Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  I rubbed my eyes and pressed my fingers across my eyebrows, then blinked across the river at the twinkling lights of a housing estate.

  I turned again to face Paul, wondering what was bothering him, but my words stuck in the back of my mouth from his brazen stare. It was as if he were looking at a stranger, someone who scared him. As soon as my eyes met his, he darted his gaze out to the river. And then out to the sea.

  It was too late though. I saw his thoughts in his eyes. It was as if he didn’t know me anymore.

  Like taking a punch to the gut, I reached for my chest and sucked in air. Something spooked him, beyond the usual. Something he heard at the castle or maybe the lost daughter stuff.

  “Did you hear the voices?” I asked.

  He pursed his lips. “Yes.”

  Relief washed over me. It was real. He heard them too. But that also might explain his distance.

  “Did you understand the language? Do you know what they were saying?”

  He looked out to the water.

  “Yes.”

  I nodded my head and pressed my lips to the side. “Thought so.”

  I knew it. He heard something in the voices that scared him.

  He turned to me.

  “Did you understand them?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “No, not the actual words or language. But I knew what they meant. So, I guess, yes.”

  The voices anointed me in a way. As the chosen one. Paul knew this too. It scared the crap out of me, so I could only imagine how it made him feel. But he shouldn’t be pulling away from me at a time like this.

  I needed him to talk to me. Tell me what was bothering him.

  A giant splash from the river wall sent spray up on us. A wet slosh ran down my face and made me squeal. I jumped up and ran to the river’s edge to look in. Paul was by my side in an instant, looking across the ripples and waves.

  “There!” He pointed toward the bridge. “It’s a seal. He’s gone the wrong way.”

  The seal flopped its massive form near the wall again, sending a thunderous wave of water up and over. He redirected himself and we watched him glide his way back out into the bay again.

  “Whoa! He was huge! I’ve never seen one that close before in the wild.” My breath was taken away by the sight and sheer power of the creature.

  I looked back at the area he last struggled and sloshed, by the bridge. In the heavy darkness over the bridge I noticed a lone figure that nearly blended in with its surroundings.

  “Paul, someone’s there.” I pointed to the middle of the bridge.

  The person’s head lifted from the sound of our voices, revealing his oversize hood and cloaked shoulders. A gasp escaped my lips as I recognized him as the figure from the cemetery. My heart stopped from the thought that he’d followed us and knew how to find us. His determination to derail me made my knees weak.

  “The monk,” I whispered to Paul. I didn’t know what else to call him. “The same guy, in the dark cloak.”

  I reached for his arm as he straightened and pulled myself close to him.

  “What the hell….” Paul squinted into the darkness for a better look.

  In the same blink, the monk moved away across the bridge to the far side.

  My breath exhaled as he left our sight and my tight grip loosened on Paul’s arm.

  My first instinct was to get out of there. Get to the car and go home to hide behind locked doors. But my next inhale brought with it courage and curiosity. A primal urge grew in me to protect and persevere—protect myself and Paul, but to also end the threat. A threat that seemed to be against something much bigger than us.

  “Come on! Let’s go after him,” I yanked on Paul’s arm. “It’s gotta be Fergal. He’s following us!” I dropped Paul’s resisting arm and took a few steps toward the bridge. “Come on. You know he’s stalking us. I need to find out why. He knows something about all of this.”

  “No.” Paul turned back toward his parked car.

  His refusal to jump to action rattled me.

  “What?” I looked back across the bridge hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger. He was gone. “We can’t stop now.”

  My eyes darted from Paul to the far side of the bridge and back again. My hands went up with my shoulders in puzzlement.

  “I mean, I don’t know what’s going on either, but I need to face this, Paul. You know that, right?” My plan formed itself through my spoken words. “I’m going back to Rockfleet. And to the cemetery. All of it. Until I find Grace.”

  My adamant tone pressed on him to join me in taking action.

  I was determined to pursue every angle. Paul needed to know this. There was no turning back now. Not ever.

  Paul’s new reluctance was killing me. I wanted to punch him in the face. To wake him up and get him back in the game. The sick feeling of grief returned to my once-stronger heart and weakened it. I couldn’t bear it if Paul became guarded around me. Or worse.

  Paul’s head hung and he stared at his feet.

  “I’m sorry, Maeve. It’s too much. Too fast. It’s just not….” He followed the sound of a distant horn and took a deep inhale. “It’s getting too big. I feel like I’m going to lose you to it all. Or, like, you’re not going to need me, or want me, anymore. I just need time to think.”

  “Do you think I don’t have the same fears? Look at what’s happening to me. But I need you to stay with me. Completely. Don’t pull away from me. Please.” My eyes begged him more than my words. Despair poured out of my pupils.

  Paul’s eyes remained fixed to the ground and I squinted in pain as my world imploded into me.

  My vision blurred and my hearing squeezed into a vacuum until they both synchronized onto a single point of focus—Paul. It was too much for him. He couldn’t do it anymore.

  “Take me home now. Please.”

  Paul was bailing on me. It was written all over his face. His eyes were wide with fear and his furrowed brow was layered with line after line of doubt.

  I hadn’t seen it coming though. He’d been by my side from the start. From discovering Grace O’Malley as the source of my horrible visions and then learning she was my family. And Paul, he was the descendant of Grace’s lost love, Hugh.

  It was perfect, Paul and me. It made perfect sense. We had each other and could put an end to all of this together.

  The thought of him pulling away was more than I could bear. A sense of abandonment hollowed me out, making me sick. I swallowed to hold down a retch as nausea twisted my face into a grimace.

  My thoughts raced for an explanation.

  What turned him so suddenly? Brigid? The voices?

  My lips pursed as anger replaced my grief. Paul was my match. He was the other half of me. It wasn’t right for him to do this.

  Paul pulled up to my blue door at 122 Bohermore. I unbuckled my seat belt and shifted in my seat to face him.

  “What turned you?” The betrayal in my voice made it sound like an accusation.

  “Jesus, Maeve. I’m not turnin’ on ya.”

  “Yes. You are. I felt the shift. It’s done.”

  The resolve in my words turned sharply in the air and pierced my heart. Saying the words out loud confirmed my worst fear. Losing Paul.

  I reached for the ring hanging from my necklace and held it for security as my knuckles rubbed the tightness in my chest. Our future wasn’t clear to me anymore and I turned my gaze away from him.

  “No. I just….” He pursed his lips, hardening his words.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I turned back to him and pushed his arm in frustration from his evasiveness.

  His eyes glared into mine.

  “The voices. What they were sayin’.”

  I knew it. The voices freaked him out. But why?

  “They want me to lead something, right? It was like, encouragement, like I was on the right track.” I searched his face for answers.

  He nodded his head, but there was more. His downward glance and tight lips pr
oved it.

  “It’s too dangerous. We need to stop. It needs to stop here.” He stared out across the glowing light beams from his headlights. “You need to rest. We just need to slow it down a little, okay? Can we do that? Just to catch our breath?”

  My head exploded and all senses left my brain. How could I slow down now? It was time to keep plowing forward.

  What was his problem?

  I glared at him as if he was the enemy.

  “Who’s the defector now?” My eyes narrowed with each word.

  His face fell, like he’d taken a bullet.

  All I wanted was to jump into his lap and kiss him better. For him to hold me with his unwavering affection and desire.

  “Come in. I’m sorry.” I reached for his hand.

  This argument was dumb. We couldn’t let this tear us apart.

  “I can’t. Not tonight.” He kept his gaze forward.

  I stared at his unmoving position and reeled back in surprise. Then I bolted out of the car and pushed through my door without looking back.

  I leaned on the inside of my blue door, listening for the sound of his car pulling away. The sound of silence chilled me. After a breath, I inched the door back open and peeked out.

  His car was gone. The dim street lights of Bohermore reflected off the shiny wet streets and sent long shadows along the lane toward Bohermore Cemetery.

  I peered to catch a glimpse of the Celtic cross monuments that seemed to always keep an eye on me. They were cloaked in the slumber of darkness. I glanced down the other direction of Bohermore, toward the city center, and squinted into the sudden blast of misty sea air. I blinked to clear my vision and pulled strands of hair out of mouth.

  The next burst left no question.

  The wind was coming.

  Memories of my last awake dream flooded my mind. Grace, in the O’Malley cemetery, attacking Paul and me with her sword and her mask of vengeance and grief. We ran and….

  Whoosh!

  The wind blasted me back inside the blue door into my alleyway. The space that led to the door of my flat swirled with mist and dust. I fumbled along the length of the way, feeling for my door, craving for the safety and shelter of my home.

  The expanse ran longer than seemed possible, and I groped and pushed through the whipping gusts. I crouched and angled for a better look through the wind. Up ahead, a break in the storm opened the view. On my hands and knees I moved to it, gasping short breaths as the air was pulled out of me by the forceful gale.

  If this was Grace… If she was coming… I would throw the ring at her. Without Paul, she wouldn’t see the eternal love of her bond with Hugh living on in us. To rest her soul at peace. But that didn’t matter anymore. Without Paul, I just wanted to end it in the quickest way possible.

  Panting, I pulled myself into the stillness of the void. On my knees, I caught my breath. Light opened the space, revealing a winding road through thick tall trees. The gnawing in my gut told me there was someone lurking, someone following.

  I moved along the winding road that quickly opened up to a rolling green expanse leading up to a manor. The huge estate was grand, like a sprawling English castle you’d see on a postcard. Nothing like the stout stronghold of Rockfleet Castle, but more elaborate.

  I moved across the lawn, passing crafted topiaries and garden statues. The darkness lingered, making it difficult to see the manor’s details. I moved close to a tall evergreen, probably twelve feet high, carved in the shape of a four-sided pyramid. I leaned into it for shelter as I looked at the distance between me and the immense front door.

  Vulnerability coursed through me as I felt alone and unprotected. Deep in my soul, I was exposed and had lost my armor somewhere along the way. I froze, rooted to my spot, blinking non-stop. It was up to me to get to safety. To protect myself from harm.

  As I gauged my next move, I heard a rustle behind me and was reminded of the ominous feeling of being followed. Or stalked. Or lured?

  My breathing accelerated and burst in and out of me.

  I turned my head against all resistance of my body and focused on any possible movement behind me. My heart lurched into my throat when I caught sight of the brown-cloaked man moving across the great lawn directly toward me at an effortless speed.

  Terror filled my every muscle as I blasted from my topiary toward the entrance of the great manor. With no clue on how I would get the doors open or get inside, I raced toward them as if they were my savior.

  Pumping my arms for extra speed, I looked back as my legs carried me forward. The monk was nowhere. He must have hidden behind the lawn trees.

  I flew up the stone terrace and smashed into the enormous wooden doors. They met in the middle with two massive brass pulls. I reached my hands through them and heaved with my entire weight. They bulged out from my efforts but fell back securely.

  I looked back over my shoulder, terrified of what I might see, what might be right behind me.

  As my eyes focused around me, I saw movement from the pyramid bush. The brown hooded cloak glided from behind the greenery and moved toward me in an unreal gait that lumbered in size and weight, yet gained ground effortlessly. His heavy frame was unmistakable but his agility was haunting.

  I turned back to the door and gave another heave. This time knowing my life depended on it. The doors groaned open, enough for me to squeeze in. I swung around to close them tight as the monk leapt onto the terrace and barreled toward the doors.

  He reached them just as the gap came together between them. With one final pull, I looked through the crack and his bloodshot eyes pierced mine just as I sealed it shut.

  I knew those maniacal eyes.

  Fergal.

  My shriek was drowned out by the sound of the doors slamming shut. I pulled them in tight and twisted the brass fixture to lock them. My breath raced out of control as my eyes darted around the dark, centuries old space.

  Not a sound came from the other side of the doors and I backed away from them with light, silent steps. My eyes adjusted to the new light inside the aged manor and I moved farther in, drawn deeper by my fear of my outside attacker but also by the mysterious décor.

  The Victorian-era furniture and tapestries created a haunting, regal feel. The glow of the fireplace pulled me farther in and I tip-toed across the foyer into the great room. My breathing steadied as my eyes darted around, taking in every details of the space and searching for clues of any inhabitants.

  I warmed my hands by the glowing embers in the fireplace and looked at the crest above. The boar and galley jumped out at me first. It was the crest of the O’Malley clan, crossed by two medieval swords.

  My heart raced as I moved around the room. Generations of family portraits covered the walls, giving the feeling of a reunion or important family meeting. I searched for one that depicted Grace O’Malley. One that portrayed her in her true likeness.

  I wanted, more than anything, to see her. To see anything that would help me. I yearned for something to make sense. To give me confidence that I was on the right track.

  My shoulders slumped as I saw nothing that resembled Grace. But it felt as if she were here, or could be here. Her presence was all around me.

  Lost in confusion, I searched the portraits for familiar names or a family resemblance and found only unknowns. My arms hung by my sides and my posture slouched as I backed away. Heat grew behind my eyelids as my throat tightened.

  But then, in a blink, I was drawn to one portrait in particular across the room. A life-size painting of a young woman, masterfully done, with lace details in the fabric of her dress and fine lines on her knuckles. I focused on her clothing and her necklace and followed the ends of her long hair all the way up to her face.

  I looked straight into her eyes and gasped as my hands flew to my mouth. I stepped back, shaking my head, moving away from the portrait.

  How could it be?

  I dropped my eyes to the ground in hopes it would go away. Maybe I’d seen it wrong.


  With my head still down, I raised my eyes, just enough to sneak a second peek, and regretted it in an instant.

  Her face was identical to mine.

  Like looking into a mirror. Every feature. Her long brown hair. The distant look in her sea-green eyes. Lips at-the-ready to purse to the side in cynical judgment.

  And her necklace. I recognized the chain. I reached for it, hanging from my own neck.

  I grasped the ring dangling at my chest from the strong chain, certain the same ring hung from her necklace, hidden under her blouse in the painting. They were a perfect match.

  I backed out of the room hoping to remain unnoticed, feeling the eyes of every portrait upon me, tilting their heads and watching… knowing I’d made a discovery.

  As I stepped back, I bumped into a rock-solid object as big as me. I swung around and came face to face with a Celtic cross monument. My senses cleared from the fresh breeze that washed across my face. The darkness sent a shudder through me as I gazed upon monument after monument. A sea of Celtic cross gravestones.

  I was in the Bohermore Cemetery.

  I took one look around me and darted for the exit, sure the undead would be reaching for my ankles to trip me up. Rows of ancient stones moved with the shadows as I whirred past them, generating a level of fear in me that nearly forced a guttural scream. I flew toward the metal archway of the graveyard and burst through it out onto Bohermore.

  My feet didn’t stop pounding the sidewalk until they reached 122. Through my blue door, down the alleyway, and into the white door leading into my flat, I held my breath the entire way. I leapt up the steps, into my room, and dove under my covers.

  My body quaked with massive shivers as I lay motionless in my bed, praying nothing and nobody would sense my presence or existence.

  ***

  “I can’t do this.” I spoke to the mascara stains on my pillow.

  Somehow I’d slept after my strange sleepwalking encounter in Bohermore Cemetery. Though it all began with the wind. The lines were blurred between what was real and what was more real.

  The truth in the things I saw left no doubt in my mind.

  It was all real.

  And now, I didn’t want it. I wasn’t enough. Not brave enough. Not strong enough. Just, not enough.