The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  She kept running as she glanced over her shoulder. Richard would reach out and grab her at any moment. She glanced down quickly at her dress and shuddered. Her favorite was torn along the seams and there were stains all over the crushed velvet. She didn’t care, she couldn’t care, as long as she could get away and then the damn dress could go into the fire.

  A thought flitted across her mind. She’d end up looking like Molly in no time. She shuddered again as she pushed open the door to Kelly’s Emporium.

  Every surface in the general store was covered by a thick layer of dust, and the odd little place smelled of perfume. Perhaps the smell was masking another, more pungent, odor. A grizzled old man wearing a once-white apron stood behind the long wooden counter.

  “And what can I do for you, Missy?”

  “Mr. Kelly?”

  “Aye.”

  “Have you a telephone? I must call someone. It’s an emergency. Oh, and Molly sent me.”

  “Molly? Molly? Why that old crone, I wouldn’t give her the teats on a cow.”

  “But Mr. Kelly, might I use your telephone? It is quite important.”

  Something in the look on Megan’s face prompted the old man. He went around the counter and patted her hand before leading her to the back.

  The room was an office filled with filing cabinets and clipboards hanging on nails around the dirty walls. Papers in stacks littered the top of a desk that stood in the center of the floor. On the desk sat an old-fashioned desk phone in a cradle with huge number buttons.

  “Take all the time you need, love. I shall be out front.” Before he left, he patted her hand, closing the door soundly behind him as he left.

  Megan’s hand trembled as she dialed Jim’s hotel.

  “No, Mr. O’Flannery hasn’t been in since early this morning,” the desk clerk informed her.

  “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “No, but his bags have been packed, so I suppose he’ll be checking out soon.”

  Megan’s heart plummeted to her feet. Checking out? “Thanks.”

  She rang off and called the emergency police number.

  “State the nature of the emergency,” a cold, dispassionate voice said on the other end.

  “My name is Megan Kennedy, and I’ve been kidnapped. I’m somewhere in the Jarro, I can see the river from here.”

  “Can you be more specific about your location, Miss Kennedy?”

  “No—yes, I mean I’m in a store called Kelly’s Emporium. Can you send someone now?”

  “Kelly’s Emporium. Yes, Miss Kennedy, stay there and we shall have a policeman over as soon as can be. There is a report out on you. We’ve been looking for you all day.”

  Megan heaved a great sigh and leaned against the desk as she hung up the phone. Weariness almost overcame her. She shuddered for a moment, but stiffened her backbone. She couldn’t turn into a pile of jelly now.

  If only Jim were here. If only…but he was packed to leave. What if he left before she could make it up to him?

  What if he left before she could tell him how much she loved him? What if—?

  Megan hung up the phone. “That’s enough, Megan. Just get away from the lunatic before he chops your head off. You have a passport and a credit card, that’s enough to get you back to Jim after you’re safe. Stop being an idiot and get on with it.” She took a deep breath and looked around the office for another exit. It was too risky to leave by the front.

  At least the police were on the way. Teresa had probably noticed she was gone this morning and called them. No, that didn’t sound right. Megan covered her tired face with her hands. Where was Jim? Where? Get on, Megan. You’ve no time to mope.

  “Seamus! I know I’ll call Seamus; surely he can help me get out of here. Seamus, uh…Seamus, dear, if you can hear me, will you come?”

  “Right-o, lass. And didn’t I tell you that your Uncle Seamus would make sure every little thing was all right?”

  The leprechaun stood in front of Megan, floating on a bit of invisible air.

  “Now, let me state the rules, if I may. According to the Angel Second class Compendium,” he said as he pulled an inch thick book from his breast pocket, “no angel shall interfere with another angel’s operation of his assigned duties.”

  Megan’s teeth ground together. Stuff the ‘Angel Compendium,’ just get me out of here.

  “Now, I know for a fact, I do, that your own angel is working hard at helping you himself. ’Twas himself that made sure the pills were available and ’twas himself that told you to put them in the beer, although I think ’twas a terrible waste of good spirits. I can’t be helping you directly. Only indirectly, if you know what I mean, your angel is near.”

  Megan tried not to roll her eyes. The two angels were arguing about who knew what, and she had to escape from crazy Richard.

  “Ah, there he is, right behind you. Nice looking chap. What?” said the little leprechaun, cocking his head listening to something Megan couldn’t hear. “Ah, all right then, I’m off.”

  The little angel scowled at the air and Megan couldn’t begin to imagine what they said to one another.

  Could there be jealousy and competitiveness between angels? She just needed to get out, never mind the silly spirits showing off in front of her.

  “Seamus, I need…”

  Seamus bowed slightly to Megan. “Your angel, his name is Michael,” he said conspiratorially behind his hand, effectively cutting her off.

  “Not the Michael, mind you. He got you to this place and now we have to wait for Jim-lad. He’s on the way.”

  “Oh, thank the Lord, but what about…?”

  “Yes, you can be thanking Him, but don’t forget that you should thank us as—” The leprechaun looked quickly over his shoulder and then turned to gesture to the air behind Megan.

  “And what time do you suppose you can start with helping the lass, eh?” Seamus said with a little heat in his voice. It was obvious Seamus was speaking to Megan’s angel, Michael.

  “Uh-oh, now, lass, he’s going to take over and he’s just told me that you must leave by the back way.” The little leprechaun looked anxiously over his shoulder again, pulled on both earlobes and disappeared.

  Megan stared at the closed door for just a second before she sprang into action. She glanced about, frantically looking for a way out. She ran to the back wall, pushing on each seam, hoping one would open and reveal a door. There were footsteps outside the door, an angry voice and—

  “Megan, love, now why did you run off like that?”

  Megan turned slowly to see Richard, groggy, but quite coherent. She watched in horror as he reached out to grab her.

  Chapter 46

  “It’s bloody cold, O’Flannery. I just need to button up my coat.”

  “Sorry, Teresa, no time. You can button it up in the cab.”

  “If we ever get a bleedin’ cab.”

  After the fourth cab had passed them without so much as looking, let alone stopping, Jim turned to Teresa.

  “Which way is it?”

  “We can’t be walking, surely.”

  “I guess we’ll have to. Is there a bus?”

  “Should be. Haven’t the foggiest clue which one though.”

  “Great.”

  Jim looked around with such a menacing expression that anyone near him prudently stepped out of the way.

  “Come on, we’ll go to the corner, and the next bus that stops, we’ll ask.”

  A few seconds later, a bus rumbled to the corner. Teresa talked briefly to the driver, who in turn, gestured grandly with his arms to another street corner across the busy boulevard.

  “This is just ridiculous,” Jim exploded. “Which way, Teresa?”

  “Listen, O’Flannery, it’s miles from here, and we simply can’t walk.”

  “Well, if it’s simply miles from here, I guess we’d better get started.” Jim gestured for Teresa to go on ahead.

  She let out an exasperated breath and trudged on with J
im close at her heels.

  They walked heads down against the wind, not speaking, elbowing their way down the street. Ten minutes later they managed to catch a cab. Jim looked at his watch.

  “She’s been gone sixteen hours.”

  Teresa put her hand on his sleeve. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

  Chapter 47

  “Oh, Richard, I…uh…I came to buy some soap chips. I had to clean the dishes and the uh…place.” Megan looked over Richard’s shoulder to see Mr. Kelly’s worried expression. The old man knew something was up.

  Megan’s mind worked feverishly. What could she say or do to alert Mr. Kelly about Richard.

  “Oh, Mr. Kelly, this is Mr. Richard O’Connell.”

  Richard’s cold gaze moved from Megan to the man who stood directly behind him. He stuck out his hand in a move to shake. Mr. Kelly grasped his hands, successfully pulling him out of the storeroom and into the store.

  “Mr. O’Connell, is it? Wonderful. I’ve just the thing to show you, lad. Stamps commemorating the rebellion. Have you seen them then?”

  Mr. Kelly raised his brow at Megan in a subtle signal.

  “Stamps?”

  Richard moved unsteadily toward the counter and blessed Mr. Kelly pulled Richard farther into the store and away from Megan.

  Megan took a tentative step across the threshold of the office. She took two more steps, never taking her eyes from Richard’s back. The sleeping pills had obviously affected him, but not enough to knock him out. Richard was groggy, swaying slightly, and his speech was slurred. Whether it was because the pills were too old or because he hadn’t ingested enough, the outcome was the same.

  Megan moved slowly and silently past his back, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, but focusing all her attention on the door that led to the street.

  Mr. Kelly was talking a million miles an hour, trying to keep Richard occupied. Mr. Kelly was a small, slight man. He wouldn’t be able to keep Richard from harming her. His arm was braced around Richard’s shoulders while his other hand gestured unobtrusively to her to hurry out the door.

  Megan was but two steps from the door when Richard spun around. She gasped. He broke from Mr. Kelly and moved toward her in slow motion. She stood transfixed for a heartbeat, then two. His movements were strange and somehow surreal. He teetered a little, and then lunged forward to grab her.

  Terror gripped at her heart and riveted her to the floor. A voice screamed in her head, “Run, colleen, run!”

  She turned and dashed to the door and threw it open wide. Heavy, stumbling footsteps sounded close behind.

  Too close. Tears coursed down her face from the cold and terror and blurred her vision as she raced down the street.

  She made it to the tenement she’d just left, but she heard his heavy breathing and footsteps behind her.

  She wouldn’t look around. It would slow her down. She must keep moving. She ran up the stairs, her feet thundering on the wooden steps. Molly stood on the landing, her mouth agape. Megan shoved her to one side.

  She could hear him, his footsteps running. Running to catch her. What would he do? His breath sounded like grating gasps; like an automaton, like a machine.

  She heard a voice, “The roof, colleen, the roof.” It was Seamus.

  Megan ran to the end of the hall, jerked open the door to the roof, slammed it shut, and fumbled with clumsy fingers to try to lock it.

  The hem of her dress caught on her shoe and she stumbled on the bottom step. She tried to breathe, but cold fear made her heart hammer and black spots crowded around her sight, a sure sign she would pass out and then it would be all over. Like hell! She’d fight that maniac until there was nothing left inside of her. By God, she’d fight him.

  She heard the doorknob rattle behind her. She took a huge breath, pushing the much-needed air into her lungs, and ran up the steps, not looking back.

  The top door to the roof creaked and squealed in protest. It was warped shut from humidity and lack of use. She pushed until she thought she’d die trying. Finally, the bottom began to move and it swung open wide as the wind grabbed it. It flew open with such velocity that it almost jerked her arm out of the socket. She stumbled past the door frame, catching the wind full face. Tears stung her eyes; wind and droplets of rain whooshed in her face as she lunged forward.

  He’d get her. He’d come behind her and grab her and…she groped for the edge of one of the chimneys, the roughened brick tearing at her hands. Her hair whipped behind her and lashed into her eyes, blinding her. She had to look for a hiding place away from the relentless wind and rain. And Richard.

  Black soot covered every surface of the brick. The wind blew particles into her mouth, and mercilessly burned her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. With the hem of her dress, she wiped the soot and wet from her eyes. She stopped for a moment and tried to think. She crouched down behind a chimney farthest from the door and glanced around. She was now, at least, hidden from the door to the roof. She ignored her eyes, the two lumps of ice that were her hands, and her chattering teeth. She tried to quiet herself, tried to still her cough so Richard would not hear her.

  The door to the roof flung open and crashed against the opposite wall.

  “Meggie, I know you’re here.” His voice was filled with rage. “Show yourself.” He howled like a wounded animal. And then there was silence. Seconds later an ear splitting cry tore through the air, and the wind paled in comparison to it.

  Megan huddled closer to the chimney, while the floor of the roof vibrated under Richard’s heavy footfalls. Then she heard it; a siren above the wind and not too far in the distance. Megan heard Richard turn and his shoes scraping against the tiles. He staggered near the edge of the roof and peered down at the street.

  Megan peeked around the chimney. He looked first one way and then the other as his huge brown raincoat billowed out around him.

  The sirens grew louder until they stopped directly in front of the building. Richard ran away from the street side of the roof, his feet thundered past her hiding place, and then she lost sight of him. Where was he? The wind howled around the chimney, drowning out the sound from the street, drowning out even her shuddering, chattering teeth. She had to stay ahead of the madman. She was so cold. She’d never get warm again. Her head came up. She forced her breath to slow. She heard a car door slam, feet running, men calling out. She thought she heard Teresa’s voice.

  She had to stay quiet! Slowly she stood and flattened herself against the brick as she crept around the edge of the chimney. The air rang with the sound of men shouting from below. She was sure she heard Jim’s voice.

  Jim! Oh, God he’d come to rescue her!

  She glanced right and then left and didn’t see Richard. She ran to the edge of the roof, straining to see the sidewalk. Was he there? Oh God, please be there.

  “Jim.” She stuck her head over the side, waving her arms frantically. “Jim,” she shouted again.

  A hand, like a vise, grabbed her from behind.

  “Now, why are you doing this, Meggie? I told you, I’d be famous and then Father would come around.” His hand was squeezing, clutching her upper arm, wrenching it slowly, methodically, causing so much pain that she couldn’t think, couldn’t react. Megan jerked back and forth frantically trying to loosen Richard’s grip, but he stood like a statue, his hand like a hawk’s talon gripping her arm and the only thing that moved was his eyes, quick and harried. Richard looked at her, leaned forward, and screamed in her face.

  “I’m not ready yet. Why are you calling to him? You are mine; you can’t call to him. You can’t. I need to do one more…”

  His voice pitched high above the wind and the noises from the street.

  She looked at him, stared at the frantic man she’d been so terrified of just moments before. Something inside of Megan snapped, and her mind became clear and coherent.

  All during the night, terror had successfully paralyzed her from action. When Richard had shown up on her doors
tep, terror had put her will to escape in a straightjacket. But a straightjacket was where this lunatic belonged, not her.

  Anger bloomed inside her and overwhelmed the nauseating terror. There was so much anger; everywhere she looked was shrouded in a haze of red. Her blood pounded and raced into her temples and a surge of adrenaline moved through her veins until her hands felt warm and her eyes were clear.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” she growled at him and felt her lip curl into a sneer. Megan thrust her face to within an inch of his. She watched with great satisfaction as his glazed look sharpened and he cringed back from her.

  “Let go of me, you—you—you blithering idiot!” She rose up on her toes and screamed into his face.

  She jerked her arm down with a hard, wrenching turn and loosened his grip. Richard was stunned, flabbergasted, and shocked all at the same time.

  “But, Meggie—”

  “But, Meggie, nothing. Let go of me. Get off of me, you—you—you murderer.”

  Megan shoved him, pushing her upper body against him and away from her as hard as she could. At last, his grip loosened. He stumbled backward and tripped on the hem of his coat. His arms flew out, flailing about as he tried to catch himself. He lurched forward to compensate for his movement backward. The wind blew his oversized coat out around him and it wrapped it around his legs. He lost his balance in the tangle of his coat and the wind. He pitched backward. His hands grasped the empty air, but not finding purchase, he pitched forward. In slow motion, his hand reached out to her, flailing, trying to reach her. His eyes, huge with terror, bore into hers beseechingly.

  He fell head first over the side of the building and Megan heard his scream above the roaring wind.

  Megan squeezed her eyes shut, crouched down, and covered her head with her arms. She knew that she would never forget the sickening sound of Richard’s body hitting the sidewalk.

  Someone’s hand was pulling her up. A kind, soothing voice spoke to her and strong arms wrapped around her comfortingly.

  Jim. It was Jim. Megan took a long shuddering breath and tears flowed down her face. It was Jim. He never let go, as he led her from the roof.