by Luanne Rice
Holding her camera, she arranged it on the edge of the wall. She pointed it down toward the water’s edge, directly in line with the angle of the wall running down to the sea, and set up the shot. A ribbon of silver streamed from the moon onto the waves. Adjusting the timer, Agnes knew she was ready.
She jumped onto the wall and began walking down to the water. Where was he? Would he be here tonight? Her heart was beating so hard, she thought she might fall off the wall. The tide was high; it came almost to the base of the seawall. She heard the waves, felt them in her body.
So much in her family had been lost. They had loved each other so much…to have parents like hers, so devoted and in love. And then, when Regis had chased her father into the rain at Ballincastle, and when he fought to protect her and the man died—why couldn’t their mother forgive him for that? He’d only been trying to save Regis.
Agnes felt ripped apart because her family was in tatters. She had knelt and prayed for God to make them whole again. And when that didn’t happen—when her father had gone to jail and her mother had stopped speaking of him, or planning visits to him—Agnes had nearly given up. She had told God the only way she would keep believing was if he’d send her a sign.
And he did—sent it over and over again, in this vision of angel wings. Only Agnes and Sisela had ever seen it. In fact, hearing a meow, she knew that Sisela must have followed her, was with her now, just out of sight.
She shivered, her heart opening wide. The camera forgotten, she was in only the present moment. Her spirit yearned for something she couldn’t name. Running along the wall’s narrow, curving top, she scanned the beach where she’d seen the shadows moving on other nights.
On those nights she’d had visions, a man had been standing in the shadows, a saint she’d called or conjured, a red-haired angel, someone to look over her because her father was gone. She thought if she ran fast enough, jumped high enough, trusted completely, he would come out of his hiding place, radiant with love, spread his wings, carry her to safety—tonight. And if it could happen here, on the beach, maybe they could rewind time and it could happen in Ireland, undo what had happened, bring her family back together.
Agnes heard the waves splashing against the rocks. She sped up, running as fast as she could. Then she leapt.
One long jump off the end of the wall, soaring over the waves splashing the beach, her toes skimming the surface. The water felt cold on her feet, and she plunged in, headfirst. She saw stars, blackness. Blinked the salt water from her eyes, touched her forehead. She must have struck a rock. Hot, wet—blood pouring down.
“Please,” she cried now. “Please!” Unwilling to give up her dream, or her vision, she brushed her wet hair back, pressed her fist into the cut above her eye, felt the waves lapping at her body.
The tide was high, and the waves felt strong. They weren’t just splashing, but tugging her, pulling her into the sea. Her blood mixed with the water, and all she tasted was salt, and all she wanted to do was go with the sea. She was too weak to fight it, or swim against it, or do anything but let it take her away.
She heard splashing. He was there—he came forward and caught her, lifting her up. His arms grabbed her, made sure she didn’t fall back. Agnes heard a voice, felt him take her hand. She was so cold and tired now, too sleepy to understand what he was saying. The voice sounded so familiar, saying her name:
“Agnes, my child…hold on, don’t give up, I have you now.”
She looked skyward. A gust of wind blew off the Sound, caught her between the shoulder blades, and lifted her up. She gasped, feeling wings brush her cheeks. There were arms around her, pulling her up, higher and higher. The wind made her nightgown flutter against her legs.
From down below, if her sisters happened to look out the window, what would they see? Agnes thought of them glimpsing the sparkles and imagined that they might think they were witnessing mist blowing in from the sea. Or they might believe they were spying angels visiting the convent. Or maybe they’d think they were seeing shooting stars. But it would be none of those things. No, the glimmer visible from earth was nothing more than shiny bits of mica on the soles of Agnes’s feet, from running along the tops of the walls.
That’s all it was…. She tried to brush the blood from her eyes, but it was a flood now. So she just closed her eyes tight and felt herself fly through the night.
Seven
Cecilia hadn’t been able to sleep. She never could, on nights when Agnes went out. Everyone always thought the youngest sisters were so clueless, when actually they were the most aware. They had to be vigilant, to make sure their older sisters got home safely, that their mother didn’t catch them, that everything was okay.
Regis never caused Cecilia to worry like this. With Regis, you knew exactly what you were getting: trouble. Everyone knew and expected it. She just had that way about her—daring and wild. The good part, for Cecilia and Agnes, was that Regis didn’t keep all the fun for herself.
The minute Regis got her license, she had taught Agnes and Cecilia to drive. That was one thing for Agnes, who was fifteen at the time. But Cecilia was just ten. She had started off sitting on Regis’s lap—because she was too short to reach the brake with her foot. Zooming around the Academy roads, Cecilia had felt like Toad in The Wind in the Willows, driving his red motorcar with mad abandon.
Whenever something crazy happened at Star of the Sea, Regis was the first person everyone thought of. Last fall, when the pumpkins had started appearing on the tops of every chimney, there wasn’t much doubt about who had climbed up to put them there. And three years ago, when some nuns visiting from the mother house in Canada went to the Blue Grotto and found that someone had placed a statue of Saint Ignatius in one of their beds, Aunt Bernie had known right away who had done it.
Now Regis was asleep in her bed right here in the room they all shared, breathing nice and peacefully as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Cecilia sighed loudly, rolling over and jostling the bed frame—maybe if she made some noise, Regis would wake up and then Cecilia wouldn’t have to handle this alone.
Cecilia really didn’t know what to do. She would never betray Agnes, not even to Regis. But several nights this summer, more regularly this past week, Cecilia had watched Agnes sneak out. It always began right after midnight. Cecilia knew, because she’d hear the bell toll. She’d open her eyes, and there at the window—once standing, twice kneeling—would be Agnes, with Sisela on the sill beside her.
Cecilia had stayed as still as a statue, peering out through narrowed eyes. She had watched her sister staring up at the sky, scanning the stars, hands clasped as if in prayer. Cecilia could almost feel Agnes’s heartbeat across the room—moving the air, it was so strong. The first time it happened, with a half-moon shining through the trees, the white cat jumped out the window, and Agnes slipped out to follow her through the silver moonlight.
“Where were you?” Cece had whispered when Agnes returned, sopping wet.
“Do you believe angels can have red hair?” Agnes asked, sounding so crazy, Cece almost wondered if she was dreaming the whole thing.
“What are you talking about?” Cece had asked.
“Nothing,” Agnes had replied, smiling in her beatific way. “Go back to sleep.”
The second time, the night had been so dark, every tree and bush coated with thick fog, it was as if the whole world was under a spell of sleep. Cecilia had watched Sisela flying out to disappear into the shadows, Agnes climbing out after her again, and her heart had fallen. Because she’d caught just a glimpse of her sister leaping up onto the wall that ran behind their house, through the vineyard, and this time Cecilia had known: Agnes was doing that thing with the walls.
Usually she did it during the day—she’d jump up and run along the tops of all the walls that crisscrossed the Academy property. Cecilia had thought it looked so fun, she’d tried it once. Agnes had caught her and stopped her, hands on her shoulders. The cold look in her eyes had shocked Cecilia.
“You can run on the beach, or through the vineyard, or into the marsh, Cece,” she had said. “But the walls are different. You could twist your ankle and fall off….”
What was Agnes doing at night? Why did she have to run after dark? Animals lived on the land, and big fish swam in the sea, and they all hunted at night—you only had to watch Sisela to know that. Cecilia shivered to think of her sister out among the wild things. She wanted Regis or their mother to wake up and see that Agnes was gone.
But everyone was sound asleep, so Cecilia bit her lip and decided to follow her sister. Tracking her through the main campus was no problem—the lawns were groomed, the paths well lit. Once she got to the vineyard, though, it turned scary. No lights at all, and lots of ruts in the ground. Cecilia heard animals scurrying into the vines, and she saw the silhouette of an owl hunting, flying low over the land.
Agnes was far ahead; she had had a head start, and she had the advantage of knowing every step of the walls. Cecilia smelled the spicy grapes, felt twisted vines and leaves brush her face as she crashed through the rows. She shivered when she ran head-on into a huge spiderweb; she never even saw it, but just felt the silken strands all across her nose and lips.
At the far side, where the vineyard ended and the land sloped down to the beach, Cecilia slowed down. She had lost sight of Agnes. There was no one around, and the realization that she was alone made her heart pound in her throat.
“Agnes?” she whispered.
There was no answer. The only sounds were the wind in the leaves and the waves upon the shore. Cecilia held her breath, feeling overtaken by terror. Not for her own safety, but for her sister’s.
She stumbled down the hillside, starting to run. She had last seen Agnes dashing down the wall to the beach, straight toward the water. Cecilia had seen her sister do this during the day, and it always ended with Agnes plunging in.
“Oh God!” Cecilia cried out. What if Agnes had dived in, hit her head? It was so dark, Cecilia would never find her. As she ran, she spotted Agnes’s camera on the edge of the wall. It was directed at the beach, and a little red light was blinking as if it were on a timer. Even as Cecilia approached, the shutter clicked, and the camera flash lit up the sky.
“Agnes?” Cecilia called. “Where are you?”
“What are you doing?” came the voice, but it wasn’t Agnes’s—it was Regis, chasing Sisela, hurrying down the hill after Cecilia.
“What are you doing?” Cecilia asked.
“I heard you leave, woke up just in time to see you running outside. Cece, it’s the middle of the night—come on home and get back in bed before Mom—”
“I’m following Agnes,” Cecilia blurted out.
“What are you talking about?” Regis asked, obviously only half awake. “Isn’t she asleep?”
Cecilia shook her head.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Where is she?”
Regis stood there peering into the darkness. Sisela was dashing down the hill toward the beach, as if on the trail of something.
“I don’t know,” Cecilia said, starting to tremble. “I saw her running along the wall…here’s her camera…”
Regis went over to the camera, picked it up, examined it. Cecilia wasn’t very good at taking pictures, but she knew enough to recognize that this was Agnes’s digital camera, not the one that used film.
“If we push the right button, we’ll be able to see the last picture she took, and the one before that, and maybe we’ll be able to figure out where she went,” Regis said. Pressing a button, she got the small screen to light up. It filled with an image of what looked like Agnes’s white nightgown, glowing in the silver moonlight, just before she hit the water.
“Not now, Regis,” Cecilia said, tugging her hand. “We have to check the cove. That’s where she was headed. She does this all the time, during the day…runs along the top of the wall and dives in….”
Regis didn’t need another word. Holding hands, the two sisters ran the rest of the way down to the narrow strip of beach. It was littered with driftwood, gnarled and twisted, looking like monsters and beasts in the dark. The stone beach cottage was shuttered and empty, casting shadows on the sand. Trembling, Cecilia ran up and down the tide line, scanning the waves for Agnes.
“Agnes! Agnes, answer me!” Regis cried.
“Agnes!” Cecilia yelled.
Suddenly, they heard noises on the beach. Narrowing her eyes, Cecilia watched as a real-life monster rose up, kneeling over Agnes lying on the beach. Grabbing Regis, Cecilia shrank back, too frightened to speak.
Not Regis, though. Cecilia heard her sister’s intake of breath, and she would have sworn it sounded more like relief than anything close to shock. Cecilia wanted to run, call for her mother and Aunt Bernie, get the police, but Regis went running toward the man.
“Dad,” Regis cried, throwing herself onto the sand beside him.
His oldest and youngest daughters flew at him. Oh God, he wanted so badly to hold them, but he couldn’t—Agnes was lying still, blue, and he had to try to save her. She lay on the sand—he had pulled her from the waves—on her back, head tilted back, airway cleared, not breathing. He bent over her, giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, his hands covered with her blood.
“What happened to Agnes?” Cecilia—she was so much bigger now—started to cry.
“Oh, no,” his darling Regis gasped, taking Agnes’s hands, shaking them, trying to wake her up.
“Can you call for help?” he asked between breaths. “Get your mother—call an ambulance.”
“Go, Cece,” Regis commanded. “Go now!”
Cecilia took off, flying down the beach, sobs flung back into the wind, climbing up the bank to where the wall slanted down, the wall Agnes had taken off from.
“Dad, tell me what to do,” Regis said.
“Hold her hand,” John said between breaths. “Keep her with us.”
“Talk to her, right? Agnes, it’s me, it’s Dad, he’s come home…”
John breathing, counting one, two, breathing again, holding his unconscious middle child in his arms, lowering her, pressing her sternum, one, two, breathing again. Stars tilting in the sky, every time he turned his head. His daughters here—he had seen all three of his daughters tonight. God, thank you for that, for letting me see them. God, keep Agnes alive. God, God…Prayer came hard, bitter man that he was, but still, God, God…
“Agnes, can you hear me?” Regis asked.
John breathed into his daughter’s mouth, trying to grab life from the air, give it to Agnes, make her heart beat, make her breathe.
“Be here, be okay, be fine,” Regis said. “Dad is home, he’s here, we’re together again. Can you hear me? We’re all together!”
John’s own heart pounding so hard, drumbeats in his chest, his head. His skin could barely hold his heart inside, and he felt nearly stone mad with seeing his daughters again, Agnes lying on the cold ground, and he couldn’t lose her.
“I need you,” Regis pleaded.
A night bird screeched in the brush at the top of the beach; small animals rustled through the briars. The waves broke on the sandbar. The night was so still, except for Regis’s quiet weeping. John kept breathing into Agnes’s mouth.
A cough—and then retching. Agnes turning her head, sea water pouring from her mouth. Sobs—not Agnes’s, but Regis’s. And John’s, too. In the distance—footsteps, pounding down the beach. Small cries, out of breath, full of panic. John would know that voice anywhere. Still holding Agnes—can’t let her go—looking up into the stars, into the face of his wife.
“Honor.”
“Oh my God!” Honor cried out. “What happened? What have you done?” Honor crashing into his body, pounding him, pushing him aside, trying to take hold of Agnes.
“Mom, she just started breathing!” Regis cried. Honor burying her head into Agnes’s face, hand over her mouth, feeling the slight breath, pushing her eyelids open—she was unconscious.
“Honor,” John
said, trying to hold her, wanting more than anything to just hold her.
But she couldn’t hear him. Or wouldn’t. She was ministering to their daughter—the same as the last time. Pushing John aside, hating him for something he didn’t even understand. Six years in a cell, he’d remembered that feeling, his wife’s fury, loving her more than air, but tasting such bitterness for what he couldn’t even let himself imagine.
“I didn’t know she was coming,” John said. “I didn’t see her until she’d jumped into the water—”
“We didn’t know you were here,” Regis said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Ask your mother, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t—he was mesmerized, staring at Honor, wanting to hold her but unable to touch her. She had a shield around her as she sat there holding Agnes, an invisible, impenetrable force field keeping him away. He stared at her, though. She couldn’t stop that.
He stared at her soft skin, her blue eyes weeping salt tears, the lines around her mouth and eyes deeper than six years ago, but her face even more beautiful. He stared at her long hair, thought of all the times he had dreamed of it. He saw the way she held their daughter, remembered how she had flown to Regis on that cliff edge while the gardai had dragged him away.
Their last free moment together—by the sea. And now this. What a homecoming, what a way to see his wife and daughters again. The salt air brought the past right back to them, and the look in Honor’s eyes showed how much she despised him. Suddenly Agnes began to convulse.
“Oh God,” Honor said. “Where’s the ambulance? I sent Cece to call!”
“Mom, what’s happening to her?” Regis cried. Crouching down, shouldering in between her parents, trying to hold her sister.
“She’s having a seizure,” Honor said. Then, to Agnes, “Hold on, sweetheart. We’re right here with you.”
“Mom and I,” Regis said. “And Dad, Agnes. Dad is here….”
John’s heart capsized as he heard Regis call him “Dad” and tell Agnes he was there, as if it would help her. He watched Honor and Regis, trying to hold Agnes, panic in their eyes. Her body was rigid, face contorted, and then she went slack.