Reunion (25 page)

"From my point of view, a decade ago I was six."

"That's amazing. So you have no memory of anything that's happened in the past decade?"

"Like what?"

"The war in Afghanistan? The war in Iraq? The London subway bombings? Saddam Hussein? The arrival of the iPhone? The iPad?" He looked at her quizzically, apparently stunned by her ignorance. "Not even Kanye dissing Taylor Swift at the VMA's?"

"Who is Taylor Swift?"

The doctor seemed quite intrigued by her ignorance. "What
is
the last bit of news you remember?"

Hayley shrugged. It was hard to say. She wasn't one to pay much attention to current affairs, even before she'd lost her sight. "I don't know ... oh ... hang on, something happened in New York to those buildings. Some planes flew into them."

"Nine eleven."

"Was that the date? You have a good memory if it happened ten years ago."

"Everybody knows the date," Annad said, not taking his eyes off her for an instant. "It's become synonymous with what happened that day. Do you remember anything else?"

"No. Where is Ren?"

"You don't know?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him since ... well, since we left St Christopher's."

"By
we
, you mean you and Ren?"

"No. It was Trása and me. Will my dad be much longer?"

"I really couldn't say. Why do you suppose you can't remember the past few years?"

"You tell me," she snapped. "You're the one with three PhDs."

That seemed to amuse him. "Okay, then ... here's my theory ... I think you
do
know. But I think what you've been through is so traumatic you've blocked it out. Do you recall your sight being restored?"

Hayley remembered it clearly, but telling a police psychologist a Faerie slapped her on the forehead to magically restore her sight so she could then help him dig a bullet out of a
Tuatha Dé Danann
prince's chest with his bare hands wasn't going help her ambition to get home today.

"It just came back." Even to her own ears it sounded like she was lying.

Annad gave no indication of whether or not he believed her. "Do you recall
anything
at all?"

Hayley shook her head, as she realized Annad had given her the out she needed. "Nothing. You're probably right. Whatever happened to me, I've blocked it out because it was too traumatic."

He smiled, as if he could tell she was clutching at anything that sounded plausible, just to be rid of him. "We'll have to see what we can do to help you recall it, then."

"What if I don't want to recall it?"

"I think, in the long term, you'll do better if you can confront what's happened to you and deal with it."

"Whatever," Hayley said, looking away. She had a bad feeling this man could see straight through her lies. He wasn't like Murray Symes, the expensive celebrity shrink Kiva had sent Ren to. This guy seemed far more intuitive. Far more sympathetic.

Far more dangerous to someone trying to conceal the truth.

It was probably the reason he worked for the Gardaí.

Annad seemed content with her story for the time being, however. He stood up, still smiling, and asked, "Would you like to see your father?"

"He's here?" Hayley's heart began to race. She jumped off the bed in anticipation. Any minute now, this nightmare would be over. Her father would make it right.

Annad reached over and knocked on the door. Bastards. They must have been waiting outside this whole time, because with that apparently prearranged signal, the door opened and her father, Patrick Boyle, her stepmother, Kerry, and a young man she didn't recognize stepped into the small hospital room.

There was a moment of stunned silence as they stared at one another. And then Hayley burst into tears.

They weren't tears of happiness.

Her tears were tears of shock. Tears of distress, perhaps even a little anger. It wasn't just that Kerry looked so worn-down and wrinkled, or that her father was grey-haired and quite a few pounds heavier than he had been a week ago.

What upset her was the tall young man standing behind them. He was over six foot, slim, athletic and horribly familiar. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and looked just as stunned to see her, as she was to see him.

When Hayley left a little over a week ago, he'd been an annoying twelve-year-old child.

But her brother Neil was now a grown man and the reality of her circumstances hit Hayley with the force of a sledgehammer.

Whatever had happened in that magical place Ren had sent her to, the cost of restoring her sight was ten years of her life.

Her knees gave way, but it was Annad Semaj, the Gardaí psychologist who caught her and helped her sit on the bed. Her father, her stepmother and her brother did nothing. They just stood there, staring at her like she was an alien creature dragged up from the depths of the oceans and laid out on the wharf for passers-by to gawk at.

Hayley sobbed inconsolably, her head on the rough tweed shoulder of the shrink she'd met only a few moments ago, while her family did nothing.

As Annad held her and let her cry, Hayley realized her life was never going to go back to the way it was before.

Her family were strangers to her, her friends would have grown and moved on ...
I hate you Ren, and if I ever find you again I am going to destroy your life as comprehensively as you have destroyed mine.

The Warden had called Darragh in to let him know a court date had been set for the hearing to declare Hayley Boyle dead. He'd suggested - as both Eunice Ravenel and Annad Semaj had previously - that Darragh could expedite the process and ease her family's pain by taking responsibility for his crime by telling them what happened to her.

Darragh declined the offer and was sent back to his cell.

Two days later, he was called back to the Warden's office, but it wasn't the Warden who wanted to see him this time. There was a Gardaí superintendent named Brendá Duggan waiting for him in the Warden's office and the news she had for Darragh left him breathless.

Hayley Boyle had returned, unharmed and sighted.

Darragh could barely contain his excitement. Surely Rónán was responsible. Surely this meant his brother was on his way.

At the very least, Darragh figured they'd have to release him now the girl he was convicted of kidnapping had returned, alive and well, and could explain that he'd had nothing to do with her disappearance.

He said as much to the Gardaí superintendent who shook her head, surprised he would consider such a thing possible. "This does not absolve you of your crimes, Darragh," she said, glancing at the Warden who seemed almost amused by the suggestion that he should be freed in light of this new development.

Darragh was confused. "But surely, now you know I had nothing to do with her kidnapping ... that she was, in fact, not kidnapped, but left of her own volition ... I should be allowed to go free."

"Hayley Boyle can't remember what happened to her," Superintendent Duggan informed him. "In fact, she has no memory of her kidnapping. She claims she was only gone a week. Sorry, but far from absolving you of any responsibility, you may well be responsible for ruining the poor girl's life."

Darragh frowned. "Hayley believes she's only been gone from this realm a week?"

"So she claims," Duggan said, watching him closely.

"And her sight is restored?"

"Yes."

"Then she has been in
Tír Na nÓg
."

"Do you really think so?" the superintendent asked. The Warden just rolled his eyes.

"Time is different in
Tír Na nÓg
," Darragh explained, shaking his head. Rónán should not have taken Hayley there. It was a dangerous place for someone with no magical ability. "What a human perceives as a few days in
Tír Na nÓg
can easily be years in the mundane world. Sorcha spent what she thought was five or six months in
Tír Na nÓg
and emerged to find fifty years had passed on the outside."

The Warden and the Gardaí superintendent said nothing for a time, just stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Perhaps he was. These people had no experience, no context, for the things about which he spoke.

"That's your statement then?" Superintendent Duggan asked after a moment. "That you had nothing to do with her abduction because she was actually kidnapped by Faeries and kept in
Tír Na nÓg
these past ten years."

"I never said she was kidnapped by Faeries," Darragh corrected, taking exception to the superintendent's tone. "I said she has been to
Tír Na nÓg
. I suspect she remembers everything that happened to her, but knows that if she speaks of it she would be met with the same ridicule with which you have just greeted my suggestion and she is pleading ignorance of these events for that very reason."

"I notice you're quite happy to speak of it, though," the Warden pointed out.

"I am not from this realm, sir, and expect to be returning to my own realm soon. I do not fear the censure of you or your people because I know your ignorance of the wider universe leaves you with no other choice."

"How considerate of you," the Warden said, picking up the phone on his desk. He pressed a button and spoke into the receiver, his eyes never leaving Darragh. "Mister Aquitania is ready to go back to his cell," he told whoever picked up the call.

The Warden hung up the phone. "Exactly what do you mean when you claim to be returning to your own realm soon. You're not planning to harm yourself again, are you?"

Darragh composed his face into a neutral mien. He was treading on very dangerous ground here. "Of course not," he said. "I merely maintain what I have always claimed, sir - that one day people from my own reality will come for me." Darragh knew it made him sound crazy, but he couldn't afford to be thought of as a danger to himself or others. Most of the prisoners in this place were a little insane, either because they had been sentenced here in the first place, or as a consequence of being incarcerated in this harsh environment. The Warden knew it and usually didn't make a fuss about his prisoners' beliefs - however outlandish -provided they didn't disrupt the daily operations of his facility. It was a different matter entirely when there were sharp implements and self-harm involved.

The office door opened and a prison officer stepped into the room, ready to escort Darragh back to his cell. The Warden studied his prisoner for a moment longer, his expression thoughtful, and then spoke to the officer. "Take him down to medical first," he ordered. "I want a full examination."

"I am not feeling unwell," Darragh said, knowing a medical examination would cause him nothing but trouble. "I would prefer to return to my cell."

"I'm sure you would," the Warden agreed, "which is why I'm going to get you checked out first. I want to know if you're cutting again." Then he added to the guard: "So much as a shaving nick and I want to know about it."

There was no point in objecting further and if Darragh protested too much, all he would do is raise the Warden's suspicion even more. Besides, there was a slim chance the doctor would only examine his limbs for evidence of self-harming. He might get away with it yet.

His fate was pretty much sealed if the doctor noticed the words "get me out" carved across his abdomen.

Why haven't you healed the wound yet, Rónán?
Darragh asked his missing brother silently as the officer took him by the arm.
Are you back in this realm? Is that why Hayley has surfaced again after all this time? What possessed you to leave her in
Tír Na nÓg
for so long? Where
are
you?

The door closed on the Warden and the superintendent, leaving Darragh to shuffle in his shackles along the corridor, beside the officer escorting him to medical, wondering how his plans could have gone awry so quickly.

There would be no trip to court now that Hayley was not to be declared dead and him charged with her murder. No chance to take advantage of the lesser security of the courthouse cells. No chance for an easy escape.

No easy way for his brother to get to him.

Rónán couldn't step foot in this place without being recognized and arrested.

As they moved ever closer to the medical wing, Darragh felt himself teetering on the edge of despair.

He'd had enough of this realm and he was so close to being done with it ...

But if they discovered the words he'd carved into his belly, he'd be put in isolation. Probably medicated so heavily he wouldn't be able to think straight and then Rónán wouldn't find it hard to rescue his brother.

He would find it almost impossible.

The view from the top of the Shard was spectacular. Pete stared out over the lights of London and found it strange that he felt the need to pinch himself to see if it was real.

Once, this had been his reality. His only reality. Now he was here, looking out over the London skyline and wondering if he was dreaming.

"Wow."

"Spectacular, isn't it?"

"Windows must be tinted well, or you'd be able to see the lightning when the rift opens."

He glanced at Logan and smiled. "Thought you were going to stay in the other realm?"

"Doesn't mean I can't do a bit of sightseeing before we close the door." Logan looked over his shoulder at the darkened stone circle visible through the lightning-edged rift. Ren was standing on the other side with Plunkett, as if he was suddenly hesitant about stepping through. "Thought he'd be the first one through."

"It's the first time he's been back to his own realm in a decade," Pete reminded his brother. "He's probably wondering what he's getting himself into this time."

"We're all feeling that, and we don't have time for him to be wondering anything," Logan pointed out. "If Marcroy gets wind of this little excursion through his reality, we'll have a great deal more than a pissed-off merman to deal with."

Logan was right. But, for them, there was no direct way here from the ninja realm - which is what they jokingly called the place they'd been living these past ten years. They had had no choice but to travel to this realm using Marcroy's jewel and through Marcroy's reality.