Chapter 86: Splintered
"James…".
There it was again. His name being whispered through the night, when all he wished to do was sleep. The Englishman's head was hurting that much when he went to bed, after the events of the evening that transpired, that all he wanted in the world was a peaceful night. It appeared that it wouldn't be the case, as yet again his conscience found it pertinent to remind him of his life at the most importune moment. A life that had almost been thrown away that night, if not for the actions of the two people who'd came across him to prevent it. He would forever be grateful to Michelle and Joe, but even they could not stop his nightly interruptions.
Yet for once, he did not mind.
He did not mind because the voice that whispered his name to wake him, was not the usual terror-laden one that belonged to Doctor Van Der Heijden. It was not John-Paul nor Aisling either, two of those who'd fallen victim to the Englishman, though doing so through their own fault. Neither was it any of the children that died in the massacre, nor their parents, nor the French couple he'd wronged along the way. His conscience was showing a vision of someone who the young man still felt guilty for letting die, though he could not have done anymore to prevent her death. The darkness that often surrounded his nightly visits was finally being replaced by the light, one of the very leading lights in his arduous life.
His mother.
It was Kathy who woke him that night, her image that he saw as he flickered his eyes open. She was stood there in her familiar home attire, a lovely blouse covering her, eliciting a smile from James as he reminisced for a moment. She would always dress so well at home, always looking the part even for the most innocuous of tasks such as reading him a story or helping him to study. He'd last seen her as a corpse, the life drained from her whilst he filled the soil over her body, remotely buried away from the roadside in Italy. He knew he would find the grave again in time, to bring her home to have a proper burial in Derry where she belonged. Until then though, he was going to have to be contented with her image that his conscience conjured. Finally, a friendly face.
"Mum…". He whispered.
"James… my big, handsome boy". She cooed, grinning widely at him. "You are getting so handsome… the scar makes it better".
He'd almost forgotten about the scar on his face, having grown used to it being there whenever he looked in the mirror, but when his mother mentioned it, he could not help but run a hand along it. John-Paul cut him rather sharply, if not deeply, and the mark was going to remain with him for the rest of his life, he knew. Kathy didn't seem to mind at all when her son was sporting such a mark, even if it had wounded him at the time. He liked to think that she might have been right too, though James was not egotistically driven enough to find out whether it was an attractive look. Little did he know there was one young woman in the city who thought it was, though she wouldn't be able to tell him that.
"Mum…". He whispered. "You… that's really you".
"Aye yer too right it is, love. Too right". She grinned again, warming his heart considerably. "Oh James, don't ye ever make yerself feel so worthless ever again. Yer such a cracker young man, ye know that".
"I have… I…".
"Ye've got to forget that, James. Take comfort in those that you love and ye'll be alright. Look around ye, ye'll always have ye family… see?"
He knew when she whispered the words back to him, that she didn't just mean her almost spiritual presence. Turning his head to the side, James looked over at the figure that was wrapped up under the covers on the other side of the bed. Michelle made the decision to stay the night after a little more talking, which he was not against after being seconds away from ending it all. The company helped, though he did not insist upon it when the next morning was Christmas morning. It should have been a night that his cousin spent in her own bed, not the spare room of his cottage. That was until she insisted that she stay in with him, after the Englishman explained a little more in detail about the troubles he'd had when she encouraged him to. She was going to be there for him if it became too intense, to bring him back to a calm state. He'd protested at first, but Michelle Mallon almost always got her own way in the end. Awkward though it was, he'd not felt as contented in a long time when she snuggled up next to him as they both drifted off to sleep that night.
"She snores ever so loud does our Michelle". Kathy joked, leaving James barely able to control his laughter.
"I will not tell her that".
"Best not aye…". She chuckled again, turning a face of fondness to her son. "Just remember, ye'll always have her and our Deirdre… Martin… and ye never know what else in the years to come. I don't expect to be seein' ye for a while".
"I know. As much as I love you, if we are to meet again, I would hope that it would not be for some years too".
"Keep holdin' on, James".
Unsurprisingly soft words were uttered by the vision of his mother, the pleasant vision of his dreams treating him with the kindness that the likes of Kurt did not. He was gone though, and perhaps it was the end of that chapter in his life, James thought to himself for a brief moment. His mother was now stood there in front of him representing the light in his live, the positivity that previously drove him before negativity took over. She was a reminder from his conscience that he still had fight in him, allowing him to remember how she had in her. Kathy Maguire's life was far from simple yet despite every possible obstacle that she faced, she somehow found a way to succeed. Even in death she won, giving her son the perspective that told him to end the life of the Nazi Doctor who'd killed her, there and then. To James, it felt as if a corner was being turned, even if there was still a part of his life that was most likely never going to be what he wanted it to be.
"For her too".
When Kathy spoke again, James' eyes lit up. Although Joe and Michelle's words were correct, and that he couldn't continue to live as he was, seeing Erin as almost another element of life that he had to live by, he could continue to dream. When his own conscience, which appeared to be constantly showing him glimpses of the future, was telling him to keep on waiting then it buoyed him significantly. It might have been a fairly unrealistic dream when there was so much against the two of them holding a future together, but it could never be taken away from him. Looking back at his mother's face, he could see how she smiled at him to give him additional confidence that the dream could perhaps come to reality. There would have to be an incredible change in circumstances for it to happen, but when it came to Erin, he would always go to any distance in order to see her loved.
"Mum…".
"Sssh James". Placing a finger to his lips, the ghostly vision of Kathy tried to settle him. "Now you go back to sleep, ye hear me".
"But I… I want to spend more time with… you".
There was a hint of dejection in his voice that would have broken the mortal Kathy apart, but in death she'd managed to become more hardened. When years were stolen from the two of them as mother and son, the least that he wanted when she was appearing to him was more time. Time was what they had taken away from them when Kurt fired the fatal shot that eventually killed her, the rest of her life that he would have played a major part in gone. Future grandchildren, if there were to be any, would never get to know their heroic grandmother personally. They would always hear the stories from James, but it would not be the same as being able to ask her first-hand. He wanted to maximise the time that she appeared to him, but fate was never going to be so kind as to give James everything that he wanted. He'd already been lucky enough to have gotten what he had that night.
"You can't James". Kathy herself sighed. "I'll always be with ye though, my big handsome boy. And not just me…".
"What do you-".
The answer came in another vision, rather than words. As Kathy's materialisation faded away, she was replaced, but not by the sight of someone he did not wish to see. There was no malice in the person that appeared in front of him. Instead, it was another individual from his past that he wished to have back by his side, someone who could always put a smile on his face even at the worst of times. They'd been through thick and thin together during their time in the Fleet Air Arm, as well as the few months before then. Flying missions together in the air as well as aiding each other in their person lives on the ground, the two were a perfect match of personalities that consolidated into quite a legendary friendship. Not one other friend that came before could ever quite match up, apart from perhaps Erin.
David.
David was before him.
"Nice scar there, James… trust ye to go and make yerself look more handsome. I can't even be safe and dead without ye tryin' to make women collapse!"
The most David statement possible used as an opening, he had to stop himself from bursting out into laughter. Erin's departure from his side left a gaping hole in his life, but it was not the only one. No one had replaced David as his best friend, a suitable candidate yet to come forward to fill the void that the Irishman left when he perished. James still blamed himself for his death, not that it was he that fired the flak guns that ultimately were responsible. However, it was James that was at the controls, a fact that he would have taken to his grave with him a few hours before as one of the main weights upon his battered conscience. The first thing he could think to do was apologise, something he'd wanted to do from the moment that David died in his arms.
"I am so sorry, David…". Whispering again into the night, he felt the bed move slightly as Michelle shuffled around behind him. "I took you away from your wife… your daughter… I…".
"Ach stop talkin' shite, James!" The Irishman almost laughed. "Yer not to blame for what happened to me, ye know… so stop panickin' about it. I always knew the danger, same as you".
"But I was your superior officer... the pilot, for god's sake! I should have plotted a different route of attack that night and if I had, we might have both gotten away safely".
"Aye but that might have meant missing yer target. We were there to sink the Italian Fleet, James… and we did that. No matter the cost".
The cost of David's life was not one that James ever wished to pay, but he knew his deceased friend's words were cut from the correct cloth. Any number of scenarios could have played out that night if it were to be replayed, ones that could have seen failure just as easily as it could have seen the two of them surviving successfully. The whole point of the operation was to give the Italian Fleet a pummelling that they would remember, something that they'd managed as an attack group. Beforehand, the casualty rate that was worked by the Englishman alongside Admiral Cunnigham was one that was far higher than the reality. In another life that casualty rate might have been reached, which would have been as much of a devastating loss upon James' conscience than what actually happened was. David was right in what he was saying; they all knew the sacrifices that were needed that night, and the costs were willingly paid by those that faced them.
"I did not want you to die…". James admitted, voice croaking. "If I could have swapped places with you then I would have done".
"Ye nearly joined me, James, don't forget". The vision of his friend reminded him. "But ye've always been a grander fella than me… and I'd have never put up with what that Nazi bastard did to ye. Only you could have lived through that".
His abnormally high pain threshold along with his determination, was what kept James alive, substances that were not available to every man. Correct again, David's point was a very valid one indeed, the Englishman conceded again. If the roles were reversed that night, then there was little chance that either of them would have survived whatever landing was possible. Even if they survived the landing, then the gunshot wounds might have finished the Irishman off where they hadn't his friend. Beyond that still, David would not have held the ingredients to have battled back against Doctor Van Der Heijden, that James held with seeming abundance at one point. One of them returning to Derry was always a better solution that neither of them doing so, even when the damage to the survivor's conscience was so high. Once again, it was a cost that was having to be paid.
"Anyway, I need to know I can trust that ye'll keep an eye on my girls. Orla and Marie need ye James… please be there for them, mate".
"Of course. I am sorry, I would have aband-".
"Stop sayin' sorry, James, it really doesn't suit ye… when yer a royal like".
A familiar glint of mischievous, one that the pilot missed, sparked up in David's eyes as he revealed his awareness of who James really was. At the time when they trained together, when the two of them were trying to work out why James was given a commission with no prior service nor combat experience, neither of them ever thought that he might have been a member of the Royal Family. They'd spent a night coming up with guesses before going to bed, failing to come anywhere near the real reason that was revealed to the Englishman years later. It made him smile to see the glint reflecting back at him though, a reminder of a past life of banter and tomfoolery that he sorely missed.
"I will look after them both, you have my word". James suddenly dropped to a serious tone, looking the vision of David right in the eye. "I will not fail you again".
"Fail me? Christ James, ye'd have to do a lot to fail me". The Irishman laughed. "Just keep yerself safe and… ye know, keep hopin'".
"Hoping for what?"
"I don't think ye need me to answer that before I go. Just keep her safe too… ye know, for my Orla, like".
James nodded, but before he could say anything further about protecting Erin for the dead man's wife, the room was suddenly empty again. Within the blink of an eye, David dematerialised just as Kathy had done. The short time that he was granted with the lighter side of his conscience had brought tears to the surface, but for the first time in a long time when it came to his inner thoughts, they were ones of joy. Two of the most important people that he'd lost since the war began, made sure they were able to get through to him, or rather his conscience did. He'd scrapped so hard against those people in his past that were symbols of darkness, that their presences were finally the validation of his continuation of life. It might not have been his decision to continue that life when he'd been rescued from the rope rather than rescuing himself, but in the space of a few hours, James felt as if he held purpose again. A proper purpose beyond suffering.
It was with thoughts of that purpose that he drifted off to sleep for the second time a few minutes later, having lay awake for a few minutes with a beaming smile upon his face. His head might have been hurting during the latter part of the evening and into the night, but it was clear after the visitors of the early hours. Christmas morning was going to be seen in with clarity for James, clarity that he'd often lacked since returning from the continent. So clouded by thoughts of Erin, including ones as he slept, he could feel the seismic change. That sort of change was hard not to be felt when he came within a second of ending his own life just hours earlier, not that he ruminated on that too heavily as he drifted off.
The brave birds that were up early that morning, sang it in around half past six. Out in the country, his cottage was a prime target for those singing birds, a pleasant sound to awake to in the warmer mornings of the summer. They were not always limited to the morning either. James could remember a time where the bedroom window was wide open to take in the sounds of the aviary population, as Erin snuggled up onto his chest following an afternoon of passionate love making. She'd smiled at the sounds on that blissful summer's day, eventually falling asleep on him as he stroked along the curve of her back, the backdrop of tweeting continuing on from outside. That night was the first time he'd had another woman in his bed since her, albeit there was a vast difference between what took place compared to the day a few years earlier.
A woman who was a lot louder than the birds.
"FUCK A DOODLE DOO… IT'S SNOWING!"
A melody of a very different kind fell from Michelle's lips to wake James from his slumber. It didn't matter to her that he was there next to her, trying to sleep. The moment she looked out of the window to see that it was going to be a White Christmas, she was absolutely buzzing. Although Christmas might not have been what it was with the war, she still enjoyed the festivities nonetheless. Not even the war that continued in the world around them could stop her from finding joy in the season that was normally full of it. The same joy could be not said to have been replicated by her cousin next to her, who groaned himself awake after her morning greeting. Flickering his own eyes open as he turned over, he found his cousin sat up, the covers wrapped around her.
"Feckin cold though….". She mumbled before glancing to her left to see him waking. "Ach James, yer awake. Cracker! Look… it's snowin'!"
"Yes, Michelle". Groaning again, he stretched out a little. "I heard you the first time".
"Shove off…". She giggled, pushing him back down playfully.
Caught in the midst of waking up, despite his strength, James was pushed back into the covers rather easily. He started to laugh to himself for a moment as he came to his senses, trying to wake himself after the start she'd given him. A disturbed night of sleep would usually leave him barely able to raise himself from the bed, but with no work to go to and Michelle by his side, such fears were vanquished. That was before the fact that the visions he'd seen in the night were taken into consideration. He wouldn't tell her what he'd seen, or who'd he spoken to though, not wanting to burden his cousin with the knowledge that he was having such vivid dreams. Knowing Michelle, she probably wouldn't have believed him if he told her Kathy and David were in the same room as them momentarily.
"Did you sleep well?" The banker asked her, regaining his position after sitting up.
"Not bad". Michelle smirked.
He really wasn't ready for the pearl of wisdom she dropped upon him next.
"I think this might be the first fella's bed I've woken up in with me knickers on!"
So quintessentially Michelle, James was barely able to hold in the huffed laugh that he found forming at the back of his throat for her. Others would have been offended by her suggestion, but to him, it came with the character. His cousin was a young woman that was well ahead of others her age, with a rebellious personality and an inability to be shamed over the use of poor language, she was almost everything he was not. That was why he was so tolerant of her, and such a comment, when he knew that she was above all trying to get his spirits up, following what she'd seen of him the night before.
"Honestly…".
"What?" She shook her head. "I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing! That was one of the best nights sleep I've had… ye make a grand blanket, so you do, James".
"I think it pertinent that I take that as a compliment". Replying with decorum, he made her roll her eyes.
"For the record, it was a compliment actually".
Lightly chuckling to himself, James watched as Michelle raised herself out of the bed, swinging her legs over to the right hand side. Normally, it would be the side of the bed that he would get out of, but she'd insisted sleeping on that side, leaving him to have to get out on the left. When it was Christmas morning and they were not expected until lunchtime at the Mallon's, Joe having walked back there the night before to tell Martin and Deirdre of their plans, he wasn't in such a rush to raise himself. Savouring moments that twenty four hours earlier he didn't think he would have, the Englishman was more than happy to stay in the warmth of the covers for another couple of minutes, watching his cousin burn through her excitable energy.
"Say, James, ye don't mind me usin' ur wee bath to freshen up, do ye?" She asked him, turning back around to face the bed.
"Of course, there is a spare dressing down in the gues-".
Pausing mid-sentence, he was absolutely stunned by what he was seeing. James might have only been awake for a few minutes, but not even a slow start to the morning would have made him struggle to see what was in front of him. With her usual reckless regard for those around her or what her actions might cause, Michelle immediately unclipped her bra in front of him, leaving her naked from the waist up. Looking away at once with the slightest of crimson tinges to his cheeks, the Englishman briefly saw a lot more of his cousin than he ever should have done. For Michelle though, his reaction was absolute gold.
"What? Come on James, I know ye've seen baps before!"
"Honestly!" He complained again. "Did you only agree to stay so that you could make me feel uncomfortable this morning!? In my own home!?"
"That's what cousins are for, isn't it?"
Waiting to hear his door shut before he turned around, out of the fear that he might have seen even more of her than he should have, James was left tutting. They were so different in so many ways, leaving it hard to believe that they were indeed related. He would have never revealed more of himself than he needed to around her, but equally she was not the young English gentleman that he was. She was a loud, brash, Derry girl who couldn't give a damn about the supposed boundaries that familial ties brought. When he could finally turn around to view the rest of the room, the tinge in his cheeks made way for a small curve of the lips that he allowed himself. Although he was not planning to say it to her face, he was more than happy to have her make him feel uncomfortable, if he was going to receive her support in his future. He was lucky to have for who she was, not what society wanted her to be.
After all, that was what cousins were for.
A few days later…
With no work to go back to until after the New Year, a blessing when she could have very easily been called in, Clare Devlin was enjoying her time off at home. Christmas wasn't quite the same as it was before the war, but there was still peace and relaxation to be found despite the rationing and threat of German bombs. The Devlin's weren't the only family in the city who could hardly afford to celebrate the occasions, but like many others they did their best with what they had. Her Da loved Christmas due to the celebration of religion that took place, though that did mean that he dragged his wife and daughter to more services than was necessary. Although the fresh air on those days was nice, it was not exactly what Clare had in mind when it came to the relaxation she was trying to enjoy.
It was nothing new for her, not when she was the cack attack Queen anyway, but the blonde's relaxation was not completely in swing. When she'd last spoken to James, the Englishman made it clear that Jamie would no longer be able to act as her fella. The walls that she'd carefully constructed to hold her secret were suddenly somewhat exposed, leaving her to worry about what to do next. She'd told her Da that Jamie would most likely spend a significant amount of time with her over the festive season, which would not have been true even without him being dragged off into the woods by the Intelligence Services. Holding out hope that her friend would be able to find another fella to help her, unaware of James' struggles, her acting skills had been put to the test since Christmas Day. Pretending to be devastated, she'd falsely cried on at least five or six occasions to maintain the ruse. She hated being so devious but was left with little choice.
Surprisingly, Sean was yet to berate her for not having Jamie by her side anymore. When she'd first known that he would not be there, Clare's thoughts turned to what her Da might say to her. Expecting to be blamed when he was under the impression that she appeared to have no luck whatsoever when it came to fella's, he'd instead been unusually comforting. It could have been due to the fact it was Christmas, she'd reasoned to herself, therefore leaving her Da in a better mood than usual. However, the season to be jolly would not last forever and if it was true that his leniency was born out of his joy for the festivities, he would soon start to ask questions she would not want to answer. Not hearing from James for a couple of days did not help matters either. When they'd met up as a group the day before, Michelle excused him with a bizarre reason that she could not even remember, which even Orla found strange. If she found it odd, then it must have been, though that was not an important focus for Clare.
Her Mammy seemed to be just as sympathetic, she too also not appearing to have come down too hard about Jamie. The truth from her perspective, which neither her husband nor her daughter knew, was that Geraldine was not so keen on the fella anyway. She'd heard the way that he spoke sometimes, fearing that he held a lack of respect for a lot of people that could have very easily applied to Clare too. When she'd spoken to him individually, she was also put off by his views on the Soviet Union, which were a little too strong for her liking. Not politically motivated in the slightest, his passion for a way of life that she'd heard was nowhere near as good as it seemed, made her worry for Clare that he might take her away to live there. Luckily, Jamie would never have taken her daughter to Belfast let alone Moscow. He would have exited her life at some point anyway, the break unfortunately coming far quicker than Clare would have wanted it to.
The diminutive blonde might not have been at work, but she'd still woken quite early that morning in order to help around the house. Playing the act of heartbroken lover, she remained eager to help around the house too, attempting to show her Da that she could continue on once more. Sean's meddling and interference was never too far away, having shown his willingness to find her a husband with the Bishop's nephew. Hoping to convey to him that she didn't need such help even when a relationship that she'd sought didn't work out, she was up an hour before either of her parents were that morning. She'd cleaned the kitchen as well as made everyone in the house the meagre breakfast that their rations allowed. Bringing it to them in bed, she puts smiles on their faces as they woke to find her stood there. Geraldine ate up quickly, with plans of her own for the day commencing rather sharply that morning, as opposed to Sean who savoured the moment.
By late morning, Geraldine was out meeting up with the friends she'd planned to see, leaving the household down to just Sean and Clare. The latter was back in her room, tidying up one of her drawers where she'd kept lots of random possessions that didn't have a home anywhere else. Pieces of old schoolwork were no longer required, though it did give her time to reminisce over what she'd done. Seeing her own writing crammed in next to that of her friends brought warmth to her heart. They'd been through so much together as a group, sometimes faltering but still remaining firm friends to that very day. When her life was dictated by a secret that could not be released to the general public, the joy of having such close friends around her was a key source of inspiration for the young Devlin. Without the three of them as well as James, she would never have lasted so far.
Caught in a daze of the past, she'd not heard her Da walking up the stairs. Glancing up towards the doorway when she finally heard a sound, Clare nearly fell off the bed when she saw him stood there watching her.
"Daddy!" She cried out. "Ye scared me!"
"I can see that…". Sean chuckled lightly. "Ye do scare quite easily though, love".
"A… Aye… I suppose I do".
There was no suppose about it; she scared far too easily. A braver young woman might have replied whether it was any wonder when she lived in such a dictated environment that Sean enforced, but she was not quite so determined. Her cack attacks might have been a natural reaction due to her disposition, but they were certainly not aided by how her Da conducted himself. The households of her friends were all far different to theirs, open places where opinions could be given without the threat of violence from any member of said household. Holding no qualms about striking his wife, Geraldine suffered even on Christmas Day when Sean didn't get his own way. That evening was the latest occurrence of domestic abuse in the house, slapping her hard across the face for her apparent reluctance to visit church with him for a late mass. He was still yet to hit his daughter, not that Clare could put it past him not doing so.
"Is… is there somethin' ye need?" She tentatively enquired, fiddling with her fingers.
"There is…". Answering softly, he looked her straight in the eye. "We need to have a wee chat about Jamie and… and where we go from here".
"Oh… right…. aye…".
She could have laughed when the words fell from his lips, if she was built differently that was. The very conversation she thought she'd done well to avoid was clearly not going to just go away as she'd hoped. The Christmas spirit that her Da exerted must have vanished that morning, because he was suddenly wanting to have discourse upon a subject that he could have had days ago. Totally unprepared for a conversation of such magnitude when she had no idea of what the future looked like without having any sort of lie prepared, Clare began to shake. Looking backwards and forwards between her shivering fingers and the gaze of her father, she didn't know what to do, not at all. What she was, was absolutely terrified.
"Can I sit?"
Pointing to a spot next to her on the bed, Sean began to move anyway, before she'd confirmed whether it would be alright or not.
Taking his seat, Clare allowed him to lead the conversation.
"How are ye feelin', love? I know ye thought a lot of Jamie, so ye did… ye must be devastated that he's not comin' back?"
"Aye…". Sighing loudly, she put on her best act. "I… I never thought he'd just go like he did but… but that's life, isn't it? Ye can't always have what ye want".
"Sometimes, it's like that". He agreed with her, placing a warm hand over hers. "I thought a lot of Jamie too, ye know. I didn't expect that he would just leave ye like he has done though… even I get it wrong from time to time".
Her Da got a lot of things wrong a lot more often than he cared to realise, mostly questions of attitude that she disagreed with him vastly upon. He was wrong every time that he struck his wife, although there was not one man or woman that was ever going to stand up to his face to tell him that it was wrong. James possibly held the conviction to do so, though he was unable to prove that such violence was taking place, and he would not make accusations without such proof. It wasn't just that though, there was Sean's attitudes to love and life that clashed vastly with his daughter's. What she wanted from life was not something that he agreed with, making him wrong again when he was standing in the way of her happiness. Sadly, the teachings of the bible seemed to matter a lot more to him than the yearnings of someone else's heart.
"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be, Daddy… someone else will come along…".
"It's not the first time that it wasn't meant to be though, is it Clare?" Eyebrow raised, his question cut through her conscience. "Ye always seem to run into a problem when it comes to fella's, don't ye? They find someone else… they don't think it'll work… they'll even get murdered…".
A chill ran through her veins for each point he made, but none quite so cold and damning as the last one. Sean did not know the truth of what happened the night that the Bishop's nephew was killed, but Clare very much did. Like her English friend, she had a habit of heaping weight upon her conscience that she could do nothing about. Michelle's plan to help her at the time was at best ill-conceived when it involved her hiring two of the city's most notorious brutes to rough the fella up. At worst, it could have led to them accidentally killing the fella, which was exactly what happened. The dark-haired young woman's instructions were misinterpreted by the brothers, who instead of beating him up a little, decided to snap his back in half. Her Da had never quite let the issue lie even when the cops concluded their investigation, and he was eyeing her with suspicion once again that morning.
"Daddy, I…".
"Ye couldn't have done such a thing, could ye Clare?" He asked, his own voice wavering. "I've raised ye better than that!"
"I didn't do anythin', I swear!" She tearfully shouted back, ripping her hand away from his. "I would never hurt anyone… I… I'm not like that, Daddy!"
Taking her hand back once more, Sean softened for a moment in order to sooth her.
"I know… I know love…".
Already emotionally leaking from every angle, Clare desperately needed a way out. The topic that they were discussing might not have directly leant on the secret that she was trying to keep just that, but it was too close for comfort. Many times before he'd attempted to draw her out into the open about the subject, only for one of her friends to turn up or a grand lie to fall from her lips that would knock him off kilter. As the final days of December began to fade away, Clare didn't have either of those tools at her disposal. All out of lies and out of the reach of her closest friends and even her Ma, she was going to have to tackle her Da one on one. The odds for her in such a scenario, were not very positive.
"It was Michelle, wasn't it?"
The loud gulp that emanated from the wee blonde all but confirmed it for her Da. His suspicions were raised the moment he'd found out what happened, instantly gaining a feeling that his daughter's friend would somehow have something to do with it. It was a messy killing that appeared to be random if anything, and though he knew Michelle wouldn't have been able to snap the fella's back, Sean was aware that she did have the force of personality to be able to convince someone else to. Who that was, he did not know nor would she ever tell anyone, but to see the young Mallon sent off to prison would be a victory in itself for Sean. He hated her, always had done and always would, believing her to be a poor influence on his daughter. Deirdre and Martin hadn't raised her properly when they allowed her delinquent streak to go seemingly unpunished, the consequences of which were clearly shown by the death of the Bishop's nephew.
"S-she… she didn't… she didn't do it". Finding the words, Clare put up a tame defence. "Michelle's not… not like that…".
"Aye, she couldn't have snapped a fella's back in half. But she could have organised it though… and that's what she did, didn't she?"
"I…".
"It's alright, Clare". Sean interrupted her to reassure her. "I know ye couldn't have known about it before and the position ye've been in after since she's told ye. Yer tryin' to protect yer friend… I understand that".
"Daddy, please!"
His understanding was not something that she could ever trust, not when her Da was a snake in the long grass at the best of times. His viper-like tongue could very easily hurt all of those around him, when Sean did not care one bit. Lying to her, of course, he couldn't understand why anyone would protect Michelle Mallon. Far more trouble than she was worth, she belonged in a prison cell, away from society with the other feral beasts that could not stay within the lines of the law. Nothing more than a mischievous, anti-social street whore in his eyes, her departure from Clare's life was the tonic that his daughter needed. The final barrier being removed between her and the fella that she was going to raise a family with. She was no barrier in reality, but Sean was not aware of the true extent of the role she played in Clare's life.
"Ye can't protect her though, Clare". Sean continued, squeezing her hand to force eye contact. "She's committed a crime. We all have to obey the rules of law, Michelle included".
"She's not… she's… she's not done anythin' wrong!"
"Ach but she has Clare. She might not have killed the poor fella, but she found some poor sap who would. That's as good as murder, in my eyes!"
"Michelle's not a murderer, Daddy!" Clare angrily retorted. "She's my friend! She… she didn't mean for what happened to happen… she said… she said she just w… w-wanted th-… t..th-… t-them to scare him… not… k-kill him".
"That might be true, love, and for her sake she best hope so… but that doesn't excuse the fact that he died. The Bishop's not going to care if she made a mistake, his nephew died. Think of the poor family, do they not deserve justice?"
"I…".
Stopping herself from making an immediate reaction, Clare allowed the words of her father to sink in, though they overwhelmed her. The poor fella's family did indeed need to find justice, appealing to the sense of good in her that she'd been brought up with. Law abiding citizens by nature, the Devlin's thrived on living within the correct side of the law. Sean instilled a sense of justice within his daughter, the same sense he knew he could invoke with his words that night. She might have been trying to protect her friend, but in doing so she was also ignoring the crime that had taken place. There were a grieving family, including the Bishop, that would not get to see the poor fella again because Michelle couldn't clearly instruct two brutes to beat a fella up. Defending the frankly indefensible, even if it was a misunderstanding, Clare's loyalties were divided. Owing it to Michelle to defend her, at the same time she owed it to the family of the fella to give her friend up, to allow justice to be served. Looking away, she missed the smirk upon her Da's face… he had her where he wanted her.
"She's my friend…". Clare whimpered. "… I can't…".
"Clare, love". A more demanding Sean replied. "She might be yer friend, but this goes further than friendship. A life was lost because of Michelle… she can't live the rest of her life unpunished for it!"
"I can't…".
Bursting out into tears, the blonde's heart was beginning to explode. It was the exact scenario that she feared, with Michelle's involvement that was, the choice she was going to have to make. Give up her friend for so many years, who'd only ever tried to protect her from the very man that she was sat next to or allow a grieving family to continue to suffer without knowing what happened to the poor fella. Feelings for her friend that were long buried added to the vicious concoction within her conscience, one that was boiling over across her body. How she hadn't fainted was a complete and utter mystery. Clare cared far too much for Michelle to see her life thrown away because of one very honest, but very deadly mistake. When her friend had done so much in order to aid her over the years, keeping her secret closely guarded when she could have easily spread it, she wasn't going to stand by and let her Da take everything away.
She had to stop him.
No matter the cost to herself.
"We have to go to the cops… now, Clare. Get yer coat". Sean instructed.
"NO!" She bellowed through a cry. "I WON'T DO THIS!"
"CLARE!" He bellowed back. "Ye have my support, so ye do. This is not goin' to be easy but it has to be done! Michelle committed a crime and what she did led to a fella being murdered… we can't just accept it and move one!"
"We can! I can!"
"NO CLARE! We are going NOW, that is final!"
Rising from the bed, Sean was determined to do what he saw was right, to see Michelle face up to what she'd done. He hid his inner delight from his daughter, but inside he was grinning like a Cheshire cat at the thought that it would be his honour to finally bring the scandalous harlot back down to earth. Many a time in the past he'd dreamt of the day where she would finally have to face up to something that she'd done, all the more sweeter when it would because of his actions that she would. The worst influence possible on his daughter would finally be out of the way, leaving Clare the chance to find someone else in her stead. It was perhaps the greatest day of his life.
Which was the absolute worst day of Clare's.
At the crossroads again, this time there really was no escape. She'd always found a way in the past, or her friends found one for her, but not this time. Fate and luck finally aligned against her, after years of surviving upon them. On other occasions she'd been able to placate her Da with an answer that he would be able to accept but when it came to seeing Michelle arrested, nothing was going to stop him. His hatred of one of her best friends was not something that she was alien to, Clare knowing how much it meant to him to see her friend suffer the consequences of her mistake. She wasn't going to let him do it to her though, her heart unable to go on should she agree to give her friend up. She loved Michelle too much to watch her life be destroyed in the honest act of trying to safeguard a secret she shouldn't have had to. Taking a deep breath, a starkly petrified Clare was going to have to put everything on the line.
Everything.
Sean was in the doorway when she viciously dragged him back.
"NO! YE CAN'T DO THIS, DADDY!"
Positioning herself in his way, blocking the doorway, she was digging her heels in like the stubbornest of Derry mothers would. Her own mother was a presence sorely missed that morning, as she too would have most likely stood in Sean's way, even if it meant facing his fist. Without her, Clare was left to fend her Da off herself, to ensure that the truth of what happened to the Bishop's nephew remained a truth that the cops were unaware of. She had to do it for Michelle… she didn't have a choice.
"Get out of the way Clare!" He growled, but she remained unmoved. "NOW!"
"NO! I CAN'T! SHE… SHE…".
"SHE WHAT!?" Furiously, Sean grabbed the collar of his daughter's blouse, screaming in her face. "SHE WHAT, CLARE!? SHE WHAT!?"
"SHE DID IT TO HELP ME!"
Visibly stunned for a moment, Sean let go of her, taking a step back. His own daughter was suddenly partially responsible for the death, making him question himself. After all that he'd done for her over the years to help her secure a brighter future, she'd betrayed him to seek help from Michelle. The Bishop's nephew was such a compatible match for her, as well as heightening his own standing in the church, that is was inconceivable to him that she would want to be protected from the young man. He was a gentleman, in the same sort of fashion as the wee English fella was, not an abusive brute. Not him, not that Sean saw it that way.
"B-b… but why? Ye liked the fella… he'd not said so much as a bad word to ye…".
"Because… because…".
The moment she'd dreaded for years, Clare could not turn back. She was backed into a corner, partly of her own doing, too selfless for her own good when her friend was in danger. Like James, she valued herself below that of her friends, unwilling to see them suffer because of the person that she was. She couldn't outwardly become the woman that she wanted to be when society was against her, her Da representing that society as he was stood before her. His attitudes and views did not allow for her to express herself properly, to live her life the way in which she wished to live it. What he would think of her for holding those persuasions, she was about to find out. What she could do was put her own happiness to one side, to protect one of those that she cared for.
"Because…".
"BECAUSE WHAT!?" He roared again.
She took another deep breath.
Then another.
"Because I… because I'm not attracted to… to fella's… Daddy. I… I like…".
She didn't have to finish the sentence, not when she saw the fury in her father's irises. It was the only response that a man like Sean Devlin could have. He saw red. Placing his hands back on her collar, he almost yanked her into the air in his rage, a bloodcurdling yelp ripped from her lungs as she was lifted from the ground. All of Clare's nightmares were suddenly playing out into a reality that she shouldn't have had to face, only doing so in a desperate attempt to stop her Da from turning Michelle in. A father who prided himself on teaching the word of the Lord to his daughter, she couldn't bear to think what his mind was telling him to do next.
"We'll go to Father Peter first… then the cops! We're curin' ye of this disease before this family's reputation is ruined. I will not have a devil's dyke in this house!"
"It's… it's not a disease!" She wailed. "Ye… ye can't just cur-".
"SHUT YER HOLE!" Roaring his loudest shout yet, Sean began to move forward, carrying her along by the collar in front of him. "Ye've been possessed by a demon, Clare! We'll get that demon out of ye… one way or another!"
"NO!"
"YES! IT'S THE ONLY WAY!"
Visiting Father Peter for his special treatment meant abandoning all of her hopes and dreams. She knew what he did to young women in the same predicament, turning them into pitiful versions of their former selves that were almost slaves to the men that they were forced onto. Made dull by the frankly barbaric and torturous treatment that he would give them, she was not prepared to end up the same way. Michelle was still in danger too if she gave in, her Da prepared to ruin her life too after he'd 'fixed' hers. Clare Devlin might have been a young woman that would fret and panic at the slightest of sounds, but there was fight within her when she went looking for it. Raising up her right hand, she began to slap her father across the face repeatedly, slowing him down at the top of the stairs.
"Clare…. Clare…". He spoke her name through slaps. "Stop this at once! I'm tryin' to save yer life!"
"NO! Yer goin' to ruin me! I don't… I don't want what ye want me to have!" She cried. "I just want to be me… why can't ye let me be me!?"
"The world doesn't work like that! YE KNOW IT DOESN'T!". Once again, he screamed into her face. "God does not want this land to be full of filthy queers! We have to have ye cured!"
"NO!"
With a final shout of defiance, she leant forward, teeth bearing, biting one of the hands that held her collar. Immediately, Sean reared up in pain.
"LITTLE BITCH!"
As he shouted, his automatic reflex pushed her away from him, finally releasing her from the iron like grasp he'd applied whilst they were still in her bedroom. For a brief, very much fleeting second, Clare was free.
But to achieve freedom, there was always a very heavy price.
*CRUNCH!*
…
A scream was torn from Clare's throat.
…
*THUD!*
Having moved his hand up to assess the damage of her bite, Sean didn't see what happened. But he heard it. He heard the sounds that no father ever wanted to hear, not even a father who was going to take his daughter to a priest in order to forcibly remove her homosexual tendencies. The hand that she'd bitten was suddenly not relevant.
Clare was no longer in front of him, where he'd last seen her just as he pushed her away from him, releasing her from his grasp. The banister that he'd kept on promising his wife that he would fix and had lied to when he said he had done, was broken, split wood hanging off either side of where a hole now stood. Slowly but surely, Sean pieced together the scene in front of him. As his rage and anger began to cool, his terror and anguish rose, tears immediately beginning to well behind his previously burning eyes. He was not Sean Devlin, the devoted man of God and servant of the church. The man stood at the top of the stairs was Sean Devlin, husband and father.
"NO! NO.. NO… NO! CLARE!"
When it finally hit him properly, which was only a few seconds after the incident, he raced down the stairs, rushing to see where she'd landed. Crashing through the banister from such a height would always hurt no matter the surface, but the walkway through to the kitchen where she would have landed was not carpeted like the rest of the living room. There were hard tiles there, hard tiles that offered no protection to anyone that landed upon them. Rounding the bottom of the stairs, Sean came across the scene that he'd created thanks to his own beliefs. He wanted to cure her of what he thought was a disease, but instead he'd gone a step too far.
"CLARE! CLARE!"
Calling out to her, he received no answer. He was already rushing to her side where she'd fallen, when he saw the blood trickling out behind the back of her head, oozing into the little gaps between the tiles just next to where she'd come to rest.
"CLARE! CLARE!" He tried in vain again to rouse her, kneeling down by her side. "CLARE! CLARE!"
Sean didn't know a lot about anything medically related, but he knew how to check for signs of life. He'd been taught it at work by one of his colleagues, who thought it best that they all should know how to. A skill that was only used in the worst of times, he placed shaky fingers upon her neck, following the instructions that his colleague gave to him. Desperately, he hoped for a pulse, an indicator that she was only unconscious and injured, and nothing else. What he did find when his fingers rested upon her neck, shattered the previously dominant and unrelenting man.
She was dead.
Accidentally, by pushing her away from him, he'd killed his own daughter.
The impact of her fall, her head smashing into the tiles below, took Clare's life away in an instant. A twenty two year old stolen away from the world because of her father's actions.
"OH GOD NO! NO!" Sean cried, cradling her lifeless body in his arms, blood soaking his jumper. "WHY LORD!? WHY!?
Questioning the Lord God that he'd always stood by throughout his life, he could not help but wonder what he'd done to deserve such a fate. He'd always devoted himself so stoutly to religion that he should have been guaranteed a spot beyond the pearly gates after death, following a life of fulfilment where he did right by those that he loved. Instead, the Lord saw fit to punish him by making his Clare a lesbian, a corrupted soul against the teachings of the very same Lord that he worshipped. He'd never felt more betrayed in his life than he did when she was in his arms, tears rolling down his cheeks. All he wanted was what was best for her, but it appeared that the Lord in his supposed wisdom did not see the same fate.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Sean Devlin's feelings were of powerlessness.
"WHY DID YE LET HER BECOME A DEVIL CHILD, LORD!?" He angrily projected his feelings into the hollow atmosphere of his home. "WHY DID YE LET THIS HAPPEN!? WHY ME!? WHY ME!?"
His lips found her hair, Sean kissing his Clare's head softly. He'd held her in the same way when she was a newly born baby, promising to keep her safe from the world when no one else could hear them. Twenty Two years later, it dawned on him that he'd failed to keep that promise, failing her not only as her father, but as a man in general. He didn't have that many purposes in life, but her safety and future was one of them. Through his own set of misguided, though fundamentally accepted, beliefs, he'd seen to his own failure of such purpose. Every decision he'd ever made in his life was an irrelevance when he'd killed his own daughter.
"What am I going to do…".
He didn't know whether the whisper was to himself or to the Lord, but it was the latter that appeared to answer the question. A rare beam of sunshine broke through the windows of the Devlin's living room on an otherwise gloomy day, illuminating the piano sat back in the corner. Sean took it as a message from God in his delirious state, rather than what was just nature when the sun broke out from behind the clouds momentarily.
He knew what he was going to have to do.
Late night walks in the chilly darkness of a December Derry night were not new to either of them, but it was a journey that neither James nor Michelle expected to make. They should have both been able to enjoy nights in the warm in their respective houses, relaxing before comfortable nights sleeps. That was until the latter of the two became worried, deciding that she needed to fetch her cousin from his cottage before going to check up on her friend. Clare was supposed to have visited the Mallon household that evening, a brief visit in agreement but one that had not been made at all. It wasn't like Clare to miss such a visit without getting some sort of message across to her, which in turn left Michelle concerned. She didn't like not hearing from her, especially when Sean was around and could have very easily interfered somehow. Her slight fear of him was why she went for James too, knowing that he could at least diplomatically talk them out of any situation that they might get themselves into. Or beat the living daylights out of the man if it turned physical.
"Remind me again, why we are doing this?" The Englishman enquired.
"Because I'm worried, James". She replied, fidgeting as they walked briskly alongside each other. "It's not like Clare to not turn up. I… I just want to be sure she's alright, ye know".
"I suppose it is peculiar that she has not made any contact whatsoever…".
James didn't know Clare as well as Michelle did, having known her for far less time than his cousin, but he did know her well enough to have to agree with her logic. Clare was never one who would let down her friends without a good reason, too afraid to do so when she would cack herself at every available opportunity. Michelle held every right to be concerned, though in the back of his mind the Englishman could at least think of valid reasons as to why she might not have turned up. There was always a chance that she was not feeling well, and that her parents didn't wish to make the trip to the Mallon household to tell her friend that. Geraldine and Sean could have been unwell too, leaving a whole household out of action. She could have also been forced into attending church by her father again, although the banker did counter his own thought by thinking that she would have surely dropped in on her way there. Walking over to the Devlin's did at least give him something to do on an otherwise boring evening.
Neither of them knew what they were walking into.
"I hope her Da isn't bein' a dick over this Jamie business…". Michelle thought aloud. "Clare really needs to get a grip and marry a fella though. This has gone on for too long!"
"I fear that would ruin her life, Michelle. It is quite clear that she does not wish to marry another man when she does not hold attraction for any male".
"That doesn't mean she can go on pretendin' though, does it? Her Da's never goin' to let it go… old prick!"
Sighing, James wanted to tell her off for describing Sean so rudely, to argue that he only had his daughter's best interests at heart. That much was true, but it was at the cost to Clare that stopped James from diplomatically defending the man. The diminutive blonde was not allowed to live her life because of the obstacles that her father placed in front of her, significant ones known as marriage and raising a family. Both cousins were out of ideas to be able to stall the man for much longer, leaving them to wonder respectively whether it was time they started searching for the right fella for her. Clare would hate them for it for the rest of her life, but that life could at least be extended without Sean's ire ruining it for their friend rather more permanently.
"We need to get together and talk to her properly… work out a future for her together". James mused as they turned onto the street of the Devlin household.
"Aye… but ye might have to do a lot of it yerself. I… I can't always deal with Clare when she starts… well, cacking that much…".
"Of course… that is what cousins are for, is it not?"
Wryly raising an eyebrow to her in the torchlights in front of them, Michelle chuckled as he reminded her of what she'd said a few days earlier. Having stripped off in front of him, making the Englishman as uncomfortable as possible, she continued to make him blush the rest of Christmas morning. The night before she'd seen a James that she didn't want to see, a young man on the brink of ending it all because of his now unrequited love for Erin. In order to coax the James that she knew and loved back to the surface, her primary resource was attempting to make him conduct himself to such a gentlemanly standard, that the rest of his demeanour fell back into place alongside it. To anyone who looked in on them that morning, it would have been a horrifying sight when they were cousins… albeit being harmless fun on her part.
"I do have to thank you, actually". Speaking up again, James glanced across to her. "I have been meaning to for a couple of minutes".
"Mhm?"
"Thank you for putting your clothes on this evening… it would have made for a far more uncomfortable evening if you had not".
"Right…". She snorted. "Did ye really think I wouldn't tonight? It's feckin Baltic!"
"In my defence…". He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "The cold did not stop you walking around my cottage in only your knickers a few days ago!"
Unlike Gerry, so the rumours said at least, James did not blush at the word knickers. Although he was a consummate gentleman, the intricacies of women's undergarments were not lost on him. What was lost on him on Christmas morning, until he realised why she was doing it, was why Michelle thought it reasonable to keep appearing almost completely naked in front of him. Once she'd gone for the bath that she asked for, the Englishman thought it had been the end of her festive voyeurism. He spent a couple of minutes more in bed before heading off into the kitchen to make them both something to eat, as well as try to compose an apology for not purchasing her a gift for Christmas. After all, he hadn't planned to be alive beyond that morning, which made gift purchases rather unnecessary. Calling out that she'd finished in the bath, he expected her to return to his room to get herself dressed once more, but she appeared after a minute wearing nothing more than her knickers. Her dark hair was all frizzy, still soaked through from where she'd washed it a in his bath, not that he paid attention or commented on it. Instead, he'd asked her once again whether it was entirely necessary for her to make him feel so uncomfortable, receiving only a smirk in return.
She was smirking again as he recounted the story whilst the two edged further towards the Devlin house, far too proud of herself all things considered.
"That was different". Speaking with an air of grace, she looked up at him with that same smirk still slapped across her face. "Besides, it's not like it hurt anyone, was it? I knew I could get away with it when yer a gentleman and ye wouldn't stare at me baps all mornin'".
"And your cousin". He added quickly.
"Aye but let's be honest, out in the country, those rules don't apply. I've heard it's the same in England, ye know. Every rich bastard in their big fuckin' mansion is a cousin shagger!"
"I am not sure that is strictly true for all…".
"Wise up, James, of course it is! The Royal Family too… they're all fuckin' inbred, the lot of them!"
Breath hitched for a moment, James had to stop himself from saying the immediate thought that came into his mind at her words. Not all of them were inbred. There was at least one exception to the rule, but that was a secret that was even more dangerous than the one that Clare held. He didn't have to defend the rest of the family that he could not acknowledge though, unable to feel any offence when she spoke of them in such terms. Michelle was a member of his real family; she meant a lot more to him than the paternal branch of his own genealogy.
"It has been a practice in operation for centuries. Quite frankly, I find it ghastly".
"Ghastly?" Michelle questioned, her voice pitching up high. "Alright James, tone it down! We're walking to Clare's not the Palace!"
"Forgive me, your majesty…".
Teasing her after being on the end of it for a few days himself, James earned himself a smack on the arm that he accepted in good jest. Michelle was giggling at him too, amused by his sarcastic retort. She often still ruminated on how thankful she was that her parents forced her to see the light about him, to stop her continuing her originally hostile behaviour that dominated their acquittance during his first stay. The young man that she characterised him as when he moved over from London, was nowhere near the man that he really was. He might have retained the elements of a gentleman that she'd immediately stereotyped him into holding, but he was not the pompous snob that she convinced herself that he was. She'd hated all the attention that he received at the time as well as the way in which he'd swept Erin off her feet in the months before the war. Yet Martin and Deirdre forced her to see that he was in fact just a caring young man and after he'd returned, she'd been a beneficiary of such care. The young Mallon didn't often say thank you to the Lord, but in giving her James as a cousin, she would be eternally grateful.
"Did you get to wave Clint off this morning?"
Changing the topic, James strayed into what was a sensitive area. The Lyman returned to conducting coastal patrols that morning, sending both Clint and Lance out for a few weeks before they would return again later in January. Whilst the Englishman was secretly glad that the latter of the two men would not be in the city for some time, he knew he needed to be there for Michelle when she would once again be without her fella. Her relationship with the Steward's Mate continued to progress steadily, the two still not having slept together, despite Michelle feeling ready. The American was ready too, but between them they could not seem to find the right opportunity to consummate their love for each other. Like Lance, she knew she was running out of time for what she wanted.
"Aye… I'm goin' to miss him". She sighed. "But I guess I'll have to get used to it".
"He will always come back to you, Michelle. Clint will be safe". He tried to reassure her.
"Ye can't say that, James… look what happened to you and David. I… I don't want the same thing to happen to Clint".
"I know… but I have faith in him. Do not lose hope, Michelle".
Somehow, James' calm, gentlemanly words seemed to ease her own thoughts in an instant. The Yank's safety could not be guaranteed, yet James believing that he would make it through the combat he would most likely face a few months down the line, almost was. If her war hero cousin, though he still was hesitant to be seen that way, thought that Clint would return then he almost certainly would. At the very least he would always hope to return to her side, which was more than could be said for a certain Lieutenant aboard the same ship. Lieutenant Hamilton would never set foot in Derry again if he could help it, though that depended on whether he could complete his own plan beforehand…
By the time that she'd smiled to herself, taking in James' comment, the two of them were on the path leading to the Devlin's front door. Immediately they were both struck by the lack of light emanating from the house. When there was always the threat of a potential bombing raid, no one lit their homes up like beacons at night, but to not see a single light at all was most odd. They'd perhaps gone to bed, but it was barely nine o'clock, and not even Sean Devlin would force his family to bed so early. James saw the perplexed look on his cousin's face through the torchlight, moving to reassure her instantly.
"I don't like it James…". She whispered. "It's too quiet".
"I am sure there is a perfectly valid reason. Let me just kno-".
He was going to knock the door like anyone would in their situation, but Michelle wasn't going to wait around. For a reason she did not quite know, she was fearful. Her body shivered with nerves, though it was not enough to distract her from opening the door without knocking. James protested silently behind with a momentary glare, though he quickly resorted back to his normal resting gaze when she turned back to him once they were inside. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he felt her arm slip into his as it shook. She was absolutely terrified it appeared, though he could not quite work out why. He too thought it was odd that there was no light in the house, but not to the extent where he was scared stiff. Her dark eyes flickered up to him in the light of their torches, Michelle's vulnerability on show without any hint of masking.
"Clare!" She called out, or rather choked out. "CLARE!"
"GERALDINE!" James added a shout of his own. "SEAN!"
Going against everything he would have done in any other scenario, it was only because of Michelle's nerves that he abandoned his usual decorum. If anything, it was beginning to impact upon him after a couple more seconds where they received no reply. They'd both practically bellowed the names of the occupants of the house; there was no way that they wouldn't have woken at least one of them if they were asleep. Unnerving the previously unflappable Englishman, he tightened his arm around his cousin, the two of them clutching at each other to draw strength. Something was not quite right…
"CLARE! WHERE ARE YE!?" She tried again.
"I… I think perhaps they are not here". James suggested. "Perhaps they have gone to church?"
"I don't know James… I didn't think there was a Mass on tonight. I…".
"Michelle…".
He stopped her from continuing, having momentarily slipped his arm out of hers when the torchlight caught something in front of them. It was just under the bottom of the stairs. Pieces of broken wood lay strewn in a pile, and when the Englishman tilted the torchlight up, he could see the gaping hole in the banister from above. Something… or someone… had been through that banister. That was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Moving towards the splintered wood, he took slow steps on purpose. Behind him, there was tug on his left hand, Michelle grabbing onto it out of the sheer terror that she was feeling. He'd never seen her so emotionally exposed before, even if he had seen her guard down on more than one occasion. She'd never, ever looked so scared. Sadly, it was only going to get worse…
Bending down, once again taking his hand away from her, James shone the torch on the destroyed section of banister to find an even more harrowing sight.
"Blood…". Softly, he murmured the discovery.
"Oh god!" Michelle panicked aloud. "James!"
"Just…". He stopped, reaching up to squeeze her hand. "We do not know why it is there yet".
For another couple of seconds, they remained unaware of what they were walking into, until as he rose to his feet, James shone the torch in the direction of the Devlin's kitchen. That's when he saw it… or rather that's when he saw a figure on the ground. Michelle hadn't seen it with her own torch, but nudging her, the banker tilted his head in the direction of the room at the back of the house. With one hand on the torch illuminating the room, his other hand was out ready to steady her when she inevitably began to falter upon seeing the body on the floor. He hadn't been able to identify who it was in a brief glance, but under sustained light, his cousin could. They'd walked into a living hell that night, unprepared for what they were about to find.
"NO! CLARE! CLARE!"
Once her knees were back on an even keel, the dark-haired woman ran into the kitchen, cutting through the light he'd shone up on it. James tried to call out to her to wait but it would have been no use, not when she'd seen that it was Clare on the floor. He followed quickly behind her, almost running into her when she'd come to a stop just in front of him, a little way inside the room. She'd had to stop because it was not only Clare that was lying in the kitchen. Not only Clare that was deceased. Incapable of raising her hand with the torch in it again, she left it up to James to shine his own into the medium sized kitchen, to allow him to see what she had. The scene was reminiscent of one he'd seen in a small village in Italy, nearly a year earlier.
One of horror.
To one side of the kitchen table, Geraldine lay dead, in a similar position to her daughter. Seeing her lying there was bad enough, but it was at the kitchen table where the worst sight of all was. What they could both see in the torchlight was the reason why Michelle was struggling to keep the contents of her dinner within her stomach.
Blood was splattered everywhere, all over the back walls alongside some of the contents of the patriarch of the house's brains. Beneath the chair where Sean was sat, was a revolver that must have dropped out of his hand. His lifeless corpse, slumped forward onto the table, was surrounded by the dry blood that must have leaked out of his head. There was no doubt that he was dead, none at all.
"J… J….". Michelle struggled, before finally letting go. "NO! CLARE! NO! NO! NO!"
Sweeping her up into his arms immediately, James offered his cousin a shoulder in which she could scream into, just as she'd done for him days earlier. Deathly silent tears dribbled down his own cheeks too from what he'd seen, though his heart would have to wait until he'd settled Michelle's. He was having to hold her up where they stood, as well as preventing her from rushing over to Clare's body immediately. The Englishman knew he would have to check for signs of life, even it was a futile exercise, but he wanted to be the one to do it rather than her. Despite his own problems since returning to the city, James was the only one of the two strong enough to be able to compose himself. Just.
Michelle… fell apart.
Her best friend in many ways, someone that she cared for so much, was gone, along with her parents, lost in circumstances she did not yet know.
A piece of the young woman's heart died with her friend that night.
Twenty minutes or so later, once he'd been to one of the neighbours, to ask them to alert the cops as to what had happened, James found the note that Sean left, out on the table in front of his corpse. Speckles of blood stained the bottom half of it, but it was still just about readable. The page was torn out of Sean's diary, which the wee English fella found too, to the deceased man's side up on the counter.
Waiting for the members of the local constabulary to turn up, with heavy, tear-laden eyes, James lit a candle that he found in the same room, setting it down onto the table so that he could read what the deceased man composed as his final words.
To whoever finds us,
I am sorry.
My poor daughter was diseased and in my haste to cure her, I killed her.
It was an accident, and when I asked the Lord for forgiveness, he showed me the only way to redeem myself.
I used the wire from the piano on my poor Geraldine. I loved my dear wife, but she would have never forgiven me, even when it was just an accident. Clare wasn't meant to fall through the banister. I pushed her to get her off me and the force, it took her through the wood. It wasn't meant to happen, I swear it.
The only way I can make this right is by joining them.
I am sorry for what you have had to see.
Yours
Sean Devlin.