Path into Darkness

by Lisa Alber

  In the profound silence that followed Liam’s announcement, Danny heard a toilet flushing at the other end of the pub. Merrit’s shoulders inched up toward her ears, and even Liam seemed to be at a loss. Perhaps Merrit had protected him from the worst of the locals’ dismissal of her.

  “Jaysus,” O’Neil said, “she looks like she’s about to be pilloried.”

  Liam rapped his cane against the floor with three hard knocks. “Listen up, you bloody bastards. Even I can’t cheat death. Change is change, and you’re in for it. The least we can do is celebrate it and welcome Merrit into the fold.” He glared around the room. “And I mean properly. Like it or not, the matchmaking festival will continue with Merrit at its helm.”

  “I’ll welcome Merrit!” Zoe walked to the center of the room for all to see. Her skin glowed and her hair shone like spun gold in the subdued lighting. “Tell us more, Liam.”

  “Spread the word that, after church services, I’m hosting a spring festival that will include games for kids and a bar for the adults. And most importantly, Merrit as matchmaker. This will be Merrit’s debut. Her practice run before this September’s festival. I expect everyone there and having a good time.”

  “I’m first,” Zoe called. “You can match me, Merrit!”

  Several men eyed her up and down while everyone else returned to their drinks with a subdued air. Liam announcing his latest bowel movement would have garnered more enthusiasm than this.

  “Bloody disaster,” O’Neil said.

  “Could be,” Danny said, “but you watch, everyone in the county will be there to see how Merrit handles herself.”

  Danny stood and put on his coat. It was as hard to imagine Merrit as matchmaker as it was himself a single man seeking the services of a matchmaker. He might as well wrap his heart in plastic wrap and stick it in a drawer. “Anything else about EJ’s investigation?”

  “One interesting fact, anyhow. About Nathan Tate.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s spent time in a psychiatric hospital.”

  twenty-eight

  Merrit excused herself from Liam and escaped down the corridor to the rear exit. She pushed open the door and inhaled until her lungs crackled. No signs of spring in the air at the moment. She zipped up her jacket and rubbed her hands together. Misty rain cooled her cheeks. Her knee joints felt slippery, as if coated with butter.

  She was tempted to walk home. Right now. Stomp off the stress of Liam’s illness and his expectations of her. At last, he’d seen for himself what she’d contended with all these months. She’d gone her own way while trying her best not to let the locals’ attitudes affect her. They didn’t matter. Only her relationship with Liam mattered.

  Unfortunately, she did care about their responses to her. Their expressions after Liam’s announcement had reminded her of Elder Joe’s the day he’d said that thing about sheep and lambs, as if he’d decided to renounce her. He and many others judged her for reasons she didn’t understand. In their eyes, she hadn’t proved herself, and she’d bet that many of them were convinced she never would. She was a transgressor within the sanctity of their community.

  “I’m not ready,” Merrit had said when Liam revealed his oh-so-brilliant idea. “More precisely, I’m not you. They want someone like you—the bigger-than-life sort.”

  “You are ready. Besides, you won’t know until you try.” He’d paused. “And I must witness your start, of course.”

  And, of course, he had to play the ace up his sleeve. Merrit had known she couldn’t refuse. And it was too late to retreat now. Now the pressure was on to prove herself.

  She stepped outside. Behind her, rough wood floorboards creaked under approaching footsteps. Detective O’Neil shimmied through the door before it clicked closed without spilling the two pints he carried. Lights from the neighboring building lit his lopsided smile and thick fringe of hair as he passed her one of the pints.

  “That was the bloody bollocks, wasn’t it?” he said. “You’d think Liam was selling the antichrist as matchmaker.”

  Hah, spot-on. She swallowed a mouthful of Guinness. “You didn’t know that I’m the antichrist?”

  He stepped backwards with eyes rounded in horror and blessed himself with the wrong hand. “En nomine espiritu sancto, exorcizo—”

  She slapped at him, laughing. “Okay, okay, Mr. Latin, I’m exorcised now.”

  “Exorcised, me arse. I don’t know Latin from leprechaun gibberish.”

  “On that note,” Merrit said, “what can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Call me Simon.” He shoveled hair off his forehead, his habitual insouciance in place. “Fancy you should ask. You could say yes to dinner.”

  She swallowed more Guinness to hide her surprise. This had to be a fishing expedition on behalf of Danny and the investigation. Simon as the spy against Merrit’s meddling. “Let me see if I’m understanding you correctly. You want to buy us dinner and engage in non-investigative conversation?”

  “You’re thinking about it too hard, but, yes, that.”

  A spasm of doubt prevented her from replying. It didn’t feel right, not with Liam sick. She almost asked Simon if he’d broached the topic with Danny. There had to be rules about extracurricular dating activities. Danny would disapprove.

  “Don’t be so bloody American about it,” Simon said. “Drink, food, a cracking good time—what’s the harm?”

  Sod it. This was Simon’s personal business. And hers.

  “No harm.” She swallowed another mouthful of beer. “I’ll bite on the cracking good time, Simon O’Neil, not to be mistaken for the playwright Neil Simon.”

  Simon chinked his pint against hers. “Feisty. I like that.”

  He turned away to open the back door. Merrit felt her smile sag. A frisson of fear startled her, a vision of dating leading to a relationship leading to marriage. Married to an Irish bloke.

  Married to Ireland.

  The truth was that she lived with one foot pointing back to her California homeland, telling herself that she was free to leave if things didn’t work out. She wasn’t wedded to Ireland.

  The issue wasn’t dating so much as the eventuality of life, the way one event led to another that led to another until the day you woke up trapped in a life you’d never wanted. The issue, she realized, centered around life after Liam and her fear that being her father’s daughter—inheriting the matchmaking mantle—would be her trap.

  twenty-nine

  Monday, 22-Mar

  Fact: I’m sitting here drinking midmorning tea with a shot of whiskey and with muscles tight enough to shatter.

  I’ve taken to wandering the house late at night, peeking out the windows, carrying a fireplace poker. I had a man out to install motion sensor lights on every side of the house. Starkers I may be, but I insisted that all the lights be on the same circuit. If one triggers, then they all do, and the motion sensor alarm goes off on the keychain remote I carry on me at all times. I need to see PatientZ coming, you see.

  Vanquishing my demon, yes. It must happen one way or another, but I can’t bear to be alone today. Yesterday Nathan cancelled an outing with me, no explanation. As his punishment, I’m going to visit him at Fox Cottage. I don’t care if this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism.

  You were right about one thing: I’m using Nathan as a distraction from my fear. But he’s using me, too. Maybe he considers me a soul-healing balm he can rub all over himself. Which is fine. You know I like to be needed.

  Fact: If something’s going to happen, it will be today—anniversary day.

  thirty

  In Fox Cottage, Nathan leaned his paint roller against the wall and surveyed the bedroom he was about to paint. Exhaustion tugged him toward the bed, where he pulled off the plastic sheeting and wilted onto the mattress. He brushed his hand over the well-washed and softened quilt cover constructed from fabrics left over from a simpler time. A triple Irish chain design, he knew. Susannah had loved vintage quilts. She’d searched everywhere fo
r the perfect baby quilt for Zoe’s crib. Susannah would have appreciated this one.

  He kicked off his shoes. Nap for an hour, then paint. His muscles, tendons, and ligaments released with a silent groan as he relaxed. The blissful quietude of this cottage. Nothing but the rain on the roof to lull him into a sense of safety. His head sank deeper into the pillow. He lost track of time for a while, but then the rain returned. Warmth spread through him. He shifted back into it, wanted to burrow into the heat source.

  A hand touched his cheek, the press of fingers, and he jerked away with hammering heart. He landed on the floor with a painful thump against his knees.

  “Nathan, my God,” Annie said. “It’s only me.”

  “Not a bother. I startle when I’m asleep, anyone touching me, you know—”

  But she didn’t know; that was evident enough.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You looked peaceful and also chilly.”

  Nathan crawled back onto the bed and felt the mattress shift when Annie spooned him. She lay stiff behind him. He grabbed her arm and slung it over his body. “You’re grand. Touch me all the way to Bombay and back.”

  “But not when you’re asleep, is that it?”

  “I’m a fragile lad.”

  “We’re all fragile in our ways.”

  He rolled onto his back and she snuggled into him, her head a perfect fit under his chin. His body responded randy as a teenager, but he remained still, resisting yet relishing the urge to press himself all over and into Annie.

  “You don’t seem fragile to me,” he said. “The opposite, in fact.”

  “Hah,” she snorted. “If you only knew.”

  “I could know if you’d tell me.”

  She hugged herself against him. “Thank you for saying that. Maybe sometime. It’s been a brutal few days. Today’s an anniversary that’s not the kind you celebrate.”

  “I have a few anniversaries like that, myself.”

  She petted his arm, playing with the fabric of his shirt, tracing his biceps. He had good arms, he knew that—a byproduct of working with clay—but he didn’t think about them unless someone else noticed them.

  Annie poked him. “And,” she said.

  “And?”

  “And your terse text message yesterday didn’t help. Why did you cancel our outing to the art gallery?”

  “Okay, that’s it.” He grabbed her by the waist and swung her on top of him so that she straddled him.

  She grinned when she felt him below her. “You. Nice way to avoid answering.”

  Every nerve ending in his body aimed itself at his groin, the signals overwhelming everything else, including coherent conversation. Annie quit laughing and struggled with his arms to yank his t-shirt off while he struggled with her belt to pull off her jeans. A haze of limbs. He obliged her by raising his arms, the press of cotton over his face, and then her hands landed on his chest.

  “Look at you,” she sighed.

  She spread-eagled her fingers and inched them down toward his jeans. He shifted but restrained himself from forcing her to quicken the pace. He enjoyed the exquisite torture. Her hands tensed against his skin and went still.

  Oh, shite. He’d kept his t-shirt on the first time they’d met up on this bed, but in his haze he’d forgotten today.

  He rolled away from her, his erection forgotten, already disappearing.

  “No,” she said. “Let me see.”

  She grappled him onto his back again. Her eyes locked on the area between his hip bone and belly button. Her fingers traced the scar to where it disappeared into his jeans. The skin was numb—the nerve endings had never healed—but the pressure of her finger was enough to want to fling her off him.

  He held his breath, his heart racing. To his surprise, she didn’t ask him to explain the scar. She relaxed on top of him. Her spiky, short hair tickled under his chin. He inhaled her fragrance. She didn’t have a strong scent, perhaps because she didn’t use perfumed products, and he liked this.

  The rain softened, allowing the real world to enter his sanctuary. Down the track near Liam’s house, a car door slammed and Merrit called a greeting. Nathan scrambled out of bed and pulled on his t-shirt as he ran into the living room. The main window provided a perfect view toward Liam’s house, where Zoe hugged Merrit hello and gestured toward Fox Cottage.

  Nathan ran back into the bedroom. “You have to leave. Zoe’s here.”

  Annie gazed at him in that frank way of hers. “You’re overreacting?”

  Perhaps, yes, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want Zoe to find Annie here.

  Annie obliged him by pulling on her jeans. “Zoe’s a grown woman. She must know you have a life.”

  As gently as he could manage, he placed his hands on Annie’s shoulders and steered her toward the kitchen and back door. “It’s hard to explain.”

  She stopped. “I’m not running away and I’m not hiding. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Dad?” Zoe knocked on the door. “You there? Need some help?”

  “Go. Please.” Nathan’s vision wobbled around the edges. He pushed at Annie. “Please.”

  Instead of exiting through the back door, she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “What is this really about?”

  “It’s more complicated than you know.”

  The front door opened. “Dad? A friend dropped me off. Bored out of my mind at home.”

  Annie’s gaze remained on his, studying him before stepping away and refastening her belt. “Hi, Zoe,” she called in a jaunty voice. “I’m admiring the color in the kitchen. Cheerful, don’t you think?”

  Nathan leaned against the counter with shaking hands behind his bum. Thank Christ they stood in the kitchen rather than the bedroom. He felt faint with the “if”s. If the rain hadn’t stopped so he could hear beyond the cottage. If Annie hadn’t seen his scar and halted them right before having sex. The thought of Zoe interrupting their antics on the bed made his scar ache.

  “I love the living room.” Zoe bounced into the kitchen. Her warm smile included Annie in the conversation. “The kitchen looks nice, too. Merrit picked the colors, didn’t she?” She leaned into Nathan to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before hooking her arm around Annie’s in a companionable way. “Did you hear about Liam’s Easter party? Merrit will be matchmaking for the first time. You want to be a guinea pig with me?”

  Nathan expelled a long, slow breath.

  thirty-one

  Danny pulled up in front of Nathan’s semidetached home, located at the end of a row of identical semidetached homes. The tidy and uniform house surprised him, but perhaps it provided camouflage—or comfort?—for a man who had been institutionalized. Nothing better than living in a housing estate to prove your normality.

  A folder sat on the passenger seat. He opened it to peruse the minimal facts that O’Neil had collected about Nathan. It would take them a while to wrangle the details about his mental health out of the system, but this would do for a start.

  A compact Nissan SUV that Danny recognized as Nathan’s swung into the driveway as he walked to the front door. Nathan shot out of the car, followed by Zoe.

  “Detective Sergeant!” Zoe said. “Good timing. We’ve been house painting at Liam’s cottage.”

  Nathan passed Danny with barely a nod of acknowledgment. Zoe kept up a patter as they caught up with Nathan at the front door, where he attempted and failed to fit his house key into the lock. “You need to talk to me, I suppose,” he said to Danny.

  “Please, Dad.” Zoe held out her hand for the keys. “Don’t do this.”

  “Can you leave?” Nathan turned on her, not in anger, but in desperation. “Please. You mentioned going into Ennis.”

  Zoe smiled at Danny. “He’ll get used to me yet, you’ll see.” She patted her dad’s hand. Nathan flinched when she touched his bandage. “I did mean to go to Ennis, didn’t I? There’s a sale at this lovely little shop that Mrs. O’Brien told me abo
ut. I looked it up online last night. I’d like to buy an Easter outfit.” She laughed. “Just like a girl, wanting a new Easter dress.”

  Nathan rested his forehead against the door.

  “Remember Mum?” Zoe continued. “How she’d dress in her Easter finery before we woke up? She’d be waiting for us in the kitchen, dressed in a color she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing except on Easter. She hated pastels, but she always looked perfect, didn’t she? In pink or yellow with a ridiculous hat that made me laugh.”

  Nathan frowned with his eyes closed.

  “I suppose that’s why I want an Easter dress,” she said.

  She clattered down the steps in her immaculate heeled boots while burrowing in her purse. Nathan straightened and watched his daughter with frown still in place. Danny stepped backwards to give him some space. Nathan didn’t move until the car turned the corner and disappeared. He exhaled long and slow.

  “Shall we go inside?” Danny said.

  Nathan unlocked the door and waved Danny into the house. “She changed the past.”

  “What?” Danny said.

  “Not important. A thought that should have remained in my head.”

  Danny followed Nathan into the kitchen and took a seat at a rustic farm table. Two cups half-filled with cold coffee sat on the counter along with an empty knife block. Everything about Nathan felt more significant now that Danny knew he’d graduated from a psych ward.

  “What did you mean by Zoe changing the past?” Danny said.

  Nathan rummaged around the refrigerator and plonked two beers on the table as he sat down across from Danny. They left wet rings that he didn’t bother to wipe up. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I prefer to decide that for myself.”

  For the first time since Danny had arrived, Nathan looked him in the eye. “I’m telling you, it has nothing to do with EJ’s death. That’s why you’re here, right? More questions?”

  “You avoid talking about Zoe. Why is that?”

  “Hard to know what to say.”

  “She’s a delightful young woman.”

  “And look at this place. It’s immaculate. I should consider myself lucky.”

  “But you don’t?”