by Lily Velez
I nodded, doing my best to remember everything he was telling me.
I must’ve looked overwhelmed because Jack’s eyes softened. “I don’t mean to put this burden on you. But it’s the only chance we have at getting any answers from her. If you’d rather not, though...”
Then he’d volunteer. Even if the risk of him becoming trapped in Alison’s mind was greater than it would be for me. I looked at Alison, hunched over in her wheelchair. The Wise Ones had sent us here for a reason. There was clearly a secret locked in Alison’s mind, one that could very well help me get my dad’s soul back and help Jack give his grandfather peace. Not to mention free all the other souls the sluagh had stolen.
Alison was a stranger to me. A literal trip down memory lane wouldn’t affect me the way it might Jack and his brothers because I’d have no emotional attachment to them. How hard could it be to see whatever images played behind those lifeless eyes? And besides that, as Lucas was apt to remind me, maybe I really was the Scarlet Ibis alluded to in the Seer’s message. Maybe this was the part I was ultimately supposed to play in this strange turn of events. This was my purpose. No one else but me could do it.
The trill of my pulse tapped against my wrist like the rapid-fire percussion of a woodpecker’s beak, but I straightened and met Jack’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”
Within minutes, Rory had finished his sigil. Lines intersected the circle at various points, creating triangles and diamonds, and amongst these, Rory had added even smaller circles and crescents as well. The design was beautiful, if not a little terrifying. When the time came for me to step inside the sigil, I very much felt like the sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter. Along the circle’s boundary, flames trembled atop the black candles Rory had set out.
“Why black?” I’d asked him when he lit them all at once with the snap of a finger.
“It helps you delve deeper into the unconscious.” He moved some auburn hair out of his eyes, thinking. “And if anything evil tries to come through, it won’t be able to pass the boundaries of the candles, so at least the rest of us will be safe.”
My smile was thin. We’d really have to work on Rory’s people skills when this was all said and done. My stomach seethed, and I was glad I hadn’t bothered partaking of our inn’s continental breakfast this morning.
“You’ll be fine,” Jack assured me, giving his youngest brother a disapproving look. Rory only shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure what was so wrong about what he’d said. “Remember, whatever you see is only a figment of our mother’s mind. It’s not real. Don’t let any dark memories or fears or nightmares pull you under. Hold on to your sense of self as tightly as you can, and don’t forget why you’re there. And if at any time you want to leave, all you have to do is close your eyes and envision this room. That typically transfers you back instantly.”
Typically? I didn’t like the sound of that. Nonetheless, I nodded and slowly laid down across the circle’s center, folding my hands over my stomach, my fingers clutching a lock of Alison’s hair. One by one, four heads peered down at me as the brothers took up their spots at each cardinal point.
“Ready?” Jack asked.
Not really. I slowed my breathing to calm my palpitating heart. Remember why you’re doing this. My dad needed me. This was the only lead I had right now in getting back his soul. There was no way I could back down, not even in the face of the unknown. I closed my eyes and nodded.
Jack began to chant in Irish.
“Isteach san aigne, trí spiorad agus croí.”
He’d told me earlier what the words meant: into the mind, by spirit and heart.
Within seconds, his brothers joined in. Their voices were hard, somber, and yet the words still managed to sound lyrical in their melodious accents. If I wasn’t about to be whisked away into someone’s subconscious, I might’ve found the spell enchanting.
“Isteach san aigne, trí spiorad agus croí.”
They spoke the chant over and over again. My body warmed. The boys’ Irish words wove around my bones in silken tapestries, dancing in my blood, making my heart beat faster. I was suddenly lighter, as if the laws of gravity had ceased to exist in the room, and there was a crackle of electricity all around me, my fingertips buzzing. I waited for something more, some grand light at the end of a tunnel to lead me into Alison’s mind or a breathtaking demonstration of wind and rain such as what Jack had done back in the forest.
But nothing came. After a few moments, I noticed the brothers had gone quiet too.
My stomach sank. The spell hadn’t worked. Connor had been right. I was the wrong person for the job.
I opened my eyes to ask what had happened.
Then I gasped.
Alison Connelly’s room had entirely vanished.
22
I was somewhere else entirely, the brothers and their mother nowhere to be seen. I sat straight up in a rush, ignoring the brief lightheadedness that overcame me, and threw my hands down to steady myself.
My fingers met cool blades of grass. The sky was like I hadn’t yet seen it in Ireland, a robin’s egg blue with bloated clouds meandering by, as soft and tattered as pulled cotton balls, almost close enough to the earth for me to touch. It was spring. The air was scented with lilacs and daisies and snapdragons, their blooms a spread of rainbow colors in a valley downhill.
Then a scream pierced the serenity. A heart-wrenching, soul-crushing scream that stabbed my heart like a knife. Behind me stood the back of a two-story house. The scream had come from inside.
I entered the house through a back door, creeping into a yellow-tiled kitchen where the sink faucet was still running, the water cascading over a bowl of fruit. The fridge was wallpapered with family pictures of boys with gaps in their teeth holding up sports trophies, of trips to the beach complete with sand castles and a blow-up ball, of a man setting up camping equipment with his sons. On the stove, scrambled eggs were sizzling and browning, filling the air with a burnt aroma, a plate of French toast abandoned on the counter nearby.
I furthered into the house until I found my way to the sitting room, where a woman was on her knees by the open front door, a slice of sunlight striping the ratty carpet. Beyond the threshold, a solemn police officer stood outside.
The woman sobbed into her hands. “No, no, no,” she moaned. “It has to be a mistake. He would never do such a thing.”
Something moved in the corner of my eye. I looked to my right, where four boys in their pajamas were standing on the staircase, watching on. The oldest one, a pre-teen, descended a few steps, his eyes pained and world-weary, as if he’d already seen too much of the world at such a young age.
This had to be the day Alison and her sons had learned of Redmond’s death.
Jack made it all the way to his mother and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she just continued sobbing, oblivious to his presence, her cries getting louder and louder.
I grabbed my throat and tried to soothe the painful knot growing there. Watching Alison was like watching a reflection of myself. I’d known that raw grief not too long ago. I’d cried those gut-twisting sobs before, the ones that left your entire upper body sore and your mind utterly exhausted. While friends of mine threw birthday parties or went on dates or posted pictures on social media of their enviable summer vacations, I’d sequestered myself in the bedroom I shared with Natalie, wondering at the point of life when the pain of loss was so paralyzing. For the first week or two, the ache in my chest was so sharp I was sure I was dying of a broken heart.
At the thought, I could practically feel Alison’s own pain intensifying. Her grief was so suffocating, so overwhelming. I could scarcely breathe. My knees wobbled, and I leaned against a wall.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, crumbled as she was on the floor, or off this younger version of Jack, who at such a tender age was already assuming his new role as man of the house. At what point had he begun blaming himself for his father’s decision? At what point had he decided he’d do
everything in his power to spare his brothers from further tragedy?
The filaments of Alison’s pain stretched across the room, grabbing at me like so many hands, stoking my own sadness. Little by little, they worked at the dams holding back my ocean of grief until the barricade gave way completely and all my emotions about my mom’s death washed over me like a tidal wave. Anger, despair, emptiness, lostness. I thought, not for the first time, about all the things my mom would never get to see: my graduation, my wedding, any children I might have. I thought of all the things left unsaid, all the plans left unfinished, all the conversations we’d never get to have.
My vision blurred and I rested more of my weight against the wall. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t know how I was expected to live out the rest of my life without her. She’d been my rock, my comfort, my everything. Why did she have to leave me? I closed my eyes, tears racing down my face, and eased myself into everything I felt, into that insurmountable pain that bellowed in Alison’s heart and my own like thunder.
But…wait.
Wait.
My eyes snapped open. Don’t let any dark memories or fears or nightmares pull you under. Jack had said that. I blinked several times, as if waking from a dream, slowly breaking the surface of the dark waters into which I’d been sinking. I quickly wiped away my tears.
I took in a sharp breath of air and remembered myself. This wasn’t real. It was only a memory from the past. I’d let Alison’s emotions hook into me and pull me down deep, and it’d been a lot easier than I’d anticipated.
I needed to get out of here.
I backed away, nearly stumbling over myself, and ran as fast as I could out the back door…and into another scene entirely.
It was nighttime now. Behind me, the house had disappeared. There was nothing but stretching landscapes in every direction. And singing. Singing and music. I faced the direction of the sounds and found a lively group of young adults who looked to be in their twenties.
They were gathered around a snapping bonfire, the orange flames waving in the cool breeze and setting their happy faces aglow. One of them strummed a guitar. Another banged a tambourine against her palm. They sang cheerfully, laughing and leaning against each other, swaying to the rhythm.
This time, the people in the memory noticed my presence. One of the women looked my way and smiled broadly. It was Alison. A younger Alison. Her hair tumbled down her back in lush waves, a crown of flowers upon her head. Beside her, a handsome man was glowing as he took her in, nothing but love in his eyes. Redmond. This was from a time before Jack and his brothers, before a bargain and a curse would haunt them for the rest of their lives. A simpler time, an easier time, a more joyous time.
Alison extended a hand toward me, inviting me to join the group. I sat upon the scratchy bark of a log with the others, the bonfire warm against my face. The group continued singing. Some of the songs were in English, others in Irish. I didn’t know any of the words, but I smiled as I watched them, their happiness and peace warming my heart.
It was such a stark contrast to Alison’s present-day life that I couldn’t stop marveling at her radiant beauty. At one point, Redmond took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Alison beamed, and their eyes were only on each other, as if they were the only two people in the world.
I hated to think I’d have to pull her aside to ask why The Wise Ones had sent us here. It would be cruel to tear her away from such a joyful moment, but I had no other choice. When the guitarist suddenly struck up a fast-paced melody that was wholly Irish and half the group leapt to their feet to dance, I decided I’d give Alison this final song before breaking the illusion of the memory.
As I waited, I settled into the moment, clapping along with the others as to not feel out of place. At first, I was only playing a part, but it only took a few minutes for the group’s contagious bliss to affect my heart. It was impossible not to feel happy around them. The guitarist’s song made me think of sunshine and fireworks and racing through the woods.
I missed this kind of communion. It made me think of the friends I used to sit with at lunch, the way we used to admire our crushes from afar, how we’d heartily discuss the latest storylines in our favorite TV shows, stepping on each other’s sentences, the inside jokes we’d toss back and forth until we were laughing so hard tears spilled out of our eyes. I grinned, reflecting on it.
Sitting around this bonfire kindled the happiness from those memories, feeding it until I had a wildfire in my chest licking at my bones, sending sparks through my veins. I felt energized. I felt ignited. I felt…alive. I clapped harder, laughed more. Everything was so beautiful. Everything was so perfect.
Alison, in particular, was overflowing with exuberance. I watched her, remembering I needed to speak with her about something. Something serious. What was it? I chased after the thought, trying to grip its coattails, but it was too fast for me and eventually disappeared around a corner. Maybe I’d been mistaken. This wasn’t a night for serious topics anyway.
Alison spun and spun and spun in place, her hands in graceful arcs above her head, her petite body like that of a ballerina’s, her hair gliding through the air. When she stopped, it was only to grab my hands and yank me to my feet. Then I was spinning too, my grip locked with Alison’s as we rotated around the center of gravity that was our hands.
Everything else became a blur. There was only the music and the laughter and the heat from the bonfire. I breathed it all in. It had been a while since I’d let loose, since I’d allowed myself to feel even a glimmer of happiness. I couldn’t remember why, what sadness had stopped me. But here, with Alison and her friends on this beautiful night when a thousand stars sparkled like diamonds above us, I could let go of it all, could forget it all.
Laughter escaped me, and I grinned at Alison. Our eyes locked on each other, and her cinnamon gaze was filled with love and serenity and immeasurable elation. I wanted to feel that way too. Always. Everyone here was just so happy, and I wanted more of it.
But there was a scratch at the back of my mind.
You don’t belong here.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the melody of the guitar. Of course I belonged here. These were my friends. I’d known them forever. We came out to this spot every weekend to sing and dance and drink and laugh.
The music around us became faster. Someone had joined in with a hand drum. The beat awakened something primal in my muscles, and I threw my head back, releasing a squeal of delight.
You. Don’t. Belong. Here.
Again, I ignored the nonsensical thought. I kept moving, spinning with Alison, every iota of who I was set ablaze with laughter. I wanted to be as carefree as Alison and the others. I wanted the night to never end. I wanted—
YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!
The realization coursed through me like an electric shock, and I yanked away from Alison at the jolt. The force by which I’d pulled back coupled with the momentum of my spin sent me dizzily careening across the ground until I tripped over myself and fell face first onto the grass.
Ow.
I remained still for a few moments before turning over, thankful I hadn’t knocked the wind out of my lungs at least. As I rested there, as my sense of identity slowly pieced itself back together again, I realized what had happened. I mentally chided myself for my foolishness. Twice now already I’d done the very thing Jack had warned me against. I’d let the memories bewitch me.
I’d gone into this thinking it would be easy. How wrong I’d been. I’d have to be smarter moving forward. I remained where I was, trying to come up with a game plan. How could I ground myself? After a few moments, I had an idea. I’d repeat a mantra every few seconds: This is not real. Surely that would be enough to keep me anchored in myself.
Dirt hit my face, startling me out of my thoughts. I was surrounded by four dark walls, the smell of earth invading my nostrils. No, these weren’t ordinary walls. I’d fallen into some kind of hole, the soil surrounding me filled with
roots and gravel and worms. Frowning, I sat up and craned my neck back to gauge how I might climb out. The view above was in the shape of a rectangle, and four boys were gathered along the edges, looking down into the hole. The Connelly boys at their current age, all dressed up in suits and ties. Jack tossed a handful of dirt into the hole. It hit the polished oak of the object that suddenly appeared beneath me.
My stomach flipped.
It was a casket, the old-fashioned, Victorian kind with a viewing window.
And behind the glass pane was Alison’s lifeless face.
I scrambled back, but the hole in the ground was only big enough to swallow the casket up with barely any additional space on either side. I couldn’t get away from it, and my eyes once again fell to Alison’s face, the bile rising in my throat. This obviously wasn’t a memory, so it had to be one of Alison’s fears. Not just death, I thought, but perhaps the idea of being permanently separated from her boys.
Another handful of dirt slapped me, this time on my shoulder. I was in a grave. I was in a grave with a dead body, and I was about to be buried alive.
“Stop!” I cried out. I waved my arms at the Connellys, but their eyes were glazed over, their faces blank. They could neither see nor hear me.
When the last brother, Rory, tossed in his handful of dirt, which made a hollow thud against the casket, the boys peeled away from the grave. Machinery roared to life. That had to be the backhoe operator, who was seconds away from filling in the rest of the grave with earth.
I rushed to a wall of the grave, clawing at the cold dirt to pull myself out, my fingernails blackening. I should’ve been able to make it to the surface, standing as I was atop Alison’s casket, but the walls of the grave only seemed to grow taller and taller, ever stretching above me until I was at the very bottom of an endless chasm and could barely see the sky anymore.
And then the dirt came rushing in.
“Stop!” I screamed. “There’s someone in here! Help!”