by Calinda B
His eyes grew flinty. He shot to his feet, stalking toward Lassi. “There’s no evidence other than circumstantial,” he said, jabbing the air in front of her with his forefinger. “It could just be a new strain of flu they haven’t identified or contamination in the water supply. Or a lot of other things causing the elderly and the young to fall ill.”
“Billy and Seamus aren’t elderly.” Lassi stepped backward. She put out her hands. “But, you’re right, it’s far-fetched—except when does life in Ballyna-nowhere ever make sense?”
Cillian shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Billy needs me.”
“The village needs you more,” Lassi said. “Just pop over to Siobhan’s with me. With your skills you’ll be able to tell if something awful is in her house.”
Bres sidled between them and said, “You go, Cillian. Siobhan’s isn’t far. I’ll call you if he worsens, but he’s sleeping peacefully at the moment.”
“I don’t know how peaceful he is with all the grim energy in the room,” Cillian shot back. Then, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he said, “I’m sorry to you both. We’re all at our edges. You’re right, I’ll slip over to Siobhan’s, see what I can discern, then I can be back at a moment’s notice.” With a labored sigh, he turned to leave. “I take it you drove here, Lassi?”
“What, as opposed to flying in on my broomstick?” she retorted.
“No, sweetheart. As opposed to walking.” Cillian’s jaw set in a rigid block as he swept past her. In his three-hundred years of existence, Cillian had never learned to drive.
A few minutes later, sitting next to her simmering, stone-faced, never learned how to drive boyfriend, Lassi drove the short distance to Siobhan’s house. When we arrive at Siobhan’s, I’ll see if I can get in the house. Then, I’ll have a look around. She let herself out of the vehicle, not caring whether Cillian joined her or not.
Luckily, the door to the mudroom was unlocked. Lassi entered the house, and instantly froze, like a fly trapped in a glass. It didn’t take Finn magic or Leviathan transformation skills to discern the unwelcome, evil presence in the house.
Dark shadows draped along every surface, dripping like melting wax. A bitter smell, like scorched earth, wafted through the air.
Lassi wrinkled her nose.
“Whoa,” Cillian said, coming to stand behind her. “This is intense.” He put his hands out, same as at Billy’s, stroking some imaginary force. “Let’s check out her closet.”
Lassi stayed in the lead, trudging toward the bedroom, unease fluttering in her stomach. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Which part?” Cillian asked, so close behind her, his heat warmed her back.
“All of it. Pick one.” She plodded down the hall and stepped through the doorway into the master bedroom. Instantly, she wanted to fall to her knees and retch.
Long shadows spread across the room. They didn’t match any of the objects in the room—they simply were.
Cillian placed his hands on her shoulders.
“This can’t be good for the baby,” he said, pulling her close.
“The baby and his mother are fine,” she said, wriggling away from him. She crossed the room and yanked open the closet door. Sure enough, the clothes were covered in spider webs. But no baby spiders could be seen.
Cillian stepped into the closet. He fingered one of Dylan’s web-covered shirts. “These webs are unusually sticky, like rubber cement. Doesn’t seem like a normal spider, that’s for certain.” He wiped his fingers against the plastered white wall, rolling the webs into balls, then flapped his fingers to rid himself of them.
Lassi crouched, spying a few dead spiders on the wood floor. She flicked one of them with her thumb and forefinger. “They look like ordinary spiders.” Her mobile phone began playing from her coat pocket. She retrieved her phone and answered it. “Lassi, here.”
“Lassi, it’s me,” Bres said.
“Bres. What is it? What’s happened?”
Cillian stood behind her, again placing his hands on her shoulders.
“It’s Billy. Come quickly.”
“Oh, no,” she said into her device. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”
“What is it?” Cillian said. “It’s Billy, right?”
“I’m afraid so,” Lassi said, guilt at dragging Cillian over here noosing her insides. “He took a turn for the worse. He’s slipping away.”
“And I wasn’t there to perform last rites.”
His statement lanced Lassi, churning her gut into a guilty cauldron. “Cillian, I’m…”
“Save your apologies. I don’t want to hear them.” Cillian spun and raced out of the room.
Lassi followed.
They kept up a frosty silence in the car back to Billy’s house. Outside the vehicle, the night landscape appeared sharp-edged and shadowed.
Once they arrived, Cillian wordlessly pushed the passenger door open and jogged toward the house.
Lassi scurried to keep up with him.
He entered without knocking.
Lassi hurried behind him.
Bres whirled around from his bedside vigil. His expression resembled a mask of destroyed hope. “You’re too late. He’s gone. You should have heard the cries he made. It sounded like he wrestled with devils. His breath came, labored and fast. He shrieked and wailed, writhing on the bed. None of the meds I gave him made a damn difference.” He pressed his fist against his mouth, blinking wildly.
Billy’s eyes stared blankly into vast space. His gaping mouth had frozen in a grotesque rictus, the skin pulled taut in a Joker’s grin.
Cillian turned toward Lassi, slicing her to the bone with his icy gaze.
She sucked in her breath. “Cillian, I’m so sorry.”
“Save it for confessional. I’d like you to leave, please. Both of you. I need to be alone with the departed.” He stepped to Billy’s side and removed his cross from his neck. Gripping it so hard his hand shook, he said, “It’s too late to give him Last Rites, but perhaps his spirit can still hear me.” His voice drifted into the room from the bottom of his oceanic soul.
Lassi hesitated, frozen in place. “Cillian, I feel awful.”
“I don’t care how you feel, Lassi. You’re the one forcing my hand.”
She reeled backward. Cillian may as well have punched her in the gut.
“What I do care about,” Cillian continued, “is ushering Billy’s soul to the afterlife. Now go.”
Without waiting for their departure, his eyes transformed into Leviathan slits. His movements grew languid as if his limbs drifted through ocean currents. After making the sign of the cross in front of him and in front of Billy, he turned to Billy and gently eased his eyes closed. Next, he retrieved a vial of holy oil from his pocket. He opened the vial, tipped it on the pad of his thumb, and pressed the fragrant oil on Billy’s forehead. His thumb, infused with Leviathan magic, caused the oil to hiss and steam against Billy’s skin. Then, while fingering his cross, he began uttering the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick as he entered a deep trance.
Lassie turned for the door. Shame noosed her as she stumbled from the house. Once outside, she fell back against her unforgiving Skoda.
Bres followed her outside. He did his best to console her with pats on the back, and mumbles of, “There’s nothing that could have been done,” but she tuned him out. The only thing she could hear was a lonely song of heartbreak, tearing apart her insides. This baby would never have the devotion of his father. How could she argue with three hundred years of service to the cloth?
Chapter 14
Day 5, early hours of the morning - Lassi
Standing in the cool darkness outside of Billy’s home, the image of Billy’s final horror-struck expression lodged in Lassi’s mind like a splinter. She longed to take a blow torch to the horrible death memory, obliterating it from her mind. Sighing, she reached up to massage her temples. When she lowered her arms, she bumped her elbow against the si
de mirror of the Skoda, hitting her not-so-funny funny bone.
She rubbed it, muttering, “Fecking car. Fecking boyfriend. And fecking Ballynagaul.”
Hot tears pricked against her eyes.
Bres stood next to her, staring vacantly at the dark harbor, his arms crossed over his chest.
The boats creaked and shifted in the wind. Lights from some of the vessels danced along the water. A clang, clang, clang from a bell buoy marked time. The wind whistled through the masts of some of the ocean craft. The air smelled of fish, seaweed, creosote, and engine oil.
Lassi’s eyes sought the lit window of Billy’s house. Absentmindedly, she picked at the sleeve of her woolen jumper which poked out the edges of her raincoat.
Cillian was inside the house, performing whatever priestly tricks he knew to guide Billy to the afterlife. And he was pissed at her.
So, she stood moored to Billy’s driveway, her legs heavy with guilt and shame for having dragged him away from here to go look at a closet full of spider webs.
“How did it happen?” she asked Bres in a shaky voice. “The end of Billy, I mean. Cillian and I weren’t gone that long. He didn’t appear to be that close to death when we left.”
Bres startled out of his reverie. He shuddered, turning so his soulful eyes could meet hers. “He seemed somewhat stable, you’re right. But minutes after you left, he started screaming, moaning, and mumbling something about ‘make it stop. Make it go away.’ It all happened too fast. I called you as soon as I could.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, his eyes were moist with tears. “And his face…I’ve never seen such a look of absolute terror. I doubt I’ll get it out of my mind anytime soon.”
“I understand. Billy’s freaking final expression is haunting me, too.” She leaned closer, letting her arm lean against his.
Bres blew out a long, deep breath, nudging her with his shoulder. “Well. I’d best arrange for transport to the morgue.” He pushed away from the car and retrieved his phone from his coat pocket. Then, he stepped away from her to make the call.
Cillian emerged from the house.
She straightened, watching him carefully to try and discern what kind of mood he brought with him.
He strode toward Bres and said something. Then he headed toward her. As he approached, his dark expression said everything.
“Let’s go,” he barked.
She shoved away from the side of the Skoda, plastering a placating smile on her face. “Where to?”
“You said Siobhan is at the Conway’s, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Lassi fished for her car keys in her jacket.
“Then that’s where we’ll head next.” He gave the locked door handle of the Skoda a few impatient tugs. “Bres can take care of the rest of Billy’s needs.”
She quickly pressed the unlock button, not remembering locking it in the first place.
He opened the door and slid in, back to his simmering, stone-faced self.
She entered the other side of the vehicle, powered it up, and drove toward the Conways’ home, not interested in trying to force him out of his fugue.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I did what I could. Even his spirit was terrified. I couldn’t find him at first.” His voice cracked. “He was running, running, trying to escape whatever hunted him.”
“Hunted him?” Lassi trembled.
“I’m afraid so,” Cillian said. Then, he slipped back into his moody silence.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the Conway house. They exited the car and tromped toward the front step, as distant as two countries with hundreds of miles separating their shores.
All the lights were still on in the house.
Lassi knocked.
Mary answered, looking far less frantic than she had a short time ago. “Oh, good. You’re here.” She smiled warmly. “And Cillian.”
“Mary,” he said, nodding grimly.
Mary’s gaze slid toward Lassi.
She gave a subtle shake of her head.
Mary stepped aside for them to enter.
Cillian strode past her like a zombie.
Lassi followed.
Siobhan sat in the front room, nursing a cup of tea. The quilt lay tucked around her legs. She, too, appeared much calmer.
“Hello, Lassi. Cillian.” She smiled in a weird sort of too-many-anti-depressants kind of way.
“You look better,” Lassi said, stepping toward her, frowning slightly. She perched on one of the recliners.
“I mixed up a mood-enhancement herbal formula,” Mary said. She beamed and settled into one of the armchairs. “It seems to be doing the trick.”
Lassi gave Cillian a side-eye. “Can it work for anyone? I might need that formula.”
Cillian ignored her. Instead, he flashed Siobhan a reassuring smile, crossing the room to sit by her side.
“How are you, Siobhan?” he said with practiced, priestly ease.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Lassi and I went over to your house earlier,” he said, inclining his head in Lassi’s direction.
At least he knows where I am.
“You did?” Her face brightened.
“Yes.” He reached for her free hand and captured it between his hands. “We saw the cobwebs but not the spiders.”
“There were dead ones,” Lassi interjected.
Cillian grimaced but didn’t look at her. He kept a steady, reassuring gaze trained on Siobhan. “Right, there were a few dead ones but nothing alive.” He paused as if sorting his thoughts before speaking. “And we saw the shadows, too. I don’t know what’s causing them, however. I could try a generic blessing of the house, but I don’t feel that would work.”
“What about an exorcism?” Lassi asked.
Cillian stiffened like she’d stuck a rod up his anus.
What, do you think I’m just going to stay mute this whole time while you talk? Lassi pressed her lips together and imagined shooting darts from her eyes at the side of his head.
“An exorcism wouldn’t help either,” he said. “It doesn’t feel like demonic possession. There's no ‘intelligence’ to it, per se, and no other evidence leading me to believe it’s a demon at work. Besides, demons possess people, not structures.”
Siobhan sipped her tea, her eyes glazed with her strange herb-induced calm. When she lowered her cup, she said, “So what can we do? I need to be able to walk in the door to my house and not be scared out of my wits.”
Ryan entered the room, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. “I can help. Maybe I can dig up some records of your house, Siobhan. I can check with the courthouse.”
“I’ve lived here nearly three hundred years, Ryan,” Cillian said. “You think I’d know if something was amiss in that building.”
Ryan’s face flushed. “Well, Cillian, you’re right about that. You have life experience and all. But the house was here before you were first…conceived. Er, when you were alive in the 1700s.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long, slurping sip. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just because I know what you are and how old you are doesn’t make it easy to speak in a normal conversation. And records have been kept on Ballynagaul for a long time. All I’m saying is you never know.”
Cillian nodded. “You’re right, Ryan. It’s worth a shot. I’m not thinking clearly tonight.”
Ryan nodded, beaming. “I don’t think any of us are.”
Cillian’s shoulders rose and fell, powered by a long sigh.
Lassi longed to comfort him. Either that or rip the clerical collar from his neck and bang his bones until he couldn’t speak a full sentence.
Siobhan’s hands abruptly flew to her head.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
“What is it?” Lassi said, slipping into nurse mode. She shoved away from the recliner and hurried to Siobhan’s side.
“This ghastly headache. It’s been threatening me all day. It suddenly got worse. And my ears are ringing something fierce.” Siobhan sm
ashed her ears with her palms. “Uh! Make it go away.” She began rocking back and forth. “Oh, this is awful. This sound…it’s like a haunting lullaby.” Her eyes looked like vacant pits. She trembled, staring at Lassi from some fathomless depth. “No, it’s like a keening…a wicked wailing. It’s horrible. Make it stop.”
“Cillian, get my medic kit out of the car, would you please?” Lassi said, crouching in front of Siobhan.
He leaped to his feet and hustled toward the front door. A startled exclamation came from his mouth. “Oh! Hello, Bres,” he said from the hallway. “Everyone’s in the front room. I was just going to get Lassi’s kit.”
“For?” Bres said.
“Siobhan.”
“I’ve got my bag. Save yourself the trip.” Bres made haste into the room, medical bag in tow. He slid past Ryan and went to Siobhan’s side. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s the matter?”
“My head. This headache is splitting me apart. And there’s a ringing in my ears, clanging like ethereal church bells.” Gritting her teeth, she slapped at her ears. “Make it disappear.”
“Easy, Siobhan. I’ve got you.” Bres grabbed her wrist.
“Maybe it’s Paul,” Siobhan wailed. “Maybe my wee Paul is trying to contact me. What if he’s not okay? What if he’s taken a turn for the worse?” Her eyes took on that same crazy haunted look from earlier. She started to bolt to her feet.
“It’s not Paul,” Bres soothed, blocking her from getting up. “I called the hospital on the way over here. He’s fine.”
“But what if he wakes up and misses his mama?” Siobhan cried. “And I’m not there to comfort him.” Violent shakes tossed her head back and forth, flicking tears from her eyes. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.”
“I’ll head over to see him,” Lassi offered, wondering how in the stars she’d be able to stay awake.
Ryan and Mary stood ill at ease in the doorway.
“Lassi, no. You need sleep,” Cillian said.
“I’m fine,” Lassi said. “Who else can go? You? You never learned to drive. And, Mary and Ryan need to rest.” Her gaze skipped to her two tired friends.