Mid-morning, Catherine was in the middle of making breakfast for Eamonn. Darragh had already left for work, promising he would home no later than three in the afternoon. After seeing the photos Catherine procured, even he was anxious to get out of dodge.

A heavy fist was pounding on the front door, but with a screaming eight-month-old in her arms, it was hard for her to hear.

After the second round of knocking came echoing into the kitchen, Catherine tried her best to settle Sean as she walked through the living room to get to the front door.

Pulling it open, Catherine squinted her sore eyes as they were pelted with bright sunlight. They adjusted and she was confused to see Donny standing in front of her. He wasn't alone; a boy no older than seventeen stood behind him.

"What are ya doin' here, Donny?"

Donny wasted no time in pushing his way into the house. His rushed and overwhelmed demeanor had Catherine feeling anxious. She could tell he was trying to keep his cool, but there was just too much on his mind to allow him to think straight.

She knew something serious was going on. Never once had Donny shown up announced to her home.

Bouncing Sean in her arms, she rubbed small circles on his back. Her insides began to flutter as Donny ignored her, first instructing the boy to make sure all the windows and back door were locked.

Easing Catherine down on the sofa, Donny sat beside her. He took a breath for the first time in almost five hours.

"Will you please tell me what is goin' on?" she pleaded.

"Simon Townsend was shot and killed early this morning."

Sinking back into the sofa, Catherine crossed herself. "It was one of us, yeah?"

That was the only reasonable explanation as to why Donny and the young lad were there. Instead of verbally answering her obvious question, Donny sheepishly nodded.

Simon Townsend was the chief of staff for the Ulster Volunteer Force.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who, and most importantly, bloody why?"

"A young fella from Armagh, who isn't too familiar with how things are run up here in Belfast, went into the Great Eastern and started spoutin' nonsense. He didn't know who Townsend was when he took the shot."

With Sean settled, she set in in the playpen and then lit a cigarette. "They'll want retaliation. And you know exactly who they'll go for."

"I do know," he puffed. "That's why Jimmy wants a lad with you here at all times. He also doesn't you to leave under any circumstance."

"I don't give a fuck what Jimmy wants." Catherine raised her voice. "All I care about is that youse sorry sacks of shite find Darragh before the fuckin' UVF does. He's at the top of their list. They won't hesitate to put a hollow point between his eyes."

Donny pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Everyone knew Catherine was going to react this way when told to follow orders given by Jimmy.

"Listen, we all know youse hate each other. But please understand that it's not being done out of malice, Catherine. It's a bloody mess right now—tryin' to make sure all the officers are accounted for, and the brigade is underground. We're not sure if the UVF thinks you're in still in the Ra. If they do, that makes you a fair target, too."

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Catherine looked over to the lad who was tasked with staying with her. There was no way he could be a sworn-in volunteer, and by the looks of him, if anything were to happen he'd be useless. Nevertheless, she zipped her lip on the issue. Even though she couldn't stand Jimmy, it was never a good idea to find oneself on the outs with the army.

"Have you heard from Darragh? What about Liam and my Da?"

"Aye," he lied. He didn't have it in him to tell her that one of those men had fallen out of contact and they were in a rush to locate him. With two babies to care for, stressing her out was the last thing anyone wanted to do. "I'll swing by later to fill you in."

Catherine nodded, and Donny headed out. Running her hands through her hair, she looked over to the boy awkwardly standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room. She didn't want to seem rude or add fuel to the rumor of her hellcat attitude.

"I'm sorry, Donny didn't tell me your name."

He swallowed hard, somewhat intimidated to be in the presence of the woman who once had a reputation for once being a brilliant foot soldier. "Jack Coughlin, Miss. O'Toole."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jack. But please, call me Catherine."

Stuttering, Jack apologized for having called her by the wrong name. She assured him it was fine and found his nervousness rather comical. It reminded her that she had been just as nervous the first time she met the men from Crossmaglen.

Since she had been in the middle of making breakfast for Eamonn, she offered Jack some eggs and leftover potato bread. He kindly accepted her offer and followed Catherine into the kitchen. As he sat at the table, Eamonn eyed the boy suspiciously.

Catherine shook her head at her son's seriousness. Even though there was no blood relation between them, Eamonn's highbrow demeanor reminded her so much of Darragh when they had first met. Placing the bowl of oatmeal on the tray of his highchair, she ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek.

"No reason to be gloomy today, little man. We're headed to Donegal tonight!"

As she grabbed the carton of eggs from the refrigerator, Catherine also plucked the cordless phone out of the receiver. Cracking two eggs into a sizzling butter bath, she dialed Darragh's number.

It went to voicemail.

Hanging up, Catherine told herself to relax. This wasn't the first time he's failed to answer his phone. She dialed again, this time it went straight to voicemail. If he were in a meeting with the Irish Kings or Jimmy, it would make sense that he turned his phone off.

She refused to get stressed over it. Darragh was getting them out of Belfast for good. She only had a bright future to look forward to. No way would she allow the UVF to ruin these plans. If anything, their thirst for blood only solidified the decision.

Focusing on getting Jack his eggs and potato bread, Catherine then excused herself into the living room. Pacing, she called her sister-in-law, Shauna.

"Have ya heard from Liam at all?" Catherine asked the moment Shauna picked up.

"Oh, Catherine. I was just about to call you." She sounded frazzled. "Haven't heard from Liam. I don't know who these Armagh lads think they are…just waltzin' into Belfast and tearin' the city apart. Have they no idea how hard we've all been workin' to keep the peace?"

"Not a single clue. Hopefully, the fella is properly dealt with. None of our boys go down there and start shite unprovoked. If they're gonna be up here, they need to know what pubs to keep their mouths shut in."

"Aye. You hear from Darragh?"

"Not yet. It's makin' me a wee bit nervous. You know how the UVF can be."

Shauna paused. "Our men'll be fine. Kiss those sweet boys for me, yeah?"

Catherine promised she would give the boys a kiss for their aunt. Ending the call, she tossed the phone on the sofa.

Placing her hands on her hips, Catherine whispered, "Please God, please let him be okay."


Late in the evening, Patrick, Liam, and Donny entered the house to find Catherine sitting on the sofa. Her feet were propped up on the edge of the coffee table. She had a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, too afraid to turn on the television. The boys were down for the night and she had sent Jack out to the store to buy her another pack of cigarettes. She had smoked heavily throughout the day, still unable to get a hold of Darragh.

Their bags were all packed, sitting on their bed ready to go.

Hearing the heavy steps on the hardwood floor, she closed the book, setting it down with her mug.

She got up quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles on her shirt. A smile of relief ghosted her lips, pleased to see her father and brother alive and well.

Except, that smile vanished when she realized who was missing and saw Jimmy sneak in the door behind the three.

Their sorrowful expressions told Catherine what she had felt in her gut all day. Her world suddenly stopped spinning and she fell on her face.

When her knees buckled and she used the arm of the sofa to keep from falling, Patrick dashed to Catherine, easing her to sit down. She began to cry hysterically and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Snuggling her face into his chest, Catherine's fingers gripped the collar of his shirt.

"No! No! No!" she sobbed bitterly.

Taking off his jacket, Jimmy lit a cigarette and headed into the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of scotch. It had been over two years since he last spoke to her, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Catherine as she struggled to regain her composure.

He wasn't sure how to feel. Nothing would ever be the same between them. But when he blinked, Jimmy didn't see a twenty-five-year-old Catherine. In an instant, she was twelve, crying in the courtroom after Patrick had been sentenced to four years in prison. When he came back to, it didn't matter how Jimmy felt about her. Catherine was hurting; mourning Darragh and that was enough to fill him with anger that she now had to experience the pain of burying a loved one who had been slain by the enemy.

Settling into the armchair across from the sofa, he polished off the three fingers of scotch in one go.

For the sake of the situation, they both needed to put the past aside just for a moment.

Liam had taken a seat beside his sister, wiping his tears away at the wrenching sounds of her grief. He gently rubbed her back, longing for nothing more than to go home, so he could hug and kiss his wife and daughter.

"They nabbed him in the morning as he was leaving St. Peter's. Three blokes threw him into a car and then drove to the Shankill," Jimmy said.

Catherine lifted her face from Patrick's chest. Her eyes were bloated and red when she looked at Jimmy. "Anyone claim responsibility for it?"

"UVF." He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "They've released a statement."

"How bad was it?"

Jimmy dropped his head and closed his eyes. The image of Darragh's beaten and mutilated body was seared into his memory. There was no way he could tell her the truth, but he also respected her enough not to sugar-coat it. He kept it vague. "Awful. His body was found in an ally. They slashed his throat from ear to ear—nearly decapitated him."

With a shaky hand, Catherine wiped the freshly fallen tears. A chill spread throughout her body and she began to tremble. "What else did those animals do to him?"

"Nothing else that you need to know of."

"It's a fucking nightmare, Da!" Catherine wrapped her arms around Patrick's neck and buried her face into his chest. "A fucking nightmare!"


Although Darragh had managed to avoid controversy for most of his life, it stirred emotion when the IRA issued a statement to recognize his unwavering service and sacrifice for the cause, and that their fallen comrade would receive a full republican funeral.

Jimmy had made time to stop by the house to discuss the arrangements for Darragh's burial. Catherine poured herself a cup of tea and sat in the living room as she waited for him to arrive. Patrick and Olivia had taken the boys for the night, to give Catherine time to grieve on her own.

After she had crawled into their bed, Catherine cried for most of the night as she clenched Darragh's pillow tightly against her. It was nearly four by the time she managed to even get some sleep.

When Catherine awoke that morning, she hadn't been feeling the anger or sorrow she been expecting. Instead, she was numb, with a gnawing void that no one would ever be able to replace. She was broken for Eamonn and Sean, and how they'd never know their father's kind heart and gentle soul.

It was only ten o'clock in the morning when Jimmy arrived. He tried to get Catherine to eat but she refused. Understandably, she didn't have an appetite. The only reason she remained as composed as she was, was because all emotion had been utterly drained from her.

As they sat at the table, he reluctantly told Catherine the details he had spared her from last night, when she asked why an open casket wake wasn't an option.

"They took his eyes and his rosary beads were resting in the sockets."

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. "Jesus. Those orange bastards. We were gettin' outta here last night…headed to Donegal and never comin' back." She covered her mouth as a hard wave heartbreak crashed into her. She couldn't understand why such a cruel thing had happened to someone like Darragh. Her voice was pained. "What am I to tell the boys when they start askin' about their da?"

Jimmy had such little connection to Eamonn, it didn't bother him in the slightest that she referred to Darragh as being the father of both the boys.

"You tell them the truth. It'll only hurt them in the long run if you try to shield them from reality."

"They deserve so much better than Belfast. Than this never-ending violence that destroys families."

Jimmy dropped his cigarette in the ashtray. He was empathetic to Catherine's pain, but he also thought she was misplacing her feelings. "Don't say that. This is your home, Catherine, and those are Belfast boys."

Picking up Jimmy's cigarette, Catherine took a long drag. She held the smoke until her chest burned, putting Jimmy's words into perspective. As silly as it sounded, she didn't want Eamonn and Sean to have any other accent than the Belfast brogue she spoke with. She wanted them tightly connected to their Irish roots. If she was going to be staying put, for the time being, she wanted to make sure life would be as calm as possible.

"There's to be no retaliation for Darragh. Am I clear? Enough is enough—it ends with him."

Jimmy nodded his head. "Leadership across the Ra has already made it clear there won't be a counterattack. As far as we know, the loyalists aren't looking for a fight either. I can promise you the bastard who started this shitstorm will be dealt with."

Knowing exactly what Jimmy meant by that, Catherine crossed herself. Another young life would be ended as the result of a half-witted decision.

Stubbing the cigarette out, she stood. "Thank you for helping me with the arrangements. I have to meet with the people from the funeral home and then see Father Ashby."

She turned and started walking into the living room.

Darragh's sudden demise had Jimmy thinking of his own. He had a list of enemies as long as his arm. What was stopping any of them from grabbing him as he came out of church or from shooting him as he walked to the corner store for a newspaper and smokes?

He was looking at Catherine through a new set of lenses. In the blink of an eye, she had been made a single mother. Eamonn and Sean were without their father because of someone else's uncalculated act. Darragh had been well respected and died fearlessly. What Catherine didn't understand yet was that she had the Republican Army behind her. They took care of their own. Their support for her would forever be unyielding—including Jimmy's.

"Catherine Mary, I'm so sorry."

Hearing Jimmy's firm and melancholy words stopped Catherine in her tracks. She backtracked into the archway of the kitchen and stared at him. There was a silent understanding that their relationship would never be the same, but that didn't mean they couldn't be civil in the face of adversity. She could accept his help, but she couldn't fall back to him. Not when she had two boys who now solely depended on her.


Not wanting to bring attention to her home in Andersontown, Patrick and Olivia hosted Darragh's wake. Patrick had gone with Catherine to drop Eamonn and Sean off with Brien's girlfriend, who offered to babysit.

He parked the car and opened the door for her.

Seeing the line of mourners already stretching for several streets brought Catherine to tears. She hadn't been expecting much of a turnout as support for the cause had died down tremendously. What she failed to comprehend was the sheer number of lives Darragh had touched through his selfless acts. Many of them weren't there to pay respects to an IRA man, they were there to pay respects to a great one.

Dabbing her eyes with fresh tissue, Catherine graciously accepted Patrick's hand as he escorted her to the rear entrance of the house. John Sullivan, a Sinn Fein steward, opened the door and ushered them in. Walking straight through the kitchen and into the living room, Catherine could barely hold herself together.

The closed casket rested in front of the draped window. Perched on top was a framed photo of Darragh.

Two uniformed and masked men stood guard beside it.

Fiona was sitting with Kerrianne on the sofa adjacent to the casket, while Jimmy stood off to the side engaged in a hushed, deep conversation with other volunteers. All chatter faded into silence as they took notice to Catherine approaching. Urging Kerrianne up, Fiona whispered to her daughter to give Catherine a moment alone. Everyone retreated to the back of the room but still kept a close eye on the grieving woman.

Catherine rubbed her hand back and forth against the glossed wood. She held the Kleenex below her nose as her breathing started to quicken. Never had Catherine felt so broken, so devastated.

In a house full of people, she felt entirely alone without Darragh by her side.

She never imagined a single person could have such an impact on her life. Darragh had made her feel appreciated and desired. He cherished every moment they were together and never let Catherine forget her worth. Because of him, she sought to be a better woman, a doting wife, and mother.

Even though he was gone, Catherine knew the only way she could honor Darragh's life and sacrifice, would be to live her life as wholeheartedly and gallant as he lived his.

"I miss you so much," she choked.

Her breathing came in sharp waves, searing tears of anguish flowing down her cheeks. Once those first tears broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. She rested both hands on the casket, her knees almost giving out as her piercing mewl penetrated everyone's soul.

Patrick and Olivia dried their eyes, feeling wholly powerless in making their daughter feel whole again. They wished they could take her pain away, as it was almost unbearable for them to watch her crumble.

In the hours and days that followed Darragh's death, Patrick had never been so proud of Catherine for her strength. She held herself together as they planned every last detail of the services, and she stood firm on her plea for there to be no acts of senseless violence against any member of the UVF or UDA.

It was painful for Jimmy to see her like that. This was the first he had ever heard such a wail from her and he understood all too well as to how deep her suffering ran.

He looked around at the crowd of people who were shamelessly staring at her like a caged animal. It made his blood boil no one—not even her mother, father, or brothers—stepped forth to comfort her. Before anyone else, he moved towards Catherine, embracing her. All he could do was let the flood of her tears soak through his black shirt. Jimmy could feel her fists clenching his suit jacket as she struggled in deciding whether to be angry or just give up all hope.

Against his chest, Catherine screamed, suffocating, no longer attempting to regain control of her dignity.

Taking a step forward, Patrick felt someone grab hold of his shoulder. He turned around to face the person who was preventing him from consoling his daughter. The seething expression on his face softened when he saw it was Liam.

Glumly, he advised, "Just leave her be, Da."

Everyone, even Fiona, could see that the way Catherine latched on to Jimmy was far from the intimacy of lovers. It was the same way she had leaned on him for emotional support during the years Patrick had been in prison. For some reason, seeing that still made Fiona uncomfortable.

Jimmy caressed the back of her head, bringing peace to the war within her mind. Eventually, she calmed, and he wiped her cheeks. He cradled her warm face between his hands, bringing his lips to her forehead for a gentle kiss. He didn't care that a dozen pairs of eyes were glued to them.

Catherine licked her lips, tasting the lingering saltiness. "Promise you won't leave me side?"

Despite everything, Jimmy was the personification of the courage she needed when she couldn't find her own.

"I'll be wherever you need me to be."

For the first time in days, Catherine weakly smiled. She slipped past one of the masked, uniformed men standing beside the casket, and went to the window. Slightly pulling back to the curtain, she was amazed to see the mourners still gathering under the streetlamps. She saw the guys from SAMBEL, even Maureen and Trinity Ashby. Many of them were clenching their rosary beads.

When she heard the back door open, Catherine let the curtain slip closed and she ventured to see who had arrived. It was Gerry Adams, accompanied by Pat Doherty who was the deputy leader of Sinn Fein. Patrick led the men into the living room where they expressed their condolences to Catherine. She was grateful Adams had taken the time to pay his respects to Darragh.

Catherine rested her back against the wall and she watched the former Provisional IRA chief of staff make way to the casket. He crossed himself and bowed his head in silent prayer. She wondered just how many wakes and funerals he had been to.

After only a few moments there, Gerry said his goodbyes to Catherine, assuring her he would be back in the morning for the funeral.

Once Adams and Doherty left, the front door was opened. Over six hours, nearly a thousand people from all across Northern Ireland and Donegal treaded past his coffin.

As Catherine received hugs, kisses, and handshakes of sympathy, she quickly realized that many of the people who strolled through had zero ties to the Republican Army. She spotted an abundance of looks of apprehension when they were greeted by several fully uniformed IRA men. Thankfully the militaristic ambiance didn't spark conflict.

Darragh had kept his past and membership so tightly locked away that no ordinary citizen would even suspect him as being the officer commanding for Belfast's most elite unit. In a way, Catherine felt honored that she had been able to to a part of Darragh's true life.

Just after midnight, the last group of mourners left. Fiona had taken Kerrianne home, and Olivia was in the kitchen sipping brandy, while Patrick nursed a Coke.

Several of his comrades would remain at the house, taking turns watching guard over Darragh's casket through the night. A few wives of volunteers straightened up the house as Catherine sat for the first time nearly all day. Her feet and calves were achy.

"Brien headed out to bring the boys back here," Jimmy said, sitting beside her.

Catherine looked over at the casket, locking her eyes on Darragh's photo. She'd give her own life to be able to see his storming gray eyes and radiant smile again. She'd kill for the chance to hear his voice, to feel the softness of his lips pressed against her temple. Or be wrapped in the warmth of his adoring embrace. Feeling the tight knot in her throat becoming painfully sore, all she wanted to do was snuggle up with Eamonn and Sean.

She nodded. It was obvious she was still trying to process reality and it was only being made more difficult with the endless stream of people asking her how she was holding up. She needed a few minutes just to be alone with her thoughts and Jimmy came prepared for that.

"Come with me." He patted her knee.

Furrowing her brow, Catherine stood and followed Jimmy out the front door. When he stopped in front of his car, he dug for his keys. She stayed silent as he opened the door and rummaged around inside for a minute, before turning around to face her. He shoved the keys in her hand and held up a CD case. She recognized the yellow cover instantly.

To The Faithful Departed by The Cranberries. It had been the soundtrack to her most angsty years.

"There's a bottle of vodka under the seat."

Taking the CD from his hand, Catherine slipped into the car and shut the door behind her.

Jimmy pulled the pack of cigarettes out from the inside pocket of his jacket and lit up, taking a seat on the curb.

Slipping the key into the ignition and giving it a half-turn, she then grabbed the small plastic bottle of vodka from under the seat. Feeding the CD in the player, she skipped to the third track and maxed out the volume.

With Dolores O'Riordan's voice flowing through her, Catherine took four pulls from the bottle. She knew what was about to happen would be cathartic, but she was ready.

Her heart was ripped from her chest as she sang along. "And in the night, I could be helpless. I could be lonely, sleepin' without you. And in the day, everything's complex. There's nothing simple when I'm not around you…and I miss you when you're gone."

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catherine allowed herself to feel for the first time since hearing of Darragh's death.


Sitting on her bed and slipping her feet into a pair of comfortable flats, Catherine was speechless when Jimmy entered her old bedroom. Watching him struggle to secure the button at the wrist of his sleeve, Catherine rose and closed the distance between them. Swatting his hand away, she worked the small plastic button through the slit.

"Are you sure about this?" she inquired. Her voice remained steady. She grabbed Jimmy's older arm and repeated the process.

"Aye." Jimmy kept his eyes forward.

When Catherine finished securing the other button, she straightened out his tie. She was humbled to see Jimmy had decided to dress in the customary outfit for the occasion: white shirt, black trousers, black tie, and armband.

She wondered if she should have opted for the same attire, instead of a simple black dress. Darragh deserved to be honored by all of the Ra. Past and present.

Distracted by the hum of helicopters, she walked to the window and opened the blinds. Both the military and the PSNI were out in full force, dressed in riot gear, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. When she looked up, she saw troops lining rooftops.

"They can't even allow us to bury our dead in peace."

Her lashes fluttered and tears ran down her cheeks. Placing his index finger under her chin, he tilted her face up. The tears glistened.

"Do not cry in front of these people," he said sternly.

Catherine knew this would be a test of her faith. She needed all the help she could get to remain composed and heeded Jimmy's words. He was right. She couldn't allow the soldiers and officers to see her in a moment of weakness. All eyes would be on her today and she needed to remain poised, keep her dignity intact.


Downstairs, Catherine held Eamonn and Sean in her arms as she stood silent in front of the casket. Eamonn could sense the somber energy weighing in the room. He rested his head in the crook of Catherine's neck, unknowingly filling her with warm comfort.

She handed the boys off the Brien and his girlfriend, who was staying at the house to watch the boys during the funeral.

Whether or not she wanted to face reality, this was her final goodbye to Darragh.

"I love you, so much," she whispered. "You will always be the light of my life. Sleep peacefully, my love. I'll see you in the next life."

Catherine kissed the casket.

A soft hand was placed on her shoulder. She turned her head to find it was Patrick, dressed identically to Jimmy. "We're ready, Catherine."

She saw the six uniformed men gathered at the back of the room. They waited for her to give them the okay. She did by slightly nodding her head. Carefully, they unfolded the Tri-Color and swathed it over the casket. Liam handed her Darragh's beret and gloves. She affixed them in the center of the flag.

Acting as pallbearers, the men lifted the casket into position before walking towards the front door. It was opened by a Sinn Fein woman and they all exited the house.

It was a cool, crisp day—plentiful sunshine and a light breeze. PSNI helicopters still hummed overhead. Black flags lined the streets, waving in the wind. Everyone waiting on the Falls Road dabbed their eyes as they watched Catherine walk close behind the casket to the hearse.

Jimmy stood stoic and straight, his eyes never once leaving her.

At the rear of the hearse, the pallbearers stopped and lowered the casket onto a trestle. From the crowd of people, masked men emerged with pistols. Catherine knew they were the members of her former unit, and the ones Darragh commanded until his death.

Three of the men took their position behind the casket and were called to attention—in Irish—by a fourth. They aimed their pistols toward the sky. Three ear-splitting volleys were fired.

In the day's leading up to the funeral, the PSNI had warned the IRA that the tradition of a three-volley salute would not be tolerated. Unwilling to back down from political pressure, the Ra decided the raids and possible arrests were worth doing things their way.

So, when the final volley had been fired, the men quickly disappeared into the sea of people, which closed their path and kept them out of sight from the troops and police officers.

Lifting the casket off the trestle, it was loaded into the hearse. As it slowly pulled away down the Falls Road towards St. Paul's, Catherine briefly looked back to see who was walking behind her. She was flabbergasted by the sheer number of men who brazenly wore their white shirts, black ties, and armbands.

Patrick slung his arm over Catherine's shoulder. "They're all here for you, too. Never forget that."


Just before eleven, the hearse arrived at St. Paul's. Before the casket was brought into the church, Gerry Adams removed the beret, gloves, and flag, handing them off to a volunteer.

Catherine sat in the first row of pews with Olivia next to her. Jimmy was directly behind her, with Donny in the third row. His second-in-command leaned over the pew to whisper to Jimmy that the PSNI was gearing up to raid houses in both west and east Belfast. He warned that Catherine should be expecting a visit after the burial.

In record time, the church filled. Many more waited outside.

As Father O'Malley ascended to the pulpit to celebrate the requiem, Catherine wondered if she made the right decision to not hold Mass at St. Matt's. Father O'Malley was an old school priest, who stressed the importance of praying for peace and understanding. Now that it had been revealed that Darragh was an IRA man, she was afraid that he would use his sermon to make a political statement.

A slight wave of apprehension crashed over her as Mass began.

"Today, we have gathered to celebrate and honor a man who has taken his place beside the proud Fenian dead. Darragh was not only a man of humility and intellect, but he was a man of the sword, willing to stop at nothing to see his people free."

Taking a sigh of relief, Catherine unclenched her jaw and relaxed against Olivia.


A lone piper led the procession through the gates of Milltown Cemetery, making their way to the republican plot. The wind whipped through Catherine's hair as she stood at the gravesite with Liam holding hers and Shauna's hand.

When the burial ceremony started, Catherine was presented with the folded Tri-Color, along with Darragh's beret and gloves. Hugging the flag against her chest, she was numb. The shock was still impeding her grasp on reality.

As she watched the casket be lowered into the ground, she kept trying to convince herself that Darragh would be waiting for her at home. That when she crossed the threshold into their warm, welcoming living room, he would jump up excitedly, eager to hear about her day. Then after dinner, they would curl up on the sofa and solve the crossword in the Irish Times.

But Catherine knew she couldn't lie to herself. Darragh was gone and he was never coming back. He was gone because a halfwit recruit had killed the leading man of the Ulster Volunteer Force.

Father Ashby led them in reciting the Our Father. Liam delivered a moving homily.

The ceremony ended and Catherine remained at Darragh's gravesite as everyone else dispersed. She reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt. Dropping it gently over the casket, she smiled down to the love of her life one last time.

Liam walked with Catherine to the front gates where her family was waiting. Patrick gathered his daughter in his arms, afraid to let her go.

Resting her cheek on his chest, all she could focus on were the PSNI officers that flooded the Falls Road. They were furious with the volleys of gunfire, the public appearance of uniformed IRA men, and the sizable crowd that developed.

She took particular attention to a scuffle that had broken out between a handful of people about her age, and two soldiers. They pointed their rifles at the frightened mourners, screaming that they "would kill every fucking one" of them.

Catherine pulled away from Patrick. She watched the men and women comply with the orders of the British army.

Looking over to Jimmy, she placed Darragh's beret on her head.

That's exactly what you'll have to do, Catherine thought. Kill every last fucking one of us.

Because as long as only one of them were alive, they'd never be defeated.