by Chloe Walsh
"Just give me a minute to process this." Leaning forward, Gibsie pressed his fingers to his temples. "This is a lot to take in, lad."
No shit.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t sit still. Pain was consuming me but my thoughts were worse, plaguing me to the point that I was a restless bundle of nerves and anxiety.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
"I need to go," I announced, unwilling to wait for him to process a damn thing. "I'm serious, Gibs. You need to get me out of here, lad. I need to go home and check."
"You can't walk out of the hospital on a hunch," Gibsie shot back, glaring at me. "Christ, Johnny, you can't even walk without help. How do you propose I smuggle you down to Cork, ya langer? Under my fucking jumper?"
"Something's happening to her, Gibs," I strangled out, feeling my heart hammer against my chest. "I can feel it in my bones."
"Hold up a sec, I've got an idea –" Pausing, Gibsie pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked a few buttons before placing it on loudspeaker and setting it down on the bed between us.
"Hello?" Claire's voice filled the silence after three short rings.
"Claire-bear," Gibsie replied, holding out a hand towards me, gesturing for me to stay quiet when I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.
"Gerard." Relief filled her tone as she spoke. "Are you okay? How's Johnny?"
Keeping his eyes on me, Gibs ignored her questions and asked, "Why didn’t you tell me?"
"T-tell you what?" Claire asked, sounded worried.
"About Shannon's father."
"What the fuck!" I mouthed, ready to kill him.
"Wait," he mouthed back, holding a hand up to keep me back. "Trust me."
"What are you t-talking about?" was Claire's hesitant response.
"You know exactly what I mean," he bluffed, slapping a hand over my mouth.
"She told Johnny, didn’t she?" Claire sobbed. "Oh god, and he told you."
My heart stopped dead in my chest.
My entire world collapsed.
I was right.
I was fucking right!
"Yeah, she told him," Gibsie said, sounding furious. "What I want to know is why you didn’t tell anyone, Claire?"
"I didn’t know for sure," she hurried to say, sounding devastated. "She never confirmed anything, but all the bruises…I knew he was doing something to her. I was afraid, Gerard. I was scared, okay?"
And then it hit me like a goddamn freight train.
"Who's hurting you, baby? I'll fix it."
"It's a secret."
"I won't tell."
"My father."
Moving on instinct, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and ripped off my covers. Sliding out of bed, I hobbled towards the bathroom door with 999 already dialed.
"Johnny, what are you doing, lad?" Gibsie called after me.
"The right thing," I hissed, furious.
"Should we talk to your dad first?" he asked. Climbing off the bed, he moved towards me. "He's the barrister, lad, and we don’t know what's –"
Holding a hand up to ward Gibs off, I pressed my phone to my ear and concentrated on the operator's voice. "999, what is your emergency?"
"My girlfriend's in danger," I hissed down the line, losing the fight to control my emotions. "She's only sixteen years old. She's a minor and she needs your help. She lives at 95 Elk Terrace in Ballylaggin, County Cork, okay? Did you get that? 95 Elk Terrace. She's really small okay? Fucking tiny. She can't defend herself and I can't get to her –" Trembling from head to toe, I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles in the bathroom, clenched my jaw, and growled, "I need you to send someone over to the house right away because her scumbag father has been beating the shite out of her."
"Well," Gibsie said grimly from the bathroom doorway when I had ended the call. Folding his arms across his chest, he gave me a nod of approval. "You are the definition of the cat amongst the pigeons."
"Christ, Gibs." Exhaling a ragged breath, I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and hissed, "How did I not see this?"
"In all fairness, lad, how were you supposed to?" Gibsie offered with a sigh. "Look at your parents, Johnny. Hell, I'd put money on John having never raised a hand to you before."
True.
"Exactly," Gibsie filled in, reading my thoughts. "It's hard to imagine something like that happening when it's so beyond the scale of normal for you that it's pretty much incomprehensible."
"It didn’t click," I choked out, wrestling with the huge tsunami of guilt rising up inside of me. "I just…I didn’t see this in my head."
"Listen, I texted your Dad," he replied. "He's on the way, Johnny, lad. He'll help us."
"Good," I replied, tone clipped, as I tried to catch my breath and process this. "I'm going to need him to take my case when I go down for murder."
"Think he'll represent me, too?" Gibsie asked. Shrugging, he added, "When you're embarking on hell, it's always good to have a buddy."
5
I'm Your Brother
Shannon
When I opened my eyes again, the first thing that assaulted my senses was the sunshine beaming in from the window, mixing in with the sound of beeping monitors, and bringing with it a throbbing in my brain.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Confused, I looked for Johnny, but came up empty.
He wasn’t here.
Panicking, I patted the mattress, twisting my head from side to side as I tried to scope out Mr. and Mrs. Kavanagh or Gibsie.
"Hey – hey, it's okay." A large hand wrapped around mine. "I'm here."
"Joe?" I croaked out anxiously, feeling my heart race at a hundred miles an hour, as I desperately sought him out. "Joe?"
"Shh, take it easy," a vaguely familiar male voice replied. "I'm right here, Shannon."
Rejecting the stranger's voice, I shook my head and reached for the wires in my nose. "Joey?" I croaked out, voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. Yanking the wires free, I inhaled a deep breath, gasping for precious air, something my brain demanded I do. The minute I did, pain seared through my entire chest and I cried out, my hands automatically moving to my side.
My bandaged side?
Startled at the contact, I pulled at the gown I was draped in to reveal a white bandage strapped between the left side of my ribcage and my breast. What the hell was happening to me? "Oh god, Joey –"
"Relax." A hand moved to cup my chin and I clenched my eyes shut, body turning to stone in the bed, as fear spiraled inside of me. "Take some nice, slow breaths."
Relax, it's a gentle touch, I slowly registered, but I couldn’t be certain of anything anymore.
Struggling to remain in control and not let the panic consume me, I drew in short, slow breaths, flinching when my chest burned in protest. My head was throbbing so hard it felt like it was going to burst. I raised my free hand to hold my forehead, only to freeze when my fingers grazed what felt like gauze on my cheek.
And then I remembered.
Dad.
Dread seized my heart, my pulse rising erratically, as memories of my father beating me, beating Joey, hitting Tadhg, hurting Mam, all filled my mind in one fell swoop.
Was he here?
Was he close by?
Was I in trouble?
"It's okay," the voice continued to say, tone soft and coaxing. "You're in the hospital, but you're safe now, okay? Nobody is going to hurt you."
Safe now.
I felt like laughing at the empty promise.
Words.
All words.
Reluctantly, I tore my eyes open and just laid there, ice-cold and heart frozen, as I stared up at the man looking down at me.
"Hey, kid," he said, voice familiar and warm like Christmas morning. "It's been awhile."
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I just stared back at him.
Exhaling a shaky breath, he released my chin and reached for my
hand again.
I quickly snatched it away, not wanting his touch.
Not wanting anything to do with his touch.
"Where's Joey?" I asked when I finally found my voice again. It didn’t sound like it belonged to me. It was cracked and hoarse, but the words were coming from my lips, so I pushed on. "I need to talk to Joey." I needed to know what I was supposed to say if someone asked me what happened. I didn’t know the story. "Is he here?" Kicking off the covers holding me to the bed, I scrambled up the mattress until my back was aligned with the metal headboard, and dragged in another pained breath. Ignoring the fire in my chest, I glanced around the bright room, wary and fearful. "I really need Joey, please."
"Shannon, you need to calm down –"
"I need Joey," I croaked out, flinching away when he tried to touch me.
"I'm here, Shannon." Blue eyes so similar to mine implored me to understand something I never could. "I'm coming home. For good."
"I don’t care," I said, voice void of all emotion, as I wrestled with my anxiety. "I need my brother."
"I'm your brother, too," he said sadly.
"No." I shook my head, refuting his claims. "You left us there. You're not my –"
"Shan!" Joey's voice filled my ears, followed by the sound of a door banging loudly. "I told you to stay the fuck away from her." Stalking into the room like someone wired to NASA, Joey shouldered Darren out of the way and sank down on the edge of my bed. "She just woke up, asshole," he added, knees bobbing restlessly as he fussed with the blankets around my feet, covering up my bare legs. "The last thing she needs is another fucking drama."
"Joe." My hands shot out of their own accord, steadying his jittering arm. "What's happening?"
The moment my eyes landed on his face, I let out a pained sob. The skin below his eyes was black and blue, his nose was clearly broken again, and his bottom lip busted and swollen.
"Oh, Joe." Reaching up, I brushed his hair off his face, revealing two bloodshot eyes with pupils so dilated the green in his eyes was almost absent. Fear enveloped me. I knew what those bloodshot and blackened eyes represented and it wasn’t one of our father's beatings. It represented something much worse, something I thought he had gotten a handle on last year. "Tell me you didn’t –"
"Don’t worry about it," he hurried to say, tone gruff, as he captured my hand and set it back down on my lap. "I'm fine."
No, he wasn’t fine.
He was high.
"I'm fine, Shannon," Joey repeated, giving me a look that told me to drop it.
Clasping my hands together, I remained silent, swallowing down a million unspoken words to join the others festering inside of me. "What's going on?"
"You're okay," Joey said, twisting around to face me, giving me his full attention. "You've been in and out of it for two days. Doc's gave you something so they could put the –" his words broke off and he flailed his hands out, shaking from head to toe, "The –" running his hands through his hair, he shook his head, and snapped his fingers, "Fuck, I can't remember the words."
"You were brought into the hospital on Saturday evening," Darren explained in a much more together tone of voice. "Today is Tuesday, Shannon. You've been in and out for a few days."
"Yeah, by me," Joey snarled, shoulders stiffening. "She was brought in here by me. Where the fuck were you, Golden Boy?"
"You were treated for a severe concussion and a traumatic pneumothorax," Darren continued to explain, ignoring Joey's comments. "You were pretty banged up when you got here. You've had some stitches on your cheek to close a cut and some bruised ribs."
"Bruised ribs," Joey sneered mockingly. "Open your eyes, Darren. She's bruised everywhere!"
"What the hell is wrong with you, Joey?" Darren demanded, glaring at my brother with narrowed eyes. "Are you high? Is that it? Did you take something?"
"Yeah, I took something," Joey shot back, turning his rage on Darren. "I took a lot of fucking beatings. That's what I took, asshole."
"Joe, relax." Anxious, I placed a hand on Joey's hand to calm him and looked to Darren. "What does a traumatic pneumothorax mean?"
"It means that bastard kicked you so hard he collapsed your lung," Joey filled in, pulsing with anger. "It means they had to shove a fucking pipe through your body to help you breathe."
"Oh god." Panic stricken, I looked down at my body and whimpered. "Am I okay?" I placed a trembling hand over the wound. "Is that bad?"
"It's not serious," Darren hurried to console. "You didn’t have surgery – they were able to relieve the pressure and help you breathe by inserting a small tube into your –"
"Not serious?" Joey demanded. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Joey," Darren growled. "Calm down."
"Is there a hole?" I strangled out, peeking under my gown. "Is it still inside me?"
"No, Shannon," Darren soothed. "They removed it yesterday morning. You've had chest x-rays and CT scans. Everything looks great, okay?"
I nodded, feeling numb.
"But you'll be sore for a couple of weeks," he added with a grimace. "And you're on a course of antibiotics to prevent infection." Shaking his head, Darren added, "The nurses will explain everything better than I can."
"Really?" Joey sniped. "I thought you were great at everything."
"Whatever they prescribed you for your pain, consider it out of bounds," Darren growled, glaring at Joey. "I'm cutting you off."
Joey laughed. "Paracetamol?"
"You're not fooling anyone," Darren shot back, tone even.
"Why are you here?" I croaked out, feeling the panic lodge in my chest.
"I'm here to help, Shannon," Darren replied. "I'm here to take care of you – all of you." He cast a glance in Joey's direction and sighed. "Even you."
"Don’t do me any favors," Joey spat.
"Why?" Clasping my hands together, I exhaled slowly and asked, "How did you know about what happened?"
"Mam called him," Joey replied, casting another menacing glare in Darren's direction. "Apparently, the bitch had the bastard's number this whole time." His tone was dripping with venomous sarcasm. "They lied to us, Shan. Imagine that?"
Darren released a pained groan. "Come on, Joey, don’t say that." Pinching his brow, he added, "That's our mother you're talking about–"
"Our mother?" Joey laughed humorlessly, feet bobbing restlessly. "We have one of those? Fuck, and here's me thinking mothers were mythical creatures like unicorns, because I sure as shit never met one in the flesh."
"You were in contact with Mam the whole time?" I croaked out, reeling. "For five and a half years?"
"He sure was," Joey filled in before Darren could. "Couldn’t pick up the phone and check on us, but he was in close contact with mommy dearest."
Darren shook his head. "You need to simmer down on the angst, Joe. It's not working for you."
"And you need to not walk back into our lives and think you can call the shots," Joey retorted, trembling with what I knew was barely restrained anger. "It doesn't work that way. You don't get to go, Darren; you don't get to walk in and out of our lives!"
Call the shots? "What shots?"
"Brother dearest thinks he's in charge now." Jerking to his feet, Joey paced the small room, looking like a caged wild animal. "Thinks he can walk out the door, abandon us for half a decade, and then stroll back in with his flashy car and fat wallet and lay down the law."
Darren glared at our brother. "That's not fair, Joey."
"What did you expect, Darren?" Joey countered, glaring. "A welcome home party? Some balloons and cake? You roll back into town and think we're going to fall at your feet because you're saving us?" He shook his head and sneered, "You forgot about us. You walked the fuck out. Left us with them. So as far as I'm concerned, you can keep walking. I've got this."
"You've got shit, Joey," Darren snapped. "Look at her."
"Look at you," Joey shot back, furious. Clapping his hands, he added, "Nice fucking suit, Darren. You look well. Nicely groomed and
well fed. Good for you." Glowering, he raised a hand and gestured to himself and then me. "Congrats on the success, big brother."
"I was eighteen," Darren whispered, running a hand through his dark hair. "I couldn’t deal."
"Yeah, well I'm eighteen, too, asshole," Joey spat unsympathetically. "And guess what? I stepped up and dealt. I stayed!"
"Then you're a stronger man than I am."
"I'm not stronger than you," Joey strangled out, voice breaking. "I just happen to possess a conscience."
"Stop," I pleaded, clutching my head with my hands. "Please just stop fighting. I can't deal with this."
"I'm sorry." Darren ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "Can you tone it down for her sake, Joey? We need to explain this to her and fighting with each other isn’t going to help."
Joey bared his teeth and gave Darren the middle finger, but he managed to keep his opinions to himself.
"Dad's gone, Shannon," Darren explained in a calm tone.
An emotion that felt suspiciously like hope washed through me. "He is?"
"He's not gone," Joey piped up. "He's hiding. Big difference."
And there went my hope.
"Can you give it a rest?" Darren growled.
"Can you not give her false hope?" Joey countered hotly. "It won't do her any fucking good in the long run."
"For now," Darren was quick to add, casting a warning glare in Joey's direction. "The Gards will find him and he'll go down for this, guys. I'll make sure of it."
"Sure, you will," Joey sneered. "Saint Darren to the rescue." Twisting his neck from side to side, he drummed his fingers on the mattress, clearly frustrated. "The justice system is a fucking joke in this country and we all know it. Even when they do find him, chances are that he'll get a suspended sentence, a slap on the wrist, and a bottle of whiskey, curtesy of the social welfare, for his troubles and you're lying to yourself if you believe any different."