Crane (18 page)

“I have a few I’d like to explore.” With th
e toe of her boot, Ireland kicked the door shut behind her.

21

Ireland

Ireland groaned and mashed her face deeper into the pillow as bright morning light beamed in through the blinds, stabbing her brain with a thousand tiny knives.

“
Ya know, vices really aren’t for everyone. Some people are better off sticking with a more
vanilla
existence.”

Ireland spun at the sound of Noah’s voice
, the rapid motion making it mandatory for her to slap the butts of her hands against her temples until the room stopped spinning. Only when the tilt-o-whirl effect eased did she risk opening her clamped lids again … and found herself staring straight down at her
extremely
bare chest.

“This is your house, your bed, and I am all kinds of naked,” she stated
, clinging to modesty long since lost by yanking the comforter up to shield herself.

“That would be at your insistence.” Noah shrugged
his suit jacket up his arms. After situating it into place, he thumbed the front buttons closed. “I tried my damnedest to keep you clothed. Even took you back out to the beer tent, hoping a public venue would curb that impulse. Right around the time they kicked us out, I figured that wasn’t the case. So, I brought you back here. You stripped down, while I slept on the couch—safe from your persistently wandering hands. Which brings us to the fun question; what exactly were you on? Uppers? Downers? Viagra?”

“I … don’t remember.” Ireland wiped the sleep from her eyes
and tried to force her hazy brain to piece together the puzzle that was last night. “I was at the hospital yesterday. Maybe I had a reaction to the pain meds?”

“If that’s the case, don’t take them again,” Noah suggested,
one corner of his mouth tugging back in an impish half-grin. “They turn you into Courtney Love.”

“Noted
.” Ireland huffed a wry laugh that aggravated her parched throat. “
Ahem—
I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, or me, or both of us.”

The bed springs squeaked as Noah flopped down beside her
, his arm playfully nudging hers. “My old Sunday school teacher thinks her time with me was a total waste, but other than that we’re good.”

“Again, so sorry
.” Ireland could barely force herself to meet the eyes of the beautiful man that would now, most likely, cross the street to avoid her.

“A
h, no worries.” He shrugged, the warmth of his smile making her painfully aware she was sans pants. “We all do stupid crap we shouldn’t sometimes.”

“Oh yeah? What have you done lately that can
even remotely compare with my barfly moment?”

Noah leaned back
, pretending to peek around the comforter she clung to tightly. “I may have stolen a quick glimpse while I was tucking you in.”

Ireland
shoved him away, an abrupt laugh sneaking past her lips. “So, what’s with the monkey suit? Did my antics from last night prompt you to join the CIA? Did I offend a government official?”

“I wish it
was something cool like that.” His tone went suddenly somber as he bent down to slide a pair of black loafers out from under the bed. “Today is Mason’s funeral.”

Tucking the
blanket around herself, Ireland busied herself looking for her clothes in a pathetic attempt to distract from the knot of guilt that twisted in her gut. “His poor family. I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.”

Because of me
.

Noah rested the heel of his foot on the bed to tie his shoe, then switched to do the other. “It would be easier if they leaned on each other during this, but key members of the family have d
ecided they will all be taking the ‘lone wolf’ approach to coping.”

“What does that mean?” Ireland plucked her panties from
the top of the lamp on the dresser and her pants off the floor. “And, side note, any idea where my bra ended up?”

“That would be on the antennae of my truck. Again, at your insistence.”

“Of course it was,” Ireland groaned, with an exasperated eye roll.

“As for the Fabulous Brunt Boys, my sister Cassie has been tight
BFFs with Mason’s stepmom, Analysia, since high school.” Rising off the bed, Noah shook the legs of his trousers straight. “Cas called last night in one of her high-pitched tizzies that make my ears bleed. She can’t make it into town for the funeral, but insisted—amidst very colorful language—that I
have
to be there for Ana. Apparently, the less than charming Mr. Brunt has banned her from riding in the car with the family to the cemetery and won’t even let her be seated with them during the service. It’s ridiculous. Just because she didn’t carry the kid for nine months doesn’t mean she won’t mourn him.”

“I met her once at the school
.” Ireland adjusted the comforter that had begun to slip. “She wanted a relationship with Mason. That may as well have been written on her face in Sharpie. Who knows, maybe with time he would’ve opened up to her enough for them to have some kind of relationship. Now that will never happen.”

Because of me
.

Guilt stabbed into her, causing more pain than any of the injuries she’d suffered trying to remove her tattoo. She swallowed hard
to force down the rising lump of sorrow. Even then her voice came out a dry rattle. “Your sister’s right. She needs a shoulder today.”

“And a shoulder I shall be.” Noah closed the distance between them
in three strides. His palm brushed her cheek as he curled his fingertips around the back of her neck, tilting her face to his. “If you’re available, I’d love to see you again tonight. But maybe a little
less
of you this time? I’m not sure how long I can keep up this whole ‘gentleman’ thing.”

Ireland leaned into his touch
, blinking away the anguish she felt certain had clouded her gaze. “I’d like that … both parts of it.”

“I look forward to it
.” Noah leaned in to brush a quick kiss to her forehead, allowing Ireland a moment to breathe in the fresh, smooth scent of his aftershave. A naughty twinkle warmed his hazel eyes to a brilliant aquamarine as he turned on his heel and strode for the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back with one hand rested casually against the door jam. “Oh, I almost forgot, I took your necklace off and laid it on the nightstand. That chain is pretty long and I didn’t want it strangling you in your sleep.”

“My necklace?” Ireland frowned, her gaze flicking toward the table. Just like that it all came rushing back; faking out Rip, stealing the talisman and sliding it on in hopes of protecting the residents of Tarrytown
… from
her
. “Oh.
Oh no
! Noah, di—did I hurt anyone last night? Did I leave your sight for even a minute?”

Noah cocked his head, obviously surprised
by her direct line of questioning. “No, we were together all night. There was a moment that you almost punched a girl that cut in front of you in line for the bathroom, but I was able to intervene before the earrings came off.”

“Thank you
.” She clamped both hands over her heart, muttering the declaration to Noah and the universe in general.

Rip
sat on the couch, his legs—clad in an old pair of her sweatpants—crossed at the ankles as he stared at her expectantly.

“You showered
and helped yourself to my clothes.”

“I did.” Rip
’s mouth pinched tight, not even attempting to hide the fact that he was in a full snit. “It was mandatory after a pitcher of ale was spilled on me last night.”

“
Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you made yourself at home.” Ireland let her purse flop to the floor, which caused the bra she’d snagged off Noah’s antennae to bounce out of it. Snatching the offending garment up, she quickly stuffed it in her back pocket. “Okay, look, I’m
truly
sorry for causing you to take the impromptu siesta.”

“
Humph
.” Rip folded his arms over the
Blues Traveler
T-shirt he’d borrowed.

“And I will admit that you were
partially
right.” Ireland nervously ran her fingers through her hair, which reeked of stale nicotine and bad choices. “The talisman
did
have unforeseen side effects. Namely, that it completely erased any and all inhibitions I may have.”

“I know.” Rip’s bushy eyebrows rose to his hairline
, his frown dripping with disapproval. “I woke just as you and the neighbor were driving off, and I gave chase. Tracked you all the way to that tent of debauchery. Thanks to you, I now know what twerking is, and deeply long for my
own
time when a flash of ankle was considered lewd.”

Ireland
’s stare darted from the beige wall, to the coat closet door, to the rug under her feet,
anywhere
but at the man who had witnessed her Miley moment that she didn’t know she was capable of. “Again, so sorry. If I could brain bleach that image from you, I absolutely would.”

“You and me both,”
he grumbled.

“On a good note, I didn’t kill anyone last night
. Yay!”

Rip
stared her down, refusing to utter a sound until she met his glare. “Do you agree with me now that it was a bad idea?”

“I do
,” Ireland admitted.

“Good.”
Slapping his hands to his knees, he rose to his feet. “Now, it is early in the day, we have
plenty
of time until the Horseman becomes an issue again. Would you
please
come with me to the library, so that we may research a more permanent solution to your possession?”

A d
eep-seeded yearning for freedom forced the words from her throat before Ireland could even consider them, “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

22

Ireland

“It’s just too much.” Rip yawned. His eyelids drooped, yearning to give in to sleep’s persistent draw. “The stress is forcing my curse. I … can’t go on.”

“You can and you will!” Ireland’s fingers dug into his shoulders as she
pivoted his upper body toward her and shook him awake. “You’re stronger than this, I just need you to focus.
Come on
! Stick with me, buddy!”

“I’ll … I’ll try.”
Once more, Rip forced his heavy eyes to focus on the glow of the screen. The way he struggled to lift his hand to the table made it seem that the bothersome limb weighed a ton. “Okay, this thing is called the mouse—I got that part. To move up, I click here. To move down, I click there. Then, when I find one of interest I click right on it to open the …
drat
! What did you call it?”

“The
link.”

“Ah, yes. The
link.”

“
See? You’re getting it! I know it’s a lot to take in, but you really are.” She kept her tone light to hide her building annoyance that they had been there for two hours and had made exactly no progress. For a while she had been in the driver’s seat behind the computer. However, considering she had no idea what they were looking for, and Rip’s old man eyes had to be inches from the screen to actually read it, she came up with the wise idea for them to switch places. Now she wanted to thank herself for that stellar decision by high-fiving her forehead with the desk. Whoever invented the Internet really should have made it more user friendly for time-traveling hobos.

“I miss old-fashion
ed newspapers that coated my fingers with ink and made a wonderful crinkling sound with each page turned,” Rip sighed sadly.

“Me too, Rip
.” Ireland gave him a comforting pat on the back. “Me too.”

“Is there a way I can find articles with particular names in them?”

“Yeah, scoot.” Ireland nudged him with her elbow and leaned over the keyboard. “What’s the name?”

“
Eleanora Tremaine.”

“
That’s quite a mouthful,” Ireland mused, her fingers clicking over the keys. Just as she hit send, a dull ache bloomed behind her right eye. “There you go.”

Leaning back so Rip could read, she blinked hard in hopes that whatever it was would pass
.

“Yes! Yes! This is good!”
Rip clapped his happiness. “That’s it, right there! Click on that!”

It was hard to tell by the way he looked from the mouse to the screen and
back again if he was talking to her or actually expected the mouse to respond to his verbal command. Either way, Ireland scooted back to the edge of her seat and leaned in front of him to grab the mouse. The screen swam in and out of focus before her throbbing eyes, making it impossible for her to read the words.

“Am I on the right link?”
she asked, squinting at the screen.

“No, it’s … here, let me try.” Rip shooed her hand from the mouse. “Hah! I did it!”

“Good for you.” Slumping back in her chair, Ireland pinched the bridge of her nose—right between her eyes—with her thumb and index finger. The pain had spread to both eyes; the incessant pressure causing her teeth to ache. “Leave it to me to get a sinus infection in the face of mortal danger.”

“Huh, her daughter was her only relative and somehow she proceeded
Eleanora in death. Never would’ve guessed that.” Rip chuckled, his engrossed gaze not wavering from the screen. “Had you met Eleanora you would’ve gotten the humor in that. Is there paper? I need to jot down notes.”

Ireland’s stomach rolled
angrily as her headache morphed from mild nuisance to a full-blown migraine. “Next to the computer,” she mumbled, pressing the butts of her palms to her eyes to block out the light. “They usually have a stash here.”

“Ah-ha!”

Pencil lead scratched over paper.

“Are you okay? You’ve gone all pale and pasty.
” Rip’s tone, first heavy with concern, shifted noticeably toward open suspicion. “This isn’t a repeat of yesterday’s performance, is it?”

“No, I just have a—” Ireland
’s words morphed into an anguished shriek brought on by a piercing pain that settled between her eyes and burrowed deep. Her hands gripped the armrests in a white-knuckled grasp. A spasm jolted through the muscles along her spine, arching her forward with enough force to launch her from her seat. Her knees banged against the faded linoleum floor as she crumbled into a ball, gasping for breath or even a momentary reprieve from her torment.

That’s when the storm hit.

Glass shattered, pelting deadly shards through the library caused by every window in the place exploding in. Tornado-force winds whipped through the building, reducing the front and rear doors to kindling as they tore from their splintered frames. Glass whirled through the air, slicing and dicing any flesh it could find. A chorus of frantic screams rang out, yet were barely audible over the freight train roar of the storm. Ravenous gusts sucked up whatever they could, making each new item a weapon in their deadly cyclone. Paper flapped from tables. Books flew from shelves, smashing into any bodies that mistakenly got in their way. A projectile pencil soared, end over end, before impaling itself deep in the eye of a boy that barely looked old enough to drive.

Ireland bit back her pain and
slapped her palms to the floor, intending to push herself up and run. Instead, in a blink, she found herself plunged into pitch-black stillness. Everyone and everything around her vanished. Headache all but forgotten, she hesitantly rose to her feet. In the distance, a lone light flickered. Equal parts instinct and apprehension forced her lead feet forward. As she neared, a dentist-style chair took shape before her. A flannel-clad figure gripped the armrests with clawed hands, his gaze locked on the ceiling.

“Noah?”
The word formed on Ireland’s lips, yet the sound was gobbled up by vast emptiness that surrounded them.

He didn’t look her way
, didn’t so much as flinch. Only when she inched closer did she see why. Small silver hooks had been fished through his upper and lower lids, forcing them open. Blood puddled at the corners of his eyes, trickling down his face in crimson slashes. Ireland’s hand hovered over him, wanting to help—to free him—but not having the foggiest idea where to start. Slowly, his mouth began to move. Sneaking syllables passed barely twitching lips.

Tipping her ear to his mouth, she leaned closer.

“
Save her, save me. Save her, save me
,” Noah chanted in a detached whisper.

Ireland
snapped upright. The words “save who” formed on her lips, but flapped away into oblivion.

The chair—and Noah—were gone.

Her frantic spin to locate him ended in an abrupt halt. A horrified gasp slipped from her parted lips as her trembling hand fluttered up to her mouth.

Amber hung before her, strung between two posts. Her hands and feet
were splayed out wide, bound by thick leather straps. The gaping hole in her gut allowed her entrails to spill out and swing in the nonexistent breeze. If this was who Noah meant for her to save, it was too late. No one could survive torture like that.

Or,
so she thought.

Sl
uggishly, Amber’s head lolled in Ireland’s direction, revealing eyes clouded a deathly white. Rotting grey lips cracked into a grotesque smile lined with black gums and rotting teeth. A rattle reverberated from her chest, shuddering through her decomposing form in an almost sing-song melody. “
Save her, save me. Save her, save me
.”

Save who?
Ireland merely thinking the words caused them to erupt around her like the caw of thousands of taunting black crows.

Amber’s head fell back, her shoulders shaking
in a maniacal laugh that cracked and dissolved into an anguished scream. Before Ireland could clap her hands over her ears, her rotting friend vanished. In her place, a long hall with black and white checkered walls appeared. Its mirrored floor seeming to stretch on forever. The need to find an exit from this maddening labyrinth urged Ireland on. Her footsteps padded against their own image in a strange beat that held a warning all its own:

A
nother-did-rise-another-did-rise-another-did-rise
.

With her heart hammering against her ribs,
Ireland’s hand closed around the knob of the first door she came to. The click of it opening echoed around her like a gunshot. Inside, a woman sat alone at a banquet-sized table. Ireland recognized the blonde ponytail immediately and dreaded what atrocity had claimed her.

Again, she could only think her response,
Ana? Are you okay?

The pretty blonde
glanced over her shoulder, her blue eyes wide and eager. “Save her, save me.” She smiled, then returned to her task. Her elbow rose as she pulled back, and slammed something hard against the table. She gave a muted yelp. Whatever had happened caused her body to quake at the impact.

Ireland crept around the table, a knot of terror twist
ing tight in her stomach. Blood
drip-drip-dripped
from the table in swollen drops. Two severed fingers lay on the table—still twitching. Ana positioned the blade of her butcher knife to rid herself of a third.

Ana, no!

Just as the blade scissored down, the scene stretched out before her, elongated like an effect in a funhouse mirror. It snapped back in to the form of a towering guillotine. Air whooshed over her skin as the gleaming blade fell, ridding the body it held captive of its head. It hit the ground with a wet squish. Sheer force of the strike causing it to roll—straight toward Ireland. Her frenzied back-pedal succeeded only in tangling her in her own legs as the floor rose to meet her. There was no escape but to watch in utter revulsion as the severed head rolled to a stop beside her. Bile rose in her throat as Rip’s head landed slightly askew, his stare already fixed and vacant. One last reflexive sigh seeped through his parted lips, “
Save her, save me
.”

Finally, Ireland found her voice. It returned in a blood-curdling scream that ripped from her core.

She woke with a start at the sound of it, finding herself flat on her back on the floor. As she panted out each ragged breath, her gaze flicked around the room for clues of what the hell had happened. She was back in the library, which seemed completely undisturbed—except for all the patrons that were gaping down at her in shocked silence. Two faces appeared over her, a very alive Rip, and the librarian whose creased brow was extenuated by her cat-frame glasses. Each took one of her arms and eased her to sitting.

“Are you okay,
miss?” The librarian gently patted Ireland’s back.

All Ireland could manage was a
twitch of a nod.

T
urning to Rip, the librarian muttered, “My niece is epileptic. She has seizures like this all the time. Should I get her some water?”

“No,” Ireland
gasped. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I’m fine.”

R
elying heavily on Rip, she rose on wobbly legs. His stare, wide with alarm, caught her gaze and held it tight, silently inquiring many of the same questions she was asking herself.

“We need to go,” she croaked. “
Now
.”

No sooner had the outside door banged shut behind them then Rip pounced,
“What in Heaven’s name was that?
If that was another put on episode like yesterday it was
far
more convincing!”

Ireland held up one shaky hand to halt his tirade, a hot rush of tears flooding her eyes. Only by clenching her jaw to the point of pain did she prevent them from spilling over her red-rimmed lids. “It’s the middle of the day
, and I was surrounded by people. Even so, that
thing
managed to take me over completely. I could’ve—“All the horrific what-ifs swelled in her throat, lodging there in a constricting lump. Swallowing hard, she gulped them down. “Whatever is inside of me is getting stronger. Soon, the limitations we thought were on our side won’t matter, and
no one
will be safe.”