Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles) (13 page)

It was Liam’s turn to stare off to the horizon in a dazed silence. Any other father probably would think his older sister was cracked – the bonk on the head had given her brain damage. But Liam knew something that Muriel didn’t know. Liam knew that his daughter had special. . . talents.

Emily and Bridget thought that they had a secret from Liam. They had thought it was a fun secret just between them. But Liam had known all along.

One day, when Emily was not yet one, he came into her room in the morning to get her up and change her. As he walked in, there she was, sitting up in her crib, and a small stuffed animal – a dog – was flying across the room to her. She didn’t see him there, but he could see her concentration on the dog. Before long it flew right into her hands. She grabbed it, smiled big and started playing with it, like it was the most normal thing in the world to make something come to you just by thinking about it.

Liam didn’t say anything to his wife. He assumed it was a fluke, perhaps a trick of his own mind. After all, there had to be a reasonable explanation, objects don’t just go flying around.

But as time went by, there were other flying objects and Liam could swear that his wife and daughter were communicating with each other without talking. He never said anything, and as time went on, Emily’s abilities – and Bridget’s too – became something that was ‘between them’. Liam assumed that when Emily got older, she’d tell him about it if she wanted to.

When Liam heard Muriel’s story about Emily ‘throwing’ her across the room just by thinking about it, it didn’t surprise him in the least though he hadn’t observed Emily using her remarkable gifts since Bridget had died. In truth, Muriel’s story made Liam smile inside. He supposed that Muriel deserved it. She had been nasty to Emily. Perhaps she had it coming?

Back to the note from Emily. Liam read and reread. This is what it said:

“Dear Dad,

I’m leaving. Don’t try to find me. I have important work to do. A mission. I can’t tell you where I’m going. I can’t tell you when I’ll return.

I’m not running away – at least I don’t think I am. I plan to come back. But you should know that I won’t be putting up with Muriel anymore. I’m done with her pushing me around.

Don’t worry dad. Love, E”

Not a lot of clues. Acting on an intuitive sense that Liam wasn’t aware he had, he knew as he looked at the laconic note from his daughter that he didn’t want to call the police. This was a family matter, and Liam needed to take care of his family and of the mess he’d created.

“We’re not calling the police Muriel,” he said calmly.

“What! You can’t do this Liam. That girl needs to learn her lesson. You have to use tough love with dope heads,” she said.

“She’s not a dope head Muriel. And no, she’s had enough of your tough love. If I call the police, I should be calling on you – for child abuse.”

Muriel’s face turned as white as stone. That shut her up.

“No, this is something that I need to take care of,” he said.

Just as Liam finished that sentence, the phone rang. It was Fanny’s mom, frantic and sobbing. She had received a similar note from Fanny. Her husband was out of town on business, and she didn’t know where to turn. Liam invited her over to talk and asked her not to call the police – not yet. He suggested they get together and try to sort it out first.

Within five minutes, Jake’s mom called too, crying as well. Liam told her the same thing and asked her to come over too.

Within a half hour, both mothers sat in Liam’s parlor. Jake’s mom, Carol, still in her nurse’s uniform, bags under her red-rimmed eyes, sitting on the couch with Jake’s note held tightly in her hand. Fanny’s mom, Esther, still quietly sobbing, also tightly grasping her note from Fanny. And finishing out our quartet, Muriel, lips tightly pursed and seething.

“Ladies, I know this is a shock, for all of us. But we have to keep our heads about us now. We need to look at these notes and see what clues they left so we can find our kids and get them back where they belong.”

“Liam, shouldn’t we call the police?” Esther asked. “They need to find my Fan. . .” she said as she broke down sobbing again. Carol put her arm around Esther. Liam could see tears welling up again in Carol’s eyes.

“I know it seems natural to call the police. But I’m asking you not to. The children weren’t kidnapped. And it’s clear from these notes that they intend to return. The police will classify them as runaways and these kids will be in all kinds of trouble when they get back. Carol, Jake needs scholarships for college, right?”

“Yes, of course Liam. Without scholarships, Jake will never be able to afford college.”

“Well, I don’t want him to have a criminal record. Not if we can help it. And Fanny, her chances of sports scholarships will be jeopardized too,” he said.

Esther couldn’t speak but nodded her affirmation.

“And, well, I just feel I need to take care of this. I’m not at all proud to say it – you may already know this – but I haven’t been. . . I haven’t been a very devoted father to Emily since Bridget died,” Liam said as he held back his own tears. Both mothers reached and gently touched Liam’s hand. It was the first time anyone had intentionally touched Liam in seven years.

“I understand,” Carol said at last. “You need to find your little girl, Liam. And bring our Jake and Fanny back too.” Again, Esther just nodded her agreement.

With that, they went to the dining room table to pour over the notes and try to find clues. Liam was worried, sad and mad. But he was also exhilarated. This was the first real emotion he'd had in years – the first time he had truly cared about anything in years. It was like he was pulled out of a fog. He was needed, and he was going to find his daughter and bring her home – to their home at last.

23. Liam Searches for Clues

Three notes. Three different handwriting styles. All pretty much saying the same thing. None said where the kids were going.

All three mentioned an urgent ‘mission’.
What kind of mission could three fourteen-year-old kids from the Midwest be on?

Liam thought that if any of them would leave a clue it would be Jake. Liam observed the neat handwriting of Jake’s note.

‘I’m sorry mom, I know this puts you in a bind. But I’ve got to go help Emily with her mission. I’m sorry for the trouble this is going to cause you, but it’s for the greater good. I know that when I return you’ll understand.’

So it’s Emily’s mission. What mission could Emily have (besides running away from Muriel)?

Next Liam looked at Fanny’s note.
Sloppy handwriting. Poor grammar and incomplete sentences. She better hope for a sports scholarship!

‘Don’t worry mom and dad. Don’t send my brothers after me. Not running away. Em needs me for urgent mission. She’s my best friend. Know you’d do the same for a friend. Please forgive me and I know you’re going to ground me for life when I get home.’

Again with the “urgent mission.” And Emily needs her. It’s Emily’s deal, and they’re just along for the ride. But what could Emily possibly have going on?

Liam read over Emily’s note again. He hadn’t turned it over before, but for some reason, he did then. In even sloppier writing, she wrote more on the back.

‘Dad, I miss you so much.’

Miss him? She just left.

Oh, she means she had been missing me, even before she left
, he thought. Tears welled in Liam’s eyes.

‘If I told you where I was going and why I was going there, you wouldn’t believe me. Something amazing has happened. I know you wouldn’t understand. The ancient blood that runs in my veins is calling me home. Please don’t come looking for me. I love you dad.’

Liam read that back side of the note over and over. There had to be a clue in there somewhere, but all he could see was a runaway note from his missing daughter. Guilt and shame threatened to blind him to seeing anything else.

Liam dragged himself to the kitchen and rifled through the high cupboard above the refrigerator that only his 6’3” frame could reach. Liam hadn’t had a drink in years, but it seemed to him the right time for a stiff one. He retrieved a bottle of scotch and poured himself a shot.

He swallowed the amber juice down in one gulp. The fire liquid set his innards ablaze but did nothing to clear his mind. He sat with his head in his hands, waiting for something to click. As he sat and contemplated how drinking shots of scotch wasn’t going to help clear the thick fog in his brain, the words from the note suddenly shouted at him. ‘The ancient blood that runs in my veins is calling me home.’

In a flash, he was sober and alert like he hadn’t been in years. There was a clue in that phrase, something big. A big clue that Emily didn’t even know she was leaving her father. A clue she didn’t know she was leaving him because she didn’t know what he knew.

Liam ran to the attic, taking the steps by two. There, in the far corner, covered in dust and cobwebs, a special box. He had hidden this one – under clothes and other junk. Hidden it from Muriel and from Emily too.

The box of Bridget. His own box. He hadn’t touched any of these things in over seven years. Liam’s hands shook as he took the little box from under the pile of stuff and wiped off the years of dust. A mundane shoebox. It didn’t look like anything noteworthy would be inside.

When Emily spoke of her ancient blood, Liam knew that she was talking about Bridget’s side of the family – the Irish side.

Bridget had once shown him a family history, actually drawn out by her like a tree. She kept it in this box.

Off with the lid. On top were letters Liam had sent her when they were in college at two different universities. He couldn’t believe she had kept them all those years. Pictures Emily had drawn for her while in preschool – pictures of houses and flowers. So cute and sweet. He sifted through some concert ticket stubs and more letters and cards. It was strange to see someone’s memories of their life – now over – laid in a box that way. Bridget’s memories laid to rest in a shoebox coffin.

There were sketches she had done of orchids and other flowers. Then there, on the very bottom, a small black notebook. Just a few pages in, a sketch of a family tree – her family tree. It was a complex and convoluted drawing with lines going here and there and everywhere and notes in the margins. She had done the work, tracing her history. Bridget had gotten her mother’s side back to the 1700’s. And then there it was. Ireland.

As soon as he saw it, he knew that was where Emily had gone. Somehow she had received contact from someone in Ireland and felt she had to go.
But who
? Liam looked at the names of ancestors long dead. Unless a ghost had haunted her, he had no idea who could have contacted her. But he knew he had to get on a plane and go to Ireland.

He didn’t know what he would do when he got there or where he would go. All he knew was that he had to get on a plane and fly to Ireland and search for his only daughter.

Liam put the cards, letters, ticket stubs and pictures back in the box and grabbed the little black notebook. As he stood up, a small sketch fell out of the notebook and landed on the floor. He picked it up and puzzled over it for a few minutes. It was an odd sketch of something that looked like a bracelet. Liam had never seen Bridget draw anything like this. She always drew and painted flowers and plants and trees – nature.
Why did she draw this odd bracelet, all twisted and coiled with finials on either end?
Somehow it seemed to Liam that this drawing was related to Emily’s ‘mission’.

As he looked at the sketch, tears sprang to his eyes. It felt to Liam as though Bridget’s energy zoomed from the strange drawing. Salty drops dripped from his eyes, the first tears he had cried since the day she had died.

“Bridget, I miss you so much. If only you were here, you’d know what to do. You’d know how to find our Emily. Let's face it, if you were here, she wouldn’t have run away, would she?” he asked to the void that surrounded him.

“Bridget, I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know if I believe that you still exist. You know I’m not a spiritual man. I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said as he buried his head in his hands and let the long quashed tears flow in rivers down his cheeks.

“Bridget, if you can hear me – if you’re still there – somewhere – somehow – if you’re there, Bridge, our little girl needs you too. If you’re there, look over our Emily.”

After a few minutes, Liam wiped his tears and nose and folded the little sketch and tucked it back into the notebook. He’d have time on the plane to puzzle over the drawing and the notebook – the only clues he had.

24. Emily’s Search for the Sacred Well

When I woke, it was the next morning. We had all slept through that afternoon and into the next day. When we were awake and had eaten, Jake pulled out his maps and Fanny cranked up the GPS app on her phone so we could make a plan.

Jake pulled up pages on his laptop that he had found about different wells and sanctuaries dedicated to St. Bridget. It was a pretty long list! Apparently over the years, the old goddess Brighid was turned into a Catholic saint, St. Bridget. The spelling was different, and she was now a saint, not a Goddess. But she was still associated with wells and springs and healing waters as she had been for thousands of years. There were wells and springs dedicated to her all over Ireland. But as Jake plotted the wells and springs on his map, we could see a concentration of them in County Kildare.

“This is promising,” Jake said. “There are at least two wells within walking distance of each other in Kildare town.”

“Bingo,” said Fanny. “Hey, do you think that town cop called in like an APB and has the whole Irish police force out looking for us?” Fanny asked.

“I think we should be cautious. In a little town like that, digging up a grave at a religious site, that’s probably like a high crime or something,” I said.

Fanny searched the web and found a bus schedule. We hiked to the next town and took the Bus Eireann and after two bus changes and six hours, we went about a hundred miles and got off in Kildare.