Heart's Blood

by Calinda B

  “Lassi, prepare an injection of Clonazepam, would you, please?” Bres said.

  “Right away.” She retrieved the locked box of medicines he kept in his kit. “Ryan, get me a glass of water from the kitchen. Let’s make sure Siobhan is hydrated.”

  “Coming right up,” he said, scurrying away.

  “She’s already got a potent relaxation draught in her system,” Mary said, wringing her hands.

  “What kind?” Bres asked. He rummaged around in his medical kit and pulled out a pair of purple nitrile gloves. After pulling them on, he retrieved his blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

  “It’s my Moon Dust formula. You know the one.” Mary’s voice shook as she spoke.

  “I do.” Bres grew thoughtful while affixing the cuff to Siobhan’s arm.

  Siobhan continued to whimper.

  “Well?” Lassi said. “Yes, or no?”

  “One sec.” Bres fit the ear tips into his ears and positioned the diaphragm of the stethoscope at the soft inner skin of Siobhan’s elbow. He pumped up the cuff, then manipulated the air release valve. After he removed the ear tips, he nodded. “Go ahead,” he answered. He turned to Siobhan and said, “This will ease the pain.”

  “Okay,” Siobhan said, through gritted teeth, tears lingering at the corners of her eyes.

  Lassi donned nitrile gloves, unlocked the box, and fished out a vial of Clonazepam. She peeled the wrapper from a sterile syringe and filled it with the clear liquid. Then, she handed an alcohol wipe to Bres and held the syringe at the ready.

  Siobhan jerked backward and squeezed her forehead between her palms. She let out an eerie, high-pitched wail.

  Gooseflesh peppered Lassi’s arms, accompanied by a shudder. Siobhan’s wail sounded like it slithered from the pit of Satan.

  “You’re going to be okay, Siobhan,” Bres said, his face suddenly pale. He gripped her arm and swiped the skin clean with the wipe.

  Ryan hustled into the room with a water bottle. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Bres. “Here you are.”

  “One minute, Ryan,” Bres said.

  Lassi extended the syringe toward Bres.

  “Here, Siobhan. This will take the pain away,” he said. “You’ll feel a little prick.” He jabbed her arm with the needle.

  She winced. Within minutes, her eyelids began to flutter.

  “What did you give me? I’ve got to go check on Paulie,” she said, in a dreamy voice. Her head fell back against the sofa.

  While Mary tucked the quilt over Siobhan, and Ryan handed her the water, Lassi gathered her belongings and crept from the room, not giving Cillian another glance. Her only thought was to get as far away from him as she could. Waterford City hospital, here I come. And, please let Paul be all right.

  Chapter 15

  Day 5, Noon - Siobhan

  Siobhan struggled to fight her way free from her nightmares. She fell back into a heavy, sodden slumber and the feeling of being smothered by sticky, gooey cobwebs. She clawed against them, trying to scrape the fecking filaments from her nose and mouth. The harder she tried to disentangle herself, the more persistently they clung to her. This is a dream. It’s only a dream. She tried again to wake, straining against the tug of her body’s drug-induced relaxation.

  Her bladder needed relief. She ran down endless corridors, flinging open doors in search of a bathroom, only to discover huge, horrifying spiders. Then, she realized she still hung in the webs of dreaming.

  “Come on,” she mumbled. “I’ve got to wake up.”

  Finally, she managed to pry her eyelids open. She blinked, scrunching up her face. Her mouth felt parched like a desert wind had blown away any moisture. Her lips stayed glued to her teeth. She ran her tongue around the inside of her cheeks. Where am I? How did I get here?

  A photo of Ryan and Mary hung on the wall to the side of the bed, indicating her whereabouts.

  I’m at the Conway’s. She pushed herself up to sitting. Her head weighed at least two tons. What did Stephen dose me with? Some knockout drug? I only wanted the pain to go away.

  Dim light peeked through the slits of the blue-flowered curtains lining the window. A white bedspread covered with more blue flowers had been tucked around her. Teal and orange throw rugs were placed on the hardwood floor. A silver clock sitting on the side stand read twelve noon.

  Spikes of alarm shot through her. I’ve got to go see Paul. What was Stephen thinking? Damn him and damn Lassi for making me sleep so long. Rolling out of bed, aware of the heaviness in her limbs, no doubt left by the drug, she felt thick and lethargic. Her disheveled clothes were wrinkled from sleeping in them.

  She stumbled to the bathroom in the hall and relieved her aching bladder.

  A thin layer of sweat stuck to her skin, and she glanced around for a washcloth. A small stack had been placed neatly on the rack behind the toilet. She took one and stood at the sink, squinting against the drowsiness still lingering in her brain. Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced. Her face appeared sallow and puffy. Bruised smudges circled her eyes. I look like a dead, bloated whale. She turned on the tap and wet the washcloth. She dabbed at her face, then finger-combed her hair. Pushing the cloth inside her clothes, she washed her armpits and her crotch. After that, she folded the washcloth and hung it at the edge of the sink. Slurping water from the faucet, she rinsed the sensation of paste from her mouth.

  Stepping back into the hall, she cocked her head, listening for signs of life. The house was as quiet as a cathedral. Mary and Ryan were either asleep or gone. Knowing Ryan, he was probably at work. She had no clue as to where Mary could be. Perhaps she lay sleeping in her bed.

  Siobhan scurried back to the bedroom and gathered her belongings.

  A strange sound came from outside the house. She stilled, clutching her purse and shoes to her chest. Prickles of fear danced along her arms. A low wail, like a weeping woman, drifted toward her ears. The woman’s sobs reverberated in the air, as if they came from some ethereal place, not of this world. The hairs on Siobhan’s arms and neck formed porcupine quills along her skin. She tip-toed toward the window. After shuffling her belongings to one hand, she yanked open the curtains.

  A figure flashed out of sight.

  The wailing grew more intense, seeming to come from both outside the cottage and inside Siobhan’s skull. It called to some deep place in her soul, beckoning her to join whoever uttered the wails. This could be the figure I saw outside of my house. She dropped the items clutched in her grip and raced from the house.

  The figure stood in the distance, staring at her, framed by a backdrop of dark clouds. Her midnight black skirt whipped around her legs. Her charcoal-colored shirt billowed from her thin frame. Strands of dark hair undulated around her head, lifted by the wind.

  Chills frosted Siobhan’s skin. Her legs seemed to move of their own volition, carrying her toward the woman.

  The woman turned and ran.

  Siobhan followed, hustling to keep up. Sharp stones dug into her bare feet. She veered from the sidewalk onto the lawns of her neighbors.

  A few cars passed, their occupants slowing to peer at her.

  One of them stopped and rolled down his window.

  Shit. It’s Jimmy from the grocers’.

  “Need a ride, love?” Jimmy asked.

  “Fuck off,” she yelled, flipping him off. She knew she must look a fright, sprinting down the street with no coat or shoes like a lunatic.

  “Fuck you, too, Siobhan.” Jimmy lifted his middle finger to her, then sped away.

  The darkly-clad woman stayed in the lead, about one-hundred meters ahead. She turned right, heading toward the cemetery.

  Siobhan’s breathing labored. She rounded the corner, desperate to keep the woman in her sights. Her feet grew numb from the cold.

  The woman glided into the open gates of the cemetery.

  Siobhan stumbled, nearly falling. Her foot snagged on a rock, sparking a jolt of pain. She hopped up and down for a few precious seconds, then continued. Wh
en she sped through the gate, the figure had disappeared. And Siobhan was left with the same horrible ear-ringing nightmare she’d experienced last night. Only this time, screams accompanied the ringing. She clapped her palms over her ears and clenched her jaw. She fell to her knees in the rain-soaked lawn. What’s happening to me? Am I losing my mind?

  Ahead, a blocky-looking, uniformed women stared at her. She stood directly in front of the crime scene at Ailis’ grave.

  It’s Inspector Brown. Get it together, Siobhan.

  Siobhan pried her hands from her ears, pushed to standing, and staggered toward Inspector Brown, panting all the while.

  The Inspector tracked her progress, her head tilted, eyes shrewdly scrutinizing.

  When Siobhan limped within a couple of yards from the grave, Inspector Brown said, “It’s a little early to be up to your ears in the Guinness, don’t you think, Mrs. Riordan?”

  “I haven’t been drinking. I have a horrible headache,” Siobhan said, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. The shrieking abated somewhat. “Did you see a woman enter the graveyard ahead of me?”

  “No, I did not,” Inspector Brown said, her sturdy, rectangular face impassive as she studied Siobhan. “The only one to enter this morning has been you. And what in the bejabbers are you doing outside in this rain with no shoes or coat on?”

  Siobhan looked down at her wet clothes and frozen feet. Her right foot—the one she stubbed—had blood between the toes. The damp grass soothed the bottom of her scraped foot.

  “I…I thought I saw someone. I must have been mistaken.” A thought popped into her brain. She brightened. Maybe the woman was an apparition leading me to the graveyard to spill my suspicions about Petra. Maybe that’s what this is all about. “Have you met Ailis’ sister?”

  Inspector Brown made a crisp shake of the head. “No, I have not. Why?”

  Siobhan’s mind scrambled to link together connections. “She arrived a short time ago. And then all this strange stuff happens, like Seamus Kelly suddenly taking ill, and all the children in the region coming down with the weird flu. My poor Paul is in the hospital. He’s so sick.”

  Inspector Brown’s face cracked into an expression of surprise. “I didn’t hear about Kelly. He was a good lad. I bought salmon and shrimp from those boys. And sorry to hear about your son.”

  Heartened by the Inspector’s show of believing her, Siobhan continued, her hands gesticulating. “It happened so out of the blue. Like, one minute hale and healthy, the next, dead.”

  “Go on,” Inspector Brown encouraged.

  “Well, she—Petra, I mean—she’s Ailis’ sister. Anyway, she moved away from here years ago and lived in Australia. Her resume said she worked as a home health aide in Sydney. She had to have known her sister died two years ago. I think she even told Lady Freddie she read it online on the Bally News website. So, why did she wait two years to return? And why is all this shit-storm happening since she arrived?”

  Inspector Brown stroked the corners of her mouth. Rain dripped from her plastic covered hat, onto her fingers. She lowered her arm and flicked the raindrops off. “This might be useful. Or, it might not. I’ll check it out. Thank you for letting me know.” She gave a somber nod, knocking more water from her hat. “Is there more?”

  “Not that I can think of at the moment. She seems…sketchy. Yes, that’s the word. Petra O’Neill seems sketchy.” Her head bobbed up and down in a vigorous nod.

  “I see. Duly noted.” Inspector Brown plucked a business card from the pocket of her dark blue slicker. “If you think of anything else, do let me know.” She handed the card to Siobhan.

  “Thank you, I will.” Siobhan smiled, waving the card before her like she’d won tickets to see Lady Gaga.

  Inspector Brown glanced at the vandalized grave. “Well. I think I’m done here. Nothing has been overlooked or further damaged.” She touched her hand to her brim and nodded at Siobhan. Then, she strode toward the mausoleum, heading for the Garda SUV parked nearby.

  Siobhan took this as her cue to leave. An unfamiliar sense of purpose mantled her, and she smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like she’d done the right thing. Perhaps I’m rounding the corner away from all my mad grief. She turned and scanned the area for signs of the gloomy figure she’d chased into the cemetery. No one else was around.

  With a sigh, she headed back to Mary’s to retrieve her purse, shoes, and car.

  Mary’s house still lay quiet as a tomb. Siobhan tiptoed into the bedroom and gathered her goods. Before she left, she rummaged in her purse for something to write a note on. Her hand landed on a crumpled receipt. She plucked it free of the purse, found a pen at the bottom of the bag, and scribbled a hasty thank you. She left it on the dresser and exited the house.

  Once she sat in her Subaru, she drove to her home to get clean clothes so she could head to the Waterford City hospital. Trepidation seeped through her belly, growing stronger as her once-beloved home came into view. Now it represented a source of terror. She pulled into the driveway and stared at the backfield for several long minutes, attempting to calm her racing heart. What new craziness is here to greet me? She let out a long, shuddering breath. Cillian and Lassi said the spiders were gone. But what if they’re hiding in wait for me?

  The need to look presentable to see her son forced her to exit the vehicle.

  Her legs trembled as she shuffled toward the side door into the mudroom. Tentatively, she pushed it open. Same bench. Same hooks on the wall. Nothing out of order. So far, so good. She left the door wide in case she needed to make a hasty retreat.

  Shadows snaked through the dimly lit house. A sinister air seemed to wind through the space like smoke.

  “You’re paranoid, Siobhan,” she told herself, hoping to scare anything or anyone away. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Still, she scurried to her bedroom and rummaged through the pile of dirty clothes on the chair in the corner. Finding jeans and a green-checked shirt that didn’t smell too bad, she removed her wrinkled clothes and donned the cleaner ones. Then, she raced from the bedroom and through the kitchen, toward the mudroom. Her heart hammered in her ears. A sheen of sweat lined her skin. At any moment, spiders or some other freaky shit could pop out of the walls. Glancing over her shoulder the whole time, she hurried along.

  Then, she crashed into someone or something. She let out a scream.

  Firm hands gripped her shoulders. “Siobhan. It’s me. It’s Bres.”

  His soothing green eyes met hers.

  “Oh! Stephen.” Her hand flew to her sternum. “You gave me a fright.”

  He released her and stepped away. “I’m sorry. I saw the door wide open and came to check.”

  “What did you give me last night?” she asked, her voice brittle and high. “I slept far too long. Now I’m late. I should have been at the hospital hours ago. Poor Paul is probably missing me. He probably woke up crying and I’m not there.” She shook as she spoke.

  Instead of being met by Stephen’s usual compassion, or even an apology, his face assumed a stern, solid countenance. “Paul’s fine. I checked. You needed sleep. From the looks of it, you need much more. And, frankly, you need a lot more of a lot of things.”

  Some brittle wire holding her together inside snapped.

  “And I suppose those things include you swooping in like a knight and rescuing me. That’s what Dylan did. He rescued me from a horrible relationship with a jerk.” Words, thoughts, and emotions collided inside of her, stirring hysteria. “He saved me from making an awful mistake. I’d convinced myself I couldn’t do any better than my conniving boyfriend, Marc Byrne. Oh, right, Marc was the captain of the soccer team in secondary school. Big deal. Marc abused me. He hit me and told me I’d provoked him. He made everything my fault. He told me no one would ever love me as much as he did. Dylan convinced me otherwise. He cared for me. He loved me.” Her body shuddered as the words poured out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Snot dripped from her nose.
“But then he betrayed me, too. And he died. Wait, he didn’t just die. He was murdered. By a monster.” The last sentence emerged as a wail. She brought her hands up to her face. Shame heated her cheeks and neck.

  I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to go see Paul. I need to get away from Ballynagaul.

  “Well, I’m not Dylan. And I’m no Marc Byrne.” Stephen’s hands found her shoulders again. He pulled her close and embraced her.

  This time, she yielded to comfort. She sobbed into Stephen’s shoulder, desperate for all this pain, fear, and grief to go away.

  Stephen stroked her hair. “Can’t you see I’m in love with you, Siobhan? Yes, I want to be one of those things you need more of. I want to comfort you. I want to laugh with you. I long to share time and space with you. You and Paul are the best things that ever happened to me. But, you don’t need to love me back right now. Just give me a chance.”

  His words seemed to lift her up, lending wings to her soul. A “yes” poised on the tip of her tongue. Reluctantly, she eased away from him and opened her mouth to speak.

  Stephen’s expression looked hopeful. Open. Wide. Ready to swallow her pain and give her something far better in exchange. His whole demeanor extended the promise of a new life.

  Her gaze caught shadows looming throughout the kitchen. She glanced down. Her body cast shadows in every direction as if she was a source of darkness. They dimmed her vision and filled her heart with the black sludge of pain. She let out a hysterical shriek.

  “I can’t give you anything,” she cried. “I’m poison. Leave. Get away from me. Give up trying to win me over by using my son.” She jabbed her finger repeatedly toward the mudroom door. “Just go,” she said in a trembling voice.

  Hurt, betrayal, or anger—or maybe all of those emotions—skittered across his face. His eyebrows drew together. “You think I’m using Paul to get to you? Like I’m some kind of manipulative creep?” His mouth hung open for several seconds. Then, it clicked shut. “I guess you don’t know me at all. Apparently, you’re incapable of seeing what’s right before your eyes.”