A/N: Posting another chapter in honor of both the DVD release of All Saints Day and the one-night-only 10th anniversary showings of the original today. I've had my tickets for 3 weeks and I can't wait! The following is based on the deleted scene "Ma Calls From Ireland."

1999

Connor sat on the decrepit sofa, gingerly icing his crotch, which had become immensely swollen after winding up on the wrong end of Rosie's steel-toed work boot. Murphy was across the loft, getting ready to take a shower. The phone suddenly rang. Connor, who was closest, answered. Annabelle MacManus's voice came over the line.

"Connor, is that you?" Her words were badly slurred.

"Mother, is that you?"

"Is that worthless brother of yours there?" asked Annabelle. "I wan' ye both ta hear this."

"Christ, there's no fuckin' hot water," griped Murphy, turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Shut it, it's Ma." hissed Connor.

As the conversation continued, Connor grew increasingly worried. It certainly wasn't the first time Ma had called them while she was drunk or the first time she'd called drunk and cried about Da leaving them; it was, however, the first time she'd said she had nothing to live for and sounded like she really meant it.

"I finally found your da's Army revolver, Connor," Annabelle informed him.

"Ma, what the hell are you doin' with Da's gun?" Connor asked in an edgy tone.

"Da's gun?" Murphy's concern was mounting too.

"I got it ta me head now," Annabelle went on, "and I wanna tell ya one last thing before I pull the trigger."

"Pull the trigger? Have ya lost it, woman?" Connor was in a full-blown panic now.

His mother didn't seem to hear him. "I...BLAME...YOU!" she screamed.

A split second later, a gunshot sounded in Connor's ear. He jumped off the sofa, spilling his bag of ice and dropping the phone on the floor. Connor dove after it. Murphy tripped over his own feet and fell forward, joining Connor in his mad scramble for the phone. Connor grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear. Both brothers began to scream "Ma!" into the mouthpiece at intervals, only to be met with silence; their hearts pounded in a combination of dread and terror. Suddenly, there was sound at the other end of the line: hoarse laughter. Their mother's laughter.

Murphy regained the use of his voice first and grabbed the phone. "That was a good one, Ma."

"Oh Jesus, no, Ma, no," Annabelle mocked the twins' voices. Her hoarse laughter dissolved into manic giggling.

To Connor, Murphy muttered, "She's quite proud of herself."

"Well, of course she is," Connor said weakly, his heart still thumping painfully fast.

Once Connor felt like he could breathe again, he pushed himself up on his elbows and put his head next to Murphy's so he could hear what Ma was saying.

"It's only 11:00 here, boys," said Annabelle, continuing the conversation as though she hadn't just scared her sons half to death. "I got lots more drinkin' t' do with your worthless relatives down at The Anvil."

Judging from the way she was slurring her words, more alcohol was the last thing their ma needed.

"Ye just called t' torture us, didja?" Murphy said darkly.

"Ma, how's Uncle Sibeal?" asked Connor.

"He's been havin' a drink here and there himself. Been up the waitress's skirt all night, poor girl." replied Annabelle.

"You tell him he's gotta respect women the way Connor does," said Murphy, lightly patting his brother's cheek.

Connor jerked away. "Don't even start, ye little bastard!"

"He got beat up by a girl, Ma," he said with relish.

"Ma, if that was a girl, I wan' ta see some papers," said Connor. "She had ta be just preoperative."

"What'd ya do t' her, Connor?" asked Annabelle.

"I jus' tried ta make friends an' she gave me a shot ta the nuts." Connor explained.

"What?" Annabelle was aghast. "The dirty bitch. I hope ye trounced her a good one."

"Don' worry about a t'ing, Ma, I respected the hell outta her for ya," said Murphy.

Connor rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, Macho Murph."

Annabelle went on a stilted rant about the hardships of having to carry two children at the same time, then breastfeed and take care of two babies. She made Connor and Murphy promise not to fight when they went out drinking for Saint Patrick's Day later that night.

"We promise," said Murphy.

"Shit," Annabelle said quietly. "Gotta go. I think I caused a ruckus with that shot. Half the damn neighborhood's comin' up the hill."

"All right, we love ya, Ma," said Murphy. "Before you go, give us the goods, eh?"

Annabelle had never told the twins which of them was older. Not knowing drove them both mad.

"Ma, it's been 27 years," added Connor. "Now jus' tell us. Who came out first?"

"All right," sighed Annabelle. "I suppose ye have the right ta know."

Connor and Murphy both propped themselves up further on their elbows. Murphy pulled the phone closer to his ear.

"I can't fuckin' hear," said Connor, swatting Murphy on top of the head.

The silence on the other end of the line dragged on; it felt like an eternity. Connor and Murphy lay on their stomachs amidst the scattered ice cubes, waiting eagerly to hear the information that would settle the debate that had been raging for years.

"The one with the bigger cock," Annabelle said finally.

She cackled insanely and hung up the phone. Connor and Murphy remained on the floor, jaws dropped in disbelief.

"That's yer fuckin' mother talkin' like that," said Connor.

"She's yer fuckin' mother too," Murphy reminded him.

Connor stood up and tossed the phone on the sofa. "Crazy woman."

Murphy rolled onto his back, surveying his brother from the floor and grinning evilly.

Connor frowned, knowing exactly what was making Murphy smile like that. "Don't even start. I've 'ad ice on mine, all right?"