"Here ya go, love." Connor shoved a cup of coffee in my hands. "It'll wake ya up."
I stared at him. "I've had three cups already. Pretty sure a fourth won't do much good for me."
We sat the back porch, taking in the midday sunlight. My eyes were heavy. "I'm fucking tired."
Connor frowned at me. "We've noticed." Pause. "Why haven't you been sleeping?" I grimaced a little."I have been sleeping…" He gave me the MacManus 'don't fuck with me' look- Connor and Murph both had it. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut tight for a moment. "The nightmares have started again." I tapped my fingers nervously on my coffee cup. "They started back up a couple weeks ago, when Murph pulled that chick from the pier…." I shrugged. "They'll go away eventually."
Connor didn't look entirely convinced though I knew he wouldn't voice it out loud. He took a gulp of his own coffee. Think it was cup number five for him. I swear I have never met a man who drinks as much coffee as Connor. Fucking caffeine addict. Wonder what he'd do if I got him a Redbull.
"I think Murph misses being a Saint." He said suddenly. I raised my eyebrows at him. "And you don't?"
He furrowed his brow. "No. Not really."
I took a sip of my coffee, deciding to let that one go. Personally, I thought he was in denial. But what did I know? I never went out on hits with them. Well, I did once, but it didn't end well considering I was walking around with meningitis and didn't have a whole lot of coherent thought at the time. Oh, and they hadn't let me go with them on that hit… I invited myself. Good thing too, because if I hadn't shown up and phoned Smecker for backup, well, they'd be dead too.
Dumb luck. Their entire 'sainthood' was all dumb luck…and by divine intervention or not, Connor and Murphy were by far the luckiest motherfuckers I had ever met.
"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked Connor.
He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. He'll figure it out." He glanced at my watch. "What time ya gotta be to work, love?"
I checked the time and groaned. I was late. Again."Now. No...more like ten minutes ago." I set down my coffee cup and got to my feet. "I'll see you tonight." I pecked him on the cheek and ran to my car, speeding into town. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel nervously. I really, really hoped that my boss wasn't there. I might have been the head nurse, but there were other big-whigs in the hospital I had to worry about. And because it was obvious that I wasn't native to Ireland, I face a lot of animosity from other staff members- I was a lazy, sloppy, dumb American. It made my job a chore at times, but it was something I just had to deal with.
Thankfully, most of the staff on shift that night were okay with me. Iona had been the only person who had really warmed up to me since I had started working there, and I was grateful for that. She never asked probing questions- she treated me like a normal human being. She greeted me cheerfully as I rushed in, hair falling into my face. "Hey, Erin! Want some coffee?" Erin was the pseudo name Smecker had given me to work under. A year later, and it still felt weird to go by 'Erin.'
I made a face, pulling my hair back into a half bun. "I'm good…" Iona nodded her head in understanding. "Conall forced it on you, eh?" Conall was Connor's name here. Murphy's was Murtagh- and they both hated their given names with a burning passion. I found it mildly amusing; I doubted they actually used them aside from paperwork- as long as they were relatively untraceable, that's all that really mattered.
The day dragged on and on. That was the thing about Ireland- it was too fucking quiet here. I missed my chaotic Boston; at least shifts at work were interesting. We had a few people trickle in, but nothing too serious- just a sick kid with a fever of a hundred and two, and a guy who was bit by a dog were the worst cases.
I sat at the desk, reading a book in Italian- or at least attempting to. Connor was doing his best to teach me, but it didn't stick quite as well as German did. "Vorrei un piatto di pasta… vorrei un piatto di pasta…" I muttered aloud. Iona gave me a strange look as she passed by. "What the hell are ya trying to say there?"
"Uh… I want a plate of pasta?"
She was mid-laugh when the doors to the ER slammed open. "Help me! Please help!" A pink haired female was dragging a young blonde girl, staggering under her dead weight. I jumped up from behind the counter. "Get me a gurney!" I yelled over my shoulder. I noticed the steady stream of red liquid dripping from the blonde girl's body. Horrified, I upped my already frantic pace. "Page the O.R., get anyone and everyone available scrubbed in!"
"Shouldn't we examine her first? Aren't you overreacting?" Iona said behind me.
"I hope so…" I muttered, but I don't think she heard me. She disappeared and another nurse replaced her, bringing a gurney. Carefully we lifted the blonde girl onto it. I felt a pang as I looked at her face. The same girl Murphy had rescued from the pier almost two weeks ago.
What the hell has she gotten herself into….
"Please help my cousin!" The pink haired girl was in absolute panic. "Please, please help her!" Later, I'd feel a twinge of regret for leaving her alone in the lobby of the hospital, but at that moment I wanted- no, needed- to get to the bottom of Jaime's injuries.
There was a bullet wound in her stomach. The blood pouring out of her was a dark red, almost purple looking. I felt myself sway on my feet, nausea settling in my stomach. This is just like Eric…. You can't save her either. It's too late. You know damn well it's too late.
I shook my head and started barking orders to the other nurses- 500 milliters of this and that, get me gauze and some clamps- what the hell are you doing, get a blood transfusion going- where was the fucking doctor when you really needed him?
"…Ericka?" I froze. Jaime was- someone, amazingly- awake. Her voice was hardly audible. I was terrified- I thought she was in shock, passed out…
"Jaime, honey, you're gonna be alright." I said to her, calmly. "Someone tell the O.R. that we're on our way!" I yelled out to the rest of the people in the room.
"Tell Murphy…." Her eyes were glassy. "Tell him…."
They then wheeled Jaime away, down to the O.R. I looked down at my latex gloves that were covered in blood. Just like my fucking nightmares…. I peeled them off and threw them to the ground, shaking slightly. I walked out to the front desk and sank into the chair. I put my head on my arms and tried to keep my head. It wasn't my fault. It was not my fault if she didn't live. I did my best…..
But it's not enough. I chewed on my lip, thinking of another person who would share my exact sentiment- and it wasn't my significant other. After some flipping through a phonebook, I found the number I was looking for. I dialed it, head throbbing painfully.
"Callis College, Department of the Arts, Studio. How may I help you?"
"I'm looking for someone, his name is Murtagh McAllister… can you see if he's in?" A brief pause and then a throat clearing. "Yeah, he's here. Do you need him to come to the phone?"
"No, I'm stalking him." I snapped. "Obviously, yes, I'd like to speak with him." Another long pause and the sound of someone picking up the receiver. "Yes?"
"Murphy. It's Ericka…."
"What happened?" he asked sharply. I could picture him going stock still, as he tended to do when bracing for bad news. "Something happen to Conn?"
"No, Conn's fine. It's… well, come up here to the hospital. Please." I tacked on the please at the end, trying not to sound so demanding.
"Yeah, sure. Be there soon." He hung up, leaving me to wait on him. I went back to my position of laying on the desk. Murphy showed up literally ten minutes later. I had the distinct feeling he was speeding the whole way.
"What's going on?" He looked concerned- and he was also covered in charcoal. It was a pretty common occurrence for him for come home from the studio with black smudges on his face, or covered in paint. An artist he might have been, but careful he was not.
Iona appeared at my side randomly. "Take the rest of the night off. You look really shaken up there." I nodded at her. "Do you know where the chick with pink hair went?" I asked.
"Chick?" Iona looked confused. Oh. American slang does not compute. Got it.
"The girl with pink hair."
"Oh. Um, I have no idea. Probably went outside to smoke is my guess."
At that Murph and I went outside. He lit up two cigarettes and passed one off to me. Like what he used to do with Connor. The dissonance between the two was palpable; I could barely tell they were related anymore, much less twins. It didn't feel sit right with me at all.
I sat down against a pillar, back arching involuntarily against the cold. Damnit…. I had forgotten my coat at the house in my rush to make it to work. Murph, cigarette still hanging out of his mouth, shrugged off his coat and handed it to me. Gratefully I took it and pulled it on. It smelled like cigarettes, some cologne Murph used, and paint. I glanced down, confirming my suspicions- there were a few splotches of white paint dotting his coat.
He sat down next to me and blew out a breath of smoke. "Alright, Ericka. Why am I here?"
I sighed. "It's not good news…Promise me you'll stay somewhat calm."
He looked perplexed. "Okay?"
A moment passed where we both took a drag off our cigarettes and let the silence fill the air. "A girl came in with a gunshot wound, and I don't know if she made it…." My voice trailed off. Murph flicked his cigarette butt into the parking lot, listening intently. "It was the scene with my brother all over again… I just froze up." I said miserably. Murph threw a brotherly arm around me, attempting to comfort me. "S'alright. Ya can't save everyone."
"There's more to it, Murphy…" I felt him tense up instantly, like a snake, coiling in preparation of attack. "The victim was Jaime…. "
"Are you serious?" he asked softly.
I nodded. "I wish I wasn't... I think the man that shot her was the same guy who threw her in the pier. She said your name specifically…you're the only person who might have a shot at figuring out what she meant."
Murph promptly got up and started to slowly pace back and forth as he talked. "Didn't get a real good look at him….how am I supposed to track him, I don't know shit about him, not even a name…"
Oh no. Not this shit again.
"You can't seriously be thinking about go after him?" It was the Maria thing all over again; I shuddered, recalling how I had patched Murphy up after his half-assed plan of walking into a bar owned by a Russian thug to kill aforementioned thug- went awry. The memory made my already twisted stomach sicker.
"Of course I'm thinking about it. I can't let this shit go!"
"Well try."
He stopped in his tracks and crouched down next to me, lowering his voice. "Then why in the hell did you tell me. Did you really think I would ignore it?" His eyes were dark. I nearly flinched under his gaze, recognizing the look all too well.
"No….but you can't go after him alone."
"The fuck I can't-"
"Yeah, and remember how well that ended up?" He winced a little. Oh yeah. He remembered. Probably still had the scars from that incident.
"I can't ask Connor to come with me. Fuck, he doesn't even drink anymore, you really think he's gonna be willing to dig up our gear and go after a disappearing bad guy?"
He's got a point.
"Then I'll go with you." The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was committing myself to.
Maybe Murphy isn't the only one who misses Sainthood.
"No. Absolutely not." He stood back up and started pacing.
"Well tough shit," I got to my feet and folded my arms over my chest." 'Cos I'm the only fucking option you've got."
Murph gave me a hard look. He knew I was right. He sighed and lit up another cigarette. "Connor won't know about this. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Review? Please? *makes sad puppy dog face*
