Like every morning, Catherine's eyes shot open at six when the piercing buzz of her alarm clock echoed in her bedroom. Sluggish and ready for Christmas break, she tossed the duvet off and crawled out of the warmth of bed.
Beating her brother into the bathroom, Catherine locked the door behind her and turned on the shower. As the small space filled with steam, she stripped from last night's clothes. She had stupidly fallen asleep before having the chance to clean herself up. Resting her sore bones and muscles on her plush mattress and with a bag of ice on the bridge of her nose had lulled her into a deep sleep.
There was no salvaging her t-shirt, so it went right into the wastebasket. Thankfully, Brien's shorts were free from bloodstains. Once she was naked, she stepped into the hot shower. The knots in her muscles melted like butter and the humid steam made it somewhat easier for her to breathe. Catherine wished she could stay in there forever, but her heart sank when she saw the crimson water swirl around her feet.
Since last night, she hadn't brought herself to look in the mirror, afraid to see who would be looking back at her. She knew her face wouldn't be in good shape and there would be no way to explain it if she did go to school. At least the last time Catherine showed up to school with black eyes, they had come courtesy of a British soldier. She knew that if she tried to use that excuse again not a single soul would believe it.
Brien banging on the bathroom door pulled Catherine back to reality. She hadn't realized she let her mind wander, so she quickly finished washing and got out. Her feet firmly planted on the bathmat, Catherine wrapped her body with a towel and wiped the steam off the mirror. When she saw her reflection, she wanted to puke.
Just as expected, she was almost unrecognizable. The swelling was far worse than Catherine had thought it would be, even after loading up in anti-inflammatories before dozing off. Seeing herself with deep purple bruises under her eyes only pissed Catherine off. What pissed her off, even more, was the knowledge that Patrick would go about his day as if nothing happened and she was the one being forced to walk around Belfast with the reminder of how bad his temper and drinking was. All she could do was suck it up and remind herself it would all be over soon.
When she finally emerged from the bathroom, Catherine found Brien waiting with his back resting against the wall. His eyes looked sad and tired when he raised his head to meet his sister's gaze. It was painfully obvious he hadn't gotten much sleep and the fact she had slept fairly well made Catherine feel beyond guilty.
"Where'd ya end up runnin' off to last night?" he asked.
For a quick moment, Catherine thought about not telling him where she had gone. Brien wasn't as keen to Jimmy O as most of the six counties. He was a man who relied on his intimidating persona and almost sadistic reputation to gain respect. Using fear in that aspect was something Brien could never admire. There was one thing he could never wrap his head around, and that was Catherine's relationship with Jimmy. Ever since she was a wee girl she had been drawn to him. Every girl needed a strong man in her life and that's what Brien chalked it up to. There was no doubting the numerous times Jimmy had been there to pick Catherine up when she fell. Most of the time though, he managed to be there in just enough time to catch Catherine before she could scrape her knees.
"I went to see Jimmy. He reset my nose, which was the worst experience of my life."
Surely, Brien couldn't be mad at her as long she was only there for medical attention. Ever since Brien had crudely pointed out the fact Catherine spent most of her free time with Jimmy, she felt as though she had to keep that part of her life secret. Considering how glued to the hip the siblings had been most of their lives, it killed Catherine to do so. Although every time the small amount of guilt found its way to peck at her, Catherine reminded herself about how Brien was keeping his affiliation with the Belfast charter of the Sons of Anarchy from her.
"You stayin' home today?" He hated seeing her face is that condition. It only made him want to storm into his parent's bedroom and drag his father out of bed, wailing on the insufferable bastard until he looked as bad as Catherine.
The awkward dance of conversation they were doing made Catherine want to crawl out of her skin. She despised the first few days following a blowout fight as no one wanted to acknowledge what happened. When the bruises faded and cuts healed, only then would everyone in the household begin to go about life as normal.
Wanting the uncomfortableness to end, Catherine only nodded and began her descent back to her bedroom. She knew this was only a phase, that in no time they would go back to being each other's best friend, a partner in crime. For now, she needed to be alone.
To keep up appearances, Catherine still dressed in her school uniform. She was in the final stretch of having to wear the solid maroon skirt and blazer, and the striped button-down blouse she loathed with a passion. After shimmying into the opaque black tights, Catherine sat down at her vanity to brush out her hair and delicately apply concealer and foundation to mask the discoloration. For the most part, she did a decent job. Once she was pleased with her work, Catherine laced up her worn black leather Dr. Marten oxfords. Grabbing her backpack, Catherine left her room just as Brien emerged from his.
She waved her hand in front of her face and coughed when she was hit with the cloud of spicy deodorant spray. "A little heavy on the Lynx, there Bri. The goal is to get Saoirse near ya, not send her runnin'."
"Fuck off," Ryan chuckled, pushing past Catherine for the stairs.
She followed him, taunting him about his love for Saoirse Fogerty every step of the way to the kitchen. The laughing and light-hearted teasing came to an abrupt end once Catherine and Ryan came face to face with Patrick. Their father sat in his usual spot at the head of the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate piled high with rashers, eggs, and slices of griddle bread in front of him. The siblings looked at one another, silently agreeing that the only reason they're going to sit down at the table was to appease Olivia.
Catherine half-collapsed into her chair, with Brien across from her. Immediately the teenage boy began filling his mouth with rasher slices, while she remained more reserved. Patrick had his hand on the table but quickly withdrew it to his lap when he noticed Catherine staring at the lacerations on his knuckles. She wanted to reach for her napkin and scrub off the makeup covering the bruises his split knuckles had given her, but the swelling spoke loudly enough.
Clearing his throat, Patrick gestured towards the dish of scrambled eggs with his fork. "You should eat, Catherine."
Catherine tossed her long, damp hair over her shoulders and turned to her mother, not wanting the even acknowledge Patrick's presence.
"I'm not very hungry Ma. Ya mind if I leave? I've got a bit of homework to finish before assembly."
Everyone at the table knew Catherine was lying. For the last twelve years, Brien had been making fun of his sister for being the kind of student who got their homework done and out of the way on Friday afternoon. Her eagerness to get to school that Monday morning was because she was uncomfortable around Patrick and Olivia shot her husband a death glare. All she wanted was a little civility in her family. Setting her teacup on the saucer, Olivia said nothing and just gestured to the front door as she really couldn't blame her daughter for wanting to be out of the house.
Watching Catherine shoot up from the table and kiss her mother goodbye on the cheek, Patrick could feel his heart stop beating when she skipped over him. Every weekday morning, Catherine never left for school without giving Patrick a hug and kiss, so watching her walk right past him was a kick in the gut. He knew he screwed up and he wasn't sure how to fix it. Running a hand through his dyed jet black hair, Patrick pushed away from the table and approached Catherine as she put on her peacoat and scarf.
"Where ya goin'?"
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and rested his shoulder on the wall. He knew his daughter well enough to know she had something up her sleeve.
Catherine didn't think she owed Patrick the truth. After what he did, he'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. Adjusting the straps to her backpack, Catherine took a deep breath and looked Patrick in the eye for the first time since last night. She hated that now he was sober, she could see the genuine remorse swirling within his fatigued green eyes.
"Jimmy's. He said I can hang out there today since Fi is gone with Kerrianne."
Patrick figured as much. He had been woken up early that morning with a phone call from another Army lad warning him to keep clear of Jimmy for the next few days. What rubbed Patrick the wrong way about that call was that Jimmy hadn't the balls to confront him personally about it and wanted to play tough-guy from the distance. The down-to-Earth teenager Patrick had met twenty years ago, was now letting his title of Commander go to his head and Jimmy was the last person he wanted Catherine around. But at this point, he wasn't even someone he wanted her around.
"You stay put at the house. Don't be goin' with him to Crossmaglen, you hear me? Keep your nose outta...the business."
Catherine wanted to laugh at Patrick's attempt of telling her to stay away from the Provos. In her near eighteen years of existence, she had never heard Patrick come outright and declare that he was a card-carrying member of the Irish Republican Army. Since its conception, membership, and affiliation with the paramilitary organization were never spoken about. Not even amongst family members who were themselves, soldiers. It was Patrick's several stints in Long Kesh, along with the rifles, cash, and fertilizer stashed about the O'Toole household that made it crystal clear to Catherine as to what her father's day-job was. Not to mention for the majority of Catherine's life, Olivia never seemed to bat an eye when her husband would disappear for sometimes weeks at a time.
Patrick couldn't be sure of exactly what his daughter was up to when she spent so many of her after school hours with Jimmy. He wasn't even sure if Catherine had been inducted or not. If he asked, she wouldn't answer. Little did Catherine know, Patrick had tossed her bedroom less than two weeks ago when he had a gut feeling she was hiding pistols and cash for Jimmy. While he hadn't found exactly what he was looking for, Patrick did come across a copy of the Green Book stashed away in a floorboard under her bed. Catherine having the training manual only meant the day where she would take her oath and be presented with a black beret was probably imminent.
And, had Patrick picked up the board directly to the left of the one he found the Green Book under, he would have discovered he was correct in his intuition. As her father told her to stay away from the Provos, all Catherine could think about was the .22 pistol and four-grand in cash resting peacefully in the dark confines of the floor under her bed.
"It'll be junk food and trash television all day. I promise, Da."
The way Catherine smiled up at Patrick reminded him of when she was a child. Innocent and full of life. What scared him most though, was the matching smile in her big blue eyes. When it came to Catherine, the old saying, "when Irish eyes are smiling, they're usually up to something," stood beyond true in his daughter's case.
"Don't give Jimmy any trouble," he warned, before unfolding his arms and unlocking the door for Catherine.
Finding the front door unlocked, Catherine walked right in and toed her shoes off on the rug. She dropped her backpack to the floor and hung up her coat, scarf, and blazer on a hook on the wall. The tantalizing smells of breakfast teased Catherine and she wasted no time scuffling into the kitchen. She found Jimmy standing in front of the stove with his back turned to her. Not even nine in the morning and he was already dressed sharply in a black button-down, which was tucked into black slacks.
"Ya hungry?"
"Aye," she groaned, sitting at the table. "Starvin'"
Jimmy plated two fried eggs and a couple of slices of toast before setting it down in front of her. She grabbed the fork closest to her and immediately dug in.
"I never took ya as the domestic type." Catherine tore a piece of toast to sop up the runny yolk.
Sitting down in front of his plate, Jimmy rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "Contrary to what ya may hear, I can take care of myself."
All Catherine did was shake her head and chuckle as she turned her full attention to her food. Considering it had been almost a full day since she last had a meal, Catherine didn't make a single peep as she destroyed her eggs and toast. She was consumed; she hadn't noticed that Jimmy was staring at her, trying to get a glimpse of her face. He wasn't sure if the horrible puffiness under her eyes came from her broken nose alone or a combination of exhaustion. Being the type of person who ran herself ragged and refused to slow down, Jimmy considered crushing a few sleeping tablets into a cup of tea for her. He wondered how long it had been since she last had a full nights sleep.
Before he had a chance to break the silence and ask her, Catherine spoke first.
"Are you headed to south Armagh today?"
Thank you, Paddy, Jimmy thought.
Catherine kept her head down and avoided eye contact with Jimmy at all costs. She knew better than to bring it up. She was to keep her lip zipped and only speak of it when Jimmy brought it up first. While she had braced herself for the lecture Catherine was sure would follow her question, it never came. Instead, Jimmy continued eating his breakfast, never once breaking his concentration.
"Ya wanna come with?"
Taken back by such surprise, Catherine forgot how to speak. She never thought she would get this far. Up until that point, Jimmy was quick to shut her down if she asked to join. To him, letting her down taught patience and discipline. This time he would make an exception as it was no ordinary drop. Plus, Jimmy knew this would be the perfect way to see whether or not Catherine's head was truly in the cause.
He knew her heart was in the right place, but her mind...not so much. She still held on to the words of pacifism, which were passed on to her by the Sisters at St. Dominic's. Jimmy had been none too pleased when he found out what Catherine had been learning at that school and he had to step his game up to remind her why the Provos fought in the first place.
"Aye!" She could hardly contain her excitement. "You'll let me come with you?"
Jimmy nodded and Catherine sprang from the chair before wrapping her arms around him and breathlessly saying, "thank you," over and over.
Dropping his fork, Jimmy reached down and tugged on the hem of her maroon skirt. "Go change your clothes before I change my mind."
With a hop, skip, and a jump, Catherine took off to fetch her change of clothes from her backpack. Jimmy could only chuckle and shake his head at the sound of her heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs to the bathroom.
Once in the bathroom, Catherine flipped on the light as she closed and locked the door behind her. Onto the vanity, she tossed her jeans, t-shirt, and wool sweater, and immediately began to undress from her uniform. After unzipping her skirt and letting it pool around her feet, Catherine bent down to retrieve it from the floor. It was then her eyes fell upon the bloodstains on the well-used linoleum. Those dark stains had been left behind from her and she noticed Jimmy's shirt from the previous night was stuffed inside the wastebasket, like hers at home.
Instead of focusing on the violence that had brought Catherine to Jimmy in the first place, she chose to replay the other event that had taken place in that small space. Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, Catherine fell against the wall. She closed her eyes just briefly to bring back the visions of Jimmy standing behind her, his large and rough hands caressing the soft skin of her belly. As she ran her fingertips along the waistband of her tights, Catherine walked her fingers slowly inside of them in search of the familiar pulse of her core. So badly did Catherine wish she could have his fingers and mouth dance upon her flesh once again. Just as she found the part of her body she sought, she quickly pulled her hand from her tights and panties when the jarring ring of the telephone downstairs broke her tunnel vision.
"Pull yourself together," she told herself.
Once dressed in her worn Levi's, undershirt, and royal blue Aran sweater, Catherine exited the bathroom. Holding her folded uniform tightly against her chest, she could hear Jimmy was still on the phone in the kitchen. Knowing she was being noisy, Catherine peaked her head through the cracked door of a dimly lit room across from the bathroom. She instantly realized it was his office. The desk was fairly neat and clear of clutter, the black leather chair shined. A large and sophisticated safe was tucked in the corner adjacent to the desk, with an armoire directly across.
Bravely walking inside, Catherine grazed the photos which were propped up on the armoire. Her stomach lurched at the ones of Fiona and Kerrianne. One photo, in particular, caught her attention which led her to pick up the frame. All four men had their faces covered with balaclavas which made it impossible for Catherine to make any identifications. They were dressed head to toe in khaki camouflage—loose-fitting trousers and jackets—with their precious Armalites pointed straight to the sky in their right hands.
"That's me...right there."
Catherine almost jumped out of her skin when Jimmy's voice rang out behind her. His finger pointing to the second man on the left. She suddenly had the fear of God in her, knowing this full well was a major invasion of privacy. But Jimmy kept calm and continued talking.
"Must'a been about twenty-two; just got out of the British Army. That was a fairly quiet year."
He pointed out her father and Michael McKeavey.
"Who's that?" She pointed to the last unidentified man.
Jimmy took the photo from her hands and set it back on the armoire while clearing his throat. "Filip."
She fought the urge to ask Jimmy why he and no one else in Belfast spoke of her uncle anymore. It had been about seven years since her mother's brother had left Northern Ireland, and she couldn't understand why he had up and left in the first place. For most of her youth, Catherine had been Filip and Jimmy's shadow, wanting to follow the two men no matter where they went and what they did. Catherine couldn't recall a day where those two men weren't together and then it seemed like one day it all suddenly fell apart. No one had bothered to explain to the devastated eleven-year-old why her beloved Uncle Filip had up and left without even a goodbye. Or why Fiona had moved-in with Jimmy, and he took over the role of rearing Kerrianne.
She had found out through Brien that Filip had patched in with the original charter of the Sons of Anarchy. It didn't register with her that if Filip was alive and well, living in America, why her mother mourned Filip as if he had passed on.
Catherine watched Jimmy carefully as he walked over to his desk and opened the very bottom drawer. He pulled out an orange envelope and gestured for her as he sat on the corner of the desk, removing the stack of photos from inside. Standing between his legs, Catherine felt Jimmy snake his arms around her so he could hand them over to her.
"Jesus," she gasped upon seeing the first photo. "I remember that day like it was yesterday."
Catherine stared down at the ten-year-old version of herself, dressed in khaki camouflage pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her orange-red hair was pulled back into a single French braid, her smile was wide as she had one arm wrapped around her oldest brother, Liam. In her right hand, an AR-18. Jimmy's Armalite rifle.
The next photo made her heart utterly melt. Dressed in the same pants but a t-shirt instead, Jimmy was crouched behind Catherine, his hands over hers, showing the proper firing position. It had been the first time she ever held a rifle—or any firearm for that matter—and by how comfortable she had been around the weapons, Jimmy knew she would follow her father's footsteps. While Patrick worked with Liam on his technique, Jimmy worked with Catherine, and by the end of the evening, she was emptying magazines with both accuracy and precision.
"One of these days, I just may be a better shot than you," she joked.
With her back turned to him, Jimmy took that as his opportunity to raise his eyebrows and shake his head. He had once worn the distinguished tan beret of the special forces in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, where he had been trained as a sniper. While Jimmy passed along most of his skill to Catherine, she would never be able to hit a target nearly two miles away, as he could. For the first four years of the 1990s, Patrick had spent some time with the Crossmaglen battalion of the south Armagh Brigade, when they began their sniper operation.
Three men who Jimmy had trained beside in basic had unfortunately been deployed to Northern Ireland for Operation Banner, and once he had them lined up in his scope, he would hesitate for split second before pulling the trigger.
Catherine pulled Jimmy from his trance, as he was thinking back to the bloodiest days of the Troubles.
"I'm itchin' to get my hands on a Barrett M90. Too bad the lads down in south Armagh had to turn their rifles over with the ceasefire. You've only trained me with the semi-auto and I think it would be so cool to try a bolt-action."
She placed the photos on the desk and turned to face Jimmy. Catherine looked every ounce of Patrick O'Toole, but it was Filip Telford who spoke.
Jimmy shook all thoughts of Filip from his mind as he rested his hands on Catherine's hips. He had a sweet surprise up his sleeve for her. "Why do ya think I'm even goin' down 'to Crossmaglen?"
She didn't have an answer.
Nudging her back, Jimmy hopped off his desk and stopped in front of the safe. As he twisted the dial of the combination lock, Catherine had no idea it was her birthday that opened the heavy door. It was the first time Jimmy was trusting Catherine enough to allow her a peek at his arsenal. While Catherine knew Jimmy was working under the Quartermaster General now, where he supplied the weapons and no longer used them, she was still taken back by the collection he built up. More rifles and pistols than she could count. Thousands, upon thousands of rounds of ammunition. Not to mention the handsome stacks of foreign money.
She worried about him. If the RUC were to raid the house, he'd never see the outside of a prison cell again.
Squatting down, Jimmy pulled out a bulky black case. He popped the two latches on the side closest to Catherine and pulled the lid open to reveal the exact Barret M90 rifle she had been speaking of.
"Holy shit," Catherine placed her hand over her mouth before kneeling to run her fingers along it.
Nine months ago, the snipping campaign in south Armagh had come to an end. Under the terms of the ceasefire, the battalions had been required to turn over their rifles but two of the Barret's were unaccounted for. Catherine only knew that because it had been plastered all over the news for the last several months. Never once did she think Jimmy would be the one who had it in possession. It didn't need to be said aloud for Catherine to figure out that One-Shot Paddy wasn't finished just yet.
Her stomach dropped as the reality of the Troubles set in for her. Wondering how many men Jimmy had killed with that weapon almost made her sick.
Catherine looked Patrick in the eye, "you're not takin' me out there to-"
He stopped her before she could finish her thought. Jimmy knew Catherine had always struggled with the career path he'd chosen for himself. She never wanted to believe that the man she had been so head-over-heels for could be capable of such violence. Catherine refused to believe the rumors on the streets as he had never been anything but warm, adoring and devoted to her. That was why she held Jimmy to such high regard and couldn't help the deep affection from blossoming as she grew older and closer to him. He was her hero. Her safety net; her haven. Always there to protect her from the bad whenever it came.
"No, this is purely target practice." Jimmy reached out to Catherine and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "I just wanna have fun with my girl today."
