The Dark Divide (19 page)

This place was sterile. Heartless, even. There was something missing. Something only the presence of other creatures could provide. It was as if the house, magnificent as it was, lacked a soul.

Darragh stepped onto the landing and looked around, sweating a little from the pain of climbing the stairs. To the left were the marvellous double doors to the master suite where Kiva slept. Inside — so his brother’s memories informed him — was her large four-poster bed, her endless wardrobe, her closet devoted to shoes, her ridiculously decadent black marble bathroom, and her Japanese meditation room. Even Rónán’s memories couldn’t provide a reason for the latter, but it was there, and Darragh didn’t feel the need to visit it. He turned right, down the silent, echoing hall toward Rónán’s room.

He hesitated before he opened the door. His ankle was throbbing, but he was more afraid of what emotions might overcome him, standing in this place that featured so prominently in his brother’s life.

And then he scoffed at his own foolishness and opened it. Every step Rónán took in Darragh’s realm would be the same for his brother. If Rónán could cope with the experience, so could he.

The room was exactly as Rónán’s memories recalled it. The wide bed, with its soft goose-down quilt, in the black and white geometric pattern Rónán favoured after finally convincing Kiva’s decorator he had outgrown the dinosaur theme she was so fond of. Darragh realised he could name most of the books on the shelves, all of the computer games and if he’d been brave enough to turn on the computer and try his hand at the internet, he knew Rónán’s Hotmail password.

Leaving the bedroom door open, Darragh limped further into the room. He slid open the wardrobe doors to find Rónán’s school uniforms hanging neatly at one end, still in the drycleaner’s plastic covering. Beside them was a large selection of more casual clothes.

Darragh studied the clothes for a moment and then smiled and began to peel off the dirty hoodie he wore. It belonged to
Warren’s teenage son. Like his stolen jeans, it had never fitted properly. Here was a whole wardrobe full of clothes designed to fit him perfectly. He pulled out a pair of Levis, a red and black checked shirt, and a comfortable-looking leather jacket that his borrowed memories told him was one of Rónán’s favourites. Once he’d dressed in the clean clothes, he turned his attention to Rónán’s shoe collection, settling on a pair of thick woollen socks and well-worn, calf-high, tooled-leather Western boots.

He smiled as he studied himself in the full-length mirror of Rónán’s bathroom, amazed at how well the boots fitted, despite his swollen ankle. Darragh found many clothes of this realm a little silly, but to see himself dressed like this …

On impulse, he opened the drawer under the basin. There were scissors in there, he knew. Pulling them out of the drawer, he faced the mirror. But for his longer hair, he and his brother were identical. On a whim, he began cutting his long brown locks, snipping them to the length of Rónán’s more closely cropped style. When he was done, he gathered up the strands of hair from the floor and flushed them down the toilet.

‘By
Danú
,’ he said aloud as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The haircut was a little ragged, but it was near enough to Rónán’s style. He couldn’t help but grin at the young man staring back at him. ‘I’m Ren Kavanaugh. It’s uncanny.’

He held up his right hand. The tattooed palm, in his reflection, was now his left. It truly was as if he was standing here, looking Rónán in the eye.

‘Wait until we meet next time, brother,’ he told his reflection, thinking of Rónán’s reaction the first time they’d met in Breaga. ‘
What the fuck
, indeed.’

‘Kerry! Is that you!’ a voice called out behind him. ‘Why is the door to Ren’s room open? I told you, nobody is to touch his room until … Oh, my
God
!’

Darragh froze as Kiva appeared in the mirror behind him, standing in the door of the bathroom.

There followed a moment of stunned silence as Kiva stared at Darragh in disbelief. And then, before Darragh could say anything or offer any sort of explanation, Kiva threw herself at him and hugged him so hard he could barely breathe.

‘Oh, my God, Ren, you’re back!’

She squeezed him tightly for a moment longer, while Darragh tried to figure out something to say, and then she stood back and held him at arm’s length, studying him through tear-filled eyes.

‘Oh, my God, Ren! I thought you were dead,’ she said, sniffing back her tears. ‘The police thought that O’Hara character had arranged to have you killed. Oh, my God! And then they said you were back, and that you’d been to see Hayley … and now she’s missing …’

‘I’m sorry … Mum,’ Darragh said, feeling awkward and at a complete loss as to how he should deal with Kiva. He hadn’t expected to encounter Rónán’s mother from this realm, and his brother’s memories of her were of surprisingly little help, full as they were of conflicted and ambivalent emotion.

‘I know you are, sweetheart,’ she said, smiling through her tears. She reached up to touch his wounded face. ‘I know you never meant any of this to happen. Oh, my God … But don’t worry, darling, I’ll call Eunice. We can sort this out. If she can arrange for you to surrender to the —’

‘No!’ Darragh said, pulling away from her, desperately trying to claw through his brother’s memories for clues about the best way to deal with Rónán’s mother from this reality. ‘No police. Call them and … I’ll leave … and … you’ll never see me again.’

‘Okay … okay … I won’t call anyone. I swear.’ She tried to hug him again. ‘Just promise me you won’t run away again.’

‘Very well,’ he agreed hesitantly, letting her embrace him, figuring that was slightly less off-putting than her constant repetition of the phrase ‘Oh, my God’.

‘Are you hungry, sweetheart?’ Kiva asked, letting him go, searching his face for something Darragh couldn’t fathom. ‘Let’s go down to the kitchen. Kerry’s out shopping, Neil’s at school and Patrick has taken the car to get new tyres. We’re all alone, I promise.’

Darragh nodded, unable to think of anything else to do. Until he could escape from Kiva’s well-meaning, but smothering, ministrations, he had no choice but to play along with the notion that he was Ren. She clearly hadn’t spotted the difference between him and his brother. Patrick had spotted it almost immediately. That said much, Darragh thought, about the relationships Rónán had with both his mother and the man who had saved him from drowning when he was first tossed into this realm.

Kiva took Darragh by the hand and led him downstairs, almost as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let go. She was alarmed by his limp, but he assured her there was nothing to worry about. Darragh let her rattle on nervously as they walked, not sure of half the things she was speaking about. She talked of school friends he could barely recall, friends of hers he didn’t give a fig about, news that meant nothing to him. Perhaps she was afraid to be quiet for fear of the awkward silence that was bound to fill the space between them.

‘Did you want something to drink?’ Kiva asked as she pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen counter for him. ‘Something to eat, maybe? There’s some left-overs in the fridge, I think.’

‘Thanks … Mum,’ he replied uncomfortably, taking the seat she offered, ‘but really, I’m fine.’

Kiva looked disappointed. Darragh realised she wasn’t asking because she was concerned he was dehydrating or starving, she just needed something to keep her occupied.

Poor woman
, he thought.
She has no idea how to cope with any of this. And I can’t tell her the truth. She’s not equipped in any way to deal with the concept of alternate realities, magic, or her adopted son having an identical twin.

Kiva sat opposite him, smiling nervously. She was dressed in a silk dressing gown, her hair unbrushed and dishevelled. She must have been sleeping when he sneaked into the house. Darragh cursed his own foolish curiosity, knowing Ciarán would be furious at him for being so careless. And extracting himself from this awkwardness was going to be … difficult.

‘So …’ Kiva began with a forced smile. ‘Where have you been, all this time?’

Darragh shrugged. ‘Here and there.’

She nodded. ‘Murray said not to press you for details, but —’

‘Murray? You mean Doctor Symes?’ Darragh asked, the name provoking an overwhelming feeling of dislike — a feeling he had acquired from his brother, he realised.

‘He said you’d come back. Even when everyone thought you were dead and only I refused to believe it, he was on my side. He said you’d come back, and that when you did, the most important thing to do was
listen
to you.’ She smiled so sympathetically, Darragh was quite sure she was acting. ‘So here I am, sweetheart. Ready to listen.’

It was only a few paces to the door, Darragh calculated, but if he ran now — assuming his ankle would bear the strain — Kiva would be straight on the phone to the authorities and he’d be lucky if he made it back to Jack’s place before all the Gardaí in Dublin descended upon him.

On the other hand, Kiva clearly wanted to help her son — or at least the young man she believed to be her son. It might be safer here than at Jack’s, if she was prepared to shelter him and Sorcha until they could find a way home to their own reality.

‘What did you want to know?’ he asked, stalling for time while he tried to figure a way out of this messy situation.

‘I just want you to talk to me, Ren,’ she said, leaning across the counter to take him by the hands. ‘Tell me what happened. I can help you, darling. We’ll get you the best lawyers in Europe. Murray will testify you have problems. Even if we can’t get you acquitted outright, he says we could have you treated in a private mental hospital and you’d be out in a matter of months.’

She was squeezing his hands as she spoke. Any minute now, Darragh knew, she would glance down and spy the tattoo on his right palm that should have been on the left, and there wouldn’t be any answer he could offer that would satisfy her.

‘A couple of months?’ he repeated, trying to sound interested in the prospect.

‘Of course,’ Kiva added carefully, ‘you’d have to tell us where you took Hayley, so we can bring her home.’

‘You wouldn’t believe me,’ Darragh told her honestly.

‘She’s safe then?’ Ren’s mother asked. It was clear she was worried for her chauffeur’s daughter. She was family, after all. Hayley’s stepmother was Kiva’s cousin. Darragh was beginning to understand Rónán’s conflicted feelings for this woman. Somehow she could be both magnanimous and self-centred at the same time.

‘Of course she’s safe. Ro —’ He caught himself just in time, as he reminded himself Kiva had no idea the young man sitting in her kitchen wasn’t her son, Ren. If Darragh started referring to his brother in the third person — and by a different name — he’d seem even crazier than she already feared he was. ‘
I
would never hurt her. She’s … my best friend.’ Rónán’s memories were quite clear on that point. But vague assurances of Hayley’s wellbeing weren’t going to satisfy Kiva for long. His safety, Darragh suspected, and Kiva’s willingness to protect him from the forces arrayed against his brother, were dependent on her believing he
was going to divulge Hayley’s whereabouts any minute now. Or at the very least, ensure her safe return.

He smiled at Kiva, Rónán’s memories supplying the words he needed to keep Kiva onside. ‘You know I love you, Mum,’ he said, mindful of her desperate need to have that sentiment reinforced at every opportunity. Rónán had rebelled at offering her such assurances, out of little more than pig-headed resentment, as far as Darragh could tell. But he had no need to rebel against Kiva. Quite the opposite. He needed her. She was vulnerable so he suspected it would take remarkably little to secure her aid. ‘Truly. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, Mum. Especially you.’

‘I know that, sweetie,’ she said, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. ‘But we need to know what you’ve done with Hayley …’

‘She’s safe, Mum, I promise,’ he repeated.

‘Why did you come back for her?’

That was an easy question to answer. He could answer that as if he was Rónán without even stopping to think about it. ‘When I heard she was blinded in the accident, I figured it was my fault.’

‘So you kidnapped her?’

‘I didn’t kidnap her. I helped her get to some people who could help her get better, that’s all. Just like you did.’

Kiva wiped her eyes, looking at Darragh in confusion. ‘Like
I
did?’

He nodded, recalling how Rónán had found Hayley at St Christopher’s when they arrived in this reality. Trása had found a story about Kiva and her chauffeur’s daughter in a magazine at Warren’s house. ‘I read what you did. In the
OK Magazine
story with the image of you and Hayley taken at the hospital. They wrote you were covering the cost of all her treatment and her rehabilitation, and I thought, well … if my mother is willing to do so much to help Hayley, then so should I.’

‘Then you weren’t trying to silence her?’ Kiva said, as if Darragh’s story — despite sounding vaguely ludicrous to him —
reinforced what she wanted to believe. Interesting that she used the word ‘silence’. The authorities here must believe Rónán had kidnapped his friend because she knew something about the drug deal and murder he was accused of being involved in. The one Trása and that damned
Leipreachán
, Plunkett O’Bannon, had so effectively staged to frame his brother, in the hope that a sentence of life imprisonment would prevent his return to the reality where he belonged.

‘Of course not!’ he said, looking wounded on his brother’s behalf. ‘How could you think such a thing, Mum? I love Hayley like she’s my own sister.’

‘But where have you been, Ren?’ Kiva asked, shaking her head. Darragh figured she desperately wanted to believe her son, but he’d vanished for the better part of a month. She wanted something plausible to explain his absence. If she had that, then she might believe the rest of his tale. ‘You’ve been gone for weeks.’

‘O’Hara’s men kidnapped me,’ he said, telling her what she probably believed, rather than the truth. ‘It took me this long to escape.’