by Holly Hart
“Novel idea – I know. Call me a visionary, but have you tried, you know – talking to her?”
“And say what?” I groan. “You haven’t seen her, Kieran. When she looks at me, it’s like I don’t even exist…”
“Maybe I should try that sometime,” Kieran jokes. “Where is she now?”
“The graveyard: visiting her brother.”
“Then what are ye waiting for? Go. Tell her that shit you just told me. I’m no expert, but giving up on her sounds like the last thing you should do. She’s special, Dec. Maybe special enough to take your stupid ass back, maybe not. But I’d say it’s worth finding out.”
20
Casey
It is past noon, but the last remnants of fall’s first frost still linger on the ground – at least in the shadow of the taller gravestones.
I walk slowly, so slowly that I wonder if I slowed any further, whether my momentum would even keep carrying me forward. I’m crunching a path through the frost, following the directions to the spot the caretaker marked on my map for me.
It’s the first time I’ve been here.
I’ve been busy.
Busy: sure, but it’s not only that. Coming here; seeing every plot and gravestone; everything looking so still; it means that it’s real. It means that I’ll never see Luke again, and I’m not sure that I was ready to accept that; not until now.
I pause, and crouch over a particularly resilient patch of snow-white frost. I pluck a long blade of grass from the soft green and white carpet that lines the graveyard, and bring it to a couple of inches from my eyes.
Even the heat from my gloved hands is enough to start melting the delicate crystals of ice that line the blade, and before long a droplet of water forms. It starts to weigh down the blade, and I watch, and watch as it dips in slow motion. I bring it to my mouth and let the tiny droplet of water settle on my tongue.
I could stay crouching here forever. Just plucking blades of grass and drinking from them like a survivalist gone mad. But if I did, there would be only one reason for it – delaying the inevitable.
I look back at Will’s SUV a hundred yards away, and shiver as a cool breeze chills me to the core. I could turn back, join him in the warmth –
“Just get the hell on with it,” I mutter. The sound echoes across my little patch of the still, silent graveyard, and I check the map once again, even though I know exactly where I’m going.
I’m barely a dozen yards away from Luke’s grave. It’s obvious which one it is, because it’s the only one in sight that is not surrounded by fresh green grass, or grass kissed by white frost. The earth is still freshly turned, and I know life won’t spring forth now until spring. It looks so cold and uninviting.
Next time, bring flowers.
I inch towards it, painfully, slowly, and when I come to stand in front of it, my mouth turns dry.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around…” I croak, licking my lips to wet them.
I pause, waiting for him to say something, and a short, sad laugh escapes my lips. “Oh, man, I’m no good at this, am I?” I laugh, slumping to the ground. I’m going to get my new clothes covered in dirt; maybe ruin them, but I don’t care.
Luke’s face hovers in my mind’s eye, and a single, cold tear rolls down my cheek. “I wish you were here, kid,” I say into the still emptiness of the graveyard. “I could really use your advice.”
I lapse into silence. I feel kind of silly talking to Luke’s grave. But I don’t really know what else I’m supposed to do here. In the distance, a flock of birds erupts into flight, croaking and cawing and screaming their warning to the world. It startles me to life.
“I don’t know what to do…” I whisper. My throat’s all choked up, but the words are flooding out. “I feel like such a fool for trusting him. Part of me wants to believe every word that comes out of his mouth, Luke. Another part just feels so used. I believe it though – you know?”
I pause for his answer, an answer that never comes.
“I believe him when he says he doesn’t want to hurt me. But how can I ever trust a man who would play a trick like that?”
I try to imagine what Luke would say, but all I hear is silence.
Then a crunching sound.
Rather, the sound of boots crushing frosted blades of grass. I look up.
“Will?”
It’s not Will. “The birds…” I whisper, looking around frantically for an escape. “The goddamn birds!”
There is a loose semicircle of men dressed in black, all closing in on me; and they don’t look friendly.
“Will!” I scream, looking back to the SUV, but what I see knocks the wind out of me. Will is jumping out of the black truck, gun in hand, but there are two men around him, and their weapons are much bigger.
He’s my lifeline, but someone’s about to cut it. I’m caught, but I know there’s nothing I can do to help him. If I run towards him, then we both die. For a second, I’m frozen with indecision. My eyes rake around the graveyard searching for –
I need a way to slow them down.
I make a break for the thicket of trees in the center of the graveyard. It’s a terrifying place. Not one I would ever approach in normal life, but it’s the only way I can think of that will help me to survive this situation. I run past one of the men, making myself a small as possible. He lunges out and catches my shoe –
“You fucking bitch!” He snarls.
My blood runs cold. I know that what he said doesn’t mean anything. There must be a thousand men as sexist as him in this city: ten thousand maybe.
But it’s the way he said it …
I wriggle free with a strength born of desperation. The grip around my shoe is vice-like, and pulls it right off, sock as well. I start to sprint again. I’m off-balance, and the ground is icy cold against my naked foot, but none of that stops me.
I can hide in there, I think; long enough for someone to help.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” I pant, wasting breath I can scarce afford to lose. Panic is starting to overwhelm me. I almost slip on a patch of mud, but even that doesn’t stop me. The adrenaline carries me forward. The tree line inches closer.
Ten yards –
Five –
I’m there, but like some kind of sick firework going off to celebrate my achievement, a shot rings out. I dive into the trees and twist my head over my shoulder, only to see Will’s broken body slumping against the hood of the SUV.
“Don’t look,” I pant, only because if I don’t fill the silence, I worry it’ll swallow me whole. I kick leaves and twigs and sticks up behind me as I head into the darkest depths of the thicket. There’s not much space to hide, and I set my sights on a fallen tree a few yards ahead of me.
There’s a tiny space underneath it, and I thrust my body inside, closing my eyes as I feel tiny creatures slithering across me. Insects: they are my deepest, darkest fear, but right now, they barely register in the top ten.
One: Gang of murderous killers on my tail.
Two: Vince Amaria…
You get the picture.
I swallow, and clench my mouth tight shut to stop the sound of panicked breath escaping my lungs. Now the sound of my panicked flight is over, the thicket’s quiet again. I start to wonder whether my pursuers have somehow forgotten me.
“Don’t waste it!” I whisper. I know I shouldn’t be speaking, but now Will’s dead, the sound of my voice seems like all I’ve got left.
I fish desperately in my pocket for a cell phone, and almost cry with happiness when my fingers touch against the hard plastic rectangle. I pull it out and –
A twig snaps behind me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” A hard, shrill voice says. I know that voice. It chills me to the bone, because now I know, beyond any doubt, what’s going to happen to me.
I close my eyes, and a sense of terror starts to consume me. I can’t bring myself to look around, or to see –
A pockmarked face fills my vision as Lenny st
eps around, pointing a handgun at my chest. A wicked grin twists across his mutilated skin. “Vince is going to be very, very pleased,” Lenny says. “Oh yes – very pleased.” He walks towards me, reaching out with his hand, and I feel like my legs are stuck in concrete.
Lenny starts to unbutton my coat. He pulled the top toggle loose, and I realize with startling clarity that he’s going to fondle me.
I slap him on the face.
The crack rings out through the quiet thicket. “Declan…” I whimper. He’s all that I can think of right now. I wish he was here, not just to help – but because now, in my hour of need, I know the truth.
I can forgive him.
I just won’t get the chance.
Lenny’s hand jumps to his cheek. He holds his face to one side theatrically as his fingers ran across his bubbled skin. “Oh, yes,” he hisses. “We thought it was him, but you know –,” he looks back at me. “It wasn’t until you walked into that police station that we knew for sure. But after that…” He throws his head back and laughs. “It was easy.”
I stare him directly in the eyes, and he doesn’t seem to feel comfortable holding my gaze. I count it as a minor victory, but Lenny crashes my optimism in seconds.
“Where was I?” He snarls. “Oh yes – Vince is going to be pleased. And after that,” he grins, “once he’s done – maybe he’ll let me have you.”
I gulp.
“Some men don’t like sloppy seconds. But me? I’m not so fussy.”
Lenny grabs my hair and drags me out of the thicket by it. He’s short, but he’s a hundred times stronger than me. No matter how hard I struggle – and I do, kicking and screaming and trying to scratch his hands, he doesn’t seem to care. It’s like he’s an automaton, a robot with one sole purpose: to please his master.
My legs scrape a puddle of fallen fall leaves along behind me, and I leave a trail of smeared mud, crushed grass and leaves.
“Get the truck,” Lenny grunts.
The rumble of an engine comes into earshot. I can’t even see it through the tears blurring my eyes. Lenny shoves me in and pushes me against a tinted window, and climbs in after me.
In seconds, we’re off. Lenny pushes the barrel of his handgun against my temple and sneers in my face. I know he wants me to show weakness, maybe even thrives on it. And I’m giving it to him. I can’t help it, and I don’t care.
I expect the truck to scream out of the graveyard, leaving a trail of rubber on the road, but it doesn’t. It moves slowly, and I realize that’s the whole point. They are trying not to attract any more attention than they already have.
The glass window is cold against my cheek. As I watch the greenery of the graveyard speed by, I can’t help but think that my life is inching away with it.
I see movement in the distance, a black speck on the horizon. But it doesn’t stir anything in me.
It keeps coming.
It’s a truck.
It’s a very familiar truck.
It’s Declan’s truck.
I see his face in the windshield as he speeds by like a man possessed. I cry out his name, but it’s lost between two panes of glass and the sound of the engine. He’s so close, and yet he’s never been further away. Lenny jabs his handgun into my temple. “Shut up, bitch,” he growls. He doesn’t need to waste his breath.
I’m so alone.
And I’m going to die.
21
Declan
“Are you ready, brother?” I bark into the cell phone pressed to my ear. I have Will strapped across the back seat of my truck, held down with all three sets of seatbelts, but every time I turn the wheel – one-handed – he lets out a dull moan of pain.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I call over my shoulder. “We’re nearly there. Just hang on.”
“We’re ready when you get here,” Kieran’s voice crackles down the line.
“Two minutes out,” I say. I drop the phone, not bothering to hang up, and it clatters down into the footwell. Will’s breaths are getting shallower and shallower every second, and I’m gripped with fear that he’s about to bleed out and die on me.
“Come on, come on,” I groan, as I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, ducking and weaving through the early afternoon suburban traffic as fast as I can.
“Please,” Will whispers over the rattle of the engine. “Help… I’m sorry…”
I glance over my shoulder and see my injured soldier’s eyes flicker open, searching the back seat of my truck for any sign of where he is.
“Hospital…” He groans.
“I can’t take you to a hospital, buddy. If I do, they’ll lock you up for God knows how long. I’m getting you help. Just hold tight, Will. Hold tight.”
I swing around one last corner, and the family house is in sight. I gun the engine one last time, ignoring its squeal of protest as it gives every last ounce of effort that it’s got left. I’m storming through Dorchester twice as fast as the speed limit allows, but it’s not like the cops spend much time patrolling in this neighborhood. They know better.
Cars, houses, and trees flash past; families walking their dogs, women out jogging complete the silent film.
Then there’s a girl with red hair. Time seems to slow even as my truck speeds by, and I turn my head to stare. All I can think is that she’s Casey –
But she’s not.
Ma’s house is lit up like Christmas, and Kieran’s outside, waiting. I head straight for him, and the second he sees the truck barreling through the neighborhood, I see his hand rap against the front door. Men pour out.
I stick the truck in reverse and back it right up against the porch. Even before the truck stops moving, the back doors are open, and hands reach for Will’s bleeding body. It’s hardly the first time we’ve done this. It gets easier every time; but it’s never easy.
“Pressure! I need pressure on the wounds. You, and … you!” A portly man cries, barking out orders: of course it’s Doctor O’Leary. Kieran did well.
My twin ignores the madness and makes a beeline straight for me. Everyone’s got their jobs. I feel like there’s something I should be doing, but I know it’s better to stay out of the way.
“What the hell happened?” He asks, pulling open the driver door. “Jesus, Dec. Let’s get you inside ‘fore someone sees ya like this.”
My hands are still stuck fast to the steering wheel, covered in blood from carrying Will into my truck. “No,” I growl, leaping from my seat and wiping the sticky, congealing lifeblood onto my already soaked jeans. I head straight for the doctor.
“O’Leary –?”
He turns, and I’m taken aback by the reddish tint on his nose and cheeks. “How long will it be until you can get him awake?” I hiss. I’m half-mad with worry. All that I can think about is where Casey is right now, and what they are doing to her. “I need answers.”
Doctor O’Leary takes a step forward towards me. “The only answers you’ll get, young man,” he shrugs back to me, completely unruffled by the anger radiating off me, “are the answers the undertakers will give you when you ask how much it’s going to cost to bury the poor boy.”
“Unless… Of course,” he says, punctuating his words by stabbing my chest with his forefinger, “you let me do my goddamn job?”
I grimace, clenching my fists into impotent balls of rage, but I don’t say a word. I know he’s right.
Apparently satisfied that he’s made his point, O’Leary turns and follows Will’s bleeding body into the house.
Kieran pulls me back, worried I’m about to lay the good doctor out, but there’s no need. I know what’s right, no matter how bad every fiber in my body’s screaming at me to ignore every value that ‘da ever drilled into us as kids.
“Fuck,” I swear. I lash out, kicking the wing mirror off my truck, and ignoring the howl of the alarm siren that begins the peel.
By the time I kill it and follow the doctor into the house, someone’s already cleared the dining room table and laid Will’s bod
y onto it. Two men whose names I should remember our standing on either side of him, holding bloodied towels against his gunshot wounds. O’Leary’s standing to one side, pulling a pair of blue latex gloves over his fingers.
“Whiskey,” he grunts, holding out his remaining uncovered hand. For a man whose face indicates exactly how much he loves the drink, his hands are steady as a rock.
Someone passes him a half-empty bottle of Jameson, and he unscrews the lid and takes a hefty gulp.
“That’s better…” He sighs. “Now – let’s get to work.”
Kieran grabs my arm and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of the way. We’re no good here.”
I follow him, my head spinning. This whole time, ever since I found Will bleeding out next to his truck, I’ve kept moving: just running on adrenaline. Now it’s gone, and my body is cold. I can’t tell if it’s shock, or just a crushing realization that Casey’s out of my life for good.
“She’s going to die, Kieran,” I say, sitting next to my brother on the hallway staircase. “She’s going to die thinking she never meant anything to me.”
Kieran stays silent, but I didn’t even realize it. I’m too busy thinking of Casey’s pinks, and those deep green eyes of hers.
“Sure,” he growls. “If you just sit on your ass and do nothing about it, she sure is.”
“The FUCK are you saying?” I spit back, firing daggers from my eyes.
“You know.”
I clench my fist and bash it against the wall. “You’re right. Micky fuckin’ Morello: Where is he? He’s a dead man walking.”
22
Casey
We crisscross the city for what seems like hours. Lenny’s paranoid about being followed. I guess Vince probably beat the nerves into him.
“Where are we going?” I ask for the thousandth time. There’s only so long you can spend with the barrel of the pistol pressed against your temple without beginning to crack. I’m at that point. Right now I don’t think I’d care if Lenny put a bullet through my skull. I just want it to be over.