by Monica James
“Is that the best ya got, aul’ lad?” I provoke, a pained wheeze leaving me as he stomps on my knee.
“Ya fucking smart-arse!” He doesn’t stop his assault. He kicks my ribs, my stomach, screaming that I’m worthless and should have died with my ma.
I accept his slurs and punches because he’s right, but instead of Mum dying, it should have been me. But her death will not be in vain. Every Doyle is going to pay for what they did. My dad isn’t with me, so all I’ve got is me, which is no different to how I’ve lived my entire life.
I’ve waited long enough. The Doyles incited a war—it’s time the Kellys finally answered back.
But first, there’s a wee doll I need to find.
Groaning, I open my right eye because my left one is almost closed over, thanks to the beating I got last night.
“Bout ye? Ya look like shite.”
Turning my cheek, I see Cian sitting in the armchair, skimming through a copy of Macbeth.
“Ach, happy days,” I reply, flinching as I shift to lean against the headboard. I’m breathless from the simple action.
“He lamped ya good this time, didn’t he?”
It’s not uncommon for Cian to find me black and blue, thanks to my dad’s fists. It’s a sight he’s seen many times over the years. But this time is different because I’m going to fight back; just not in the way everyone thinks.
“I need yer help,” I say, which has Cian placing the book on the armrest. “I want to go to Dublin.”
Cian blinks once, appearing to need a moment to process what I just said. “Dublin?” he asks, in case he’s had a lapse in hearing.
I nod firmly.
He shoots up from the chair and begins pacing the room. “A don’t believe ya! Stop actin’ the eejit. Ya wanna get killed?”
“Stop bein’ so dramatic,” I counter, pulling back the blankets. Cian flinches when he sees my bruised ribs. “I just want to have a wee look, that’s all.”
“A wee look at what?” Cian exclaims, hands out wide, but he knows. He knew it would eventually come to this.
“I can’t let those fuckers walk around without any repercussions for what they did to my mum. Every day they live is just an insult to her memory!
“The aul’ lad is nothin’ but a coward. The only reason I’m still here is ’cause I hoped to learn somethin’ about Ma’s death. But I’m done waitin’. I know I can’t do this on my own. I have to be smart.”
“Ya can’t just go danderin’ into Dublin, Punky. Would ya quit actin’ reckless?”
Placing my feet onto the carpet, I take a moment to pace myself. “Sure, this is it, but I’ll be careful. Besides, youse big lads are gonna keep dick for me, aye?”
Cian pales and abruptly stops in his tracks. “This is a bad idea. But we’re with ya. Besides, a wee look can’t hurt?”
“Aye, sure why nat?”
My flippant response does nothing to ease Cian’s worries, but I mean it. I’ll proceed with caution. I just want to take a look around. That’s all.
But that look will eventually lead to bloodshed, one way or another.
“Is that why ya got a hidin’? Ya told him yer goin’ to Dublin?”
“Ack, no,” I hiss, my eyes darting to the door to ensure no one is listening in. “No one can know about this but us. Once I have a plan, we go. All right?”
“Sound.” Cian nods, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “So why did he belt ya?”
Clearing my throat, I stand casually. The room spins, but I stay upright—for now. “’Cause I lost the rosary beads.”
“Shut your bake! How?”
I’m utterly scundered when I confess, “A wee doll stole it…when I helped her last night.”
Cian’s mouth twists into an amused grin as me helping strangers, or anyone for that matter, is a quare rare thing. “Helped her with what?”
“Helped fix her bike,” I explain, but he thinks it’s code for sex.
“Yeo!” he hollers, but there is nothing to be excited about. “She a ride then?”
“Cian, what she is, is in trouble. I need to find her. She took my mum’s brooch too.”
His smirk soon dies as he understands my urgency to seek her out. “Sure, this is it. I’ll help ya find her. Whatcha gonna do when ya do?”
And that’s a question I don’t have an answer to.
If this were anyone else, they would pay and pay painfully slow, but with Babydoll, the thought of hurting her doesn’t get me off like it would with most. I’m fair ragin’, but after last night’s strange response to her, I don’t want to punish her with pain.
So what do I want to punish her with?
Thoughts of her tied to my bed and squirming while I make her beg come to mind. Sex for me is something carnal. It always has been. There’s never any commitment; no chance at falling in love, because I don’t want love.
I just want the pain to go away for a small fraction of time.
Running a hand through my snarled hair, I decide to take a quick shower and work out my plan of attack. Cian plays a video game while he waits for me as I limp toward the bathroom.
The simple act of showering hurts, and I wonder what excuse Dad will use at tonight’s tea for me looking like someone’s punching bag. This is another reason for me to pursue something I should have years ago. I am done being his lackey.
I’m not stupid, I know I can’t go into Dublin, guns blazing. I need a plan, and a smart one at that. Even though I’ve never met Brody Doyle, the kingpin of Dublin and the arsehole who ordered the hit on my ma, I’ve heard stories which make Da look like Father Christmas compared to him.
Uncle Sean said there wasn’t any proof, but he was certain it came from the top as nothing happens unless it goes through Brody first. I begged him to tell me more, but he said it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. But I don’t understand how.
How can they allow my ma’s death to go unpunished?
When your dad is feared in all of Northern Ireland, it’s hard to get any dirt on him, as everyone is too afraid to talk bad about him in case it comes back to bite them in the arse. So getting any information from his confidants was impossible.
I don’t know my mum’s family. I don’t even know if they exist. Growing up, all I knew was the Kelly family as my dad said that was all that mattered. I’ve grown up only knowing half of my identity. It’s time that changed.
I don’t care what Ma did, but I imagine she betrayed my dad in one way or another for him to forget she existed and not avenge her death. I’m going to get to the bottom of the Kelly family secrets and ensure those who were involved pay.
Looking down at the crucifix tattoo on my wrist, I decide to start with this first piece in the large, intricate puzzle. I need to get into my da’s office to look at the photo he took for any clues.
It’s a long shot, but when you’ve got nothing, it’s a start.
Drying off, I put on ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. I loop the silver chain around my neck before running my fingers through my wet hair. I avoid the mirror and enter my bedroom. Hannah and Ethan have taken over the PlayStation from Cian, but when they see me, they stop their game, their eyes wide.
“Hey! How are ya?” Hannah says, chewing on her bottom lip when she notices my injured face.
“Stickin’ out, wee rascal,” I reply, playing off my injuries. Hannah and I have a special relationship. I love them both the same, but there is something about Hannah.
I hate them seeing me this way because even though they’re only six, they understand that something bad happened.
Dad hasn’t raised a hand to them, and if he ever did, I would make sure it was the last thing he did. I look at Ethan, silently promising to never let Da use him the way he’s used me.
Amber pokes her head into my doorway and sighs in relief when she sees the twins. “Oh, thank God. You two are going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
Cian instantly sits taller when he sees Amber. “Good mo
rnin’,” he says with a smile.
Cian doesn’t lack female attention as, according to his mum, he’s a handsome devil, but he grows bored easily, a product of growing up and having it all.
We’re both looking for something…more, in every aspect of our lives. Something more that’ll help drive the demons away, and I found more last night, so much more. I crack my knuckles, just thinking of Babydoll.
Amber gasps when she notices my face. “Punky, what did he—”
But I cut her off, not wanting the twins to overhear. “The aul’ lad gone then?”
Amber wipes away a tear, before nodding.
Her kindness still shocks me sometimes. I don’t understand why she cares. And this is why I believe I’m dead inside. I don’t feel what others do. I can’t remember the last time I cried or cared. I wake, shower, run errands for my da—repeat.
I function on autopilot, waiting for some big revelation to appear. But it never does.
However, the thought of killing every Doyle alive shifts this emptiness I feel. It’s the first time in forever I’ve felt like I’m on the right path. I know that path will be laced with danger, carnage, and blood, but it’s here where I belong.
I look at Cian, hinting the plan starts now.
He gets up reluctantly, clearly wanting to spend more time with Amber, but that can wait. Da has some business meetings this morning; I know because I checked his weekly planner. He’ll be back soon, so we don’t have much time.
“Do you want me to bring them back inside?” Amber asks, looking at the twins who are thoroughly engrossed in their video game.
“They’re all right to stay here.”
Amber nods and commences making my bed, knowing how pedantic I am. I would usually do it myself, but at the moment, it hurts to breathe.
Nodding my thanks, I kiss the twin’s foreheads before Cian and I make our way to the main house. My lungs are screaming at me to stop, but I persevere.
“How’d ya get on last night with Darcy?” I ask, hoping he shares that Rory and Darcy are now seeing one another. This will get Dad off my back.
“Ack, Rory fancies her something shockin’, but she’s not interested. She asked about ya.”
Gripping my side, I inhale sharply to measure my choppy breaths. “Fuck.”
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, sensing my distress.
“We’re callin’ on the Duffys’ for tea tonight. I think my dad is trying to set somethin’ up with Darcy and me.”
Cian’s eyes widen. “Shite. Rory is really hung up on her.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter what Dad wants. He’s away in the head if he thinks this is happenin’. I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone.”
“Except for the wee doll from last night, aye?”
He grunts when I elbow him in the ribs.
“I don’t want her. She…interested me, aye, but she fuckin’ stole from me.”
“And?” he poses. “Ya steal from everyone.”
“Remind me why yer still my friend?” I quip.
Cian knows not to press. I don’t do feelings or emotions. I never have. He’d love nothing more than to talk about girls over a pint, but I’ve never been interested in that.
But the conversation turns serious when Cian asks, “What happens if yer dad won’t take no for an answer?”
I don’t reply, and instead, focus on getting into Dad’s office.
We enter through the back door where Fiona’s personal chefs are busy preparing her breakfast. I have no idea what she does. She doesn’t cook, clean, or look after the twins. I stay out of her way, and mostly, she does the same with me.
She married my dad a few months after my ma was murdered. She often says she never planned to fall in love with her dead best friend’s husband, but we all know what a load of shite that is. The church allowed their union because my dad wasn’t divorced—he was a widower.
Just thinking about how fucked up my childhood was, I curl my lip and continue walking through the castle, ensuring we keep out of anyone’s way. Cian stands close behind me, always having my back.
When we get to my dad’s office, I look down the long hallway. When the coast is clear, I slip off my silver chain with a key dangling off the end. The key unlocks this office door.
“Yeo,” Cian whispers with a smirk.
Slipping the key into the lock, I turn it, and when it clicks over, I open the door. We enter Dad’s office, then close the door softly behind us.
I head straight for my dad’s desk and drop to a crouch to open the bottom drawer. Taking care to keep everything the way Da left it, I flick through the files until I come to the folder I want. Opening it, I reach for the timeworn photograph that still has the ability to shock me after all this time.
Cian peers over my shoulder, gasping when he sees it. “That’s you?”
“Aye,” I reply, looking into the sad eyes of five-year-old me.
Even though I don’t remember this photograph being taken, I do remember the pools of blood on the white carpet. I trace my finger over one in the background—it was where my ma took her last breath.
“Who did that to yer face?”
“I did,” I reply, remembering drawing each line with precision to reflect the injuries inflicted on my ma. “This is what they did to her, Cian. They took a knife and slit her mouth, ear to ear, to silence her screams.
“And after they were done rapin’ her broken body, they slit her throat,” I reveal, running two fingers over the black paint over my throat.
“Fuckin’ hell, mate. I’m sorry,” Cian says, his disgust clear.
I’ve never told him or Rory the details of what happened that night. I didn’t see the point. But now, they both need to know it all to understand why I’m about to start a war.
“She told me to pretend I was someone else, that I wasn’t really there. But all I could paint was what they did to her. It was my way to help carry her pain because I was locked in the wardrobe, watchin’ them kill my ma.”
“Is that why ya don’t like confined spaces?”
Not much scares me anymore, but being locked up with no escape route is my worst nightmare. I’m awful claustrophobic, but no one knows it. This is a weakness my enemies would exploit.
“Aye.”
Cian is quiet, digesting what I just shared. This is why I don’t tell anyone about my past. I don’t want sympathy or anyone to look at me with pity in their eyes.
“I remember bits and pieces, but I’ll always remember her sacrifice. And this photograph just reinforces what I have to do.
“I think even as a wain, I knew that drawin’ what I saw, a reflection of what they did to her, would help me avenge her death. I remember blood. Her screams. Her body coolin’ as I lay beside her for three days.
“But these three lines”—I slide my finger over the three red slashes on my forehead—“they represent the three arseholes who took her life. I drew them to ensure I never forgot.
“One of them, the one who slit her throat, knew I was there.”
“Away on!” he wheezes, shook.
“He unlocked the door, but left me there unharmed…why? This has always confused me because I don’t understand. If he knew I was there, why didn’t he kill me too?”
“That fucker. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Returning my focus to the photograph I’ve looked at countless times, I examine every inch of it for anything I may have missed. But nothing looks different.
Frustrated, I close my eyes, trying to transport myself back in time.
“I never wanted this for ya, Cara. But ya didn’t listen.”
Screams and then a gurgle of blood.
What didn’t she listen to?
And that voice…do I know it?
Groaning, I slam my fist against the carpet, angry I can’t recall more. I’ve tried for many years, hoping to remember something I may have missed, a small detail that would help identify who these men are.
But I’m al
ways faced with a black mass that won’t shift. Holes in my memory? Or my brain’s way of self-preservation? I don’t know.
“Fuck!” I curse, angered that this has failed.
Opening my eyes, I replace the photograph and put everything back where I found it, so as not to alert my dad that I’ve been snooping. As I go to close the drawer, something falls behind it, preventing it from closing all the way.
Angling my head to the side to see if I can uncover why it’s jammed, I notice a piece of paper stuck behind the drawer. This is new.
Without delay, I pull the drawer out completely and reach for the folded piece of paper. When I unfold it, all I see is an address. It’s in Dublin.
My heart doesn’t usually race, nor does my breathing accelerate, even when I’ve beaten someone within an inch of their lives. I usually operate on a monotone, but that changes when I see this piece of information because it may be the key to where I need to start.
Reaching into my pocket, I use my phone to take a picture of the address. Cian does the same. Always have a backup. Not sure where this piece of paper was stacked in this drawer, I place it between two folders and hope for the best.
“Let’s go,” Cian anxiously says, knowing if my dad catches us in here, it’ll be hell for us both.
Ensuring everything is where we found it, I slowly open the door and take a juke down the hallway. When it’s clear, I step out, and Cian follows. I lock the door, and we dander, not wanting to alert anyone to our snooping.
We turn the corner and bump into Uncle Sean. “What ’bout ye?”
“Beezer,” I reply, but my injuries contradict my aloof reply.
Uncle Sean grips my chin, turning my face to look at the damage. “Why do ya provoke him, cub?”
Uncle Sean’s touch is the only one I can stomach—only just. “The aul’ lad is such a dick. I can’t believe yer his kin.”
Uncle Sean sighs, letting me go. “Aye, sometimes I wonder that myself. Since yer ma—” But he soon pauses, stopping himself from sharing the Kelly secrets.
I don’t bother asking him to continue because I know he won’t, which is why as soon as this naff tea is done tonight, I’m going to Dublin.