An Irish Heart

by C M Blackwood

  Finally I sank down against the pillows, blessed by the peace which is delivered upon the wings of sleep.

  But I only dreamt again.

  I found myself beside a wide stream that flowed right through the middle of a large clearing. I stood there alone, watching the water as it ran quickly past.

  I noticed a strange glimmer out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and saw an exceedingly brilliant light; I squinted with all the world’s knowledge of abstraction, but I made out absolutely nothing, until I and the thing had come almost into a state of collision. Not that a true collision would have actually occurred – for the thing was without substance, without palpable matter and without resistance.

  “Katharine.”

  I heard my name spoken. I saw the translucent form that stood before me.

  “Mother?” I whispered.

  She said nothing. Her face was obscured by light and mist, and her figure was more, really, like a floating orb of luminescence – than it was like an actual body.

  As to her identity – well, it was just a feeling I had.

  I moved a little closer to the light, and attempted to touch it. Whenever I came close to it, though, it drifted away just out of my reach.

  “Do you not want me?” I asked.

  Again, there were no words – but the light did glide a bit nearer to me. It was close enough to touch, surely; but, since I did not want it to leave, I refrained from trying again.

  I stood, still and silent, for what felt like forever, watching the light as it moved back and forth, coming so close to me – and then moving quickly away. Finally, though, it began to drift even farther away, making no move to return.

  I could have sworn, that I heard it speak once more. I could not make out what it said – but I certainly wished that I was able.

  I woke with a start, feeling almost sick. I looked to Thea, who slept soundly. A feeling of dread, thick and rolling, began to grow in the pit my stomach.

  Chapter 21

  I can’t honestly say that there was anything that morning – in the air, perhaps, or the quality of the light – that gave the impression of impending tragedy. No, there was nothing like that. But I remembered my dream, and my heart felt heavy as a stone.

  The morning passed uneventfully. I stayed close by Thea, feeling silly all the while for being so anxious – but I was anxious just the same.

  She seemed to notice.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Really?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I had a strange dream last night. It was . . . very real.”

  “What was it about?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly.”

  “Then why did it bother you so much?”

  I did not think before saying, “It felt like a warning.”

  Thea frowned. “A warning? About what?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “She?”

  I looked away. “Never mind.”

  Thea came to sit by me. She took my hand in hers, and kissed it gently. “Whatever it was,” she said, “it was only a dream. It’s a beautiful day! Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  I tried to smile. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “Now, why don’t you go for your walk? You get cranky when you don’t go.”

  I scowled. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Well, fine then.” I stood up. “If you want to be rid of me, I suppose I’ll just go.”

  She laughed, and rose to meet me. She touched my face, kissed my lips. “I never want to be rid of you. I’ll be waiting for you, right here.”

  Outside, the sun was bright. The birds sang loudly (though from where I’m sure I didn’t know, as there was not a tree in sight), their cries piercing pleasantly through the cold air. I walked the same way as I always did, towards the West end of Marcker Street, and the quieter roads and lanes which one could find in that direction.

  I was not surprised to walk right past Tyler Ashley. He joined me without invitation.

  “How’s it going, chap?” he asked.

  “Just as well as always,” I answered. “And you, madam?”

  “Oh, just the same.”

  “Lovely.”

  “You know,” said he, “I’ll never understand why you go tramping through this snow, day after day, when you could be sitting warm beside a fire.”

  “You’re tramping with me.”

  “You have a point there.”

  He followed me as I went all about, doing nothing and going nowhere; until there came a whitish light that began to flicker in the corner of my eye. I looked to the left; but there was nothing there. So I kept on, only to be stopped once again by an even brighter light. Naturally, I assumed that it was only the sun; but as I started up again on my course, a familiar sinking feeling came upon me. Another flash of light – just to the right.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Tyler.

  “See what?”

  No clearing this time, and no stream – but it was quite certainly the very same light. I knew that it was, despite the fact that it continued to hide from my full vision, and darted away each time my eyes came near.

  Something felt wrong. Something was not right.

  “What’s the matter?” Tyler asked. “You look strange.”

  I turned and ran. I ran faster than I could remember ever having run – I ran faster than I thought my legs could carry me, faster than I thought a person was capable. But I was so far away – it took me so long to get back!

  Though I hoped, though I prayed, I knew that something was very wrong, the second I entered the yard. The front doors to two of the flats stood wide open, while the last had attained a rather long crack, presumably from being slammed too hard. There was a little crowd gathering in the street. They talked loudly amongst themselves, pointing down the street; where they said they had seen a motorcar depart. People coming out of “that building across the way,” they said – which was the Warner household – followed by the quick escape of the vehicle.

  I raced immediately through the centre doorway, straight to mine and Thea’s room. I saw nothing on my way; there existed a realm of spinning colour to either side of me; there was nothing but what lay directly ahead. Only that was enough to strip away my very soul – so I suppose I should have been grateful for the limited vision.

  The room was in shambles, but was empty. The bed had been pulled apart; the very stuffing of it lay scattered upon the floor. The curtains at the window had been rived from the rod. They were twisted now in a heap upon the carpet, the very image of chaos and disorder.

  It took me a little, to tear myself away from the room; but finally I came to understand that it would give me no answers. So I went out into the hallway, and then crept slowly towards the kitchen. I entered that room at the pace of a crawling snail, looking from side to side, hoping against all hope that I would see nothing – that the extent of the damage reached only so far as the doorway of the ruined bedroom. But it took not long at all for me to see the overturned chairs. It took not long at all, to spot the streaks of red upon the walls; the puddles upon the floor. The blood, however, was the only sign of death. There were no bodies – dead or otherwise.

  When I entered the parlour, my fragile hopes were upset over the rushing tide of truth. They had been rounded into this room – collected from all three flats, and clustered together in a location of easy disposal. I looked upon them for only a moment. My eyes slid back and forth, trying to evade, yet attempting to focus.

  I gazed at their blank faces, their empty eyes. I saw the blood, smeared all over their bodies, smeared all over everything. It stained the carpet, creeping steadily to create slow-growing patterns.

  There was John, lying near Kevin. There was Sally, and Mrs Warner – and old Mr McAlbee, who had not even been spared the kindness of dying in his own bed.

  There was Donny, right beside his
younger brother. It was as though he had been trying to protect him, right up until the moment he fell. I looked for a long moment into Joseph’s pale face, remembering how lively and animated it had been – only that morning. I remembered the first time I saw him, standing on the stoop of Lennox Lane, in his blue wool cap.

  I stifled a sob.

  When I saw the small hands of the twins, still outstretched, reaching as if for something that had been taken from them, I lost track of my concentration. I lost the order of my thoughts, the thoughts that would have put me across the room and out the door once more; they fell to the carpet and mixed with the blood, flowing away from me into the corners of the room.

  ***

  I came back to the coppery stench of blood by way of a loud, deep voice; accompanied by a rough, wet something that persisted against my cheek. I rolled onto my back, flinching at a pain in my shoulder.

  Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, I listened to the voice. It floated closer with each passing second. The sunlight had ceased to illuminate; it was no longer a source of comfort, a sign of safety. Now, it cast light upon things which were not meant to be seen. It crystallised horrifying images, laying waste to anything it made visible.

  I imagined Thea’s face. I saw her up above me, etched onto the ceiling as an image of the Sistine Chapel. (I had seen a picture of it once, in a book.) The sunlight would not ruin her. Nothing could.

  I heard the voice again, calling to me from somewhere very near. “Kate! Kate, where are you?”

  Moments later, Tyler Ashley’s face swam over me, transformed by an expression of genuine shock. He looked at the bodies on the floor.

  “What in the hell . . .?”

  I said nothing. I made no effort to rise; but Tyler was persistent. What with the rigour of my limbs, and my virtual unwillingness to stand, he had quite a time peeling me from the carpet. I realised, then, what that wet something had been, for Dolly the dog was standing, whining loudly, next to Tyler.

  “You ran so fast,” he said. “I tried to keep up, but you ran so fast . . .”

  I looked at him blankly. My cheeks were wet, and my hands were cold. I felt very small.

  “Kate, talk to me.”

  Again, out went my focus. Again, up came the floor – but this time Tyler Ashley caught me as I fell. The difference, this time, was that I would not let myself go; I would not seek peace in the form of oblivion.

  I leapt to my feet, and barrelled out of the flat. I rushed into the crowd that pulsed in the street; took hold of people by their collars, and screamed my questions into their shocked faces. “Where is she?” I hollered, shaking them ruthlessly, one by one. “Where did they take her? You’ve been watching this whole time! Where is she?”

  Tyler came finally to pry me away from the crowd. He held me firmly by the shoulders, and led me down the street, even as I tried to turn and run from him. They knew! They knew – they had seen!

  “Let me go, let me go!” I cried, fighting uselessly against Tyler’s inescapable strength. “They know! Don’t you see that they know? Let me go!”

  But he would not let me go; and as it turned out, after a policemen had been called upon to take statements from the witnesses, not one of them knew anything at all.

  What did you see?

  I saw some men dash into that building. I heard gunshots. I saw the men come out; I saw them drive away.

  Did they have anyone with them? Anyone who wasn’t there before? A few ladies, perhaps?

  I’m sure I don’t know. It was all so very quick, you know! I’m sure I don’t know anything about that.

  ***

  Tyler and I stayed for the funeral. We stood with what seemed the entire neighbourhood, watching the cheap wooden caskets being lowered into the ground. Ordinary pine boxes, they were. There was only one headstone for the entire family, which listed names without years.

  It was a goodbye that I had not been prepared for. It seemed such a short time ago when Joseph Craton showed up on my doorstep – and why would I have ever anticipated anything like this? I could not imagine his beautiful, bright face inside that box – underneath that dirt.

  January 11, 1916

  I am writing again in this miserable journal, which I seem only to take notice of in times of distress. It is nothing but an evil object, like a talisman which has had a curse laid upon it! Knowing this, as surely I must have known before, why ever did I bring it here? If I had not, would things have turned out differently? I suppose I shall never know the answer to that; and for that reason, I shall ever be tormented by the thought.

  Marcker Street is far behind me, and I cannot say that I know what lies ahead. I think of all that’s changed as I sit beside Tyler, allowing his arm to remain draped around my shoulder. I know that he means only to comfort me. He is my only ally now – for he has promised to help me find Thea. Whether or not we ever will, is a subject best left to my dreams, my nightmares. They come often enough.

  The coach bumps on down the dark road. I jiggle and jolt in my seat, but I pay it no heed. I care nothing for the pain in my back; nothing for the rutted road. I don’t care where it’s taking me – unless it’s taking me to Thea.

  ***

  “Kate.”

  “What?”

  “Are you having a nightmare?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You looked upset.”

  “I was sleeping, Tyler.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  I said nothing. The truth of it was that I had been dreaming – or, at least, I had been thinking about what I thought I had been dreaming, just before I fell asleep.

  I saw their bodies often, in my mind – covered in blood, eyes wide open. I had not thought to pay attention, at the time, to who was there and who was not. I knew now, though, that three had been missing: Thea, Kerry, and Mary-Anne. Why had they taken them, and killed all the rest? Because they were female? Young and pretty? I really didn’t know.

  Thea was, of course, the one thought that filled my mind, all through the day and night. I tried to think of her only as I knew her, and not as what may have become of her. It was too painful to hold her that way.

  Tyler saw her often in my eyes, I think. He would grow all of a sudden very quiet, and very respectful of my space. He remained silent through the whole wrenching extraction of my heart; he spoke not a word as my soul heaved with silent cries.

  ***

  We stayed for a time at a small inn. The Blue Buckle, I believe it was called. I slept most days, most nights. I left my warm, lumpish bed only to bathe – Tyler was lucky if he could get me to eat on even days. And, when I did, I ate only the small rations he brought me from the pub downstairs. I grew thin, wan and withdrawn; the dark shadows beneath my eyes persisted, in spite of my excessive sleeping.

  It seemed that Tyler had brought the dog along, too. She tried, several times, to climb up into my bed and lie beside me; but I pushed her always back down, and she would cross the floor with drooping tail, to lie upon the second bed.

  The Blue Buckle was a very noisy establishment. Men talked loudly, down in the pub, all night long. They hollered and guffawed, making quite the fuss until all hours of the morning. And once they had gone, there were the children outside, shouting to one another in the street beneath the window.

  I paid none of it very much attention. I stared up at the ceiling, mostly, watching scenes from a future that I was realising (a little more each day) might never come to pass.

  My dreams were blurred and indistinct, leaving almost no room for remembrance upon waking. I would sit up straight in bed, rubbing my eyes and pulling slightly at my hair; I had no patience for obscurities.

  I would then sigh in frustration, and slam the pillow with my fist. I was always dissatisfied with the sound it made; so I would turn and biff the nightstand. Naturally, I winced immediately, and held the knuckles of my right hand under my chin, squinting through the tears that welled up in my ey
es.

  We whiled away the rest of the winter in that filthy little building. Tyler went off in the afternoon (and did not return sometimes till late at night) to do whatever it was that he did, while I stayed alone in that stale room, sleeping and dreaming of nothing. I cried often, with little to no provocation. Tyler stopped, after a while, asking after the cause. It was a useless question, anyway.

  On the morning of March the third, however, Tyler roused me roughly, shaking my shoulder with a large hand. “Get up,” he ordered. “We’re off.”

  I stared at him.

  “You heard me, woman. I’m going – and I doubt that you want to stay here, all by your lonesome.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “It won’t take you long to run out of money.”

  “I don’t want any.”

  He laughed. “Well, that’s good for you. The owner of this inn, however, is quite keen on the stuff.”

  “I’ll stay in the apartment for battered wives.”

  “You aren’t battered.”

  “Would you mind knocking me about a bit, before you go?”

  “I’m not going to hit you. Now listen – get up out of that bed! Go splash some water on yourself, and get ready to leave. I’ve already packed our things.”

  I sighed, and rose quite as slowly as I could manage. I moved at a lazy pace, glancing occasionally at Tyler, to see if I was irritating him. It was the only form of amusement I had left.

  “Where are we going?” I finally asked.

  “Somewhere interesting.”

  “I highly doubt that we’ll be in agreement on that.”

  “Maybe not. But we’re going there, anyway.”

  “Where, for Christ’s sake?”

  “To visit an old friend of mine.”

  “Why would I want to visit your friend?”

  “I don’t care whether you want to. But I’m going; and you’re coming.”

  I made a face, and went to collect my bag.

  ***

  With my pack on my back, I waited for Tyler to finish the last of his poking about, and went to the window to look out at the empty lot. I saw two horses tied near the front steps, standing up straight in the cold morning light.