Author's Note: I did not abandon you. I had a huge mental block and convinced myself the way I was headed towards the end of this story was horrible and should be ditched. I consulted with a few people, then went back and read through the entire story up to this point. I made some changes along the way, so I'm going to re-upload every chapter so far. No major changes, just edits and tweaks of things that bothered me that I couldn't get right until not. I am now more pleased with the story so far, and I think I've figured out a way to do what I want without scrapping anything I've got written. Speaking of edits, if you noticed any errors or typos or continuity issues, please let me know in the comments. I'm probably going to start re-uploading chapters this weekend, so any help would be more than welcome. I can't promise regular updates from here out, but I will promise that I am not giving, nor have I given, up on the story. You guys are stuck with me until the end. And past that, as I'm getting inspired towards the between period (my head canon name for between the movies) and the second movie. Any requests, comments, edit suggestions are so very welcome. Thank you for sticking with me this long. Please leave a comment in the box on your way out and let me know you're still there. Shout out to bleedingrose0688 and Siarh, both of whom checked over this chapter multiple times. Shout to all of you for sticking with me for all these stories.
On the short drive to a vacant lot on the edge of town, Agent Smecker tells me he's planning on letting the detectives in on everything that went down today from the phone call the boys made to him to why they were really at my apartment to what we were all doing out here. As I don't currently have any better ideas, I tell him to just let me know if he needs me to say anything. We then lapse into uncomfortable silence that lasts until the detectives pull up at the lot about forty minutes after us.
Smecker somehow manages to convince them to let us clean up and change before we get into the details of the night. I avoid meeting most of Greenly's glares, shame burning my cheeks and forcing me to keep my face turned resolutely to the ground. I can still feel all three sets of eyes on me until I quietly ask them to turn away so I can change clothes. Just as Smecker said, the petroleum jelly works wonders getting the dried blood off my skin, but I'm left feeling greasy and utterly filthy afterwards, a not-entirely-physical sensation that has me shuddering in revulsion.
I don't think I'll ever get the sensation of Rocco's blood off of my skin.
Smecker and the detectives have been talking for over an hour as I watch our clothes disintegrate in the flames a few yards away. The agent and I dropped both of our outfits in the barrel without a second thought, although I just remembered to rescue my personal affects from the jacket pocket before it got doused with gas. We stuffed the garbage bags we sat on and Smecker's wig in the barrel, too, so the smell out here isn't fantastic at the moment.
I don't know where we are right now except that it's a vacant, graveled lot somewhere outside of Dedham, Massachusetts, and there aren't any houses for a couple of miles in either direction. The area seems pretty deserted, but with the current state of affairs in my head, I doubt I'd notice if a parade went by.
I'm not really paying attention to what the men are saying as I stare at the two coins in my hand. Patches of bright, cheerful copper gleam in the firelight amidst bits of crusted blood that turn blacker the longer I look at them. Smecker's words earlier, about paying your way into the afterlife, rattle around in my head, mixing with flashes of Rocco's still form and all the different possibilities of what's happened to Connor and Murphy. I know, deep inside, that I am well and truly frightened for them. I haven't heard from them in hours, I have barely one clue as to whether they escaped or not, and I still don't know who or what made that blood trail I found.
But any worry I have left is buried beneath layers of foggy insulation that are suffocating me, muffling the real world and all it's real concerns. Everything around me seems hazy and indistinct, supremely unimportant. I'm just so tired. That's the only clear feeling I have right now. Everything else is a stifling, indiscernible blur that is becoming all too easy to lose myself in. There's less to think about when I can't even tell what I'm thinking in the first place.
Occasional sounds trickle in through the fog, but for the most part I just drift in place. I can barely even hear the conversation between Smecker and the detectivesanymore, probably why I'm not paying it much attention. Every now and then I'll catch a particularly loud exclamation, but other than that I'm not really sure how Smecker's big revelation is going.
Thankfully, no one's come to interrogate me yet. I know I'll have to apologize to the detectives, Greenly especially, but if we're bringing them in on everything that's been happening with the boys, then I might not have to go to prison after all.
That fact should probably be more uplifting than I'm currently finding it.
Next to me, Smecker's purse starts ringing again. The real world comes rushing back into sharp focus, and I glower at the bag as if it might retreat and take this ugly reality with it. I was just starting to settle into the numbing fog, and now I'm getting yanked back to the real world where I definitely do not want to be.
When the phone keeps on, I slide off the hood of the car wearily, aching down to my bones, and trudge the few yards to where the four men are still arguing. Without a word, I shove the purse at Smecker, and he holds up a hand to the three detectives, who fall sullenly silent as he answers his cell phone.
He listens for a moment, and whoever's on the other line is loud enough for the rest of us to hear the frenzied, furious tones, even if we can't make out what the caller is saying. Smecker listens impassively for a few more moments before saying, "She's right here with me. I would have told you that from the beginning if you'd let me talk."
Connor. Murphy. Thank God.
My heart skips a beat before speeding up, and I almost collapse with relief. I completely forgot they told me they'd be calling Smecker after the hit was over. After finding Rocco the way I did, I just...forgot.
It takes me a moment to realize all four men are staring at me and Smecker is holding the phone out. I take the cell phone and turn away, putting some distance between myself and the law enforcement gang before raising the phone to my ear. I hear the detectives and Smecker starting up again behind me as I answer.
"Lass, what th'fuck is goin' on? Why aren't ye at yer place? Near had a fuckin' heart attack when nobody answered yer phone after th'second try! Th' fuck would ye leave for? Anythin' coulda happened to ye, an' we came near t'goin' t'yer apartment an' breakin' th'fuckin' door down! What th'fuck were ye thinkin'?!"
"I'm sorry, Connor, I-" My voice breaks on a sob I've been holding back. The last few hours abruptly catch up with me in one fell swoop, and my legs buckle underneath me. I crash to my knees, the phone clutched to my ear with both hands, my chest heaving as I try my damndest not to break down and fail miserably.
"I saw him, Connor, I went there, and I saw...I saw...I went to the house to warn you, the detectives said….too many men...and I sa...saw him, and he was so cold, and he- he didn't move, and the blood and there was the hole, in his chest, and…" I can't continue, I can't even hold the phone anymore, and it slips from my fingers into my lap and slides to the ground with a soft chink against the gravel. I can still hear Connor's voice, tinny and frantic on the other end of the phone, but I can't deal anymore. I can't pretend to be strong in front of these strangers when all I want in the world is to have my best friend by my side and my boys' arms around me again.
A strong, warm arm wraps around my shoulder and pull me gently against someone, holding me tightly as I bury my face in my arms to try and muffle the sounds of my weeping. I turn reflexively into whoever's trying to comfort me, pressing my face hard into his shoulder, and I feel his other arm come around me.
I just don't want to care anymore. I don't want to be here, I don't want to be anywhere, I don't want Rocco to be gone. I want to go back to three months ago, right after New Year's, where everything was starting to feel exactly right, before my promotion, before my trip to New York, before fucking St. Patty's Day. Before madness descended on my world and swallowed everyone I love. I just want to sink into whoever's holding me until I don't have to face the world anymore.
God, just give me my family back!
I don't know how long it is before I start to feel control creeping back through my limbs. I press gently against my comforter, pulling away to find Brian's slate blue eyes peering at me sympathetically.
"I'm...I'm sorry about...y'know...on your coat, there."
He shakes his head gently, wordlessly telling me not to worry about it as he releases his hold on me. I glance around to find Greenly and Dolly studiously not watching me, ostensibly inspecting the fire barrel while Smecker talks on the phone.
"Is he still talking to them?" I ask quietly. "I shouldn't have lost it like that; I know they're worried about me already. I just...my friend…"
"There's not one of us out here who hasn't gone a little crazy over losing a friend or family member, and they're lying if they tell you otherwise," Duffy interrupts, his face a reflection of my own grief. I get the sense that he really does know where I'm coming from, and the pressure in my chest eases just the tiniest bit. "Do you want to try talking to them again?"
I nod as Duffy stands, and I take his proffered hand, letting him pull me to my feet. I wipe my face on my shirt sleeve, not even caring how dirty it gets or what I'm smearing on it. My legs sting as I make my way over to Agent Smecker, but I brush the pain aside like so many buzzing flies as I hold out my hand for the phone. His eyes flick to my face, and he nods to me before saying into the phone, "Hang on, she's back. I'll put her on."
He holds the phone out to me again, but he has something to tell me before he relinquishes it to my grasp.
"They're holed up in a motel somewhere in town, and they want to see you. I can take you to them tonight when we leave here. We'll stop at your place if you need to get some things, and you'll need to get anything of theirs out of your apartment. They can't go back there again; they can't be publicly associated with you from here out."
I take a slow, shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I reach for the phone, and I feel Brian's reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Agent Smecker says he's going to bring me to where you are," I manage to get out in an almost understandable voice.
"Aye, lass, we'll see ya soon enough. 'M sorry I shouted. Ye didn't deserve it, an' I didn't know ye'd...gone all dat way t'help us. M' sorry ye saw Roc like dat, he-" My heart shatters again as Connor's voice breaks, and I don't even bother to wipe the tears away. Connor, the strong one, the one who holds us all together and protects his family. Our friend died on what I'm sure he's decided is his watch, and that has to be absolutely killing him.
"Are you and Murphy…" I choke on the word, realizing what I almost just asked.
Don't ask if they're okay, of course they're not fucking okay!. Is anyone or anything fucking okay anymore?!
"Hurt," I insert too forcefully. I stop myself one more time, take a deep breath, and try again. "Are you and Murphy hurt?"
I can literally hear Murphy snatching the phone from his brother's hand, and he answers before Connor can. "We're gonna be fine, lass. Bastards opened up the tear in Connor's leg, but we patched 'im up. We'll see ye soon, aye? Need t'see ye soon's ye can; need ta make sure yer alright."
"Do...do you want me to bring anything? The first aid kit, or food or something?"
"Th'kit wouldn't go amiss," Murphy answers, then pulls the phone away to consult with Connor. I hear his brother reply, and then I swear I hear a third voice in the background. "Aye, some food would be good, too. Clean clothes, if ye can."
"Is there someone else with you?" I ask. Who could it possibly be? Maybe they're with Doc at McGinty's? But then, why would they need a first aid kit and food?
"Summat we need t'tell ye when ye get here, lass. Situation's gotten kinda...complicated," Connor cuts in. "We're not leavin' town fer now; ain't so much heat on us anymore. Give th'phone back t'Smecker, an' we'll see ye soon, aye? We love ye."
"I love you."