Gillean stood a few feet from the front door. It was obvious there was no way in, and if Sully was on the ground floor, there was no chance he could have survived the flames now slashing their way up the stairs to the floor above. The heat was terrifyingly intense.
Arlen had ignored his father’s order and jetted off to the side of the building. “Da! There’s the way in!” He pointed to a loft window that was swinging open, banging against the stone wall of the cottage.
“I thought I told you—”
One look at Arlen’s determined expression and Gillean knew it would be a fruitless endeavor to try and keep his son out of harm’s way. Arlen was intent on doing everything he could to save Sully. Gillean knew he needed his son’s help if there was any chance of doing so. “Alright”
He tried to maintain his calm. Everything that mattered to him was encapsulated in this moment, trapped in the searing flames. Gillean’s day of reckoning had come. He owed Sully his life. He owed Adara her freedom. He owed his children, especially Arlen, an example of a man of valor and not cowardice. He owed it to himself to reclaim the buoyant man he had sacrificed so many years ago. He hurriedly devised a plan.
“See if you can find a ladder. Charlie must have one stashed outside somewhere.”
“Right.” Arlen circled the building, halfway round he found what he was looking for. A paint-spattered, metal ladder lay against the south side of the cottage.
“Got it!” he cried victoriously. Dragging it over to east side, Gillean and his son quickly set it vertically against the wall.
Gillean shook a finger of warning to his boy. “You stay put and keep this thing steady for me now.”
“But, ya might need—”
“I need you to do exactly as I ask. I need you to trust me,” Gillean ordered, his foot already on the second rung.
“I do, Da, I trust ya.”
Arlen’s intense focus was all the encouragement Gillean needed. His son would be there for him, and for Sully. The boy placed his hands on each side of the ladder, pushing his body against the center, and keeping it steady as Gillean ascended. The loft was about twelve feet from ground level.
Gillean’s mind raced ahead as he allowed his feet to feel their way up the ladder. He kept his eyes facing the open window through which smoke continued to escape like a mob of angry prisoners. How was he going to locate Sully once he made it into the cottage? He surmised he would only have a few minutes at best before the fire and smoke would overcome him.
Midway up the ladder, he heard the urgent, mournful crying of a desperate creature carried on the smoke-filled air.
“What is that?” Arlen called up.
“I’m not sure, son. Just keep us steady, okay? I’m almost there.”
When Gillean was level with the window the smoke momentarily took his breath and sight. He had to turn away, shaking and coughing. His eyes watered, blurring his vision. He removed one hand from the ladder and wiped at his sweaty face. Peering into the storage room, he could see nothing but thick, black clusters of clouds and flames edging their way into the room.
“Sully!” Gillean choked out.
The only reply came from the snapping flames.
But as Gillean stepped gingerly into the room, the crying started up again, faint but steady. He looked down, just as the unsteady cat gave its last call for help throwing itself against Gillean’s leg. As Gillean bent down to retrieve the animal he saw the tips of black boots. Squinting his eyes, Gillean could see Sully’s entire body as it lay unmoving inches from the window.
“Arlen!” Gillean called out. “Come up here!”
The boy climbed the ladder with haste, meeting Gillean at the window ledge.
“Take this poor creature back down with you.”
Gillean carefully handed Arlen the semi-conscious cat.
“Did ya find Sully?” Arlen asked, as he carefully accepted the animal.
“Yeah, and he’s got that cat to thank for it too.”
“I’ll take him down, and be right back with ya.” Arlen was midway to the ground before Gillean could protest.
He turned his attention back to Sully, feeling for a pulse. It was barely detectable, but Gillean could count the weak, slow beats that were like music to his fingers, searching for the right chord. By this time Arlen was leaning in the window coughing and trying to direct his father.
“I can help ya to get him on his feet.”
“No, stay there. I’ll need your help to get him down.”
Gillean stood with his feet overtop of Sully’s. Arms joined, he pulled the unconscious man to a standing position. Sully’s body fell against Gillean like a dead weight.
Sully’s head lay on Gillean’s shoulder. He whispered the Irish words into the dying man’s ear, “Mo anam cara. I’m here now. I won’t leave you.”
Gillean’s mind was running through all the possibilities as to how to get himself and Sully safely down the ladder. Sully was a mere slip of a thing, but due to his age and years of stage work hauling heavy equipment, Gillean’s back was hardly ready to take on the weight of any man.
Arlen offered an idea. There wasn’t much time. The fire was approaching the center of the room and moving ever closer. “Here, take this.” Arlen undid the cloth, tie-dyed belt from his baggy jeans and handed it to his father. “Tie his hands in front of him, and then ya can lift him onto yer back with his hands round yer neck.”
Gillean stared blankly at his son.
“Ya know, piggy back him, like ya used to do with me when I was a kid.”
Gillean was nearing desperation, and his son seemed to know what he was talking about. He decided to follow the instructions. He began the difficult undertaking, which was complicated by trying to keep Sully’s limp body upright. He battled to keep the weight of the near lifeless man centered against his own, while wrapping the belt several times around Sully’s wrists, knotting the remainder of the cloth.
“I’m not sure I understand how this is supposed to go.” Gillean looked to his son for confirmation.
“His arms bein’ immobile, he’ll be easier to carry. It works. I saw it in a movie,” Arlen called back, offering the innocent reassurance of a teenager.
“A movie? For the love of Pete!” Gillean was overcome with a mouthful of smoke.
“Do ya want me to—?”
“No.” Gillean stifled his cough. “Take a few steps down. You’ll be my back up. Okay?”
Arlen eased himself down a few rungs.
Gillean turned his back to Sully, placing his bound hands loosely around Gillean’s neck.
“When ya lift him, Da, be sure to keep your arms under his legs; support his knees so he won’t choke ya!”
The fire was almost on top of them. As Gillean bent over, his back gave immediate protest at the extra load. Doing as his son instructed, he adjusted Sully’s arms around his own neck. He held Sully’s legs firmly. Arlen was right. Sully’s arms, kept secure by the belt, made him less cumbersome to carry.
But no practiced breathing technique could assist him now. Every ounce of air went down his throat like daggers. Keeping his eyes on the fire beating against the ceiling with its relenting flames, Gillean stepped backwards out the window, praying his feet would find their way down.
“Here we go, Sully. You better hang on, mate. I won’t forgive you if you leave me this time.”
Gillean talked through his terror while Arlen pressed his hands to Sully’s back, lending extra support.
“That’s it, just keep on goin’. Don’t look down. Steady on,” the boy encouraged.
A spasm ripped through Gillean’s spine like a stray bullet. He fought to keep his hands around Sully, but could do nothing to stop his own body from its involuntary reaction to the pain.
“Arlen, get off the ladder!”
He forced out the words through clenched teeth, moments before he and Sully tumbled backwards, two shooting stars plunging from the heavens. The earth graciously accepted the fire-driven offering. As
hes to ashes, dust to dust. The blaze had taken the cottage, turning the sky into a decayed cavity, empty of any stars or dreams of men.
Epilogue
Ireland
2001
“I want an answer, woman!”
Adara sniggered at the man whose short-cropped black curls smartly framed his animated face. He stood to join his mate seated across the way. The train moved along at an even clip, ambling by fields of wild clover like an elderly gentleman of leisure.
“Come here to me. The view is magnificent!” Sully’s partner entreated.
“Be back shortly.” Sully placed his hands on the seat in front of him, and turned his body towards the sound of Gillean’s voice. “Yer not off the hook with me either,” he said to Adara. “I want to know the identity of that obviously enamored American dancer of yours!”
“What makes you think there is just one enamored dancer, American or otherwise?” She stood as well and took hold of his elbow. She paused to look into the quiet eyes which had been robbed of sight. The critical connections may have been severed as numerous ‘specialists’ had attested to—Sully’s final sacrifice for Gillean the night of the fire by breaking Gillean’s fall, but still an inimitable light shone through the sleeping green lenses.
“Ah!” He fell about in dramatic fashion. “Maybe I should board yer plane to the States instead. Ya need a proper chaperone, miss. Who would have the nerve to take on a batty blind man?”
“I’ll be just fine.” She attempted to guide him down the aisle. “I think it’s you who needs a chaperone.” She squeezed his arm.
“I can find me own way, thank ya.” Sully took a few steps forward and was immediately captured by Gillean’s embrace. He eased Sully into the seat next to his.
“Would you two stop messin’ about,” Gillean good-humoredly chided. “Come on, Dara, you don’t want to miss this either!”
“I can see it all from here.” She waved at him and took up her crossword puzzle. Her glance caught the short feature on the other side of the newspaper. The report was about one of Ireland’s favorite sons and generous patrons of up and coming artists, Gillean Faraday.
It stated that after a little over two years of keeping a low profile, recovering from a near fatal fire, the singer-songwriter now played the occasional, intimate venue only within the confines of Ireland. He spent his days with his children and his partner in their unpretentious home by the sea, located on the outskirts of the affluent town where he once lived. When he wasn’t being the doting da, Mr. Faraday was busy supporting this or the other emerging band, singer, poet, or writer to get a fair shake in the business. One of Kerry’s local boys, Bryan Brennan, formerly a petrol station attendant who now fronts his own band, paid his patron homage. In gratitude for the star’s unexpected and generous backing, he has titled his debut CD ‘Far-Out, Faraday’.
The article went on,
The seasoned musician’s latest philanthropic endeavor has been to provide the financing for a School of the Dance, for abused and neglected children, managed by his former wife who has traveled the globe extensively with her own dance troupe. When interviewed, Faraday explained that he believed creative activity to be a good way of healing the scars left by an unfortunate childhood.
Adara closed her eyes, seeing the bright, bustling halls of her school. The laughter of children who had once known nothing but suffering and pain was the loveliest music she had ever heard. And in those moments, when her senses were so in tune with the pulse of the place, she would swear she could see the sparkle of blue eyes as the tall, white haired spirit moved among the joyful children.
Smiling, she took up the article again.
Mr. Faraday is now reported to be traveling to Brazil, the place of his birth, for a series of concerts to raise money for the struggling artists of his native country. It is difficult to fathom that just a few years earlier, news of the beloved singer-songwriter’s unraveling life read like a bad soap opera script. He ended his two decade marriage to make a home with his partner, a younger man, Sullivan O’Shay, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. As if that wasn’t juicy enough, news of an illicit affair prior to his commitment to O’Shay traveled over every media source like wild fire—the biggest showbiz story of its day.
The alleged ’other woman‘, a little known painter from Prague, had tried to pedal her story to anyone who would listen. She was later deemed mentally unstable, and charged with setting the terrible blaze that almost took the lives of Mr. Faraday, his oldest son, and Faraday’s partner. Having been incarcerated, the woman’s allegations of sleeping with the entertainer and being responsible for the break-up of his marriage were eventually dismissed by most.
Adara paused in her reading once again, reflecting that no one but she and Gillean took note of the one visitor who faithfully made the trek to the women’s penitentiary twice a month. Sully was undaunted in his belief that, as Ciar was now human, she still had the chance to lead a better kind of life. It was this hope and light that he continued to bring to her.
He observed that the woman remained guarded because of her struggles with karma and experience. Nevertheless, Sully sensed that something had softened in the once evil being as well. He told Adara and Gillean that he felt certain that one day she, too, could step out of the shadows of the past and claim a new existence. And only Adara and Gillean were privy to the knowledge that Ciar had given Sully the single key she still possessed; that of her unexplained history and what her soul mate had perpetrated on her. She had tried to swear Sully to secrecy, but he kindly told her that he would never keep any secrets from his family. This had served as further proof of the devotion that ran like a constant currant between the three lives Ciar had tried her best to disjoin. Surprisingly, she had agreed and allowed her secrets to be shared.
Adara once asked Gillean if it didn’t ruffle his feathers a bit that Sully should be doing this. He replied that his soul mate’s unwavering faith in the potential of people only made him love Sully all the more. After all, where would he be had Sully given up on him?
Adara took up the paper, resuming where she had left off.
Still, Faraday lost a portion of his devoted fan base, most especially because of some conservative, religious rhetoric on the ‘sinfulness’ of Faraday’s new union and his (and his former wife’s) choice to openly share custody of their children with another man.
“I feel extremely blessed in my life,” Faraday addressed the negative comments. “I don’t believe in any power or any person for that matter, who would demand for us not to be our truest self, and be with who we truly love.”
Some fans were disappointed in Faraday’s much scaled back recording and touring schedule. According to the reclusive singer, “I will record only when I have something I feel is worthwhile saying.”
The article concluded:
The obscurity that surrounds Gillean Faraday only serves to keep him in the collective consciousness of the mysterious land in which he dwells. After all, Ireland has always been a haven for those artists who possess that rare blend of talent, humanity and just a hint of the otherworldly. Gillean Faraday has finally earned this writer’s, as well as most of his fellow countrymen’s, respect and admiration. We urge him to play on.
Adara attempted her crossword once again, but could hardly concentrate in the midst of such lively conversation.
“I told you this was the perfect way to travel to Brazil,” Gillean was commenting to Sully. “A splendid train ride, and then we fly!”
The bright-eyed musician turned to the seat behind occupied by his three younger children.
Gillean tickled them all. “Go on then. Whose turn is it to give Sully a description of the view?”
“Me!” twelve year-old Declan laughingly said.
Isabella propped her head on the back of Sully’s seat. “But I do a better job. Tell him, Sully!”
Sully offered the perfect compromise, “Why don’t ya take turns? And don’t leave anythin’ out now!”
>
Adara listened as her children tried not to talk over one another in their excited haste to give Sully a detailed and spirited report of their surroundings. She had been so proud of the way each child had gladly taken on the task of being Sully’s eyes. Considering him their friend had not taken much convincing either.
“How long will it take to get to Brazil, Da?” Isabella said, echoing Sully’s inquiry.
“It’s on the other side of the world!” her twin brother Dolan teased.
“Da! It isn’t?” she protested in disbelief.
“Just pay attention to what’s in front of you, Bella, amar. You don’t want to miss anything.” Gillean brushed her cheek.
“Hey Sully!” Arlen called, as he ran down the aisle holding the hand of a red-headed girl. “This lass says she has somethin’ for ya.”
The girl touched Sully’s sleeve. “Excuse me, sir, but, I believe ya left your bag in the dining car.” She placed a satchel into Sully’s lap.
His fingers investigated the material to confirm it was indeed his.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t want ya to lose your fiddle.”
Sully took her hand in his. “Yer quite right. Thank ya very much, young lady.” His emerald eyes glowed knowingly in the afternoon sunlight.
“You’re welcome. Safe journeys.” She took her time walking away, her peaceful eyes fixed on Gillean and Sully.
Adara assumed the girl was perhaps one of Gillean’s youngest fans.
Gillean glanced back at the child, then to Sully.
“I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen that girl somewhere before. It’s as though she reminds me of another child I knew once, but I can’t for the life of me think who or when. Madness, isn’t it?”
“Maybe ya have.” Sully removed his fiddle from the bag. “Another time, another place. Another train, another life, maybe.”
“I’m sure the same is true for all of us,” Gillean confirmed.
“Shove over, Sully!” Arlen wedged himself between his two fathers. “Are ya gonna play yer fiddle in Brazil?”
“Well now, I suppose I could take up with a street band.” Sully tweaked the strings.
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