by Willow Rose
“This is the end. It’s all over. It’s all over. This is the end.”
33
July 2015
He was a popular man. Carrick Mulligan had many admirers. Most of them he had slept with at some point. Some he had just been dating. But what they all had in common was the fact that once they had tasted a little of the Carrick Mulligan-love, they would never be able to live without it.
For Carrick, that meant never being able to get rid of them. They would call him daily, some even several times a day. They would ask him to go out with them again, some would even beg him for it. But Carrick rarely saw the same girl more than three times. Then he would grow tired of her and move on. If he managed to get her in the sack on the first date, then he would leave it at that and never go out with her again. If she were playing hard to get, he would wait for her to become butter between his fingers. They usually never went beyond the third date before they caved in. It was the life he had chosen for himself. He was never going to settle down. He was never going to be a dad or someone’s husband, and that suited his career as an artist well. He had nothing to offer a woman or children anyway. He lived from check to check and never knew how much he had. Sometimes, he would sell a painting and get twenty thousand pounds for it and be loaded for a month or two before he had drunken it all up or let it disappear up his nose. He lived his life to the max and he loved it. No woman would ever be able to change that.
Or, at least that was what he thought. Until he met Deirdre. Deirdre, he couldn’t forget. They had already been on three dates and he still hadn’t gotten her into bed or even into his studio yet. The fact that she was so hard to get turned him on. He couldn’t stop thinking about her all day long. Plus, she was gorgeous. In her late thirties, but still hadn’t lost that innocent beauty that young girls possess. But she was older than him. Carrick himself was approaching thirty, and even though he usually dated much younger women, there was simply something about Deidre that he couldn’t stop obsessing about. Was it just the fact that she had managed to not sleep with him this long? That she didn’t fall for the usual tricks? Or was it something else?
Carrick was naked in his studio while thinking about her and painting. He felt frustrated and threw paint on the canvas to cover what he had been working on so far. Ever since he had met Deidre, he hadn’t been able to paint at all. When he did, it was all the same motif. Her eyes, her body, her neck, her breasts, the way he pictured them. No, he had to sleep with her to get her out of his head. It was the only way to stop obsessing, the only way to ever be able to paint again.
Carrick grabbed the phone and dialed her number. She lived out of Dublin, where Carrick lived, somewhere in the countryside. But she came to town often. He needed to know if she would be in soon.
“I have to see you,” he said when she picked up. “I need to.”
She laughed from the other end. Her laughter felt like mocking. But it sounded like heaven.
“I’ll be in town in two days,” she said. “Meet me at our usual place.”
Then she hung up. No, “I need you too,” or, “I really want to see you too.” It frustrated Carrick. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t more crazy for him. Was she nothing like any other girl? And why hadn’t she slept with him yet? Why? No other woman had ever been able to resist him like she had. He couldn’t believe it. On the next date, he was going to turn it up a notch. Give it all his charm. This time he was going to give it all he had. He was going to seduce her like she had never been seduced before. And she was going to jump right in. There was no way she could resist him that many times. He was going to get her. Yes, he was. He was going to get her, no matter what it would cost him. No woman resisted the great Carrick Mulligan. No one.
34
July 2015
We returned to the hotel just in time for dinner. We decided to eat at the hotel’s small restaurant instead of going out, because we wanted to get to bed early. We were both feeling sad and had hardly spoken since we left the place where Fiona Delaney was found.
“I’ll have the Fish and Chips,” I said to the waiter.
“Is that all you’re going to eat while we’re here?” Morten asked with a smile. “I’ll have the corned beef and cabbage please.”
We handed our menus back after ordering two pints of Guinness.
“What can I say? I just love fish and chips,” I said.
The waiter returned with our beers. I took a sip and closed my eyes. That was exactly what I needed right now. That and some fried food.
“The Irish have so much more to offer than fish and chips,” he said.
I shrugged. “I know. It’s just all that cabbage. It doesn’t go well with me,” I said, and touched my stomach. “Makes me bloat and gives me gas.”
We didn’t talk for a while more. I wanted to talk about what had happened this afternoon; I wanted to discuss it, everything about it, the rose, the women. But I was afraid he would get angry with me again.
Yet, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“So, you think it’s a serial?” I asked.
Morten looked at me. “It’s not a serial killer until three or more have been killed.”
“Yeah, by all means, let’s wait for that to happen,” I said sarcastically.
“It’s not our job to solve this case, Emma,” he continued. “I am sure Inspector Grady is on top of it.”
And that closed the conversation once again. Our food arrived a minute later and we could eat in silence. I didn’t care what Morten thought. I kept wondering about the case. I didn’t think as highly of the dear inspector as Morten did. I guess it was a police thing. You protected each other and always assumed they did their best.
The food was excellent. With fish and chips, you never missed. Morten wasn’t too happy about his food, and even though he was too proud to admit it, I could tell he didn’t like the cabbage as much as he had wanted to like it. The beef, he seemed to enjoy.
“So, what was going on at home with Jytte?” I asked.
Morten shook his head. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Don’t keep me out of it. You always do this to me. Something is going on and I want to know. I can tell it’s bothering you.”
Morten sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted us to be able to relax and not think about it while we’re here.”
“Well, I sense that you’re thinking about it constantly, so I believe it’s only fair to let me in on it, don’t you?”
He nodded pensively. “I guess I can understand that.”
“So, what’s going on?”
“She’s gotten herself into trouble,” he said with an exhale. “Apparently, she’s gotten herself into drugs, smoking marijuana. She told me yesterday that she has been doing it on a daily basis. Yesterday, she was arrested by the police, hanging out with some really bad people who were selling drugs, completely stoned. They didn’t charge her with anything, but called my ex-wife, Camilla, and had her pick her up. After that, Jytte told her everything.”
I dropped my fork on the plate. It made a loud noise. “What? Jytte? No, not Jytte. She wouldn’t…you’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But…how…when?”
“I don’t know. But, it’s bad. I had my ex on the phone yesterday when you were at the police station. She’s freaking out. She wants her to go to a rehab facility on the mainland.”
“I can’t believe this! I am so sorry, Morten,” I reached over and grabbed his hand in mine. “Do you want to go back home?”
He shook his head with tears in his eyes. “Camilla has got it. She said that she and her new husband Robert will take care of Jytte.”
“But, shouldn’t you be there for her in this situation? Doesn’t she need her father?” I asked. “I think we should go back.”
Morten sighed and leaned back in his c
hair. He looked hurt. I think he had been pushing the realization away by not telling me about it, and now that he had, it suddenly became so real.
“I knew you would say that,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you in the first place. No. We stay here. This is our only chance at a vacation. Jytte is in good hands. She even said so herself. She didn’t need me to come home, she said.”
“She said that?”
“Yes. Now please do me the favor of leaving it alone.”
“How’s the food over here?”
I looked up and into the eyes of Aileen, the hotel manager. She was a tall woman about my age, I would guess.
“It’s great,” I said. “Everything is very good.”
Aileen looked at Morten, who forced a smile. “It was very good, thanks.”
“Great, great,” she said with a service-minded smile. “Now, I understand you were up by the river when they found the body of Fiona Delaney earlier today?”
“Yes, unfortunately we were,” I said.
“Could I ask of you to not speak about it to the other guests? I am afraid of losing all of them.”
“Are you seriously asking us to censor ourselves?” I said. “And even if we did, won’t they read about it in the paper or hear about it on the local TV?”
“Yes, of course they will. I’m just trying to keep the talk and rumors down to a minimum. You know how people talk, and soon one feather is a bunch of hens, am I right? Especially in a small town like this.”
I stared at this woman, wondering if she really thought she could keep the rumors down by simply asking people not to talk about it. It was a little nuts if you asked me. “We will try,” I said.
“It’s all I ask,” she said before she left with her forced smile still sticking to her face, nodding and exchanging polite remarks with the other guests.
“I could never be in the service business,” I said to Morten, as we returned to our food. “Having to smile like that even if people act like idiots. Definitely not my thing.”
He laughed lightly. I was glad to hear him laugh again. It broke my heart what he was going through. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jytte, and then Maya, and wondering if she would ever get into drugs. I had no idea how common drugs were on the island. I had always pictured it as a very safe environment for kids to grow up in. At least I did before I moved there. I would have to have a chat with Maya about what to be careful of. I knew most of her friends went to parties and had started drinking as was the custom in Denmark for teenagers, but Maya had shown no interest in those things yet. I guess I had thought she would stay that way, but I was probably just kidding myself. At some point, someone would get her into it, maybe a boy and she would be curious like the rest of them. It was inevitable. All I could do was to prepare her for it, make sure she knew to say no. I couldn’t stop wondering if Morten blamed himself. I know I would.
35
July 2015
I was starting to develop a big interest in and fascination with the two women with the roses between their teeth. The writer in me spotted a good story and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know who these women were. The part about the roses made it all so creepy, yet beautiful at the same time. It fascinated me deeply. There had to be some sort of meaning to those roses. But what?
I had a feeling there could be a book there somewhere waiting to be written. I could already picture the cover with the title.
Where the Wild Roses Grow.
As soon as Morten went to sleep, I grabbed my computer and started researching. The murder was all over the newspapers already. And this time they had told everything. They had somehow found out about the rose being stuck between Bridget Callaghan’s teeth as well, and spotted the connection between the two killings. I found a small clip from the local TV station, where they had tried to get a comment from Fiona Delaney’s mother earlier today, and she made a short statement where she said she couldn’t believe anyone would do this to her daughter, while walking up to her house. The reporter then did a stand-up outside on the pavement, and I spotted the house number and street name behind her. I wrote it down.
The next morning, I told Morten my plans. I told him I wanted to write about this, that it could be my next book. He looked at me tiredly and yawned.
“I thought you were taking some time off?” he asked. “You’re making a lot of money on the books you’ve already written. Why not lean back and enjoy the ride? Why do you feel like you have to write all the time? You’ve written so many books already.”
I looked at him excitedly. “Try picturing the front cover. The red rose, with a little blood on it. Doesn’t it sound amazing? I can’t get this story out of my head. It’s calling me, Morten. It’s not every day you stumble into a story like this. It has some je-ne-sais-quoi about it. Some indefinable beauty and fascination. I’m drawn to it somehow. I can’t explain it.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to get me dragged into it as well, am I right?” Morten asked.
I could tell he didn’t understand my reasons, but still wanted to be supportive of me. I never loved him more than this moment.
“I’ll try not to,” I said.
I crawled on top of him and started kissing him. We made intense love on the bed, in a way we hadn’t for months. I suddenly felt useful again. I realized that writing books made me feel useful, made me feel valuable. Here was something I could do that most other people couldn’t. And I loved it. I simply loved writing books. It wasn’t a job to me. It was a passion. And being a writer, being passionate about a story made me feel sexy. It aroused me.
“Wow,” Morten said when we were done. “I forgot how wonderful making love to you can be.”
“I know. I haven’t been quite myself for a long time,” I said.
Morten leaned over and kissed me again. We were both sweaty and still panting. I felt a delight go through my body. I felt so good about myself just in this moment.
“But now you’re back,” he said.
“I sure am,” I said, laughing.
“Well, that does it.”
“What does what?”
“I have decided to help you with the book. If it means that much to you, if it makes you this happy, then I’m in.”
I felt like jumping him again, but the exhaustion got to me. I smiled and grabbed him by the neck. I pulled him close so I could kiss him again. “You’re the best,” I said. “You’re simply the best.”
“Plus, I’m sure it’ll make me forget what’s going on at home,” he said. “It’s a win-win.”
“Not to mention the benefit of being able to tax-deduct this entire trip,” I said.
“That too. So, what do you want to do first?” he asked.
“I want to pay Mrs. Delaney a visit.”
36
October 1977
No one knew about Violet’s pregnancy yet, and as the days passed, she became more and more anxious at the prospect of having to tell her family. She had no idea how they were going to react. Besides, everything was going so well now that she was back at the farm. Her heart was still crushed, and at night she cried herself to sleep thinking about Conan and all her broken dreams. But she was with her family and she was cared for and safe, and she enjoyed that. She hated to have to ruin everything now.
Ever since she had gotten back two weeks ago, she had been the best she could be. She had cooked every day for all of them. She had gone back to school and done her schoolwork as she should, and when she wasn’t doing that, she helped out at the farm the best she could.
Her stomach was growing every day now and it showed clearly if she wore anything remotely tight. She had found some of her mother’s old dresses in the attic and started wearing them; they were nice and loose fitting, but it was only a matter of time before she started showing in those as well.
There was no way around it. They were going to know sooner or later.
Standing in her room after showering, wearing only underw
ear, Violet touched the bump on her stomach and caressed it gently while looking at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t believe a little life was growing in there. A little life created by her and Conan.
Would he ever be a part of this baby’s life?
Probably not. Not the way he had reacted to her coming. Should she tell him? He had to know, didn’t he? But would he ever listen to her if she approached him again?
Violet touched her cheek where he had slapped her on that day at the campus. She felt such great anger towards him for the way he had treated her. A tear left the corner of her eye. She didn’t wipe it away, but let it roll across her cheek.
No, this was the price he was going to pay. Conan was never going to know about this child. She thought of the possibility of keeping it a secret. Of going through the pregnancy alone and having it and keeping it to herself maybe right here in her room.
But she knew it wasn’t possible.
Then she thought about the day she had returned to the farm and how lovingly her father and brothers had greeted her. Maybe they wouldn’t get angry at all? Maybe they would understand and help her the best they could with the baby? They had forgiven her for running away, and everything had gone back to normal. They never spoke of it again. So, maybe? Just maybe it was possible that they wouldn’t get mad at her for this either?
“I think today is the day,” she mumbled, as she looked at herself from the side, where the bump was way more visible. She giggled as the baby moved and tickled her. It was such a wonderful feeling. She didn’t care much for all the changes in her body, the growing breasts or the bigger thighs, but the stomach, she believed, was a creation of beauty. She couldn’t wait to hold her baby in her arms. She might only have been fourteen, but Violet felt ready to be a mother.