Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
And Blue Skies From Pain (4 page)
This is going to go bad,
Liam thought. “Been visiting a friend a few miles from here. Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk. Took a short cut through your fields, and got turned around. As I said, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sorry, sir.”
Liam thought. “Been visiting a friend a few miles from here. Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk. Took a short cut through your fields, and got turned around. As I said, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sorry, sir.”
“He’s seen us,” the spotty boy said. “He’ll have to be done for.”
Well, now. Aren’t you the wee hard man?
Liam swallowed the retort. At twenty-two, technically he wasn’t much older than the boy.
But Jesus, was I ever that much of a tosser?
Liam had to admit he probably had been and possibly still was. He had, after all, walked straight into this mess.
Me and my fucking temper.
Father Murray had warned him not to leave, but he hadn’t listened. That was generally the way of things, and generally, the way Liam liked it. On this side of the situation, however, it seemed a wee bit predictable. Once, he wouldn’t have cared, but lately he was considering the advantage in other behavioral options.
Liam swallowed the retort. At twenty-two, technically he wasn’t much older than the boy.
But Jesus, was I ever that much of a tosser?
Liam had to admit he probably had been and possibly still was. He had, after all, walked straight into this mess.
Me and my fucking temper.
Father Murray had warned him not to leave, but he hadn’t listened. That was generally the way of things, and generally, the way Liam liked it. On this side of the situation, however, it seemed a wee bit predictable. Once, he wouldn’t have cared, but lately he was considering the advantage in other behavioral options.
Will you look at that? Maturity, that is.
Mary Kate would’ve laughed, but Mary Kate wasn’t there. She was dead, and he was about to join her if he didn’t talk fast. “Look, mate, I don’t know or care who you are, or what you’re doing. Let me go back to where I came from, and I’ll leave you to your business.”
Mary Kate would’ve laughed, but Mary Kate wasn’t there. She was dead, and he was about to join her if he didn’t talk fast. “Look, mate, I don’t know or care who you are, or what you’re doing. Let me go back to where I came from, and I’ll leave you to your business.”
“Shut it, you,” the spotty boy said.
A big lorry pulled up to the gate and stopped. Liam’s stomach did a queasy jolt when he saw that its headlights were off. The sentry signaled to the driver, and the gate let out a groan as it was pushed open by one of the lorry’s passengers. Liam mentally cursed a third time when the man with the tattoo signaled to the others with a quick glance and a nod.
“Come with me,” the spotty boy said.
My fucking luck,
Liam thought with his heart slamming in his ears. He wondered whether they were smuggling whiskey, cigarettes or guns. If he was headed for a bullet in the skull, it’d be nice to know. He took a deep breath as the lorry approached, relying on his unusually powerful sense of smell to glean the answer.
Petrol. Smugglers then. Not paramilitaries.
Liam thought with his heart slamming in his ears. He wondered whether they were smuggling whiskey, cigarettes or guns. If he was headed for a bullet in the skull, it’d be nice to know. He took a deep breath as the lorry approached, relying on his unusually powerful sense of smell to glean the answer.
Petrol. Smugglers then. Not paramilitaries.
Since he’d “retired” from the Provisionals under less than ideal circumstances, he was relieved to have his suspicions confirmed. If they’d turned out to be Provos and found out who he was, they’d contact HQ and then his future—however short—would most likely involve a thorough hiding, a great deal of screaming and a blowtorch for good measure. On the other hand, Provos had a certain reputation even among smugglers. He’d decided to reveal himself for a Provo and pointedly draw the conclusion that it would be best to let him go his way unmolested, when he spotted a Glasgow Rangers stocking cap on one of the men who had hopped out of the truck. Liam’s blood froze.
Loyalist smugglers. Shite.
Loyalist smugglers. Shite.
Before he had time to wonder how he’d been so far wrong something heavy slammed into the side of his head, and the ground came up fast. Dazed, he felt himself lifted but couldn’t protest. He watched the gravel and then the grass pass under his dragging feet and contemplated the situation. He discovered he had few feelings on the subject of dying as the two men carried him through a break in the thick hedge at the far end of the dooryard.
“I’ve no time to be dealing with this. I’m for heading back. So, we’re trusting you,” one of the men whispered. “Don’t be fucking this up. You hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it fast. Get back to the lorry. We’ll tidy up after.”
Liam wondered if he’d see Mary Kate again. The prospect was somewhat comforting. His wife had been dead for well over a year, and although the sharp pain of grief was fading, there were still moments when the guilt and loneliness ambushed him. A strange sort of confusion set in. Not long ago he’d wanted nothing more than to die and couldn’t. It was odd that his time should come now when his prospects were better, and for doing something so stupid as not watching where he was going.
Feeling the curious emptiness in the back of his skull—a void he’d fought so hard for much of his adult life to create—he suddenly regretted the lack.
Father Murray’s little hypnosis experiment would take now of all times.
Liam considered calling the monster up out of his subconscious where it’d been banished for the time being but wasn’t confident he could, regardless of Father Murray insisting it was possible. Liam decided against the attempt when he remembered the rest of the priest’s plan and how it was likely to end.
Best to die now and get it over with, then.
Father Murray’s little hypnosis experiment would take now of all times.
Liam considered calling the monster up out of his subconscious where it’d been banished for the time being but wasn’t confident he could, regardless of Father Murray insisting it was possible. Liam decided against the attempt when he remembered the rest of the priest’s plan and how it was likely to end.
Best to die now and get it over with, then.
“This will do.”
They’d dragged him to a secluded area shielded by a rock wall and the thick hedge. It was far enough from the house that the others couldn’t see what was happening and close enough that reinforcements were at hand if called. He was dropped, and the older man left. Liam couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d been in a similar situation—only he’d been the one holding the gun and his best mate, Oran, had been facing the bullet. Liam rolled onto his back. A piercing headache punched its way through the numbness. His palms were stinging. The side of his face felt cool and sticky.
Blood.
He blinked, gazing up into the night sky. In the northeast, the light from Belfast overwhelmed the stars. There were no clouds, the rain having stopped earlier in the day.
Blood.
He blinked, gazing up into the night sky. In the northeast, the light from Belfast overwhelmed the stars. There were no clouds, the rain having stopped earlier in the day.
Clear night in spite of the cold. No moon,
he thought. He discovered that he felt nothing—no fear, no anger—at the prospect of dying, which seemed a wee bit unusual upon closer inspection.
he thought. He discovered that he felt nothing—no fear, no anger—at the prospect of dying, which seemed a wee bit unusual upon closer inspection.
The spotty boy with the Kalashnikov kicked him. “Up on your knees, taig.”
At that moment Liam’s temper flared up, and he clamped down on an urge to fall upon his captor and rip the boy’s throat out. The anger transformed from red hot lava to polar ice in a second. “This is fucking pointless. I said I’ll not tell anyone what you are doing here.”
“Shut up! Get on your knees!”
“That’s a bleeding automatic rifle, mate. You hit me with that thing it’ll make a real mess.”
“Why do you think we dragged you out here? Get on your knees, or I’ll plug you now.”
Fucker.
Liam gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Fine. I merely wanted to point out that a man with a coat as nice as that might not want to muck it up.” He didn’t understand why he was taking the piss. The boy wouldn’t react well, but Liam couldn’t stop himself. He staggered to his feet and considered his options, but it was difficult to think past the ache in his head and the frozen rage.
Liam gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Fine. I merely wanted to point out that a man with a coat as nice as that might not want to muck it up.” He didn’t understand why he was taking the piss. The boy wouldn’t react well, but Liam couldn’t stop himself. He staggered to his feet and considered his options, but it was difficult to think past the ache in his head and the frozen rage.
The boy paused and frowned. “Turn around. Then get on your knees. Now. I’ll not tell you again.” The rifle was shoved into Liam’s chest for emphasis.
The damp cold seeped through Liam’s jeans as the wet grass soaked his knees. The icy rifle barrel was balanced against the back of his neck. Without thinking, he jerked away and was rewarded with a sharp blow to the back of the head. Pain exploded behind his eyes.
“Don’t move.”
The gun barrel was replaced, and Liam attempted not to shiver lest sudden movement cause the gun to go off. He sensed what was most certainly the boy removing his precious leather coat one-handed. If Liam was to do something to save himself, now was the time, but with the rifle barrel where it was, all the kid needed to do was twitch and Liam would be decapitated in a stream of bullets.
Shite.
He’d been counting on the wee fuck bollocksing up.
Calm yourself. You’re alive yet. There’s still time. Think.
His skull remained empty of all but the feel of the gun barrel, the doubled pain and the drumming of his heart.
Shite.
He’d been counting on the wee fuck bollocksing up.
Calm yourself. You’re alive yet. There’s still time. Think.
His skull remained empty of all but the feel of the gun barrel, the doubled pain and the drumming of his heart.
A gust of wind jostled the hedge. Liam heard something else too—stealthy movement in the dark. A chill went through him, and his stomach did a lazy flip.
They’ve sent someone to check up on the wee shite. Fuck. Well, that’s that.
Taking a slow careful breath, cold, sharp air filled his lungs as he attempted to remember a final prayer. It’s what one did, right? Pray? He almost didn’t see the point. Filled with cold, his chest hurt.
Our Father, who art in heaven—
They’ve sent someone to check up on the wee shite. Fuck. Well, that’s that.
Taking a slow careful breath, cold, sharp air filled his lungs as he attempted to remember a final prayer. It’s what one did, right? Pray? He almost didn’t see the point. Filled with cold, his chest hurt.
Our Father, who art in heaven—
The ache in his head thudded with the beat of his heart, and his senses grew impossibly sharp. He again looked up into the sky. Faded as they were, the stars were beautiful, and as he watched, a lone rebel unbolted itself from its place in the firmament and streaked across the blackness in a graceful arc. As last sights went, it really wasn’t bad. He took in another slow breath to prepare himself and almost tasted grass, damp earth and the spotty boy’s stinking aftershave mixed with the smell of stale cigarettes.
Cigarettes.
He opened his mouth to request a smoke—an attempt at one last chance for life—when he heard a soft sound, and the gun was snatched from the back of his neck. He turned just as the spotty boy dropped to the ground.
He opened his mouth to request a smoke—an attempt at one last chance for life—when he heard a soft sound, and the gun was snatched from the back of his neck. He turned just as the spotty boy dropped to the ground.
“I ainm Danu, cad atá ar siúl agat?” In Danu’s name, what are you doing?
Liam turned his head to see the speaker. A tall man with shoulder-length blond hair exited the hedge. There was no point of entry or exit at the spot where he had appeared. This, of course, wasn’t the only thing that was out of the ordinary about him. He was also dressed in clothes that belonged in a university history textbook and was armed with a bronze-tipped spear. A round shield looped over one shoulder by the leather strap completed the ensemble.
Liam feigned a casual attitude regarding his uncle’s dramatic entrance while a rush of emotions flooded his brain—anger, disappointment and shame. Gazing down at the spotty boy, he asked in Irish, “Did you kill him?”
“What would I do a stupid thing like that for?” Sceolán asked. “It’s asleep, he is. He’ll be fine when he wakes.”
Staggering to his feet, Liam gave the limp form two good solid kicks. “Perhaps not as fine as all that.”
“Stop that now,” Sceolán said. “We’ll be late as it is.”
“You took your time in coming.” Picking up the rifle, Liam searched his former captor’s pockets for a second clip and was rewarded. He pocketed it and slung the Kalashnikov over his shoulder.
“Was looking for you back at the priest’s house where you’d called out. If you’d had any patience at all I’d have found you there and not here on the verge of getting your brains blown out. Crossed foolish of you. You are half mortal, you know. There’s no promise you’ll come back from it, and you’ll not impress the Fianna, acting the hot-headed wean.”
Liam hid his embarrassment and anger by glaring at the ground.
“You’ve no worry. I’ll not breathe a word of this foolishness. Although, I should, and the tongue-lashing you would get for it would serve you right.”
Accepting the cloth his uncle held out, Liam wiped the blood from the side of his face. “Aye, well… thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Sceolán pointed to the rifle. “I thought you’d retired from the fighting.”
“The wee fuck will have an easier time explaining if the gun is missing. They might not even shoot him.” Liam straightened and then joined Sceolán at the stone wall. “Anyway, it may come in handy.”
Sceolán turned, giving him a raised eyebrow. “I thought this was to be a negotiation?”
“Aye. Well, I’ve had dealings with the Bishop’s lads before. They’re not much for listening without strong motivation.”
Liam watched Sceolán scramble up and over the wall, exhibiting a grace that wouldn’t normally have been seen in someone his age, but then, a mortal Uncle Sceolán’s age was normally moldering in a thousand-year-old burial mound. Liam climbed the wall with far less skill and ease. His collar bone was still healing, and it ached from time to time—particularly if he wasn’t careful and, truth be told, he hadn’t been careful over the past hour or so.
“Can I ask you a question?” Liam asked, finally working up the nerve. There wasn’t much time. Soon he’d be living in what equated to a prison cell for an indefinite period of time, being examined by surgeons who weren’t certain he was human. When he thought about it, that wasn’t terribly different from Long Kesh, and here he was volunteering for it. He shuddered. “There’s something I need to know. Was the reason I’d called for you.”
Sceolán nodded.
“Do you dream?” Liam asked.
Pausing, Sceolán glanced over his shoulder with an amused expression. “What kind of a question is that?”
Liam felt his cheeks burn. He didn’t know the simplest things about his father’s people beyond the stories his aunt Sheila had told him, and so far, more than half of those had been proven to be either outright falsehoods or exaggerations.
Sceolán shrugged. “As much as anyone, I suppose.”
“When someone like you—I mean, me—us…. Are they only dreams?”
“Depends. It could be, or it could be a portent or a message.”
Liam squinted into the darkness and debated whether or not to go on. He took a deep breath. “How do you know if it’s important?”
“By the feel of it in my skull.”
“Oh.”
Sceolán gave him another long look. “Is that all?”
Liam wanted to continue. An entire catalog of questions had formed a queue in his brain over the past two weeks. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been an appropriate moment for personal questions the three times he’d seen his father since the incident at Raven’s Hill—or so Liam had told himself. Now certainly wasn’t the time. In any case, he’d already made a fool of himself twice and that was enough for one evening. “Aye. That’s all.”
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