Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
And Blue Skies From Pain (15 page)
“Oh,” Father Murray said, thinking. “Can Mrs. Kelly sense the Fallen as Liam does?”
“You’d have to ask her,” Sceolán said. “But I’m not certain she knows her own strength. She doesn’t seem to use it for anything but making my brother miserable.” He let out a short laugh. “Women. Aye?”
“So, Liam’s ability to smell the Fallen is unique?”
Sceolán frowned in thought. “He wouldn’t be the first púca with such a nose. But we’ve not seen the like among our ranks in quite a long time. If what you say is true, then our Liam has great value for our people.”
“For mortals as well.”
Mrs. Kelly has some sort of power,
Father Murray thought.
And it runs in families. What of Liam’s siblings?
Mrs. Kelly has some sort of power,
Father Murray thought.
And it runs in families. What of Liam’s siblings?
“Who is this… Thomas?”
“Father Declan Thomas is a friend,” Father Murray said. “I trust him.”
“And those who gave Liam the beating? What is to become of them?” Sceolán asked. His expression was unreadable, but the flicker of red in his eyes had returned.
“They’re being decontaminated.”
“Ah.” Sceolán looked down at the pavement. “This can be done?”
“With mortals. Yes,” Father Murray said. “Not with—”
“The Fallen?” Sceolán’s eyes narrowed.
“No. Not with them,” Father Murray said, making a point to emphasize the last word.
Sceolán nodded. “There’ll be a price. Liam will see it paid.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I must go now,” Sceolán said. “I’ll bring my brother your news. He’ll let you know where things stand on the peace agreement.” He turned and started down the walk.
“Wait! You didn’t answer my question.”
Speaking over his shoulder, Sceolán said, “I told you I was here to get information. Not give it. Be glad I’ve seen fit to grant you what I have.”
Father Murray trotted down the walk to catch up. “But how will I know that the agreement is still in effect?”
“We will leave you a sign,” Sceolán said, taking a quick turn at the corner before Father Murray could reach it. “And should that sign be one of your own without his head… well… that should be easy enough to interpret, don’t you think?”
Father Murray ran to the end of the street. He arrived only moments after Sceolán, but by the time he got there Sceolán was gone.
Chapter 7
Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
November 1977
November 1977
“H
ello, sweetheart. Glad to see me?”
ello, sweetheart. Glad to see me?”
Liam sat bolt upright in bed, heart slamming his breastbone like a rioter. That voice with its Liverpool accent brought the hairs on the back of his neck to full attention.
Another fucking dream,
he thought, breathing heavy. He focused on calming himself. He didn’t want the cameras picking up yet another embarrassing moment, but it was then that he registered the balding figure standing at the foot of the bed and choked.
Another fucking dream,
he thought, breathing heavy. He focused on calming himself. He didn’t want the cameras picking up yet another embarrassing moment, but it was then that he registered the balding figure standing at the foot of the bed and choked.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” An electric charge of terror knifed Liam in the heart. “You’re dead!”
“Right you are,” said Detective Inspector Haddock. “Not much gets past you, does it?”
“How—what are you doing here?” Liam glanced at the door. It was shut. He hadn’t heard it open.
Am I dreaming?
Am I dreaming?
“Your slow Paddy brain just can’t comprehend the situation, is that it? Let’s review, shall we? I’m dead. You killed me. Therefore, the term for my condition is ‘ghost.’ As for what I’m doing,” Haddock moved to the side of the bed. “Was never much for superstitious rot, but I believe they call it haunting.”
D.I. Haddock didn’t appear even remotely specter-like. If anything, the bent Peeler was downright opaque. Light from the security lamps cast soft shadows on the blue wool blanket. Liam reached out to touch the rough surface of the cloth, avoiding Haddock’s silhouette. “You’re no shade. You’re lying.”
Making a clucking sound in the back of his throat, Haddock pointed to the camera bolted above the washroom door. “Now, now. Keep that up and someone’s likely to take notice. And I’d prefer to have you to myself for the time being.”
Liam would’ve been fine with the screws showing up even if it meant another hiding. It would settle the question of whether or not he’d gone mad or Haddock was real.
And if something is wrong and others are made aware of it? What then?
And if something is wrong and others are made aware of it? What then?
Turning away from the camera, Liam whispered, “What the fuck do you want?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Haddock walked to the center of the room and surveyed his surroundings. He gave off an air of arrogant satisfaction. With a slow nod, he turned and smiled his shark’s smile. To Liam’s thinking, the expression had been bad enough before, but something about this version of Haddock lent it even more menace. “Nice place you got here. A bloke in my condition could get real comfortable like.”
“The fuck away with y—”
“Shhhhhh.” Haddock pointed to the camera a second time. “They can’t see or hear me, but they can certainly see and hear you.”
Running his left hand through his hair, Liam reached a decision. He climbed out of bed somewhat awkwardly due to the sling on his right arm and limped to the washroom. Without closing the door—there was none to close—he turned on the faucet and then let the water run in the sink as if he were waiting for it to heat up. He had hoped the dream or hallucination or whatever it was would stop once he’d gotten out of bed, but Haddock’s face appeared in the mirror behind him. The apparition, if apparition it was, was so real Liam could smell the man’s aftershave.
“Why are you here?” Liam asked, dreading the answer.
“Been asking myself the very same question. Came up with a few answers. Want to know what I’ve discovered?”
Liam washed his face with the warm water and pretended to check the state of the bruises. The image staring back at him with its bed-rumpled hair, blackened eyes and swollen nose reminded him of a bare-knuckle boxer after a match.
A losing match
, he thought, and waited for Haddock to get on with it.
A losing match
, he thought, and waited for Haddock to get on with it.
“It’s your fucking fault,” Haddock said, taking in the washroom’s decor. He touched an empty shelf and made a disapproving sound as if he’d found the level of cleanliness not to his liking. “Not that I can think of anywhere better to be. The entertainment potential alone. Brilliant.”
“This isn’t happening.” Dread twisted in Liam’s stomach.
“Oh, let me assure you. It is.”
“I’m dreaming.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m mad.”
“Highly likely, given the state of the inside of your cracked Fenian skull,” Haddock said. “Then again, you’re a fucking addict. You might be high.”
“Fuck you. It’s clean, I am.” The words were out like a cry of pain in response to a roughly probed wound. The guilt made no sense. Liam didn’t give a shite what the fuck Haddock thought, but there it was, nonetheless.
“Do you really want to be? That shit the surgeon gave you was better than anything I ever had on hand. Medical-grade morphine. Want to bet there’s more where that came from?”
“Fuck you.”
“Your conversation skills haven’t improved. Remember when Nigel Johnston pounded the shit out of you? He could teach this lot a few things. Ah, those were the days.”
Liam closed his eyes. He felt fuzzy but blessedly pain-free. He didn’t know what the Inquisitor had injected him with. Whatever it was, Haddock was right on that count. It had been really good, not that he’d noticed at the time. Perhaps it was still in effect? He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. The Inquisitor might have dosed him again, must have. The shoulder didn’t hurt. Liam turned the water off. Checking his watch, he saw it was six o’clock. Whether it was morning or night or even what day it was, he wasn’t sure. He would’ve thought the time loss disconcerting except that Haddock’s presence was far, far worse.
“What to do? What to do?” Haddock asked. “So much to catch up on.”
Ignoring Haddock, Liam went back to bed and shut his eyes.
Please let this be a hallucination,
he thought. “Go the fuck away.”
Please let this be a hallucination,
he thought. “Go the fuck away.”
“Had an interesting conversation with your wife,” Haddock said.
Liam’s eyes snapped open, and Haddock’s cold hand clamped down on his mouth.
“Call me curious. Did you kill her too?” Haddock asked, standing over him. “Murdered your only friend and then your wife? Doesn’t pay to stick around you does it?”
Liam’s reply was muffled by Haddock’s palm.
I didn’t kill her!
I didn’t kill her!
“You are one sad sack of worthless shit. Paddies.” With the fingers of his right hand, Haddock pinched Liam’s nose shut. “You are useful for one thing, however.”
Unable to breathe, Liam dug at Haddock’s hands but couldn’t do much one-handed. Liam twisted and writhed on the mattress heedless of his bruised nose. Black spots stained his vision. The room grew dim. His lungs burned for air. Haddock’s palm was corpse-cold against his face, and the stench of death lodged itself in the back of Liam’s throat. Somewhere the now familiar alarm whooped. Gagging, he tore at Haddock with both hands now, forgetting his broken shoulder.
“Liam?” Father Murray knocked on the door. “Is something wrong? Liam?” The door opened.
Haddock vanished, and Liam was left gasping. His vision brightened with the flood of oxygen. Father Murray rushed to his bedside. The telephone rang from Father Murray’s room.
“What’s wrong?”
Liam sat up and scanned the area for any sign of Haddock.
“Liam?”
He slumped in relief. “Dream. That’s all. It was a dream.”
“I’ll call off the alarm and get some water.”
“Don’t leave!”
Father Murray paused, a concerned, uneasy expression on his face.
He thinks I’m off my nut,
Liam thought.
Fuck. Maybe I am.
His shoulder started hurting, the pain ramping up into something huge. He needed to get his arm back in the sling, but the fucking thing was bunched into a snarled mess, and he couldn’t get it sorted one-handed. Even so, he was shaking so bad that the cloth slipped out of his hand twice.
Liam thought.
Fuck. Maybe I am.
His shoulder started hurting, the pain ramping up into something huge. He needed to get his arm back in the sling, but the fucking thing was bunched into a snarled mess, and he couldn’t get it sorted one-handed. Even so, he was shaking so bad that the cloth slipped out of his hand twice.
Father Murray reached over to help without being asked.
“All right.” Once the sling was put right, he collected the only chair in the room and deposited it next to the bed. “I’m here. Talk.”
Liam waited until his heart slowed, and his breathing normalized. Calm, he instantly felt foolish. None of the past twenty minutes made any sense. It was the drugs.
Had to be.
He’d been dreaming of Haddock on and off for a week at least. What had happened was only more of the same. If he were free, he’d go for a run to clear his head, but he wasn’t free. He was locked away in this place until the Church was done with him, and he’d been the one to let them do it. Conflicting needs battled for attention: a deep desire to run; the hunger for heroin; the faded yearning for Mary Kate accompanied by an ache of refreshed grief.
Had to be.
He’d been dreaming of Haddock on and off for a week at least. What had happened was only more of the same. If he were free, he’d go for a run to clear his head, but he wasn’t free. He was locked away in this place until the Church was done with him, and he’d been the one to let them do it. Conflicting needs battled for attention: a deep desire to run; the hunger for heroin; the faded yearning for Mary Kate accompanied by an ache of refreshed grief.
Footsteps thudded in the hall outside.
“Tea. I want some tea.” Left-handed, Liam patted the pocket of the shirt he’d taken to sleeping in, checking that the steel lighter was still there. Then he got out of bed and limped to the kitchen.
Father Murray followed. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“You’ll think me mad,” Liam whispered and then filled the electric tea kettle with fresh water and plugged it in.
Shite. The cameras. They’ll have it all on film.
Shite. The cameras. They’ll have it all on film.
“Tell me anyway,” Father Murray said.
Security pounded on the door. Father Murray left him in order to answer it. Liam tensed up in anticipation of another beating. On impulse, he opened the cabinet containing the mugs and grabbed one. If Father Murray pressed him afterward, he decided to say he’d been readying it for tea and not the guards. Although Liam wasn’t exactly certain of his ability to throw left-handed, a token resistance was better than none at all. However, when Father Murray opened the door the guards didn’t force themselves inside. The tea kettle gave off a loud pop, punctuating the whispered exchange at the door. Liam ignored the conversation, loitering at the open cabinet until the door thumped shut. With that done, he watched Father Murray rush to the next room. The telephone stopped its protests and not long after the alarm ceased its squalling.
Uneasy, Liam continued with the process of making tea. He was slowly getting used to navigating the world left-handed. On his feet again, he already felt better. The pain living in his right shoulder was passing into another fitful sleep. Already it registered as little more than a vague ache. His face—all but the freshly bruised nose—was healing, and his ribs felt fine. The bandages would be off soon, probably later in the day. That is, provided there were no more confrontations.
With the immediate threat resolved, his thoughts drifted back to Haddock.
My fault, he said. What did he mean by that? Was it only a dream? Am I going mad?
My fault, he said. What did he mean by that? Was it only a dream? Am I going mad?
The last question had been asked so often since the monster first came to him that it lurked in the back of his brain like a Loyalist thug waiting for an opportunity at a soft target.
Am I mad?
Liam wanted the answer, but just as soon as he prepared himself to ask the question and face the truth he shied away from it. The consequences were too frightening. There was nothing in which he could trust. He didn’t know the simplest things about himself, his Fey heritage, and what any of it might mean. He had so many questions for his father and uncle. However, there were no means for answers until he was free. What day was it? Tuesday? If they sensed something wrong in him, would the Order insist on keeping him longer than originally agreed? The walls pressed in and the compulsion to run made him twitch. He actually abandoned the tea and took three steps toward the door before he stopped himself short.
Am I mad?
Liam wanted the answer, but just as soon as he prepared himself to ask the question and face the truth he shied away from it. The consequences were too frightening. There was nothing in which he could trust. He didn’t know the simplest things about himself, his Fey heritage, and what any of it might mean. He had so many questions for his father and uncle. However, there were no means for answers until he was free. What day was it? Tuesday? If they sensed something wrong in him, would the Order insist on keeping him longer than originally agreed? The walls pressed in and the compulsion to run made him twitch. He actually abandoned the tea and took three steps toward the door before he stopped himself short.
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