Orlaith Hannigan - Tumblr Posts

C H A P T E R   2    -   S a s a n a c h   ( p t   2)

The lighthouse loomed atop the jagged cliff overlooking the washed-out grey bay. It’s shadow fell over the sea, distorted by the soft pitter-patter of raindrops. It seemed to shimmer in the bleached darkness of it surroundings, a perfect idol of times gone by, a bay forgotten by time.

Brian walked down rotting planks toward where the golden sand met the raging ocean and couldn’t help but snort a laugh. A ring of gold, indeed. Stopping by a pile of weathered rocks he watched crabs scramble away and breathed in the salty, cold air. Just over the towering dunes he could spot the brightly coloured shed, canary yellow planks and blood red shutters. It was a Caribbean styled shed and there was absolutely no reason for it to end up here, in the land of grey and white. But it was here, sticking up like a sore thumb and he was glad for it. He didn’t mind the wind, started to get used to the rain, as long as he was left alone.

‘So far, so good,’ he whispered, pulling his collar up against the rain. His fingers stretched toward his pocket, reaching for the half empty packet of cigarettes he promised himself to forget at home and stopped abruptly.

An apparition sat on a rock looking toward the ocean. He blinked against the rainfall trying to pick out the silhouette from the shadow. A girl, sitting alone by the dunes, hunched over something in her lap. Brightly coloured hair danced with the wind and her jacket seemed to be soaking through, but she didn’t seem to mind. He watched for a moment and little by little the words entered his mind, connected to a series of images: A black figure in the rain, a cob of stones and the dark, endless sea, beating a shore of blackest stone.

He couldn’t really help it, by the time he realised he was even doing it he stood at her side, watching, as if in slow motion, her head turn and reveal the coldest, bluest eyes in a face of gentle, pale surprise. And the words kept coming, while, in the background, her hands closed her book and slid along the stone. She floated down, landing on tiny feet in heavy boots and stared up, opening her mouth.

…as if the Cobb belonged to that face, and not to the Ancient Borough of Lyme…

Yes, that was it. Her face, incredibly pale and frail on the backdrop of the raging ocean and grey skies belonged to this place, and it to her. He was sure, in that moment, that if he were to live for a hundred years, every time he thought of Fanore, he would think of that moment, when the girl turned her head and looked right inside.

…it was an unforgettable face, and a tragic face. Its sorrow welled out of it as purely, naturally and unstoppably as water out of a woodland spring…

‘An bhfuil tú maith go leor?’

He listened to the voice drown in the waves and nodded. ‘Are you?’

He blue eyes blinked up at him. There was a sense of something between them. He couldn’t name it then. There are moments, right when you meet someone, when you just know they are going to be important. You don’t know how or when, you just know that one day, this person, will play a crucial role in your life and all you can do is watch her pull her book closer and turn to go.

‘I’m good,’ she snarled, throwing the words at him with shocking animosity.

Trying desperately to cling to her, stop her just for a second, he cried after her, ‘You’re soaking wet!’

She didn’t stop. She disappeared among the dunes, away from him and the glaring dead eye of the lighthouse sleeping on the rocks overhead.

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C H A P T E R   4    -   D ú n m h a r f ó i r   ( p t   1)

The whole town was there…

Brian pushed through the crowd, ignoring the curses and snarls send his way. He didn’t know what drove him on. He hardly knew that girl. Before last night he didn’t even know her name and yet here he was, falling all over himself running to help her.

He heard the cries from far away, shouted in an angry choir. ‘Dúnmharfóir! Dúnmharfóir!’

At the back of the garden the crowd parted, and he saw her, tiny little thing dressed in black, facing off an angry village mob with head raised high. Her eyes, god her eyes… He had to think about the book again. This girl, standing there as people hurled curses at her, looking, breathing, dying on the inside.

They looked down on her; and she looked up through them…

‘Stop this!’ he shouted, running to stand between her and the mob. ‘Stop this right now!’

The crowd stepped back, a body of hate and fear startled by being challenged. Whispers broke out and he noticed, with some astonishment, his voice really did break their spell and stop their approach. Sasanach, he heard them whisper, dúnmharfóir.

Finally one of the women stepped out and cried, ‘Go away, Sasanach. You don’t know who you’re protecting.’

‘I’m protecting a woman who is being driven toward the edge of a cliff by a fucking mob!’ he snarled back, throwing his arms out to encompass them all. To their credit some of the people looked down at their feet, ashamed. ‘Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you?! These are not middle ages…’

‘She has the boy!’ someone else cried.

‘She will kill him like she killed her daughter!’ followed by a cry of unanimous agreement.

Brian looked back at her, holding his ground. She hid her emotions well. Not even a blink of an eye betrayed the hurt he could see brewing in her eyes. When he spoke, he was looking deep into those pools of brilliant blue, all of the crowd falling away, ‘Do you have proof?’

Nobody spoke.

That should’ve been the end of it. They should’ve left. They should’ve given him a chance to speak to her. Instead another figure stepped forward, inspiring another round of whispers. Cassidy, dressed in a long brown coat stopped in front of Brian, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Mr Smith, please, step back.’

‘No.’

‘I will arrest you for hindering police work.’

‘I don’t care,’ he said, narrowing his eyes.

Cassidy shook his head, slowly, sadly, like a parent disappointed by his favourite child’s actions would. ‘I have looked into you, Mr Smith. I know what you’re running from. Is it really in your best interest to be connected to something like this?’

Before he could answer a small hand touched his arm. Like a butterfly landing on silk it changed everything. He looked down at her, so small and pale and she whispered, very soft and tired, ‘Rachaidh mise leat, gardaí.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hannigan. My car is parked in the driveway if you will follow.’

‘Tá,’ she nodded, and that hand slid down his arm, fluttering over his fingers before she withdrew and stepped toward Cassidy. She said nothing to him as she walked away, only glanced back once, meeting his gaze. The blue of her eyes reflected the colours of the sea.

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C H A P T E R   4    -   D ú n m h a r f ó i r   ( p t   2)

The sun was beginning to set when she exited the stone building with red shutters, hugging herself for warmth. Her eyes fell on him and for a moment they just stood there, staring at each other across the country road. He didn’t know what to say and she… she didn’t look like someone who spoke a lot.

At last, when the silence got too heavy, he mumbled, ‘I… I thought you may need a ride.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what she meant. But he just couldn’t give her an answer. He didn’t have one. Yet. ‘Because he took you in his car.’

She quirked a dark brow. ‘Funny.’

He sighed, shrugging. ‘Look, whatever your story is, what they did today wasn’t cool. Nobody deserves that.’

‘I deserve that,’ she snarled, pointing at her chest with a sharp, long finger. He noticed her hand was shaking lightly. He also noticed her huge eyes shone madly as she spoke. ‘You don’t know me. You wouldn’t be here if you did, Sasanach.’

He couldn’t say. But before he choose to shun her, he should at least try to hear her out. That is if she let him. ‘Please. It’s just a ride home, red.’

She stood her ground, jaw flexing. Her gaze strayed toward the deserted bus station on the right. The last bus left for Fanore Cross shortly before 7pm and the next one won’t be coming before 6am. If she didn’t feel like taking a two and a half hour long walk through Irish countryside she had no option but to take his offer.

With a deep tortured sigh she turned and started walking.

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C H A P T E R   4    -   D ú n m h a r f ó i r   ( p t   3)

The night was getting colder when they reached Kilmoon, nearly an hour later. She walked slowly and deliberately, ignoring his footsteps behind her. Neither of them spoke. As for stopping she only did so once to shake a pebble out of her shoe before pushing on.

He had to admire her stubbornness, although he hoped the rain wouldn’t pick this moment to start up again. The night could only get so bad before he started summoning helpful demons. He watched her shivering only five steps ahead and shook his head. She was a tough one.

Taking his jacket off he caught up with her and put it over her shoulders. Her violent lurch from his touch startled him, sending the hoodie flying down to the pavement.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, picking it up and offering it to her. She refused to meet his gaze, stroking the place he touched with shaking fingers. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

‘What do I have to do to get rid of you? Start my own republic?!’

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh at that surprising wise-crack. Whoever would expect a joke to come out of those tired, drawn lips. ‘I just want to see you home safely.’

‘I can take care of myself. I have been doing so for years.’

‘And do you often have to face a bloody pitchforks-and-torches mob in your own backyard? I don’t think so. Just… take the jacket, please. You have to be freezing.’

‘I don’t freeze,’ she hissed at him.

He sighed, quirking a brow at her. His hand, holding the jacket out to her twitched. She kept staring right back at him, chin lifted defiantly. It was, he realised with a pang, like talking to a kid, right down to her snatching the jacket with an enraged curse and turning to stalk off.

‘Thanks!’ he called after her, shaking his head when she didn’t reply. She did, however, pull the jacket on and cross her hands over her chest to keep warm.

They went on like that for another twenty minutes before she glanced back and mumbled, ‘I’m Orlaith.’

‘Brian.’

Another few steps. Another long breath of silence and stone walls singing their sorrowful song in the harsh wind.

‘Thank you. For doing what you did in the morning.’

He nodded, watching her slow down until, finally, they walked side by side. ‘They shouldn’t have done that. Turn on you like that.’

She snorted a humourless laugh. ‘Well, they have their reasons.’ Then, before he could reply, ‘Did… did they find the boy?’

‘I don’t know. I left Fanore early. I didn’t know how long they will be holding you.’

‘It took a while. I guess Cassidy would have released me sooner if I didn’t mention talking to the boy a few days ago. It just went downhill from there. I didn’t even know his name then.’

‘Why were you talking?’

She shrugged. ‘A couple of bigger kids were picking on him. Well… more like beating the shit out of him.’

‘You helped him.’

‘Nah. Just scared of some little shits. Everyone would have done that,’ she opposed.

Brian cackled. ‘I see you don’t socialise much. Most people I know would just look away and pass them by. But I’m glad.’

‘Glad? About a boy being bullied?’

‘No,’ he muttered, looking into her eyes. ‘I’m glad I was not wrong about you.’

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C H A P T E R   6    -   N a   r ú i n   i s   m ó   a t á   i n   É i r i n n   ( p t   1)

The rain wasn’t strong that night, but it’s silent pitter-patter still managed to invade the room, seep into the general feel of it and disrupt the silken melodies playing on the stereo. Orlaith didn’t pay any attention to it. She has been born in rain and there will probably still be raining by the time she died. Such were the realities of existence on the Wild Atlantic way.

She leaned closer to her sketch blowing coal fragments off the paper and turning her head to the side to inspect it. She got the curves right this time but the shadows… shadows were all wrong again. She was never going to get anything just ri…

The doorbell rang suddenly, startling her. She looked at the time on her computer, furrowing her eyebrow before sliding her limbs off the bed and carefully walking over to her bedroom window. She didn’t remember the last time anybody rang that bell. Must’ve been…

Before she left for Dublin.

She looked out at the dim front yard, seeing no car in the driveway. Fear squeezing her heart in a tight fist she walked down the creaking steps toward the front door. The people yesterday… What if they returned? What if one of them was standing on her doorstep right now, waiting for her to open the door and…

Do what? A sarcastic voice spat in her mind. And why do you care anyways? Whatever they could deal you, you deserve. Now stop standing there like an idiot and open the fucking door.

Her hand reached out and landed on the cold handle, pushing it down. One… two… tree…

Dead Irish girl is you.

She blinked out into the darkness, looking for the light switch – and hoping it still worked after years of disuse. She barely even touched it when a huge hand snaked out of the darkness, catching her hand and pushing her inside with one rough, forceful motion.

Orlaith was no stranger to violence, but even she was stunned at the abruptness of it all – how easy, how fast a home invasion can occur. How easy it was to kill a man and…

‘We need to talk,’ grunted the shadow, coughing to puncture his words. His shadow turned back to close the door behind her and with surprise she realised she knew the intruder.

‘Brian?’

‘I think Cassidy will be coming after you if they don’t find the boy. Hard.’

She shook her head, opening and closing her lips in bafflement. Unable to process she followed Brian down to the kitchen when he punched the light switch off, drowning the room in cold, dangerous dark. ‘Brian…’

He coughed again, this time stronger and when she approached, touching his sleeve, her hand met ice cold wetness.

‘Jesus,’ she whispered withdrawing her hand quickly. ‘You need to take that off. I will…’

His hands snatched her arms, handcuffs of pure ice pulling her deeper into the darkness as he spoke, ‘Orlaith, we need to figure out what happened to the boy. If we don’t Cassidy will make sure you’re the one taking the fall for this. Do you understand?’

She stared up at him, worrying her lips between her lips. ‘So. Maybe I deserve it,’ she spoke at last.

‘Did you hurt the boy?’

‘No.’ 

‘They you don’t deserve this.’

They stood like that for a while. She didn’t speak. She didn’t know what else to say. He thought she was stubborn, but she doubted he noticed how hard he clung to his own ideas. With a grunt she stepped back and nodded. ‘Okay. But you take a warm shower first. I’ll make some tea.’

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C H A P T E R   6    -   N a   r ú i n   i s   m ó   a t á   i n   É i r i n n   ( p t   2)

She pulled the blinds closed in her room, dimming the lights and turning down the music. She knew why he insisted nobody should know he was there. He didn’t want to be connected to her more than he already was. She could understand that. God knew she wished she wouldn’t have to be connected to herself either.

He was sitting on her bed, holding a steaming mug in his hands and coughing miserably. His chest heaving with effort. Watching him she was stuck with sudden panic. He was ill and she knew what to do, automatically, without a second of doubt, instruction spring to mind and she hated it. She hated to be reminded. She hated to see another person sitting in her bed, invading the sorrowful silence of her existence.

With a grunt she approached her chest-of-drawers and withdrew a few pills from a bottle, holding them out to him. ‘Take these. They will make you better.’

He didn’t question her, but swallowed the pills in one quick gulp and looked up at her. His voice was rough when he spoke, ‘You know the cliffs, right? Is there a place a little boy could hide all this time without anyone finding him?’

She shook her head. ‘The cliffs are steep and the sea too harsh. If he ended up caught down there he would drown with the tide.’

Brian winced, hating his next question and hating himself for having to ask it. ‘If we take it as an option… If the boy drowned, where would the body be found?’

Orlaith considered it. ‘I’m not sure, but I think the stream would carry the body all the way to the Black Head lighthouse. It would probably lodge somewhere between the rocks.’

‘But we have searched the coast there,’ he pointed out. ‘Could’ve have missed it?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. The coast is jagged. It’s hard to see from the cliffs.’ Before he could open his mouth and ask another question she stopped him, holding her hands up and shaking her head. ‘There is one thing I don’t understand, through. Why did Cassidy tell you about this? Why you?’

Brian locked his jaw, looking up to meet her gaze. For the first time something flickered behind his eyes. Something dark and haunted. ‘Because he knew he can use me to help him frame you.’

‘Can he?’

But he never answered her. His reply was cut off by an insistent beeping of her computer. She frowned, walking over to it and turning the screen to her. Her face lost all colour as she studied the messages one after the other. ‘No…’

‘What is it?’ asked Brian, leaning in to look at the screen.

Orlaith looked up to meet his worried gaze and gasped, ‘It happened again.’

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C H A P T E R   7    -   S í s c é a l

She stood on the cliffs staring down in the water and wishing, now, more than ever, to have the courage to jump and kiss the sea. Her right foot moved, amusing itself with the possibility by rising off the rock and waiting, just over the edge, for the rest of the body to catch up with its decision. The clock kept ticking and the sea beckoned for the winds to blow a little harsher and offer it a sacrifice.

Just before she leaned forward and put her weight to it a voice grunted, ‘That sound… it’s like a bloody horror film.’

She looked back up, setting her foot down on the tip of her toe. ‘It’s the stones.’

‘What?’

‘The sound. It’s created by the gaps in the stone walls. My mom used to tell a story to me when I was little. A scary story to keep me in my bed at night.’ She stepped off the edge and toward him, retelling, ‘Once upon a time, right in this village, lived a man and a woman. They had a beautiful little daughter with hair as red as fire and skin as pale as snow. One night, despite her mother’s warnings the daughter sneaked out of her room and went to the cliffs in search of adventure. There she heard a sorrowful cry and followed it all the way to the dunes. The cry was louder the closer to the sea she came and after a moment the little girl realised she could no longer stop her movement. The wail took over her mind and body and lead her to the sea where the waves swallowed her body, never to be seen again. You see the wail, it’s the water fairies. They entice little kids and steal them away from their families, caging them in their evil kingdoms. In their place they leave changelings – their own sickly fledglings, believed to be the children themselves. That way they can never return back home since nobody really misses them. They are forgotten, down on the bottom of the sea, joining the wail that initially brought them to their misery.’

He blinked down at her, dark eyes reflecting the raging seas. ‘You Irish really know how to scare the shit out of people.’

‘There is no harm in a good scary story, is there?’ she muttered.

‘As long as there is no truth to it… Come on. We still have the second half of the island to search and my flashlight just died.’

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C H A P T E R   8    -   M ó r t a s   n a   d t o n n t a  

The rain was beating hard on the ground and somehow, in all the confusion she had lost him. She called his name, but her voice dissolved in the mad crashing of the waves and violent swishing of the wind. It felt like the world was about to come down on her and in the air suffused with cold and salt it was hard to breathe.

The storm came suddenly this time. No warning was given before the skies turned black and winds picked up. One moment they were looking for the lost girl, the next everything was dark and blurry, cold rain assaulting their shoulders.

Órlaith turned around and around in the darkness, trying to see something to cling on to, make her way to the lighthouse, lock herself in and try to reach Brian some other way, but there was nothing but rain and the occasional burst of lightning that blinded her to everything around her. She was close to tears now, not of desperation, but pure pain. The salty air burned her eyes and flogged her skin until it felt hot and ached. She hid it behind her sleeve and pushed on, moving in the direction she hoped the lighthouse stood. She never got as far as the lighthouse though.

She was stopped, just at the edge of the path, when a small, curved body hit her side, sending he flying across the underbrush into ice cold sand. She hit her head on a old, rotting boat carcass as she went down, wincing at the sudden flash of pain. When she opened her eyes she was cradling a shivering tiny body to her.

‘They’re coming, they are coming,’ it kept repeating, over and over again in a hushed, raspy tone, only stopping for a moment to cough. It clung to her with crooked, white fingers and when she tried to pull it off, the boy screamed, shaking his head. ‘Please, please, I can’t… I want to go home… please…’

For a second she believed she may have hit her head a little too hard and was hallucinating the whole thing. She blinked up at the tear-streaked face, opening and closing her mouth. The fear in the boy’s eyes finally broke through her daze and she pulled him close into a hug, whispering, ‘I got you. I got you. We will take you home now. We will…’

The boy stared crying then, strong, broken gasps that shook his frail frame and pushed him deeper and deeper into her. She covered him with the hug, soul and body, rocking him for what seemed like hours before a dimmed glow of a lantern appeared over them and she looked up into Brian’s shocked, huge eyes.

‘Jesus fuck,’ he gasped, staring at the boy with pure horror, ‘you found him.’

E n d   o f   b o o k   I

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C H A P T E R   9    -   F o l l a s a c h  

Usually what you expected after having saved a missing child from tragic death of exposure is some kind of gratitude. Worst case scenario a single surly ‘thank you’ as the child is yanked out of your arms and deposited to its crying parents. With Orlaith things went a little different.

Like getting arrested and having the parents spit in your face, while the entire police force watched different. Once again Brian was the only thing standing between a crowd and Orlaith, soaking wet and shivering in the ugly fluorescent lights of the station.

‘…arrest her!’

‘Hey!’ he cried, squeezing between the looming bodies and pushed at O’Leary’s chest, sending him stumbling back in surprise. ‘Fuck you, people! She just brought back your kid and this is your thanks! You want her arrested?! And you!’ he turned back to Cassidy, standing there with his hands in his pockets, regarding the scene with a deep, concerned scowl. ‘You’re a bloody cop! You know she didn’t do anything! You can’t hold her here much longer without charging her with something and you don’t have any evidence to charge her with anything! So how about you make yourself useful and calm these people while I take her home? She is clearly in shock!’

‘You can’t just let her go like that!’ continued O’Leary in outrage. ‘She is a suspect!’

‘She is no such thing!’

‘We looked for my son everywhere! How come she was the one who stumbled upon him by chance?! She is obviously responsible for this whole th…’

Brian, reaching the end of his rope, snarled, throwing his hands up. This was ridiculous. He felt like an alchemist on a trial he was doomed to lose. And he was going to lose it, because saving Orlaith Hannigan would require Orlaith Hannigan actually wanting to be saved.

‘Stand down, Mark,’ spoke Cassidy suddenly, shocking the whole room to silence. They all looked up at him as he approached them, stopping before Orlaith. ‘Miss Hannigan, I will need to speak to you again soon, but your… friend is right. You need to rest now. I will stop by your house tomorrow at noon. Does that work for you?’

‘Tá,’ she mumbled softly, looking away from him.

He nodded. ‘You’re free to go now. Thank you.’

She didn’t answer to that. She turned, looked up at Brian and hesitated. He wasn’t sure what happened behind those eyes then, but suddenly, her fingers came up to intertwine with his and she pulled him toward the exit. He could feel the burning eyes of the crowd they left behind on his back and, for a terrible moment, he couldn’t help but laugh.

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C H A P T E R   1 0    -   S c é a l   t a i b h s í    ( p t   1)

For the longest time they were both silent. The soft hum of Orlaith’s stereo suffused the room, turning what would normally be an awkward situation into a rather pleasant one. Finally she looked up from her tea mug and spoke.

‘Thank you. Again. I honestly couldn’t handle them tonight.’

‘I could see that,’ he muttered, watching her face carefully. ‘Órlaith, what did the boy tell you?’

‘I… I don’t know. It didn’t make much sense. Maybe he was just scared.’

‘Scared of what?’ She shrugged in answer, yet somehow he knew. He knew she was lying and it surprised him how easy it was to read the lie in her. The way she squirmed under his scrutiny. The way she kept biting her lip.

Finally she looked back up at him, blue eyes sharp. ‘You never told me why Cassidy targeted you. Why were you easy prey?’

He started opening his mouth and with shock realised for the first time in forever it was not to finish the conversation. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his story. He wasn’t sure he ever will be. But for some insane reason this was the moment he needed to tell it. She was the person he wanted to tell it to. And just like that he put his mug down on the nightstand and talked.

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C H A P T E R   1 1    -   S í o f r a    ( p t   1)

Cassidy arrived just before noon the next day. He knocked on the door twice and waited until Órlaith opened, staring at him with wide, unnerving eyes. She invited him in and brewed a mug of coffee, huffing and nodding to his polite attempts at conversation. She never opened her mouth to answer to anything until they sat down at the table and Cassidy asked, ‘How are you feeling today, Miss Hannigan?’

He spoke Irish and she breathed a sight of relief at that. She hated talking to him. She hated talking to him in Irish a little less. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied. The more tentative, ‘How is the boy?’

‘He is… adjusting. They wanted to keep him in the hospital for the night, but the parents should be picking him up as we speak. Aside from a few cuts and bruises he seems unharmed.’

‘I’m glad. Did he say anything? About what happened?’

It was clear in Cassidy’s face that he didn’t believe a word he was about to say as he huffed, ‘Apparently he just got lost on his way home. He didn’t see or speak to anyone until he found you.’

Órlaith nodded, but just like Cassidy had trouble believing it. He was missing for over a week. A child alone in that? What did he eat? Where did he sleep? And how come nobody saw him wandering? ‘I’m just glad he is alright,’ she resolved. ‘But what about the girl?’

‘We will keep looking.’

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C H A P T E R   1 1    -   S í o f r a    ( p t   2)

Hours moved slowly that day. After Cassidy left Órlaith spend her day busy in her mother’s dusty library, walking her fingers down cracked spines of scary stories and fairy-tales. She tried to pretend she didn’t know what she was looking for, but deep inside a voice kept whispering. She was hunting for answers, still far too afraid to face the possibility of her finding some.

She searched through all the books, finding scraps and promises, but never the full story, the one she needed, desperately trying to remember her mother’s fading words. The names were always different, but the story itself… there was something eerily familiar about the story. About the taste, the sound, the desperate cries…

‘Síofra,’ she whispered, not realising her lips were moving, forming the world deliberately, with caution. It couldn’t be. It was insane. It was a pebble rubbing against her toe in the boot of her consciousness, knocking around and around until she gave in and spoke it aloud. The way it rolled off her tongue made the hair on her neck and arms rise.

When an old dusty volume of Celtic mythology hit the ground behind her she almost screamed, ready to bolt. She twisted, wild, scared eyes turning to the culprit standing in the doorway.

Padrick O’Leary stood over the book, collecting it with pale, shaky fingers. ‘I… so sorry. The door… it was unlocked and I called for you but you didn’t answer so…’

‘It’s… fine,’ she muttered, rising to her feet. When he held up the book to her, she didn’t take it. ‘Do your parents know you’re here?’

‘No. I felt like they might not approve.’

Smart kid. Or maybe, not as smart… ‘So, why did you come here?’

‘Because I think you’re the only person who will believe me.’

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C H A P T E R   1 1    -   S í o f r a    ( p t   3 )

She was waiting for him in the garden by the time his car pulled into her driveway. The sun was just beginning to set, colouring the entire landscape in warm oranges and reds. Somehow, despite the dropping temperature, it felt warmer than it had in weeks.

He cleared his throat as he approached the garden swing, making her look up with a small, tense smile. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘What did you want to talk about?’

She motioned for him to join her and once he did, bit down on her lip, looking for a right way, any way to rely her insane theories. In the end she decided to go with the most believable fact. ‘Padrick came by today.’

‘He did?’ Brian sounded surprised. ‘What did he want?’

‘He… came to talk. About where he went when he… wasn’t here.’ She looked up at his quirked eyebrow and huffed in despair. Jesus. God help her. ‘He told me… stories. And I shouldn’t believe them, but I do.’

‘What kind of stories?’

‘Remember the night we found him by the cliffs?’ she asked, shivering in the warm breeze. ‘That scary fairy-tale I told you?’

‘Yes?’ he drawled carefully, eyes narrowing with understanding. ‘Órlaith…’

‘I know. It sounds… insane. But…’ She handed him the book she was holding, tapping a page with her index finger. ‘I saw some things that night too. We have to go back.’

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C H A P T E R   1 2   -   S c é a l   g r á    ( p t   1 )

They walked in silence, Órlaith so consumed by her thoughts she didn’t even notice Brian’s unease. He followed her determined footsteps toward the place where he found her cradle the lost boy a few days ago and watched her look around before continuing, searching for something which remained hidden to him.

What she was proposing was… It was not something he could in all honesty consider. Fairy tales and monsters, childrens’ stories in old, leathery books. He understood the boy was in shock and was now trying to make peace with whatever it was that happened to him, but the fact she supported his delusions... He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t wrap his head around why he was still here, following her into darkness.

She stopped suddenly, making him stumble into her back. He steadied himself on her shoulders, blinking at whatever captured her gaze with tired eyes. ‘Cosáin sióga,’ she whispered, motioning with her chin.

A circle of mushrooms encircled the spot they stood on in a perfectly proportioned circle. Brian followed Órlaith’s movements, turning around to take in the full effect of their spotted red heads. He couldn’t keep himself from muttering, ‘Fairy rings.’

‘They mark the crossing of the ley lines.’

‘That’s just an old tale, Órlaith,’ he sighed. ‘It’s a rare mycelium pattern. The mushrooms grow around a withered piece of…’

‘I know the science behind it,’ she cut into his lecture, kneeling down in the middle and touching the ground with her fingertips. ‘But this is the place Padrick described. He wasn’t lying about this.’

‘That doesn’t exactly prove anything. He could’ve seen it and invented a story to…’

‘He didn’t,’ she retorted automatically, looking up at him. ‘I know how this sounds but… He didn’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not saying he did. But he was scared, Órlaith. Human mind, especially that of a child, can play tricks on us when it tries to make sense of something that is hard for us to accept.’

Órlaith bit her lip, caressing the grass on her fingertips. ‘Yeah. You finally see? I’m a murdering freak who believes in fairytales and monsters.’

‘I don’t think you are a murderer. But I think this… is taking things a little too far. We can’t invent new monsters just because we are scared to face those we left behind.’

‘We don’t have to invent them. They are already here.’

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C H A P T E R   1 2   -   S c é a l   g r á    ( p t   2 )

Galway, 2010

 That feeling, the pure essence of freedom, it is incredible. It can’t be described, those first few steps you take away from home. It’s like finding a brand-new room in a house you have been living in your whole life, opening the door and plunging in, awestruck by a world so bright and new it makes your breath hitch.

They tell you you should feel homesick, lost in this strange city, but you don’t. You’re far too preoccupied feeling things you didn’t ever dare to feel before, or simply had no idea existed in the first place. Everything seems possible in those first few months after moving away from home.

Even falling in love.

Oh and it’s easy. So strangely easy to let go off all you knew before and let yourself be consumed. Fall back, relax, nobody can hurt you here because the world is bright and brave and the man you love has you by the hand, leading the way.

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C H A P T E R   1 2   -   S c é a l   g r á    ( p t   3 )

Galway, 2015

 Pain was a relative concept. After a while you just stopped feeling it. Or maybe, stopped caring about feeling it. It still burned under your skin, but somehow, with everything around you, it turned bland. An unseasoned soup of blood and peeling skin.

A kick landed in her side, throwing her back on the ground with a huff. Her chin hit the tiles seconds before she was lifted up by her hair, hissing through her teeth.

‘I told you to stop oogling him, didn’t I? Didn’t I fucking tell you to stop oogling him!’

She glanced up, all the hate and fear brewing in her eyes concentrated on his face. She fell bile rising up her throat at the sight of him. Bile and the desperate pounding of her heart in her ears.

‘Answer me!’

Biting down her tongue, her gaze strayed toward the open door. She could feel the presence there. She could feel it and she wanted, deep in the heart of her to appear strong for her. Teach her to stand up to bullies. To never, never let anyone beat you down like this. Not even your father, not even your bloody husband and his entire fucking army. But she couldn’t. Because if she did she would be the next. Órlaith would never let that happen. 

‘Fuck!’ she heard him hiss, but his voice was coming from far away. Everything around her, it seemed, suddenly looked remote. She felt her breath breeze his ankle as she fell. Saw him walk toward the door and open it. She could feel the muscles in her arm stretch, one by one to reach out.

The haunted gaze beyond the door pushed tears into her eyes. Tears she tried to hide as she watched, fingers lifting off the floor, only to fall, lifelessly back to re-join her broken body. It felt so wrong. To see it happen and not be able to… move.

The water splashed her face when she fell.

‘Fuck you and your fucking kid,’ hissed her love, spitting on the grass next to her and slowly walked away. His footsteps echoes in the darkness, drowning out her daughter’s dying screams.

When she woke up she had handcuffs on her wrists and the world seemed to be cold and distant once again.

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C H A P T E R   1 3   -   C h u a i g h   s é   i   n d e a r m a d   d e   r é i r   a   c h é i l e   ( p t   1 )

She glanced up at him when she was done talking, chin lifted defiantly. He had seen this look before. It was the same challenging face that met the mob on the cliffs after Padrick disappeared. It was the look of a woman beaten down and ready to be judged.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t even imagine the pain you are in, red.’

She didn’t reply. She hung her head and sighed, ‘I’m scared.’

‘I’m here.’

‘I’m scared because you are here.’ She looked up then, blue eyes haunted. ‘Because of me not being strong enough… I killed my daughter. I couldn’t stand up to him and because of that she…’ A whimper cut her off and despite knowing better, despite understanding all the little signs he had before disregarded, he touched her arm gently, whispering, ‘This is not your fault. Órlaith, this has never been your fault.’

‘It is. He is still out there because I was too scared to say anything. I was too scared to talk before she got hurt, and after. I may not be the person who drowned her, but I’m the one that let her drown. She deserved better.’ Before he could say anything she shook her head and with those big blue eyes looked up. ‘I’m still not strong enough, Brian. I’m not strong enough to fight you.’

It broke his heart to see her like this. He could feel the anger burning just under the surface, desperate to get out. Since day one he wanted to know the reason behind her pain and now he did. Everything in him yelled at him to go and avenge her. Find the one who wronged her and erase him from the face of this earth because while she was standing here, he had no right to occupy the same planet. But all he did was lean into her and with as much conviction as he could muster, muttered, ‘You will never have to fight me, Órlaith.’

She closed her eyes, smiling a sad, broken smile. ‘I wish.’

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C H A P T E R   1 3   -   C h u a i g h   s é   i   n d e a r m a d   d e   r é i r   a   c h é i l e   ( p t   2 )

Órlaith stared at the box, mind racing. She was looking, rather desperately, for an escape. She knew that once she opened that box the story started moving again. This box, it was the last sentence of a closing chapter. A chapter that, if she ever wanted to see Brian again, had to end now, with this old dusty box, inside this old dusty library.

Now all she had to do was stop looking for excuses and lift the lid.

But she didn’t. Instead she walked away. Busied herself in the kitchen, cleaned the house, ordered more groceries. She kept returning to the box, checking in on it from time to time to see whether it moved. It never did.

It was well past midnight when she finally closed the door to the library and faced the box one last time. She was still not brave. She was a coward and like a coward she knew this thing has to be handled like a band-aid – yank it off quickly, not giving yourself a chance to run.

She lifted the lid releasing a puff of dust that made her cough. She threw it aside and looked in, expecting all kinds of monsters to attack her. But all the monsters were dead, died a long time ago leaving behind old, dingy relics. She pulled them out, one by one.

Photos stared at her, resting in a pile that never got sorted into a photo album. Staring at the mess she decided to start there. She pulled out what she supposed was her family photo-album and got to work, adding photos to chalky pages. There were no photos of him. She only took photos of Maya.

When she was finished she lifted Mr Jungle, Maya’s favourite panda bear and put her arms around it, leaning back in her armchair. She felt tears biting in her eyes and for once, let them flow as she held on, pushing her fingers into the dusty plush toy.

She woke up hours later, face resting on Mr Jungle. The sun was desperately trying to part the thick clouds outside to announce it’s ascend, falling short. It was going to be a stormy day. With that notion Órlaith stood up, packed up the scattered items, labelled the box Maya and put it back on its shelf.

Mr Jungle stayed with her as she climbed up the stairs and went to sleep in her bed.  

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C H A P T E R   1 4   -   I   d ‘ a o n a r   ( p t   1 )

Earlier that day, Fanore

She listened to his story in silence, blue eyes intent on his face. He was not sure whether she was looking for a slip, a little snap in his speech that would betray a lie, or whether this was how she usually regarded people. When he was done talking she nodded, not saying a thing.

‘So… you don’t believe me,’ he mumbled, a little hurt creeping into his voice.

‘You’re telling me stories, Padrick,’ she reasoned, ‘faeries and monsters and singing demons. These are just things our mind invents to make sense of event that scare us.’

‘I didn’t invent it!’

She sighed, leaning down to rest her chin on her knees. ‘For the longest time I kept painting this image of a monster over the face of someone who hurt me. I kept giving him superpowers and evil red eyes, so one day, if I ever meet someone like him again, I would know. I would see the signs of a monster. But it doesn’t work like that. There are no monsters, Padrick. There are just bad people and they look like anyone else. Is that who took you? An evil person?’

Desperation gripped at his heart. She didn’t believe him. Nobody believed him and nobody ever will. If he told his parents they would get him a psychiatrist and then the kids in school would know and then…

Would it even matter? He wondered. Who were the kids at his school? Who were his parents? As a matter of fact… who was he? Shaking his head he looked up from his palms, meeting her curious gaze with his. ‘No one cares, do they. I’m here. There is a check on a board next to my name. Nobody cares who came back as long as somebody did.’

Her gaze strayed toward a book then. An old, Irish book of fairy tales with ornamental golden ribbon laying across the page. Padrick spoke very little Irish, less than the school required, but he did catch the gist of the illustration under a paragraph. A fairy princess putting a little fairy child into a human cradle while the parents slept.

Órlaith looked away quickly, closing the book with a snap. ‘What are you saying, Padrick?’

‘I’m saying I’m no longer me. I don’t know what I am. And the boy you were looking for that night on the cliffs?’ He waited for her to nod and once she did mumbled, ‘You never found him, Órlaith.’

The voices in his head laughed.

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C H A P T E R   1 5   -   I t   a n   t - e o l a s   s i n   a r   f a d   ( p t   1 )

Órlaith opened the door with a wide, wonderful smile that turned to a frown far too quickly. She took a moment to take in the unlikely pair on her doorstep and blinked in confusion.

Brian shocked her even more by pushing the boy inside before she could react. He closed the door behind them, kissing her cheek quickly and walking toward the kitchen, explaining, ‘About those evil monsters lurking in the dark, kidnapping children and whatnot… I’m rather inclined to believe it now.’

‘What?’ she huffed, hurrying after him. ‘What happened? And Padrick? It’s the middle of the night! Do your parents know you’re here?’

The kid sank into a chair with a huff. His skin was pallid, big blue eyes sunken under a veil of exhaustion. ‘They almost took someone else tonight. Brian stopped it.’

‘What?’ 

Her hand pulled Brian’s cheek toward her, but his eyes never fixed on her as he growled, ‘I did not. Padrick did most of the work. But Jesus, Órlaith, this is real. The water was… reaching out. It got the girl by the ankles and was pulling them both down…’ He shook his head, burying his fingers in his hair. ‘Bloody faeries are real.’

‘Which means,’ whispered Órlaith, turning her gaze back to the pale kid sitting in her kitchen. ‘You’re one of them.’

Padrick blinked at her, slow and challenging. The accusation hurt him more than she could ever know, but he didn’t let it show as he shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

‘But you helped the girl,’ reasoned Brian. ‘Why?’

Honestly Padrick couldn’t tell. ‘I think I didn’t come out right.’

‘I don’t’ understand.’

‘When I ran,’ he explained. ‘They were doing something to me. Me and… the boy who is me. I think they never got to finish whatever it was they were doing. Or maybe I’m just a mishap. There is more of him left in me than it should be.’

Órlaith watched him with that unnerving gaze of her again for what seemed like hours. She didn’t say anything when she was done, just walked over to the fridge and started pulling things out. ‘We need a plan. We can’t let them continue doing this.’

‘Hold your horses, admiral!’ snickered Brian, shaking his head. ‘We have no idea what they are or how to stop them. As a matter of fact, we don’t even know why they’re doing this. Why now? There have been no disappearances in this area for what? Hundreds of years? So why now?’

‘Maybe they were awakened,’ muttered the boy.

‘By whom?’

‘Something’s changing. Something dark.’

Brian stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘In bloody Fanore?’

‘No. In the world. I can feel it now. There is a darkness out there,’ he looked out of the window, fingers scratching at his arm. ‘It has been growing lately, seeping into the earth. Something is about to go down soon. Something I don’t think any of us will be able to stop.’

‘Okay,’ sighed Brian, shaking his head, ‘Somehow we got from faeries to cryptic apocalyptic prophecies and personally, I’m not okay with that.’

The kid snorted a laugh, regarding him with an amused expression that was far too wise to belong to such a young face. ‘Honestly, Sasanach, I don’t think any of us will be given a vote.’

Brian grumbled something, letting himself be seated down by Órlaith. He stared at the sandwich she put before him with an expression of dumb defeat. ‘So…what now?’

Órlaith sighed, pushing a pile of books to the side adamantly. ‘Well, we have books.’

‘We have a bunch of children’s tales!’ complained Brian.

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her red head as both, the boy and the man glared. ‘I think that by now we have sufficiently covered the fact that there is some truth to every story.’

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