by J. J. McAvoy
They pinned me to something, rolling up my sleeves, and I tried to fight. Even knowing that it would do nothing, I tried to fight until I felt the heat of it as it entered my skin. It took a second until everything just became loose and I couldn’t even hold my body up anymore.
Before I knew it, I was back in the dark cell. They just dropped me…like I was trash. And because of that damn shot I couldn’t really move. It was the scariest thing in the world. To be in a dark room…and be completely paralyzed.
What little strength I did have I used it to watch the door.
Nothing had ever happened to me. But I heard the other girls.
And I knew it was only a matter of time…especially with that new one. But if he came I had something for him.
What good does it do if I can’t move?
Concentrate.
Breathe.
Calm yourself.
Concentrate.
Breathe.
Calm yourself.
“That’s…it.” I smiled when I felt my finger twitch.
I smiled. Though it was the most pathetic in smile the world. This is how I survived here. I wasn’t insane…well apparently that was debatable because not many of the other girls acted like me. But this was the only thing I knew how to do.
This wasn’t supposed to be my life.
Shaking my head clear, I did my best not to think like that. If I did, I’d get upset. If I got upset, I couldn’t think, and if I couldn’t think, I was as good as dead.
Act crazy. Act as if you aren’t capable of thinking logically. Insanity is your friend. Fight. That is how you survived. That’s how all the holes stayed closed. How you don’t break…
ETHAN
When they opened the door to the big fridge in the hotel kitchen, a couple floors below the ballroom where polices officers and politicians patted themselves on the back, a rush of frosted air blew across my face. There was a still naked Mr. Downey, hung from a crane, pale, purple and shivering.
“Help him down,” I said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the coolness of it. In order to ‘help’ the man they cut his ties, letting him fall down on his own.
“Mr. Downey…I’m not very fond of people who waste my time. So I do hope you have more to say to me now than you did ten minutes ago,” I said as he shook on the ground, his skin color slowly matching that of a smurf.
“I’ve always wanted to know, if you cut off a man’s hand when he’s going into hypothermia, will he bleed less? My brother is a doctor. You’d think I could ask him these things, but he’d get all pissy and accuse me of wanting to know for all the wrong reasons. Grey, please end my curiosity.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, holding on to a butcher knife.
“A butcher knife, Grey? Feeling nostalgic?” I asked him.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, pulling out Downey’s arm. “You know I never continued the family business, but put a knife in my hand and a butcher’s son is still a butcher’s son.”
“I’m sure your parents are proud. Go on—”
“No! Please! No! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you,” Downey found the voice to beg.
“Well, get on with it then!” Grey hollered, the knife moving to the man’s throat.
“My name is Eamon Downey. I was sent by the Finnegan brothers.”
Pushing off the wall, I walked up to him. Kneeling in front of him, Grey released him and stepped back, leaving the butcher knife on the ground.
“I knew all of that already, Mr. Downey. I do not give a fuck about you or your name. My question was: what are they planning? Why did they send you?”
“Because…because…they wanted me to tell you, to lie and name some families that were turning on you.”
“When it’s really the Finnegan brothers who have betrayed me.” Did they really believe I’d allow them to determine who were my enemies and allies? Did I look like a dog?
“And—”
“And?”
Silence.
I grabbed the knife and brought it down onto his wrist. He screamed, trembling as he gripped onto his wrist in agony. “I’m glad you found your voice again, Mr. Downey. I’ll give you a second to compose yourself.”
“…s…sis…” He panted, weeping as the blood continued to flow from his wrist.
“Your second is up, now finish your speaking before I start to get violent…and believe me, you don’t want to see me violent.”
“They…he…they…”
“Mr. Downey.”
“Alliance.” He used all his strength to say.
“An alliance of what?” I asked calmly, spinning the knife in my hand.
“Your…your…sis—”
“Sister? They want my sister?”
“It’s all—that’s all I know,” he spoke quickly, his adrenaline pumping. Grabbing onto my arm with his good hand, he held on like a man on the edge. “I swear. I swear. Spare me! Please! Please!”
Reaching down, I peeled his bloody fingers off of me. “God forgives. The Pope forgives. I am neither God nor the Pope.”
“You can use me…I’ll do anything you ask! I’ll be a spy for you.”
“A spy that flips sides is not a spy, he’s a traitor. I have no use for traitors,” I told him, taking the butcher knife and hammering it down between his head and shoulders. His blood splattered onto my suit.
Rising to my feet, I held my arm out. “Where is Dona?” I asked.
“She just got on her flight. She’ll be here in the next hour,” Toby answered, placing the towel in my hand.
“Get her on the phone.”
Wiping my face and hands before dropping the towel over him, I undid my cufflinks and black tie before removing my shirt, throwing each one at Grey, who in return handed me a new replica pair.
“Got her, sir,” Toby said, handing me the ear piece.
“Dona.”
“You know, you really should give your speechwriter a raise. She’s absolutely brilliant.” Her smug came over loud and clear.
“Apparently I’ll have to, seeing as how she’s now flying commercial for some reason unbeknownst to me. What are you up to, baby sister?” I asked, buttoning up my shirt again.
Silence.
“Donatella.”
“Do not call my name like that. I’m your sister, not one of your minions.”
“I’m still waiting,” I replied as I placed the tie around my neck. I knew Dona would never do anything to betray me, but I also knew when she was hiding something.
“Why can’t we ever have normal brother-sister conversations? Like ‘Hey, Dona, how was Boston?’ ‘Oh, not bad, a little chilly for August, but hey, what can you do?’ ‘Yea. Chicago’s still as windy as ever. And I’m bored shitless. When are you getting back—’”
“How long do you plan on keeping this little one-person play going?”
“How long do you plan on treating me like a baby?”
“Until you’re older than me.” I smirked, hearing her suck her teeth, trying her best to keep from snapping at me. Instead, she chose to annoy me.
“Where did we pause the play? Oh, right, you miss me. ‘Well, don’t be bored, brother, I’ll be back before you can say—’”
I thought for a moment as to why she was fighting me so much. It wasn’t like her…and then I realized.
“You went for Wyatt.”
She didn’t reply.
“This is your last trip to Boston for a while.” I waited for her to get the last word, placing my jacket on as I walked toward the metal door.
“No matter what Wyatt’s done he’s still our brother.”
“I wasn’t the one who exiled him. He left on his own. He abandoned the family, his family, on his own. Therefore—”
“You cut him out...of everything.”
“I thought so and here you are.”
“I’m a Callahan! I go where I damn well please.” She snapped at me and for a second she sounded like our mother.
I could feel a headache.
> “I’ll see you at home,” I said to her before hanging up as I stepped outside in the breeze so painfully cold today it felt as if it sliced through flesh.
“Sir.” My driver nodded at me, holding the door for me.
“Take the scenic route.”
Sliding into the backseat, I reached in the fold of the chair in front of me, lifting the tablet. No sooner did it scan my thumbprint than I saw the file.
The name IVY O’DAVOREN appeared first.
Flipping onto the next page, the very first thing I saw was a mug shot, what looked to be a pale skinned mop with wild blond hair all over the place. I could hardly see anything her chart described.
Name: Ivy O’Davoren
Charges: Aggravated Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon.
Sentence: Twelve years
Age: Twenty-Seven
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blond
Height: 5’11
Tattoos: None
None of that was as important as the next section. Her next of kin.
Stepmother: Shay O’Davoren
Stepsister: Rory Donoghue
Cousin(s): Cillian Finnegan, Elroy Finnegan
They say every great plan only needs 50 percent of thought, and the rest is a combination of skill, will, and luck.
Of all the places for the Finnegan brothers to have family, how lucky was I that it would be in my very own backyard? How lucky was I that it was her…
IVY
“Rise and shine—”
Sitting up off my bed, I backed up quickly as he walked towards my cell door.
His blue eyes sent chills up my spine. They weren’t like mine. Or even my father’s. They were dead eyes, like the color of fish eyes just after being caught. Shiny, slimy, unblinking, and unfeeling.
“Can I help you with something?” I sneered as he looked through the small window of the door.
“Everything all right, forty-four?” A voice came over his radio.
“All clear. Walking through—”
“Forty-four. Bring her up. She has 32-14.”
32-14?
“Body down now!” he yelled at me, and I did what he said. Placing my hands on my head, I heard the keys jingle before the heavy slab slid open. He patted me down, grabbing my breast tightly and then moving down my back. I bit my lip to try and stop from lashing out at him when he squeezed my ass…after all, us girls in solitary didn’t have the right to request for female guards.
“Clear,” he called out and zip ties were on my hands. Chains cuffed to my feet.
Ignoring as they pulled and pitched and fucking shoved me, I followed them out of my cell, hobbling because of the weight of the chains on me. The walk was the same as always, long, dark, boring, and smelly. Finally, we got to a room. Two guards opened the door, and there standing in a gray suit, was an older black man.
“Please unchain my client.”
“No can do, she’s in solitary. How she even managed to—”
“Unchain her or I’ll have to start inquiring about your prison’s overzealous use of solitary confinement, lack of female staff, and, just for the heck of it, each and every last one of you,” he ordered and the man cursed him under his breath, but he did as he asked.
“You seem like a good lawyer. Which means I definitely can’t afford you,” I said, taking a seat in front of him. “Are you sure you have the right person?”
“Ivy O’Davoren, born July 4th, sentenced to twenty-five years for motor vehicle theft, aggravated assault, and assault with a deadly weapon? Pretty freckled nose with blue eyes, Ivy O’Davoren.”
I smiled. “You made that last part up. I’m sure that wasn’t in my file.”
“It wasn’t, but it could be. In fact, if you want to, it could say Ivy O’Davoren, released for good behavior. Or have your conviction turned completely—”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kinda shady?”
He nodded. “Yes. So what will it be, ma’am?”
“Ma’am now?” I laughed. “No, seriously, who are you? Is this some sick new way to punish inmates? Draw them in here and tell them, surprise, you have a new lawyer, here’s your get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Ms. O’Davoren, my name is Avery Barrow, and believe me, I know how shitty the Illinois State Correctional Facility can be. It’s one of the things in this state that refuses to bow to change.”
“So you’ve come to be fairy prison godfather?”
He snickered. “I’ve come on behalf of the Callahan family to make sure—”
“Wh…what?” I almost choked on air. “Who sent you?”
“The Callahan family.”
I laughed. I laughed so hard my stomach ached and my throat burned. I laughed like The Joker in the asylum because I was pretty sure that was where I was going to end up.
“The Callahan Family?” I repeated. “That nest of vipers and shit! Fuck the Callahan family! I’d rather spend the rest of eternity rotting in here being groped by the whole damn force than ever accept those people’s help.”
I spat to my left. “If they all drowned in their blood it wouldn’t be justice enough! Guards! I’m done here!”
“Ms. O’Davoren—”
“I’m not sure what those people have over you but really think of your own health before you come in here trying to sell me snake oil! Guards!” I yelled again, and they came in. This time much more willingly, I outstretched my arms to them.
Callahans…if I could kill them myself I would.
THREE
“As usual, there was a story behind the story, and that is where the truth was hidden.”
~ Kenneth Eade
EVEYLN
“He’s in the dining room, ma’am,” the butler said to me as the maids took my coat off.
Once upon a time, I used to know all the butlers and maids within this home by name. However, death had taught me many lessons throughout my life. The first was to only remember those who only truly mattered. If not, you’d learn that the heart could break infinitely. And the second lesson came almost immediately after…heartbreak happened on different levels and all caused various scars, some so great they never healed. You just learned to manage the pain.
“Nana!”
Turning back, I saw nothing but a blur of dark brown hair before she was clinging to me. Smiling, I hugged her back, placing my hand on her head.
“The princess is back in the castle.”
“Finally, someone who misses me.” She laughed, pulling back, standing eye level with me. Apparently, our heel height was the same today too. Despite the smile on her face, I could see a twig of familiar sadness in her green eyes.
“How was Wyatt?”
“Long story.” She shook her head. “How has it been with the great one?”
“Long story,” I repeated, nodding my head. “Now come on, I’m sure he’ll want to yell at me before dinner.”
“What now?” She groaned, walking with me toward the dining room.
There, all the way at end of the white clothed table, sat Ethan, cutting into his steak, while the butler poured wine into his glass.
“You’re both late,” he stated, his voice almost as emotionless as his green eyes, a trait both he and Donatella had inherited from their father.
“Here we go,” Donatella muttered to herself, walking me to my chair on the left of him. When she kissed my cheek and moved to take her seat at the right side of him, he paused, the marinated beef still on his fork, only an inch from his lips.
“How is Wyatt?”
“Do you care or are you asking just to remind me that I broke your law?”
He pretended to think for a moment. “Both.”
Sighing, I lifted my glass for wine because I sure as hell was not getting through this dinner without alcohol.
“I don’t know, Ethan. Why don’t you call and ask? His number hasn’t changed and you still have it in your phone.”
“So he’s coming back to beg forgiveness then?” He went
on, obviously missing her point. Actually no, purposely missing her point. “Because that is the only way he’ll ever get a call from me.”
“Funny, he said the same.” She just had to go stoking the flames.
“Dona.” Before either of them went down this path, I intervened. “Did you hear your brother is getting married?”
Her eyes widened and her face relaxed as she turned to Ethan. “You’re what?”
“Speaking of that, I asked you to go see her, not our damn lawyer. I could have called the damn lawyer.”
“You. Want me. To go to prison to talk to her?” I said slowly, just to make sure I wasn’t killing a child who had lost his mind.
“It is important.”
“Then go your damn self—”
“WAIT!” Dona hollered, glaring at both of us. “Prison? Marriage? What the fuck are we talking about? Why the fuck do I not know? And how fucking dare you let me find out like this?”
“I’m the one getting married. How does that involve you?” Ethan asked her, and I didn’t know if I should cry or scream at his idiocy.
“Ho—how?” She gasped as the server brought out our food. However, in her rage she grabbed the glass and threw it, nearly hitting Ethan in the face, but he didn’t even flinch, letting it shatter on the wall. “GET OUT!”
They ran so fast they almost dropped the food. Pity. I was actually hoping to eat sometime tonight.
Ethan sighed. “Dona—”
“I have a twin brother who hates being a part of this family so much he ran off to Boston to become a doctor. You and your infinite wisdom told me not to worry because he’d be back. Five years later and he’s still not back, Ethan. So whenever I’m feeling a little down, I have to fly my ass to Boston, just so he could tell me he’s busy and only meet up for coffee. I shared a womb with him for eight months and the bedroom for almost twelve years, and now I get twenty minutes over a shitty cup of coffee. You know why it’s shitty? Because I don’t drink COFFEE!” she hollered, snatching the bottle of wine the waiter left on the table and filling her glass. “I do, however, drink wine. Thank God, because if not, I’d actual want to kill you, big brother. You’re getting married? You? The same person who does not allow anyone to touch his skin? Really? How is that going to work—”