The morning brings a harsh aching and emotional numbness. Despite my exhaustion, I'm only able to sleep a little under three hours, and after the nightmares that woke me, I don't feel like it's currently worth it to try for more rest. Bloodied faces following me, dogging my footsteps through a maze of basement corridors all while the voice that's been haunting my dreams for months continues to resonate throughout my mind, telling me I have to let Connor and Murphy go, telling me they can't stay, that they never could stay with me, that they're meant for something so much more important than me.
At least now I have some context to that part of the warning.
Since it's so early, I give Jen's cell a call, hoping she's still asleep or the phone is in her purse and she won't hear it so I won't actually have to talk to her directly. I know I'm being cowardly by not talking to her directly, but I'm literally calling out the first few days of my new job, and I don't know when I'll be able to go back to work. I leave a brief, vague message about a family emergency and say I'll call her later when I know more. I apologize and hang up before I start babbling out details over the phone. I need to talk to Smecker before I talk to Jen anyway, find out what I am and am not allowed to say.
It's funny, this situation I find myself in: I have never been less capable of thinking straight, and yet I've never had more need to remember so much.
Connor's walk must not have lasted too long because he and Murphy are snoring away on either side of me. I manage to extricate myself from their arms without waking either of them and step up to the sink located outside the bathroom that is barely big enough to house the shower and toilet. Seriously classy motel, this.
I scrub my face with soap and water and do my best to wrestle my snarled tangles into a semi decent ponytail. Since I forgot to pack a brush, I pretty much give up my hair as a lost cause. Unfortunately, I can't avoid looking in the mirror, and while I know I must look worse in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting, I really don't think the bulbs can be responsible for the haunted, pale mess that stares back at me.
I'm paper white, my cheeks a little more sunken than I'm comfortable with. The whites of my eyes are streaked red, the skin around them puffy, and my chapped lips look like I've been drained by a vampire. Ah, well. Still doesn't motivate me to put on any sort of make-up.
I dress quietly and step over to the grocery bags, rooting through them until I come up with a couple of individually wrapped danishes from one, some oranges from another, and a couple of sodas from a third. Before I can lose my nerve, I knock on the door separating the rooms. I hear shuffling on the other side, then a click, and the door swings open.
Noah is only slightly less frightening in the dim morning light filtering into his room. He's already dressed, and I wonder how much sleep he got last night. Before I can say anything, he says, "I don't sleep much dese days. Haven't in a few years. Survival tactic."
Hearing his voice right on the tail of my nightmare, I suddenly realize why he sounded so familiar the night before. I take a second to compose myself.
"The boys are still sleeping. I've got a few things for breakfast, if you'd like to share. I thought we could sit over here and let them sleep. We need to talk."
He regards me gravely for a short moment before nodding and stepping aside to let me enter, then closing the door behind me without locking it.
Uncomfortable doesn't begin to cover the moment. Noah has the most intense stare of anyone I've ever met, not helped by the savage facial hair/crazy eyebrows thing he has going on. Silence hangs heavy and oppressive between us as I glance around the tacky, obviously-decorated-in-the-sixties room that is identical to the one I left Connor and Murphy in. Garish orange, avocado green, and polyester are prominent in both wall coloring and bedspread, and the carpet looks like it might have started off as a pattern in shades of taupe and beige but isn't trying very hard anymore.
Noah indicates the chair by the windows (which are similarly covered in trash bags). I sit gingerly, not sure if the ancient, rickety metal chair will even hold my weight, although, to be fair, one of them did hold Noah up last night. Once I'm fairly certain I'm not about to be dumped in the floor, I place my breakfast on the desk next to me and silently offer him half of everything, all of which he accepts, save the soda.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything better to give you," I say, not sure why I'm apologizing. "If we were at my apartment, I could at least cook, but I don't think you'll ever see it, according to what Agent Smecker was saying. He's coming by in a few hours to talk to us; he said we need to figure out what to do next. I guess he'll bring news of whatever the fallout at Yakavetta's house was."
I can't think of what to follow that statement with, so I busy myself peeling my orange and avoiding Noah's penetrating stare. I definitely see where Connor and Murphy got their piercing, hawkish gazes from.
"Is dat what ye wanted t'talk t'me about?" he intones softly. I risk a glance, and the genuine concern and feeling in his gaze takes me by surprise. I must show more of my shock on my face than I think because the corner of his mouth tils up under his beard in a wry grin.
"I've been in prison for near t'ree decades. Weren't dead, an' I'm not entirely th'monster most people t'ink me t'be. I killed dose who needed killin', an' sometimes th'wrong people wanted it done. Didn't mean t'folks dey wanted offed didn't need removin', so I went about business and hoped fer th'chance t'make me way back around t'dose what needed th'Lord's judgment th'most. Doesn't mean I'm a complete animal."
MacManus men and their ability to get inside my head. I can't put words to how surreal this conversation already is, and I'm about to drive it right out of the realm of rational thought and straight down the path to sheer lunacy.
"You're right, and I'm sorry again. I shouldn't make assumptions. I...how much did you and Connor and Murphy actually get to talk last night? Did they tell you why they started up this...crusade in the first place?"
He nods, so I continue, "Okay, did they tell you about my dream as well? The one I had the same night? Did they tell you about the nightmares I've been having since December?"
"Dey mentioned ye had a dream about seein' how dey'd all end up, but naught about t'others."
"So…" I struggle to put words to the dreams that have been plaguing me for months now. I've had nightmares regularly all my life, but these last few months have been the worst, triggered (so I supposed) by the twins' near abandonment of me after my injury. "It's a bit of a long story-"
"Judgin' by th'snores goin' in th'next room, lass, dey ain't wakin' any time soon. Start as far back as ye feel ye should while I indulge in dis...delightful...pastry."
I give him the best summary I can of what happened in December starting with my idiotic attempt at solo heroics, followed by the dreams with the ominous voice to my own act of mild (compared to Connor and Murphy) vigilantism. I fast forward a few months to fill in some details for him of the last couple of weeks that the boys left out, which finally brings me to the dream that woke me just prior to coming over to visit him.
"So...now the dream seems to be inserting itself into other nightmares, spotlighting things I would really love to just wall off but apparently I'm not allowed to forget." I've given up on eating and am anxiously picking little white strings off individual orange sections until each is pristine before moving on to clean the next.
"But why tell me all dis, lass?" Noah surprises me once again with his attentiveness. He's not being rude or acting as if I've wasted his time. On the contrary, he's been absolutely absorbed in everything I've told him, taking in the details of these last few months of my life with his sons without interrupting to ask all the questions I know he must have. And when I finish, instead of asking any of those questions about the sons he hasn't seen for most of their lives, he asks about me.
"Because...last night, when you opened the door to the motel room and spoke to me, I froze at first because your voice sounded so familiar, but I couldn't place it for anything. And then I had the dream with the voice again; I hadn't heard the voice in a few weeks, you see, and...When I woke up, I just knew. It's you. The voice in my dreams telling me I have to let the boys go, that they have a higher purpose, has always been you. And I have no idea why."
Noah purses his lips, chewing thoughtfully as he steadily regards me. "Can't say I understand all dis dream business, though I c'n understand feelin' dat compulsion t'act. Had it fer near t'irty years, fer summat different reasons. I don't know what t'tell ye."
I nod, my eyes dropping down to the orange section in my hand. Disappointment rises in my gut like acid; I shouldn't have expected him to offer some sort of magical solution. The only supernatural things that have occurred in my life have definitely not changed it for the better; why should this situation be any different?
Noah reaches out, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder. "Did ye feel th'compulsion in th'dreams with th'voice, Grace? Did dey have th'same feeling of forbidding ye got from th'one wit' th'boys' injuries?"
I nod miserably, realizing they did. I didn't want to admit it, even after I saw my dreams beginning to come true, even to myself, but the dreams with the voice all felt...inevitable.
Noah nods slowly, his hand patting mine before releasing it as he straightens up. "Den th'best ye c'n do is begin t'prepare yerself fer th'worst, an' hope ye never have t'put dat plan t'action."
Probably the most rational piece of advice anyone's ever given me.
By unspoken mutual agreement, the topic changes, and the conversation turns to Connor and Murphy after that. Noah begins slowly, asking me general questions about their lives, but I am more than willing to get my mind off everything in the present and happily fill him in on as many embarrassing details and stories about the twins as I can. I stumble a few times as most of my stories inevitably include mentions of Rocco, but I soldier on, determined to have a little more time before I have to fully process the events of last night.
"Their mother has never told them who is the older twin, so you definitely shouldn't tell them if you know," I grin, taking a swig from my soda. Noah has managed to force the ancient coffee maker to perform some semblance of its original function and is gingerly sipping the smoking rewards of his labor.
"Speakin' of t'boys' Ma, do ye-"
A knock from the next room interrupts Noah, and the door swings open to reveal Connor and Murphy, mostly dressed, looking exhausted beyond belief. I thought I looked bad, but they both look like they aged about five or ten years over the last two weeks. Of course, no one looks their best first thing in the morning. One of the many things I hate about waking before eleven o'clock.
"Fuck are you two doin' up so early," Connor grouses, clearly not expecting an answer as he shuffles into the room and drops heavily on the bed next to Noah. Murphy sniffs hopefully, his eyes flitting around the room until they land on the coffee pot. I notice there's only about a cup's worth left, and I stand before Murphy can start World War Three with his brother.
"Noah, can you do that weird bit of mechanical magic you did earlier and make another pot of coffee? These two will beat each other senseless over that last cup, and then I'll have to end all existence as we know it because I am not mentally equipped to handle that sort of bullshit right now."
I direct both boys back to the other room to get something to eat whether they like it or not, filling them in on Smecker's impending visit. It's early yet, barely eight, and even after my soda and what the twins swear is nothing resembling coffee, we're still dragging. The conversation becomes stilted, punctuated frequently by yawns and trailing off of sentences as one or both of the boys slip into a doze only to jerk back awake. I find my eyes attempting to close of their own accord, and I can't really think of a valid reason not to let them. After about ten minutes of this, we apparently start to grate on Noah's nerves because he banishes us back to the other room, telling us not to come back until we can actually sit up for five minutes without falling asleep.
I collapse face-first in the middle of the bed, my eyes still feeling gritty and swollen from last night. Murphy collapses just as heavily on my left, though Connor settles down next to me a bit more gingerly to avoid jostling his leg too badly.
"Should change both your bandages," I slur into the pillow.
"No idea what ye said, but if ye can't even lift yer head t'say it, den it c'n prob'ly wait a couple o'hours," Connor murmurs into my hair before placing a kiss on the back of my neck. He pulls me gently until I'm leaning back against him, and Murphy takes advantage of my new position to slip between my arms and settle his head in the crook of my neck. I'm passed out before I can even settle myself, and thankfully there are no dreams this time, narrated or otherwise.
Author's Note: It's been awhile since my last update before today, and this chapter is pretty short, so I figured why not. Happy Friday.