weren't too cumbersome. About an hour after the pizza had vanished, Eve remembered the chocolate bar Murphy had brought for her, and she broke it into four pieces, passing them out to the brothers and Da. She didn't eat hers until they had all taken a bite. Connor wondered why she did that. She had only eaten or drank something after one or all of them had done so first. Was it her way of seeing whether food was safe? Or was it something that a couple of controlling assholes pounded into her after months of abuse just for the sick fucking kicks? The thought set him to boiling, but he reminded himself that she would be okay now. She was safe here, with them, and he would find her a decent place to stay, with decent people to take care of her. She'd be just fine. Eventually. If he ever got her to talk. She'd have a hard time if she didn't start speaking at some point.
"Hey, where's the kitten gonna sleep?" Murphy asked suddenly, at around one in the morning, glancing around their small room. They now had two beds between four people.
"She'll 'ave to use one o' our beds," Connor said with a shrug.
"Well, I vote yers. Seein' as she's already there," Murphy pointed to Eve sitting contentedly in the center of the mattress, watching another re-run, this time of Star Trek. It seemed she was infatuated with William Shatner. Or at least found him entertaining. She got a little happier looking when he came on the screen. She glanced over at them as they had their debate, disinterested in the commercials that had come on. Then she stood up, and walked over to the couch, flopping down on it instead, taking one of the pillows off Connor's bed with her. Both boys looked at her a little surprised, she looked over at them, and smiled. Or, she at least attempted to smile. It looked like she was a little out-of-practice. It was better than the mopey look that had been starting to seem permanent though.
"No no, Evey, yer s'posed to take the bed." Connor said, while she went about getting comfortable on the flowery printed couch, turning so she was facing the telly. She answered him with a shrug, and continued to contently cuddle the pillow. "Yer not sleepin' on the couch." She nodded that she was, and didn't move.
"Aw, let the kitten 'ave 'er way," Murphy said, giving Connor's shoulder a light shove. "If ye don' wanna keep 'er then ya'd best stop tryin' t'adopt 'er."
"She might' be more comfortable t'ere." Da piped up from his chair, where he had swapped his newspaper for a TIME magazine that looked a few years out of date. Neither of the boys had seen him sleep yet. Connor figured he just drifted off in the chair occasionally, but he still had never seen it happen. "Away from t'e two o' ye."
"Wha'? D'we make ye nervous r'somethin' Kit?" Murphy asked, grinning over at her. She looked at the floor for a brief moment, then nodded. Murphy bit his lip, probably feeling like a jerk. "Well, uhm, sorry y'feel that way I s'pose. Bu' s'not like we ever tried t'hurt ya."
Eve shrugged, as if to say that she was sorry too, but she couldn't help it. Which she probably couldn't.
"Well, yer gonna need a blanket." Connor broke the transcending silence, hoping to re-forge the link they had been making with her. She may not have talked yet, but she had been getting more comfortable, and he'd hate to see her take a step backwards, retreat back into the shell she had been in earlier that day.
Connor found the additional warmth very nice. At least, he did at first. Then he started to wonder where it was coming from. The warmth moved closer, clinging close to his chest, nuzzling under his arm, which had been slung over the edge of the mattress as he lay on his side. His eyes snapped open, and he found Eve's head tucked under his chin, laying on her side as well, in his bed, so that she was stomach to stomach with him. He was up against the wall in a matter of seconds, muffling a sharp swear.
"Hush up. You'll wake 'er," Da scolded, standing by an open window with a cigar.
"Wha' the fuck is she doin' in me bed?" Connor demanded in a hoarse whisper. He had been just as startled by the fact that it was Eve as he was by waking up with an additional person occupying his bed. His heart was going a little bit faster than usual.
"She said she 'ad a nightmare, an' tha' she felt better wit' you bein' close. Di'n't wan' t'wake you though."
"She said? Did she talk t'ya?" Connor asked, surprised. Why couldn't she talk to him if she could talk to his Da and then crawl into bed with him? Seemed a little skewed to him.
"No' exactly." Da reached to his side, picking up a pad of paper and showing Connor a one-sided conversation scribbled out in what he guessed was Eve's handwriting. "I don' know if she'll ever start talkin'," He sighed a bit, setting the pad back on the table he'd got it from.
"Why di'n't she jus' wake me up?"
"She t'inks yer an angel," Da said, nodding to Eve, and tossing the stub of his cigar out the window. "She's afraid y'll turn out t'not be real if she talks t'ya."
"Angel, huh? No' exactly the word I'd use," Connor said, glancing at Eve also, who was curling around his pillow, evidently looking for his body heat. "I killed two people righ' in front o' 'er."
"Yer not lookin' at it from 'er side. Those probably weren't the first, nor the last men t'would 'ave 'urt 'er. She asked fer 'elp, and y'gave it t'er. Yer prob'ly the first one who ever even tried to 'elp 'er, prob'ly the only one who's treated 'er like a person."
"Poor thing," Connor mumbled under his breath, knowing Da was probably right. The kind of damage done to her took years and years to accomplish, she had been involved in this sort of thing a lot longer than the six months he'd originally figured. And it really made him want to bust in on every asshole who even thought of touching a girl her age with guns blazing. Unfortunately, he probably didn't have that many bullets on him. It made him wonder why she wanted to be so close to him. She shouldn't want to be anywhere near someone of the opposite gender, let alone one who committed seemingly random acts of vigilante violence. Not to mention it wasn't exactly innocent, climbing into bed with him in the middle of the night, whether he was a good catholic boy or not. It felt weird, and it was wrong. "I'm jus'…I'm gonna sleep on the couch."
Connor raised an eyebrow when Da chuckled. "If ye sleep on the couch, she'll more t'an likely be sleepin' on top o' ye when she 'as anot'er nightmare."
Connor felt like he hadn't slept all night. And he more or less hadn't. Because Da, of course, had been spot on about Eve having another nightmare. Luckily, she didn't try to sleep on top of him, just sat holding onto his arm for hours on end. It was very difficult to sleep like that. They ended up spending most of what was left of the night channel-surfing through infomercials and old cartoons, which were apparently the only things on cable between the hours of three and seven in the morning. She didn't drift off to sleep again until about eight, which was when Murphy got up.
"The fuck y'doin'?" Murphy asked, raising an eyebrow at Connor, who was sitting on the couch, Eve curled into a little ball next to him, her arms clutched around his middle like she would drown if she let him go.
Connor sighed and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles in response. "Evey's been 'avin' fuckin' nightmares all night. She jus' now wen' back t'sleep."
"Y'bore 'er t'sleep?" Murphy questioned, glancing at the TV, where a jewelry exhibition was being shown.
"Aye. T'was about all tha' worked," Connor said, completely serious. He had about bored himself to sleep while he was at it. "Da went t'talk t'one o' the Donovans abou' Evey stayin' wit' em. Say's we're not t'leave 'er alone."
"I don' think she'll be lettin' ya go much o' anywhere wit'out 'er." Murphy said, nodding to her hands. She practically had a white knuckled grip on him. "So what r'we s'posed to do wit' 'er all day then?"
"I dunno. I wanna take 'er somewhere fun."
"Fun?" Murphy raised an eyebrow at him, standing and stretching tall. "Why'd y'wanna do that?"
"Cuz she looks like she needs t'do somethin' fun. Don'cha think?"
"She needs a decent meal." Murphy responded, shuffling off to the bathroom. "Y'can see all 'er ribs fer chrissake."
An hour later, despite the boy's best effort to be quiet, Eve woke with a yawn, letting go of Connor to sit and stretch, her arms going straight up above her head, and her legs going out across the floor.
"Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty." Connor said, standing to try and get the blood flow back to his limbs, which were aching from being held so still for so long. She nodded at him, obviously not totally awake yet, her eyes a little unfocused and her hair a big mess of tangles. "Y'wanna go do somethin' today? While Da's lookin' at a place fer ya?"
She blinked several times, looking a bit more aware each time, and then rose from the couch, scampering off to get her notepad. She brought it over to him, turned to a fresh page, and wrote out:
Can we go to the beach?
"The beach?" She nodded, still holding the notepad in front of her like a sign. "I dunno Evey, the beach is an awfully long way away, an' we don' 'ave a way t'get there." Connor said, shrugging a bit. If they had a car they could maybe make it there and back before it got dark, but as it was, they would have to take the bus or something, and that was dangerous for he and Murphy right now. Most forms of public transportation just weren't worth the risk and the aggravation. And he didn't think Eve would like such a crowded place.
She looked thoughtfully down at her paper, then back up at him, shrugging. Connor sighed, trying to think of what a girl her age would want to do. Shop? Talk on the phone? He hadn't a clue outside of what he knew based on movies, which, he was starting to learn, weren't always applicable in real-life situations.
"Le's go n'get breakfast first, how 'bout that?" Murphy interjected from across the room. "What d'ya wanna eat Kit?"
She looked thoughtful for a moment then wrote on her paper in big, capital letters:
PANCAKES.
Connor was glad there was a diner within walking distance of the motel where they'd been crashing, and that they served one hell of a breakfast. Eve's appetite appeared to have come back from wherever it had been the day before. She'd gone through two pancakes, some hash browns, and scrambled eggs before she even showed signs of slowing down, but it was good to see her legitimately eat. She could probably use a few extra pounds, as Murphy had so eloquently pointed out, and something with actual sustenance to it.
"Tha's better. I was worried y'weren't even gonna eat Kit," Murphy said, ruffling her hair. Not that it needed the help standing up. Connor wondered if they ought to get her a hairbrush before she ended up with dreadlocks, that could hardly be acceptable in a girl her age. She shrugged, and Connor thought that they probably should have brought her notepad with them so she could write them messages. Too late now. The boys sat back, drinking coffee while she became occupied with cutting her last pancake into a specific shape. It looked like she was trimming it into a giant heart, but he couldn't really be sure yet. "So what's aroun' 'ere tha's fun anyway?" Murphy asked randomly. "I mean, 'sides the pubs and stuff. I don' think takin' 'er to a pub's the best idea."
"I dunno," Connor shrugged. "I don' really know wha' she likes." He indicated Eve across the table, who was more or less ignoring them for her pancake art.
"Wha' d'ya wanna do 'sides go t'the beach?" Murphy asked her, apparently deciding the direct approach would be the best bet. She looked up at them blankly, and Connor really wished he had thought to bring her pen and paper. "Y'know, y'wanna like…go t' a movie r'somthin'?" She shrugged and pushed the pancake, now carved into a perfectly symmetrical heart, across the table to them, her cheeks flaring bright pink.
"Aw, tha's real nice Evey. Real nice." Connor commented, nudging Murphy so he'd notice the pancake art too. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to just compliment it or eat it though. Murphy didn't seem to care what he was supposed to do, he cut a chunk off and stuffed it in his mouth, after giving a half thought out comment. Connor rolled his eyes. And Murphy called him the dumb one. Oi. Eve gave them that half-way there smile she was beginning to perfect and sat quietly, looking at the two of them with her big doe-eyes, rocking back and forth a bit, waiting for one of them to do something. Or so he figured, maybe she just had to use the ladies room. "Le's find y'a park. I think tha's as close as ye'll be gettin' to the beach." Connor decided.
Eve nodded with an eager look in her eyes.
She didn't wander too far from the brothers, even when they had finally gotten to the park. Especially Connor. She was happiest with one of them on either side, but she was practically glued to Connor's hip, staying right at his side. He ambled to the edge of a the sawdust pit in the center of some trees while Murphy took to somewhere farther from the children to have a smoke, a play structure erected in the middle, children running about cheerily, with watchful parents gossiping on the benches. Eve stood at the edge of the pavement as well, staring at the jungle-gym as if she'd never seen one before. A little boy, six or seven if Connor had to peg him with an age, walked over to them, carrying a paper airplane in one hand.
"It won't fly," He said simply, holding it up to Connor. "Can you fix it?"
"I dunno. S'pose I can try," he answered, kneeling down and taking the plane from the boy's grasp, smiling a little to himself. Connor had always liked kids. Their simple, straightforward view of the world was something to be envied. Kids knew right and wrong better than half the adults out there, if only because their lives weren't complicated yet. "T'won't fly if you crumple i' up this way," Connor explained, straightening the paper back out as best he could. It was in pretty sad shape though, bent and crinkled as if were several days old.
"You talk kinda funny." The boy observed the fact bluntly. Connor laughed.
"It's jes' cuz I'm Irish."
"Aren't you supposed to have red hair then?"
"Nope. Tha's only the Leprechauns," Connor couldn't keep a straight face.
"Are you Irish too?" The boy looked up at Eve. She shook her head, watching in interest as Connor fiddled with the little paper plane. "Do you want to make one?" She seemed startled by the question, her eyes widening, blinking silently at the boy. "It's super easy. I'll show you how. My mom has got some paper we can use, I'll be right back." He sprang off, towards a woman cradling a Cosmo magazine in her hands. If Connor didn't know any better, he'd say the little boy was flirting with Eve.
"Okay, now fold it like this," Jason, as the little boy had recently informed them his name was, instructed Eve patiently, the two of them sitting cross-legged on the pavement together, brightly colored paper scattered between them.
"She gotten one righ' yet?" Murphy asked, returning from yet another cigarette break. Why he felt it was unacceptable to smoke around Eve, Connor couldn't figure.
"Hush up. She go' close on the las' one." Connor shushed him, moving over on the bench he'd take to occupying, making room for his twin.
"I can't b'lieve she's ne'er made a paper airplane though," Murphy said, scratching his hair absentmindedly. "I mean shite, every kid's made one o' those."
"I don' think she had much of a childhood Murph."
"Yeah…I s'pose yer right," Murphy agreed with a nod. "'Ow long y'think they 'ad 'er turnin' tricks?"
"Dunno. Don' really wanna think 'bout it."
"Prolly better tha' way," Murphy said, looking down on Eve, crouched amongst all the construction paper, with all the fondness of an older brother. "You decide wha' we're gonna do with her yet?"
"Depends on if Marianne is willin' t'take 'er. If she can, s'pose we'll work on gettin' 'er settled. If she can't…I guess we'll jus' 'ave to take 'er along fer awhile," Connor shrugged. He leaned foreword slightly, looking over Eve's shoulder as she got to the last stages of yet another attempt at the paper plane. She would get close every time she tried, but always seemed to fold the wings too much, accidentally crumple the paper trying to fix it, and then Jason would patiently show her how to do it from stage one again. Connor marveled at the young boys ability to do so, without getting frustrated. He even carried on a conversation with Eve, though most of the answers he made up for her, while she looked on in fascination at his energy.
"So how come you don't talk?" The boy asked, straightening Eve's fold for her. She answered him with a shrug. "My mom says you must just be really shy." Eve shrugged again. "Is he your dad?" He pointed at Connor. She shook her head violently, a strange reaction, Connor thought, even though it was pretty plain that she was a little old to be his, but Jason didn't catch it, focused on their planes, "Do you have a Mom?" Eve shook her head, and Jason looked confused. "You have to have a Mom. Everyone's got a Mom."
Eve just shook her head darkly, staring down at her finished plane, the first successful one so far. She held it out to Jason, as if looking for approval.
"Hey! You got it! That's awesome! Let's go try and fly them!" Practically dragging her, Jason headed for the play structure, and the two of them climbed to the top, Jason laughing proudly as the planes finally took flight the way he wanted, Eve watching them with wide eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile.
"This was a good idea," Connor told his brother, leaning back on the bench, feeling a bit like he imagined a proud father would. "I think she'll ge' better."
"Aye," Murphy answered, nodding wisely.
Connor remembered why he'd started on this journey, and why he'd never stop.
