by D. S. Murphy
“Sorry.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder. Roisin was on the other team, and I felt my cheeks flush as she stifled a laugh. My palms were moist and the tops of my ears burned as I picked myself up and shuffled back into position.
It’s no big deal. I was in the way and I suck at sports. And I obviously didn’t care about the game. But on the inside I was shaking with anger.
After class, I found Derry and Jackie waiting for the bus in the front of the school. Moments later Patricia came up and put an arm around me.
“I heard you got roughed up in gym class,” she said.
“That literally just happened. Is nothing in this school a secret?”
“Gossip is the unofficial pastime here,” Derry said with a smile.
“Anyway, it was nothing,” I said, as Jackie gave me a worried look. “I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Not likely, from the way Brianna and Roisin are going on about it.”
She nodded over at the two girls, who were laughing and chatting with a group of boys not far away. Brianna must be the one who pushed me. She had long blond hair that she kept twirling with her finger. Roisin stood next to her, with her perfect dark curls and cute button nose. She looked like a porcelain doll. The kind that murdered you in your sleep.
“Want me to rough’em up for you?” Patricia asked, pantomiming rolling up her sleeves.
“Maybe just a black eye or bloody lip?” I joked, making the others laugh.
I suddenly felt grateful for my new friends. The first day of school was challenging, but it could have been worse. And I had more important things to think about. “Can we take a group photo?” I pulled out my phone. “To commemorate surviving my first day?”
We huddled together on the lawn. Derry, who had the longest arms, held the phone. “Say cheese,” I said. I took the phone back and opened up the picture to check it. It was a fun picture, a bunch of smiling teens in school uniforms. I almost didn’t recognize myself. I was about to post it to Instagram when something else caught my eye; a face in the background, watching us.
I spun around to look for the photobomber and found him easily—a small old man, with white hair and sun-soaked skin, holding a rake and a black plastic bag.
He was still staring—when I met his eyes he looked startled, and quickly looked away and went back to raking.
“Still looking for the kids in the photograph?” Jackie asked.
I realized my eyes had been searching faces all day, but not because of the photograph. My face turned red as I realized I was hoping to see the mysterious boy from the rocks. Even worse, I realized I was disappointed that I hadn’t found him. If he was local, he could have gone to this high school. And if I found him, at least it would prove I wasn’t going crazy. But from the way my heart was pounding, I don’t think that was the only reason I wanted to see him again.
The bus pulled up across the street and I stepped off the curb towards it. Suddenly I heard a loud screeching of brakes, and looked up to see a motorcycle swerving towards me. It stopped just before it would have hit me, but I stumbled backwards, my eyes frozen on the driver’s face. For a second I thought it was the dark man from the pub, and my heart pounded. The scowl was similar, but this guy was much younger, around my age. His long, dark hair spilled out from under his helmet. I was sure we’d never met before, but at the same time, he seemed intimately familiar to me somehow.
He pulled off his helmet and I saw he had a cleft in his chin, and a strong jaw. He looked like a Disney prince, but maybe the evil kind. He must have taken his jacket, shirt and tie off already; his V-neck shirt was mostly covered by a black leather jacket with a hood. His leather bracelets and combat boots looked out of place with his dress slacks.
He clenched his fists together, but then the angry expression eased from his face as he looked me over. He smirked at me with a spark of humor in his eyes. “If you wanted to get my attention, you could have just asked me out. No need to try and kill yourself.”
As he spoke, he ran his fingers through his hair, and I saw the hint of a tattoo on his collarbone. I thought I caught a whiff of cologne, but it was subtle. It smelled natural and musky, like moss on old wood, or a campfire. I realized he was staring at me and waiting for me to say something.
“I’m… sorry,” I stuttered. I wanted to yell at him, but I’d basically stepped right into the street without looking. I realized it was because they drove on the left here, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in that direction. Stupid. I needed to be more careful from now on.
“Well then,” he said, “Now that that’s over, could you maybe get out of my feckin’ way?”
My mouth dropped open. Who was this asshole?
“Never mind him,” Jackie said, pushing me forward and glaring at the boy. “That’s Ethan. Just a local dirtball.”
“A hot dirtball,” Patricia said under her breath as she walked past me.
Ethan gave a mock salute and winked at me, as he gunned his engine and rode off on his motorcycle. I tried to resist the urge to stare after him, but curiosity got the better of me. Patricia noticed my lingering gaze.
“Some of the girls call him Snape, because he’s dark and brooding,” she said. “And rumor has it he messes around with dark arts.”
“What, like magic?” I scoffed.
At this, Jackie turned and placed a hand on my arm. “There may not be much magic in America,” Jackie said, “but Ireland still has its fair share. You’re in the land of leprechauns and fairies, now,” she said. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye, but something told me she wasn’t entirely joking.
7
I thought I’d have to beg Aedan to let me out of the house on a school night, especially my first school night, and to go to a pub—but I told him it was to meet Jackie and Derry, and he readily gave permission. I think he was happy I’d made friends and wasn’t just moping around the house. I promised we’d just have soda, and he told me to be home by ten. I wondered if he’d have agreed so easily if he knew what I was going there to discuss.
I left the house at dusk and walked up the street, watching the golden hues of the sunset over the horizon. Even though I’d never met her, I couldn’t stop thinking about Bedelia. What if the creep I saw Saturday night had something to do with her? What if he left the note? Was I withholding evidence? Was she in danger?
It was a Monday night, so the place was pretty quiet, though not entirely empty. I pulled off my purple scarf and set down my leather bag. I was wearing a baggy gray sweater, but decided to keep it on for a while. I took the red ribbon off my wrist and used it to tie my hair up into a pony tail. Tonight the bar smelled like cigar smoke. A couple of guys were playing darts on the other side of the bar.
When Derry told Liam I had some questions about my mom, he looked at me uneasily but agreed to sit down while Derry watched the counter. Liam was tall and lean, with round glasses and soft, copper-colored hair. He wore a black apron when he was working.
“So, Clara, how can I help you?”
“You and my mom were friends, right?” I asked.
“Good friends. Best of friends, for a long while.”
“I just… wanted to know more about her childhood. She never talked about Ireland and I wanted to understand more about her life here.”
Liam’s face relaxed—he’d thought I was going to ask something else. Something he didn’t want to tell me. I wondered how I could needle it out of him.
Derry brought his father a pint, and I watched Liam take a sip. He wiped his lips with a napkin, and then started talking.
“She was a happy child. Grew up a tomboy, on account of her mother being gone, you know.” I wanted to interrupt and ask him what happened to my grandmother, but I let him continue instead. I’d have to ask more about that later.
“We were stupid kids. We’d dare each other, a group of us boys, to do risky things. Throwing rocks at a house to see who could get closest to the window without breaking it. Jumping between all
the boats in the harbor without falling in. I wasn’t nearly as brave as she was, or the other boys, and sometimes they’d pick on me, goading me to do something, and she’d just go and do it herself.” His eyes lit up with the memories.
“We called her Raven, when we were young. That’s what Branna means, you know. A beauty with hair as dark as a raven. It suited her. And she was so wild. Fearless. It was a good nickname.”
He took another sip of his beer and tapped his fingers on the table.
“When she was older, she started hearing the rumors about her mother’s disappearance, and other kids teased her about it. Most of the boys were afraid to hit a girl, but they’d usually defend themselves after taking a few punches. Your mother’s fists were legendary at our school.” He smiled fondly.
“The rumors?” I prompted. This is what I needed to hear.
“Aye, I don’t expect Aedan will have told you much about your grandmother,” he said, with a worried expression.
“Just that she left when my mom was four,” I said.
“I hardly think I should be the one repeating idle gossip,” Liam said.
Derry had been listening in, and he put a hand on his father’s shoulder.
“If not you, some kids at school will probably bring it up and start teasing her as well.”
“True, true…” Liam sighed heavily.
“Please, I need to know the truth—or at least what people are saying,” I said.
Liam exhaled slowly before continuing. “Your grandmother Phyllis was always a bit odd. Beautiful and enchanting, no question. But there was something that didn’t seem real about her, like when you were in her presence, you’d fallen into a dream. Every man in town would have walked through fire to be with her, but she loved Aedan. When she disappeared… she wasn’t the only one. Father Murphy, the town priest, disappeared at the same time.”
“Wait—what?” My pulse quickened. “They left together?”
“Nobody knows for certain. I was just a kid myself when it happened mind you, but I grew up with the rumors. She disappeared. The following Sunday there was no sermon. It took a couple weeks to find a replacement. Some folks said Phyllis had bewitched Fergus—Father Murphy. Some say Father Murphy went mad, killed her and then himself. Others say it was a suicide pact. But there were no bodies. The both of them just up and vanished.”
“What do you think happened?” I asked.
“The funny thing is, when Phyllis went missing Aedan never filed a missing person’s report with the police. Some people thought maybe he’d discovered Phyllis and Fergus together and offed them both—he’d never do that, of course. I don’t doubt that he loved her, and she him, but he also wasn’t very surprised that she’d left him. It was like he was always expecting her to leave.”
My head was spinning with all this new information. My fingers twitched over imaginary keys, trying to write it down so I could sort it out later.
“So… my mom, Branna, grew up hearing these rumors about her mother?” I asked.
“Well, not entirely—after she bloodied the first couple of lads who brought it up, nobody would say it to her face. And kids our age, we had our own rumors and gossip to keep us occupied. But the older folks in town, they’d still look funny at her—especially when she got older.”
“Why, what happened then?” I was on the edge of my seat, barely daring to breathe.
“Well, let’s just say, as she turned into a young woman, she looked more like her mother. And it wasn’t a gradual change. She went from a scrawny, wild little girl to a beautiful woman in the space of a few weeks. Some saw her transformation as supernatural. Men in town started turning their heads to watch her pass. The older folk remembered her mother and shook their heads, saying no good would come of it, clucking together like hens. Something should be done, they said.”
My blood ran cold. Something should be done? These superstitious people in their backward little town were angry about my mom suddenly becoming too pretty? Had they done something to my mother that drove her away?
“I don’t mind admitting I also had a crush on your mother,” Liam continued. “She was always beautiful to me, even before the more obvious changes in her appearance. But she made other friends in high school, and we spent less time together.”
I nodded, my ears perking up. This was important.
“Anyone in particular?” I asked.
“She started hanging out with one boy a lot. I was jealous. Sometimes I’d try to follow them, see what they were up to. She caught me once, and gave me a good talking to. And a black eye to boot.”
“Who was the boy?” I asked.
“His name was Colin, Colin Blake.”
“Is this him?” I pulled out the photograph. My fingers were almost trembling. I don’t know why I was so excited, but it felt like I was on the verge of discovering something significant.
“Aye, that’s him.” Liam nodded, gesturing with his beer.
“Do you know where he is now? I thought I saw him here the other night,” I said.
“You couldn’t have,” Liam said, his eyes darkening.
“Why not, did he move away?”
Liam took a long, slow sip of beer before responding.
“He died. Same day as your mother disappeared. Stabbed in the heart.”
***
I sat in silence, stunned. Jackie put a hand to her mouth in surprise, and Derry’s eyes were wide. None of us spoke for several moments. My grandmother seduced the town priest and disappeared mysteriously, and apparently my mother did practically the same thing years later—fleeing the country and leaving a dead body behind. It seemed like my family was cursed with tragedy. All the older people in town were going to hate me, those who knew who I really was.
But why did my mother run? Did she kill Colin? If not, what happened to him? Who was the strange man I saw, if not Colin, and why did he look so angry? For a fleeting second I wondered if it was Colin’s ghost out for revenge, but ghosts don’t leave handwritten messages stuck on doorways.
Was I in danger too? Or was I somehow a danger to others?
Before we left, Liam told me the name of the other girl in the photograph: Barbara Dubbs. If I could track her down, maybe she would have some more answers for me. We thanked Liam, and started walking back to Aedan’s house. We’d successfully identified the four figures in the photograph, but it didn’t feel like a victory. I was left with more questions than answers, and learning the truth about my mother’s sudden exodus filled me with grief.
“Now what?” Derry asked, breaking the silence.
“None of this has any obvious connection with Bedelia,” I said. “I don’t see how sharing the note with anyone could help the investigation.”
“I still think you should go to the police,” Jackie said.
“And say what? The ghost of my mother’s ex-boyfriend pinned a threat to my door? They’d lock me up.”
“Let them figure out whether or not the information is relevant,” Jackie said.
“I’m with Clara on this one,” Derry said. “Maybe if there was some connection between Clara’s family history and Bedelia, but I can’t see any. They’ve never even met each other. We don’t know that Clara is actually in any danger, or that the note is a threatening message. It could be a Bible verse for all we know; maybe they’re getting pinned on lots of doors.”
“It’s not in the Bible,” I said. “I looked it up. It’s from the Book of Common Prayer. At least, the first half is.”
“Anyway…” Derry continued, giving Jackie a look. “It seems like it should be her choice, not ours.”
I was grateful that someone was on my side. “I want to try and find the last girl in the photograph first—Barbara Dubbs. Maybe she lives around here still. If anything else turns up or I feel like I’m in real danger, I promise I’ll go to the police.”
Jackie seemed to accept my decision, though she didn’t agree with it. There was something else to feel guilty about though: my la
te night encounter with the blond boy. Although I had no idea whether he was involved in any of this (and the likelihood was improbable to say the least) he was the second mysterious figure I’d run into, the same weekend as a girl disappeared. Not sharing that detail with my new friends felt like a significant omission.
8
There’s a YouTube video of funny animal compilations I’ve watched dozens of times. In one of them, a giraffe is confronted by a peacock. The peacock spreads its colorful tail, and the giraffe is so surprised its legs all try running off in different directions. That’s exactly how I felt when I saw water boy again, standing at the front of third period on my second day of school, his blond hair casually tousled like he’d just stepped out of the ocean. He was wearing a school uniform, like everybody else, but his presence seemed so out of place it derailed me completely.
I hadn’t slept well; I couldn’t stop thinking about Colin and my mother. I dozed through Geography and Technology (the former seemed useless since we all had Google Maps on our phones; the latter consisted of lessons in using software applications). And then suddenly, there he was, standing next to Mr. Sadleir with a relaxed smile. I was so surprised to see him, I dropped my notebook on the ground, then stooped and fumbled for it while blocking the influx of students. By the time I made it to my seat, my cheeks were burning. His eyes weren’t as vivid as I’d remembered, but still very green. And he was staring at me with a bemused expression, as if daring me to ignore him.
“Class, we have another new student to welcome,” said Mr. Sadleir. I shrank in my seat, hoping he wouldn’t single me out. “This is Sebastian. His family just moved here from…”
He paused and looked down at the paper he was reading from.
“A small town in Iceland,” Sebastian offered, his voice much lower and deeper than I would have guessed. He had a very slight accent that was hard to place. “You wouldn’t know it. And it’s a beast to pronounce.” He said this with a confident smirk, without taking his eyes off me. He definitely remembered me from the other night.