“He had a neighbour, who, um, used to check on him or something, I forget. Apparently he’d been sick for a while. And I, I was listed as his emergency contact.” She broke for a minute. “Eight years he’s been gone, without a word. Eight years I’ve waited for a call from him. He had me in his phone the entire time.
“Do you think that’s why he left? Because he knew he was sick?” Her face was full of questioning hope. She wanted to believe that.
Aisling hated to see her like this. Her mother, normally so decisive and intelligent. Still, there were worse lies to tell yourself. “I guess so.”
“Yeah,” her mother repeatedly, softly. “I guess so.”
She indicated the photos in front of her. “I packed these away all that time ago. I was afraid to look at them. I was so terribly angry and heartbroken, I knew if I had to see them everyday, I would just lash out, and I knew I had to be strong for you. You were so young, and it was hard for you to understand. I thought - it was a stupid idea, I see that now - I thought that if I just hid everything, you could eventually forget him.”
Aisling shook her head.
“I know, like I said, it was stupid. But I didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden, you lost your father, your house, and your mother, because I had to find enough work for take care of us both. You drew into yourself, and it hurt me to see that. But I didn’t know any other way. I’m sorry, dear, I’m sorry for not being a better mother, for not being there when you needed me.”
That confession and apology stung Aisling deeply; deeply enough that she felt ashamed. She rushed from her seat and threw her arms around her mother. “Don’t say that! I should be apologising to you. I was an idiot. You were doing what you could, and I was angry and placing it on the wrong person. Don’t say that.”
Her mother’s tears wet the side of her neck. “Oh, Aisling, I do love you, I hope you know that. I’ll be around more often, no matter what it takes. We’ll get through this together.”
At the word together, Aisling felt a stab of guilt, knowing the promise that she’d made herself what felt like an age ago, knowing the decision that was in front of her. Afraid of it. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, she thought.
“I want you to know you can come to me with anything,” her mother said, disengaging her, “no matter what.” To Aisling, it seemed like her mother was just realising that she was a single parent. Oh, she’d been raising her daughter on her own for the last eight years, but even though he was absent, there was always another adult; albeit not present. Now her mother seemed to see that there was a relatively short window in Aisling’s life where her daughter would need her, and that she was in danger of completely missing it.
“What are the photos?” Aisling asked, moving her chair around so she could sit by her mother’s side.
“Us, when we were all together. Happier times.”
Aisling picked one up. It was a photo of the three of them; a younger version of herself sitting on her father’s shoulders, laughing with free abandon.
It was the same photo from her father’s house in Limbo; the picture that he’d picked up.
A wave of emotion flooded over her. “Can I…” She tried again, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Can I keep this one?” she asked softly, her knuckles white.
“I love that one,” her mother said, resting a hand on her head. “You two look so carefree. Of course you can keep it.”
Aisling stared at the photo, taking in all the details, imagining her father doing the same wherever he’d lived. It was a link between them.
Her mother, oblivious, picked up another one and laughed. “Do you remember this one? We went to the carnival and there was face-painting…”
24
Aisling walked along the road to school, her first time going back after taking a few weeks off. It was a new day, and she felt like a different person; like she’d uncovered her true self after hiding in the shadows for so long. Her head was high, and she possessed a confident, easy stride that came naturally now. She knew what she was capable of; what her promise and potential for the future held. An internal fire burned.
As she walked, she paid attention to everything. How many times had she gone this way, head down, oblivious to everything that was going on around her? Once she looked, there was life, there were people, everywhere: a woman, dressed to the nines, trying to pretend that her dog wasn’t doing its business beside a tree; a couple out running together, the boyfriend nudging his girlfriend over a joke; a father and son on the way to preschool, with the little boy delightedly jumping into all the puddles on the way; a group of old men smoking and joshing outside a café; some high-schoolers laughing as a workman bent over to spray markings for future roadworks, revealing a shockingly hairy behind; a woman raising her hand in thanks as a bus driver stopped to let her cross the road; a young man in a suit, wearing giant headphones, singing not quite as quietly as he thought he was. Once she saw the little interactions, the brief contact as people came and went, it was hard not to smile a little. What she was doing in Limbo was dangerous, and she was determined to experience more of life. To make the most of it.
The photo of her, her mother, and her father, rested snugly in the inside breast pocket of her coat. She hadn’t let it out of her sight since she’d received it, even to the point of sleeping with it clutched to her chest. She’d need to cover it, protect it with something, but it felt good to have it.
It was a good day to be out.
She came up to a bakery. It was time to test what her father had once told her. She’d deliberately left the house without breakfast, and now her stomach was letting itself be known.
She walked in. There was already a queue of people waiting, but none even looked in her direction as she passed them.
“Hello,” she said to the young woman, in her early twenties, behind the till. The woman blinked as if just realising someone was there.
“Hi,” she said, a little confused. Aisling watched as the needs of a Shepherd rewrote the woman’s internal reality. The cashier brightened. “I’m sorry, I must have missed you there. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m a little hungry.”
The woman blinked again, then shook her head slightly. “Of course, I have something for you right here.” She handed Aisling a ham-and-cheese pastry.
“That’s amazing, thank you…I’m sorry, it’s rude of me, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It’s Stacey, miss…?”
“That’s a wonderful name, Stacey. You have a great day. Thanks again!” Stacey beamed like a child given praise, then turned to the man behind Aisling, their interaction already forgotten but for a smile on her face.
Aisling put some coins into the tip jar on the counter, more than enough to cover the pastry. Even though she was hungry, she didn’t really need it, and it’d feel like stealing otherwise.
Munching on her breakfast - it really was rather good - she left the bakery.
She threw the napkin in the bin as she finished up. More and more she found she was fading from life, just as her father had said. People coming towards her would unconsciously step out of her way, even if they had their head buried in their phones. Others, she flowed around. As she passed them, she could almost pick up on their thoughts, like hearing an echo from a far-off room.
Limbo travelled in the back of her head constantly now. Occasionally, she would pass someone, often elderly, but sometimes not, and she could almost make out their counterpart in the other world. The two images would overlap, sometimes faintly, sometimes strongly. These people seemed to notice her as she passed, though she was sure if anyone asked them about her later, they wouldn’t remember a thing. They’d feel her presence, look up and about, and if they saw her, they would relax and smile, reassured. She would nod, and smile in turn, happy to let them know that, yes, the world was in order, things were being taken care of. She had their back. Or their death, at least.
When she got to school, she half expected
to get chewed out of it, for she’d missed more than one day with nary an explanation. But she was never bothered, never questioned about it. Chalk one up for Shepherding. In fact, unless she made an effort, she found she was never called upon to answer a question, or hand in homework. She could probably walk out the front door, and for the most part, no-one would notice.
For the most part.
“Ah, little Miss No-Mates is back! Another mental breakdown, perhaps?” The mean, petty voice drifted over to her as Aisling was putting books from her locker to her bag. Despite everything she’d been through, she felt the cold mix of fear, shame, and anger run down her back. Her eyes caught her coat, hanging up over her books; saw the corner of a photograph peeking out of the inside pocket.
She breathed slowly, in and out. Screw letting people I don’t like dictate how I feel about myself. I am better than this petty shit. She continued sorting her bag.
“Is that a pillow in her locker?” They weren’t even trying to hide their laughter now. She found herself to be the silent focus of a lot of students around her.
She finished her bag, locked her locker, turned, and walked calmly over to where Amy and her popcorn posse stood in a loose circle. Jake was with them, along with another boy who was going with one of the girls, though Aisling wasn’t sure which; it seemed to change every week.
“Yes?” Aisling said, with more patience than she felt.
Amy looked at her with derision. “Excuse me,” she said, adding more syllables than seemed possible to the two words, “we weren’t talking to you.”
Aisling looked at each of them in turn. It was so pathetic. “It must be hard living such shitty lives, only ever seeing the negative, only ever being able to bring people down.” The looks on their faces was more than satisfying. “You walk around here like you’re God’s gift to mankind, like everyone wants to be you. But the thing is, in the long run, you don’t matter. You’re all intensely boring. Afraid to do anything that might get you singled out, afraid to dress differently, think differently, say anything that isn’t snarky; trying desperately to enforce a status quo by coming down on anyone that looks like they’re rising higher than you. In a few years, we’ll all be going on with our lives, while you will be stuck, trying to get back to the time when you thought you were important.” She stepped closer to Amy, who must have seen something in her eyes, for she backed away. “You are a horrible person inside, and if you don’t realise that, then you will forever live an unhappy life, because nobody wants to be around someone like that. And that’s pretty sad.”
She fixed them all again, standing there muted. Lastly, her gaze fell on Jake. Jake who twisted her insides, gave her butterflies, made her thrilled and nervous at the same time.
Or at least he had.
“And you. You’re not good for any woman, which is a shame, because somewhere in there, there could be a pretty decent guy, but he was never there when I needed him. You never once stood up for me, or supported me. Mostly, you were just a selfish asshole, taking advantage because you could, and I let you. But I deserve better than you; you’re not worth me.”
Now Amy was looking back and forth between them, the ball dropping.
Aisling left them all like that and walked to the next class, head up, back straight.
That lunch, as she was sitting eating her sandwiches, Julie Draper, a bespectacled, brown-haired girl came up to her.
“Anyone sitting here?”
Aisling smiled up at her. “Be my guest.”
Epilogue
Richard Davis wandered along the grassy path with no specific destination in mind, following the trail that had been worn by an endless passage of feet. Overhead, the sun shone hot and strong, and he let the heat warm his bones. Thank God for small pleasures, he thought, for when it rained, it played devil on his joints.
There were countless people out and about, and he doffed his hat at each of the ladies, so much so, that he felt it should be installed on a spring. Still, manners were free and easy to carry, as his mother had drilled into him when he was but a wee lad. He stopped to exchange a few pleasantries here and there, occasionally walking with someone for an extended period if they gave good conversation. Yet, despite it all, despite the weather and the good company, he felt like he was missing out on something. Nothing definitive that he could put his finger on, just a vague feeling in the back of his head.
A gaggle of young kids of all shapes, ages, and colours, ran haphazardly by, and he stepped politely out of the way with the care of someone for whom a knock and a fall is a rather serious business indeed. As he watched, one of them stumbled and fell behind, before shaking her head and bounding off.
I’m late, but I don’t kn-. His mind blanked for a second, and he shivered. Someone just walked over your grave, old boy. He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking of before. Judy always said someday I’d forget my own head getting out of bed. Speaking of the devil, he wondered where she’d gotten to. No doubt lost somewhere. But she’d eventually find him; she always did.
He heard a muted thoom behind him, and turned just as a young slip of a girl dropped out of the sky nearby. Why didn’t he think of trying to fly? All my life I’ve been walking like a chump, when I could’ve been doing that?
The girl was coming towards him, walking tall with a fierce, determined look on her face. He began to feel nervous, though she was looking beyond him.
A blinding light exploded briefly above his head and he cowered in surprise. Looking around him, he saw nothing. By the time he stood up straight again, the girl was there. Had he thought her fierce? She had a beautiful smile. He relaxed, a burden he didn’t even know he was carrying sliding off his shoulders.
She extended an open hand out towards him in invitation.
“You’re the one I’m looking for.”
About the author
Damian Connolly hails from Ireland, the land of myth and legend, and currently lives in sunny Bordeaux, in the south-west of France. By day, he makes video games, and by night, instead of sleeping like he should be, he tinkers with whatever the interest-du-jour is; he spends far too much time getting distracted by shiny new technologies. Occasionally, he throws it all out the window and writes.
Sometimes it’s worth reading.
You can find him on Twitter at @divillysausages or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/DamianConnollyAuthor/
Thank you
Thank you for downloading this book! It means more to me than you can realise. I’d love to hear your candid feedback, as I don’t believe that we’re ever too old to learn and improve, so don’t be afraid to get in touch through my site, https://damianconnolly.com.
If you liked the book and would like help see it succeed, then please leave a REVIEW on Amazon by turning the page. It makes a big difference.
I read every review that you guys write. Thank you again!
~Damian
Shepherds: Awakening Page 13