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Author's Note: I apologize for the looong delay on this story. Now that I'm on summer vacation, I have more time to devote to writing. Stick with me, please!
Chap4 A Sight to Behold
"Let's break the walls down and find how to live cause you and I have so much to give. I know that I have taken things; taken things I've had for granted, but I know this one thing's for sure…we are forming a sight to behold. We hold forever and ever…"A Sight to Behold by Eisley
Kentucky, the Next Day
"What is taking that broad so long?" Connor griped. His impatience was quick after a restless, early morning's sleep.
The guys paced outside Room 37 of The Flamingo's Pink motel. She had been locked behind its door for over an hour.
Murph shrugged, feeling for his pack of cigarettes. The almost-afternoon sun warmed his face. It wasn't so bad. He tilted toward it as he lit up. "Dunno. Let's make the call. She'll be done by the time we get back."
"We can only fucking hope," Connor remarked under his breath.
He led the way across the street to the only pay phone they could find within sight of the motel. From where it was sandwiched between a crumbling liquor store and a seedy-looking bar, they could see Elise's closed door behind the steel balcony rail.
Connor glanced around at the shady characters milling about the street already at this unlikely day hour. He decided they'd look right at home scrunched into the booth making their illicit phone call. He pulled the scrap of paper containing Little Johnny's private line from his wallet.
As expected, the phone was picked up on the first ring. It was Connor's cue to listen.
"It's been a goddamn bloodbath here since you left," the tired voice on the other end told him.
He didn't care. "Is Doc okay?" He instantly asked. The old man had been on his mind since they'd made their overdramatic escape from his bar.
"Is my girl safe?" Johnny insisted.
"Aye, the woman is fine," Connor said. "She's proven she can take care of herself, that's for sure."
The brothers exchanged assured nods, both squinting against the insistent sun toward her still-closed door.
"I assure you; your old friend is good as ever. He's been compensated well for his troubles. He's practically got a brand new bar for Christ's sakes," the other man said.
"Good," Connor mumbled. He turned to his brother. "Doc's taken care of."
"I assume you found the cash. Did you get settled?" Little Johnny asked.
"We're working on that. Your girl had a small, uh, incident with a druggie pedophile, but she put 'im to bed quite effectively. Growing up in your fucked up family taught her a lot."
Connor thought he heard the other man chuckle as he cleared his throat for more questions.
"Where are you?" Her cousin baited.
Connor tapped at his brother, crunched awkwardly between the phone booth door and his shoulder. He addressed him in Russian. "He wants to know where we are."
Murphy shook his head, replying back in the same language. "I just don't trust those blood thirsty bastards. Money or not."
Connor nodded in agreeance. "We're on the road. We'll be there soon," he decided upon. "That's all I'm going to say."
The older man sighed, weary of his ambiguity. "How do I know you are legitimate?"
"You don't," Connor snickered. "But your girl is no peach to be around. So be thankful we are sticking with the job. We'll hook back up in a couple days with ya. Once we arrive where we need to be. If we can get er outta the bathroom."
Little Johnny continued talking, questioning, but Connor had tired of the man's curiosity. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nice chattin' with ya, Johnny." He hung up.
"Fuckin' Yakies and their mobster movie bullshit," Connor grumbled, signaling his brother for a fresh cigarette. "Has she come out yet?"
Murphy belted out an incredulous laugh. "Hell no."
"Damn, it's been over an hour. Suppose she's got uh," he gestured to his stomach, making quick circling motions, "some, uh, intestinal trouble from that shit diner food we ate last night?"
Murphy shook his head. "Nah, she's doin' stuff. Woman stuff. Primping or some shit."
"Mmhm," he muttered. He paused a second, randomly flicking ash into the dingy wind. "I miss Ma's barley soup."
"Aye, I'm hungry, too." His brother pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner boasting fresh donuts from the window. "Let's get some donuts."
Inside the cafe, the coffee bled thick and potent into their glass decanters. Connor couldn't wait to wrap his hand around a foam cup of the stuff.
If only I had a bit of Jameson to pour into it, he thought.
The guys passed over the stale cinnamon rolls spread with crusty dry icing and the day-old Danish. They headed for the donut case getting freshened up by a wizened old baker.
Murphy bent, examining each choice while his brother placed his order. "I'll get Elise a chocolate one. The one with pink sprinkles," he told Connor.
"Aw, that's sweet of you. Better get her two. I've seen her eat. She's got quite the appetite."
Murphy didn't flinch or even look toward his brother. He seemed completely unaffected by his familiar, even expected, sarcastic tone. His eyes were still on the donuts. "Ah yes, you're right. I'll get her a cream filled one, too."
"Yeah, you want to give her a cream filled one allright," Connor tittered, continuing the banter.
"Hardee har." Murphy snatched up the waxy bags waiting for them on the counter top. He tossed one at Connor. "Here. Stuff your face."
Back at the motel, Murphy's rapping at her door went unnoticed. He tried again, but the previous night's episode where an unanswered knock ended in murder was still fresh in his mind. Who the fuck knew who or what could be on the other side of the wall this time. With her.
Tucking the donut bag under his arm, he gripped the knob. His face couldn't decide to flinch or grin as the knob did not resist him. He pushed the door open, assaulted by the flowery fragrance of her.
Apparently, there was no real danger. Just an overabundance of perfume and soap. Enough to suffocate someone. He squinted against the dark light of the room, finding an unoccupied space to put her breakfast.
"Damn, woman, how much shit do you need for one trip?" He mumbled in awe. His eyes had finally adjusted and were now overwhelmed by the heaps of hair products, hair accessories, and other female miscellanea spread and stacked over any flat surface in the room.
In the adjoining bathroom, he could hear the droning roar of her hair dryer. She was singing. He recognized the hymn from Sunday morning mass over the other noise. Her voice was much lovelier than the Irish priest's and his monotone congregation.
Murphy took a seat on the only edge of the bed where clothing did not clutter about. There, in the center of the bed, he noticed the suitcase filled with money. It was just sitting there, its silver zipper mouth gaping open at him, just asking to be raided by any criminal doing room checks for open doors and unattended valuables.
"What the fuck?" He said to her even though she was completely out of earshot and lifting her voice higher.
He gathered up the bag, sealed it, and tossed a bunch of her rumpled dresses over it. At his back, she settled in to the last verse.
He felt around, looking for more clothes to hide the bag. He sifted and shuffled stuff until he came across a small case of frilly lace and downy silk. Lifting his hand, a black bra dangled innocently from one finger.
"Humph," he breathed out. A sly grin spread across his face.
Curious, he examined the bra. The thick, smooth strap he held felt absolutely forbidden. The large cups overlapped with thin netting and tiny fake pearls. A small smile toyed with his lips as he imagined her soft breasts filling them, heaving a bit with anticipation while his finger worked its way slowly under…
The dryer stopped behind him.
Murphy's eyes veered to the closed door behind him. He swung the bra across the bed. He was unaware of where it landed, but it didn't matter. With all her stuff strewn about, she'd never know he had touched it.
She'd have no idea of the thoughts he'd just tossed right along with it. Thoughts he hadn't entertained about any particular broad in a while.
He waited, but the door did not open.
Instead, she was moving on to another familiar hymn; something with several verses. He knew it would be at least another ten minutes of primping.
His inquiring eyes led his hands back to where her unmentionables dripped from the case.
This time he dove in to it, fishing around, and hooking a pale pink garter belt. Everything looked like her-feminine, pretty, and plentiful. He imagined they felt like her, too. Plush. Silken. Sensuous. The words kept coming to him with every piece of lingerie he lifted from the bag.
But something tapped at him; nudged him to put her things down. Whatever it was singed him harshly with guilt. What seemed harmless moments ago suddenly felt intrusive.
He heard her making sounds, moving things, preparing to leave. He voice shifted back and forth between singing and humming.
He went back to being the good boy, his hands folded innocently in his lap and his eyes staring straight at the blank television set. It reminded him of that catechism, forced rigid and quiet in the seat behind her. He remembered the long ropes of braided red hair, the freckles he memorized and counted spread over neck like a cinnamon rash. He could almost feel the boyish tingle that would start up in his pants just sitting so close. He didn't mean to smile, but it was too easy. Again, thoughts and feelings he hadn't opened up and sifted through in a very long time.
When she finally emerged, Murphy was safely away from her undergarments, unassumingly holding the bag of donuts and barely-lukewarm coffee out to her to prove his innocence.
She was dolled up head to toe again, but this time in a vintage poppy red dress. Its unseasonal straps were hidden beneath a small black jacket. The sides of her hair were tacked up in neat little bows, revealing long dangling beads almost dragging her earlobes. She stepped toward him in strappy black heels that led his mind straight back to the lacy black bra and panties he'd just been fingering.
He couldn't help but wonder what she was wearing under that dress.
"Good morning," he almost chirped too enthusiastically. But she seemed to appreciate the smile.
She smiled back, all bright and red to match the dress. "Well, good morning to you, Mr. Sunshine." She spied the food. "How thoughtful. Thank you. I don't recall ordering room service."
He scratched at an invisible itch at the back of his head. "Yeah, uh, we went in search of food this morning and this is the best we could do."
The first bite was decadent. She rolled her eyes in joy. "Mmm. Works for me," she said between bites. "So, what's the plan? Because I really have no desire to get back in that car right now."
Murphy shook his head. "Nah, Connor thinks we should lay low for a day. Stretch our legs and,"
"Drink?" She blurted. She finished her first indulgent sip of artificially sweetened fuel. "He's been whining about a decent drink for long enough."
"I could use one, too," he said. "How 'bout you?" He gestured lame and short to the latest ensemble she wore. "You're all done up already. This place is loaded with bars. I'm sure the three of us can find an inconspicuous place to hole up for the day and drink down some of your mobster money."
She was at the nightstand loading her purse with whatever junk she could shove into it. "No thanks. I'm going in search of a decent bathing suit. I don't know what I'll find in November, but a girl's gotta try."
"This place is awful," Murphy rumbled. "Who keeps a heated pool outside this time of year?"
"It's unbelievably cheesy," she laughed. "But that's the appeal. I like anything covered in cheese," she joked.
She barely got a chuckle out of him. He pushed his bottom lip into his teeth with a nervous thumb. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us? Seems like a waste of all that make-up to just go shopping."
"I'm sure," she said, preoccupied with shuffling her clothes away from the hidden money bag. "But maybe I'll meet up with you later. You all seem like the life of the party. I'll just follow the sound of loud swear words and breaking bottles to find ya."
She handed him some cash from a strapped stack. "This should hold you over. If I don't find you in a bar perhaps I'll meet you back here. Poolside," she winked.
Connor watched from the edge of the parking lot as the two parted ways. The woman pranced off without so much as a 'good day' to him down one sidewalk. His brother hung back, striding toward him.
Connor eyed her as she moved farther away. "Where's she heading off to? A swing dance competition?"
Murphy absently socked him in the ribs. "She's going shopping."
"For what?" His brother spat.
"Bathing suit, I guess. I didn't ask for a fucking list."
"Sure it's a good idea? Her traipsing about without an escort? What if she gets her ass in a ringer again?"
Murphy reached for his smokes. "Then I pity the poor bastard that puts it there."
She walked a while to a better area of town, pleased that her shoes were not giving her feet any trouble yet. She flitted from shop to shop, enjoying the peaceful quiet and the sun spreading its warmth all over her.
Soon I will see you, sister. Soon we will be together again in a safe place away from bad guys with bounties on our heads. She wondered if a day would come when she could forget this mess.
But for now she was aware of the cash she was spending and the gun lying dormant in her handbag. Blood money. A babysitting fee. And a license to kill. Like a shadow darkening the sky, everything from the past few days showed up wanting to spoil her good mood.
She glanced over her shoulder, wondering; waiting for the next bad encounter. How is this any different than Boston? At the convent? Always looking…
She sighed, deep and mournful. Get used to it, girlie. Because this is it forever. Or until the family calls a truce. But she knew stubborn grudge-holding ran deep. Forgiveness did not.
It was late afternoon by the time she'd found an acceptable bathing suit. It had been shoved between two robes on a clearance rack; just her price and size. Afterward, she wandered around a Going out of Business video store until she discovered a last copy of Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart. She already had a copy at home, but home was a long time ago.
She contemplated pizza and the movie as she made her way back to the skids. Pizza had been a severe luxury at the convent. She'd maybe indulged twice in her eight years with the nuns.
The sun wanted to set, but it struggled against the impending early November twilight just so she could get back to the familiar side street where The Flamingo's Pink practically glowed in the dark.
By now, her feet were complaining. She answered them in her usual stubborn manner by forcing them to walk just a few more blocks past the motel to the row of crappy bars polluting the scenery.
Her arms loaded with full shopping bags, Elise passed each lit up establishment, wondering which would appeal most to the boys. The Firehouse, Al's Place, The Mess Hall, Shiner's. None of them sounded particularly Irish or McManus-friendly until she ended at Finnegan's. It boasted its Gaelic name with lucky-green neon and small buzzing shamrocks surrounding it.
Bingo! She silently cheered.
The stout corner building trembled with the force of fierce rock music, but the crowd inside didn't mind. They were roaring and hollering, oblivious to the ruckus that was spilling out onto the creepy night street. She took a deep breath and dared to enter. The last bar I went into…well, it ended badly, she reminded herself.
She spotted Connor and Murphy immediately, seated right in the center of the storm. Their long legs crowded and bent under the bar. A trail of bronze shots lined the bar, leading to Connor. Before he slammed the next one waiting, he yelled out in his native tongue, rousing the drunken crowd around him.
She rolled her eyes, amazed they could hear him over the cluttered sound coming from the new-fangled jukebox.
Murphy hooted beside him, slamming an encouraging palm into the middle of his brother's back. He didn't seem to be as intoxicated as his brother, but that didn't surprise her. She figured he was the heavier partier therefore much more accustomed to his alcohol. He was happy. And she noticed how adorable that happiness made him. She couldn't help but smile.
He swiveled around on the waxy stool, and a tipsy blonde noticed. She invited herself to his open lap.
Her smile dissolved and all thoughts of his cuteness disintegrated. Elise watched coolly at the end of the bar, but something tickled beneath the surface. An irritating itchy sensation in a place she couldn't reach.
She ignored the busty bartender's "what can I getcha?" The bartender waited only a second before dancing off to the next patron.
The blond, trim and scantily-dressed, wriggled around. Her movements only suggested he see more of her thigh. She let him light her cigarette and called for another drink. She blew clumsy plumes of smoke toward the ceiling, letting Murphy also lay down the several dollar bills for her beer.
Our money, Elise demanded. She plopped the bags at her aching feet with unnecessary defiant force. I'll be damned if he spends another cent on that floozy's drinks.
The blond moved again, this time her ultra-shiny ruby lips reaching. Her teeth snagged Murphy's earlobe. She pulled him closer, playing her slutty fingers across the back of his neck into his short, lightened hair. He smiled, laughed, and his hands…
Something terrible reared up inside Elise. It stung like the Devil's pitchfork to the ass. It caused her to yelp and jump. But nobody noticed. Least of all Murphy who had occupied himself with the blond's disgusting mouth.
A storm was building in her. Angry lightning zapped her, blinding her with hot jealousy. It cleared her mind of anything sensible. For a split second she hated him. She wanted desperately to hurt him. Just a little. But one small slap would not satisfy her.
Behind her, a group of rowdy guys entered. It was obvious by their looks and smell they'd visited every other place on the block before finally stopping here. They crowded Elise, apparently wanting drinks before actually wading into the fray.
"Excuse me," Elise protested, gritting her teeth against their roughness. She twisted her limbs, but still felt crushed beneath their surge.
One catfish-faced guy pushed harder against her, barking orders to the grooving bartender. Elise was near slugging him, but he let up abruptly. She followed his hazy gaze to Blondie still cleaning out Murphy's throat with her loose tongue.
He flicked the big cowboy-boot wearing guy next to him. "Hey Arnie, isn't that your fiancé over there?"
"Over where?" The big redneck rumbled. He was scanning the crowd, seeking out someone.
Catfish pointed, more insistent. "There, man. On that skinny dude's lap."
Elise watched, fascinated. Fiance? The party was about to crank up a notch. She hoped for a second the bar had good insurance.
She'd heard lightning doesn't typically strike in the same place twice, but tonight that was proven a myth. Big Redneck Arnie had been struck like her. Except the bolt had been bigger, stronger, and more volatile.
"Mary Ellen, gawdamn you!" He roared. The crowd either didn't hear him or just chose to ignore him, and Mary Ellen kept right on with the skinny Irishman.
"Bitch never could hold her liquor," Catfish grumbled.
Big Redneck charged toward his girlfriend. Elise knew what was coming for Murphy, but she'd be damned if that huge hick was going to beat her to him. She reached across the bar, grabbing at the nearest empty bottle. She turned it upside down until the neck felt slippery and warm in her grip.
On wobbly heels, she pushed through his grabby friends, and raced ahead of the stomping Arnie. It was like the last scene in a bar. Everything moved in slow motion, like she was pushing herself forward under water. She could see, hear, feel everything moving around her like a dream, but she was awake and moving with it.
Connor noticed her first. He held his arms out wide, beaming drunk and red-faced. "Hey, Elise! Welcome to the party, darlin'! Come on over to…"
He tried to catch her, but almost slipped off the stool as she veered away from his wriggling fingers. "Aw shit. I missed," he spat, tumbling into a pile of wet laughter.
She didn't even bother with a look in his direction, but her peripheral vision kept her in the know.
She bumped into someone trying to dance. The tiny distraction gave Big Redneck the advantage to pull ahead of her. She watched, irritated, as the brute scooped up her target by the collar.
She liked the way the woman flopped from Murphy's lap and tried to stop her boyfriend from doing what he probably ended up doing often. Big Redneck Arnie just pushed her away like swatting gnats from a loaded paper plate.
Murphy's lips moved quickly around words she couldn't hear, but she knew he was giving his best defense.
Too late.
The guy had cocked his arm, ready to deliver the first blow. Like a comic book caption, Elise heard the POW of his fist connecting somewhere on Murphy's face. She sucked at air as his head snapped back fantastically then teetered precariously on a limp neck.
Her gasp turned to a growl. "Oh no you don't, you asshole!"
Before she had time to protest, her new self stepped in. The self that allowed her such things as killing and attacking and now cursing. The Other Elise reared back like a rowdy mare protecting her young, and the bottle crashed over the hick's head. The thick trucker's hat did not soften the blow, and Big Redneck buckled. But only slightly.
Shards of glass rained over his face. As he turned to find out who had bothered to clobber him, he swiped a meaty arm across his nose. The glass buried itself into his red flesh and a rash of blood began to spread.
"Well, uh, you kind of asked for it," she said quite meekly.
She wanted to back up. Scram. But Connor dove into the guy. He had the brute firmly around the waist, waiting for his brother's retaliation. He didn't wait long. Murphy had recovered and was driving his elbow mercilessly into his abuser's neck.
From the corner of her eye, she spied Blondie coming at her, claws out. Her only defense was the spiked heels she wore. Elise raised her leg. She dug the sharp heel like a steel rod into the woman's gut. Blondie made a throaty whooshing sound before losing her own footing and toppling into a couple spectators of the whole fiasco.
It was an invitation to riot.
Suddenly, the crowd descended. Blondie, her beat-down boyfriend, and his stunned buddies were swallowed up by a twister of limbs and fists going in every direction. On the jukebox, The Georgia Satellites started strumming and wailing about some change in a pocket going jay-galing-galing, but nobody but Elise seemed to catch the irony.
A song about keepin' hands to yourself while an entire bar full of people erupt into violence, she thought. Interesting.
Elise felt a hand groping, grabbing for her. It was Connor. She whirled around, avoiding another man's flying knuckles in the process.
"Elise!" Connor hollered. "Make for the door!"
She obeyed, scooping up her shopping bags as she did.
She had no idea how the guys got through the din, but within seconds of hitting fresh air, they emerged.
Connor bent, his hands holding to his knees. He wheezed and coughed, trying to push disbelieving laughter from his chest. Murphy leaned against him. His left eye was buried beneath purplish puffy skin. A line of blood trickled from his brow, but he smiled at her all the same.
Elise instinctively reached for his head. "Are you okay?"
In his drunken stupor, he allowed her fingers to tenderly press and prod the injury. "Aye, I'm fit as a fiddle. Where to now?" He cracked.
Elise exploded, exasperated. She let go, letting his head drop loosely. "Are you kidding? No." She stomped her foot forcefully. "No!"
"No?" Murphy echoed, sputtering up laughs.
"No! No! No! I am done with your shenanigans!" She nodded toward the motel. "I'm going back to that dump. I'm putting on my new bathing suit I spent all day searching for, and after I'm done swimming, I'm gonna sink into that lumpy bed and eat fifteen slices of pizza and drool over Jimmy Stewart. Until I fall into an exhausted coma."
"She's right. No." Connor's voice of reason showed up. "We're not having such good luck in bars these days. We don't need the extra publicity either. Swimming sounds," he paused, drumming up a suitable word, "uneventful. Harmless even. And if you're hungry, pizza's always your man."
"Always your man?" She wondered.
He waved her away. "Eh, it's just somethin' we say back home."
"Well, if we're ordering pizza, I'm gonna need some suds to wash it down," Murphy told them. "There's a liquor store on the other side of the motel. We'll get the goods and be back soon."
"You need ice for your eye," she mentioned. "Bring back a bag."
"Aye, it smarts somethin'brutal now that you're done gropin' it," he said, pushing his fingers gingerly into it.
The echo of police sirens, warning of their impending arrival separated them once again. Elise headed toward The Flamingo's Pink while the brothers went in search of grub and suds.
She unwrapped from the raggedy motel towel just as the guys showed up on the desolate pool patio. The sight stopped Connor in his tracks.
"Whoa. Wouldya look at that?" He let out a low whistle, nudging his brother.
Murphy tossed the cans of beer atop a cheap, plastic table. They made quite a ruckus, echoing over the entire patio. "What?" He mumbled.
"Your dream girl, that's what."
"She's not my dream girl, you fucking co-" his voice dribbled into silence as he turned his attention to Elise.
She was scampering across the freezing cold cement, holding her freckled, goose-pimpled arms across her chest. Her flaming hair blazed soft and freshly groomed down her back. She was smiling wide, seemingly thrilled about the ice in the air and the idea of leaping into a warm stale hole of water. But when she got to the edge, she simply stood, gazing down into it, using her toe to gauge its true temperature. The bathing suit she chose was a drab brown one-piece, probably unflattering to most figures. But it held snug to her, shelving her large rack and ample backside. She looked svelte and sophisticated, even in something so dowdy.
"She's got good curves, I'll give 'er that," Connor decided.
She looked up.
Connor's gaze whipped across his brother's bruised face. "Do ya think she heard me?"
Murphy shook his head. "Naw, I don't. But keep your mouth shut about her. She's a Godly woman."
Connor grinned like the Devil, wiggling his brows. "Godly or not, she's still a woman I betcha."
"What does that mean?" Murphy squinted and scowled, but his question went unanswered.
He watched as his brother peeled from his mussed jeans and tshirt a little too eagerly. The silver cross he wore bounced against his taut chest, and Connor let out a low whistle against the night's cold.
"You comin'?" He asked Murphy.
"Nah, you go," Murphy mumbled, waving him away. He was busy smashing bagged ice against the table, making a cold compress for his throbbing forehead. "Have fun freezing your balls off in that dirty bath water" he added grouchily.
A foulness seemed to be settling upon his brother's mood, but Connor chose to ignore it. He thought to disagree or shrug him a "suit yourself", but decided against it quickly. He'd had enough arm wrestling for the night. Instead, he turned his attention to the woman cutting slowly through the peaceful pool.
Elise made her way to the edge of the pool, bobbing gently on her toes. She wasn't ready to dunk down into the lukewarm water just yet. She was waiting for her chaperones to come play; maybe race her the length of the pool.
"Come on, you wussies!" she called.
Connor was undressing clumsily. He yelled back, "Be there soon, doll!"
His intoxication may have been contagious because she heard herself giggle at his sentiment. She couldn't say she didn't enjoy the view. He was lean and firm, stripped down to his bleached skivvies. She also couldn't help but wonder if his twin was built the same. She peered over the edge of the pool, waiting somewhat impatiently for Murphy to move his butt from the chair and remove his clothes.
Above her, Connor was taking a few strides back from the pool. Elise knew his next move.
"Don't you do it!" She hollered, trying not to laugh behind a menacing glare.
His face broke into an ornery sneer. "Oh yes. It's on, woman."
He raced forward, prodded by her wild screech of half protest-half laughter. Taking flight near the edge, Connor tucked his knees up in an ungainly kind of ball, hurling himself into the water.
"Cannonball!" He bellowed.
The waves from his disorderly splash lapped into her face, flowing freely into her laughing mouth. She spit them out, yelling and splashing him back. Warm droplets trickled into her eyes. She wiped them away, looking back at the other brother. She fully expected another splash landing beside her, but he was still sitting.
"Murphy!" She called to him.
He didn't respond. His head was turned, his eyes occupied on something in the distance. His hands were busy cracking open another beer.
"Murphy!" She yelled again, this time choked on more water forced into her mouth by Connor's noisy swimming motions in front of her.
For a second, Murphy's eyes flicked over her bobbing face in the pool. Even in the tepid water she felt the searing chill of his cold temper icing her body. Then, he took another deep swig of his beer and looked away. He waved her away like he'd done to his brother, his body frozen to the flimsy patio chair.
I wonder what's gotten to him, she thought, shrugging. Perhaps he's not such a happy drunk after all.
Behind her, the other brother was acting just as uncharacteristically silly. He had one hand perched atop his wet head like the fin of shark. He was muttering the theme from Jaws and heading her way.
"Duh dunt. Duh dunt. I'm a great white shark hunting pretty girls," he sputtered from just above the water's jiggly surface. "Duh dunt duhha!"
He slipped under the water, catching her around the waist. She screamed her pleasure, wriggling and pushing at his cagey arms.
When he burst to the surface, Elise pushed him away by the face. "What's gotten in to the two of you?" She giggled. She speculated her own answer. Too much alcohol.
Connor paddled back. "I'm just havin' a bit of fun. You got somethin' against that?"
She shook her head. "No. Not usually. I mean, I haven't had much fun in the last eight years. 'S'pose I'm just not used to it."
"Well start getting used to it," he told her in his most stern tone. "Because this team is nothing but a barrel of fun and excitement."
"I'm not exactly getting the party vibe from your teammate right now," she muttered, glancing back to Murphy. He had a cigarette out and poised to be lit between his taut lips. He still refused to look at her, his eyes still riveted to whatever he found so captivating beyond the motel's property.
"Eh, he gets moody like that. Best just to leave him alone. Let him stew in his own juices awhile til he gets whatever it is out of his system," he advised.
Connor stood, shaking the water from his long frame. He pushed his waterlogged hair back, making tiny spikes of glistening dirty blond stand on end. The cross also glistened, catching a wink from the high moon floating above them in its own pool of darkness.
Elise twisted, closed her eyes, and swam a step away. She curved onto her back, floating softly, easily, wishing at the moon she could drift this peaceful the rest of the way to Nebraska.
She felt Connor wade up beside her. She felt him staring into her face. She peered at him through one eye. "What?" She breathed.
"I'm sorry if I've been kind of hard on you, Elise," he managed to choke out.
"Kind of?" She squawked. "Let's keep it real. You've been a total jerk."
"You haven't been too charming yourself, lass," he responded gruffly. She'd ruffled him. He gave her floating body a small nudge to confirm it, and she glided away from him.
She couldn't deny it. He'd gotten under her skin. And even though their spiritual connection proved they were linked in some supernatural fashion, she still felt like just a job to them, a check to cash once they dropped her like heavy baggage at the doors of the homeless shelter. No matter where she lived or whose life she improved beneath her habit, she constantly felt displaced. Unnoticed. Belonging to no one.
You will always belong to me, His voice reasoned inside her. She felt the Holy Spirit move inside her. She wanted it to soften her heart toward Connor so the bickering might end, and they could get to her sister in one solid piece. Right now she felt broken into shards of discontent. Shattered glass beneath their bare feet, slicing in to their lives in some random pattern.
"I know you miss her," she heard him say from across the pool. "I don't know," he gulped. "I don't know how I'd be without my brother."
She squeezed her eyes against the sudden tears welling from Connor's unexpected confession. She kept on her back, not sure where she was drifting to in the large pool.
He swam up beside her again. His hand was on her arm, anchoring her to one spot. He watched her teeter atop the water, threatening to tip. "We're going to get to her soon. I promise."
Her lids lifted. Her blurry eyes glimpsed the cross. His other hand reached, fingering the necklace. "He commands it." He looked to the Heavens. "And He'll see to it."
Suddenly, she was on her feet, bobbing on the tips of her toes. "But how safe are we in the meantime? I can't stop seeing the faces of those men I shot. Friends of my father. Family I used to sit with around the dinner table."
"Bad guys," he corrected. "Men that were sent for your head, woman." Again, his eyes darted to the sky above. "You're one of us now. The Good Lord made that perfectly clear to you back at Doc's. "Stop fighting it."
Elise looked down into the water at the hand that still held her. His fingers gripped her tighter as he spoke. "I've been living looking over my shoulder for the past eight years, too. Being a sheep herder was a thin disguise true evil can see through when it wants ya."
Elise wondered how long The Boogeyman had been keeping tabs on her in her own thin disguise, recording her routine. She wondered if her sister was hidden deep enough. "I'm scared," she whispered.
His eyes drilled through her shivering flesh to the hard core beneath. "Don't be. I could tell by the mess of the last guy you ended you've got a handle on things."
Elise thought about him; his sickening blood perforating through the delicate fabric of her favorite shirt. "I had to throw that blouse away," she said more to herself than Connor.
He chuckled. "You got a suitcase of money. You can buy another."
She shook her head, swirling her arms elegantly beneath the surface. "I could buy an entirely new wardrobe, but what would that solve? That money won't satisfy me."
"What would satisfy you?" He was moving closer. His hand had not left her. She felt it sliding over her arm, to her shoulder, where it landed and cupped her skin, leaving trails of pool water dribbling down into the top of her suit.
Surprised, but subdued, Elise touched her toes to his steel belly, casting herself casually away from him.
"Oh, I suppose I want what every vigilante girl really wants-stability, exoneration, and world peace," she giggled. "As romantic as packing a gun and beating a bad guy to death is, I'm not sure I really want to be this girl. I want to make a difference in the world, but this isn't really what I had in mind. I guess He did though, right?"
"You are making a difference. Accept your place," Connor told her. "I think we make a good team. All three of us."
"The Justice League," she remembered, scoffing. "Yeah, right. Who are we kidding? We are killers for Christ. But still killers, nonetheless."
Connor came at her again, splashing loudly. "No. You saved that man's daughter back there from that sick bastard. And his wife. If I was that guy, I'd," his face crumbled from the rage he'd have unleashed on the bathroom predator. "To have that; a family, and then lose it like that, in that way. I'd have fucking beat that fucker to death with my bare hands if I hadta."
He squeezed his hands into tight fists, gazing hard and meaning it into her eyes. "You saved that man from that. From having to do what we can do without blinking. Without regret."
She stared back at him, forced to mull his words over. Finally, she sighed. "I'm not there yet. I'm not at the same place as you, but I know I will be soon." She coughed. "I'm surely not the person I was eight years ago. Heck, I'm not even the gal I was three days ago."
"You're a sight to behold, lass," he said.
The water around her was getting colder. She felt her quivering lips brush slightly against Connor's cheek before she uttered "thank you" into his ear.
Murphy had seen enough. The two of them playing like children then cozying up to each other like…like what? He questioned himself. Like Connor always does. Always having to be the fucking winner.
Standing so close. Talking about whatever the fuck like secret-telling little girls. He had no clue had Connor managed to turn the tables on that one. Getting Elise to kiss him rather than belt him like she'd been so close to doing just hours ago.
Wise up, woman! He wanted to shout down at her from the edge of the pool. He only wants into ya for one reason. To show me up again. Everything's a fucking competition…
"Hey, asshole!" He hollered to his brother in particular. "Pizza's here!"
He thought to toss a slice into the water at them, but why waste a perfectly good piece of pizza on em. Instead, he stuffed his face full so speaking to either would be impossible.
(End of chapter 4)