“Where are we?” Sean was asking, but she wasn’t sure if his lips actually moved or if the question simply unfurled in her head. The idea of him talking directly in her mind made her queasy, frightened.
“Danni, where are we?”
She stared into his eyes, knowing he wasn’t asking
where
in the sense of location, but in the sense of time and purpose. She’d brought them here, and he wanted to know why. It was reasonable. She wished she knew the answer. But she didn’t. She had no idea.
He nodded as she formed the thought and tugged her hand, pulling her closer. It was unnerving feeling him there, beside her. Knowing she wasn’t alone in this. Always before she’d been alone, hadn’t she? Even as a child when she’d thought of it as flying, had there ever been anyone with her? A memory moved in the dark recesses of her mind and was gone before she could bring it into focus.
They faced the winding path that led from the ruins down to Colleen’s house. From here, they could see how it snaked around rocks and split off like tree branches to different destinations. As they watched, a boy appeared on it where the path bent over the crest of a hill. He was running, laughing while two more boys chased him down the other side. They were suddenly closer, and Danni stared into the face that had become so familiar to her, saw the gray green eyes, the thick fringe of lashes, the dark hair glinting in the sun. She’d seen him as a man, as an adolescent, and now as a young boy, carefree and happy. It was Sean. Of course it was Sean.
Beside her, the grown man stiffened and took in a deep, hissing breath. He tugged at her hand, trying to pull her back, away from the boys. She sensed his anxiety escalating at her resistance, but she didn’t yield. She was supposed to follow the children. She knew it suddenly and completely.
“We have to go with them,” she said. “Hurry.”
Ignoring his protests, she began to walk, covering the distance with exaggerated speed, towing Sean despite his reluctance. She was afraid to let go of his hand, afraid if she did he would be lost in this place where nothing was real, lost in her mind if that was, indeed, where they were.
The three boys stopped in front of Colleen’s house and chattered for a while, then one broke off and continued down the road. Sean—Michael as he’d still been called at this age—and the younger boy stayed behind. The boy with Michael had dark hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His eyes were a clear blue, his face elfin in shape with a pointed chin and ears that stuck out a little too much.
“Who is he?” she asked, though some part of her knew the answer already.
Stone-faced, Sean confirmed it. “My little brother.”
The boys waved good-bye to their friend, calling childish insults to each other and snorting with laughter as they parted ways. Young Michael was still grinning as he and his brother reached the front door, unaware of Danni and Sean following them. Oblivious to the battle of wills as Danni tried to pull Sean along.
From inside the house, the sound of raised voices rang out, sharp and angry. A woman screamed a filthy oath and a moment later glass shattered in a brittle explosion. Beside her, Sean tried to back up, twisting to pull his hand free. Danni could feel his horror, his struggle to contain it, and in that moment she realized what was about to happen. This was the day Sean’s mother would die.
Dread sank deep in her gut, but she kept her grip on Sean’s fingers, hiding her fear from him as she moved closer. She reached up to touch his face with her other hand. She forced him to look at her.
There was pain in his eyes, a vulnerability so at odds with his bulk and strength that it might have seemed feigned but for the very real anguish she saw in him. She couldn’t release him though. She knew that.
“We’re here for a reason,” she said, laying her palm against the hard line of his jaw. “Remember, I told you? Someone here wants something from me.” She paused. “Sean, I think it’s you.”
She’d confused him with that. She could see it in his face. But no amount of explaining would ever make sense of what she meant. Instead she tried another way. “We’re not really here, Sean—not like before. We haven’t gone back in time and we won’t stay here, but we need to see it—whatever
it
is—before we can leave.” She stared into his eyes, trying to convince him what she spoke was the truth. “Trust me.”
The words seemed to penetrate, and slowly the tension eased from his face, his neck, his shoulders. He nodded and allowed her to lead him inside the house.
The front room was dim, the air layered with wisps of cigarette smoke that swirled in an airless dance, sullying walls and clouding the mirror that hung just inside the door. There were brown curtains on the windows, all of them pulled tight except for one that gaped at the top. Michael and his brother stood in the middle of the room, frozen as the angry voices grew louder, more vindictive. The boys crept forward, moving like the dust and smoke floating in the solitary shaft of light breaking through the curtains. At the kitchen door, Michael paused, pushing his brother behind him as he peered inside. Danni could feel his angst. It gripped her, made her move faster.
“A fool it is you think I am,” a woman said, her voice shrill and harsh.
Danni rounded the corner and stepped into the tiny kitchen. The woman who’d spoken was short and painfully thin, with red hair too bright to be natural and dark brown brows. Her face was angular, her cheeks sunken, but Danni could see Sean’s brother in the fine bones, pointed chin, and clear blue eyes. She held a teacup and a cigarette with an alarmingly long ash in one hand and jabbed a finger at the man standing in front of her with the other. Her movements were clunky, encumbered. Obviously it wasn’t tea she was drinking.
“You think I’m a fecking fool don’t you, you bloody bastard?” she shouted, red lips pulled back in a grimace.
“You’ve got the half of it right. I think you’re a fool, and it’s a drunken one you are, Brigid,” the man answered, turning with a resigned sigh. A giant man, with broad shoulders and long legs, Danni knew who he was before she saw his face. Niall Ballagh, the man she’d focused on when she tried to call this vision. Still, a part of Danni was convinced it was Sean who’d forced the time and place.
The boys stood unnoticed in the shadows of the doorway, watching with wide eyes and pale faces as Niall snatched a bottle from the counter and poured some in a glass. He gulped it down and filled it again.
“Do you think I like coming home to this?” he demanded. “I break my fucking back all day while you get pissfaced and meaner by the bottle? What of the boys? They’ll be home soon.”
“Home?” she sneered. “This isn’t a fucking home.
This
is a hovel. A hovel, you hear me?”
“The whole of Ballyfionúir hears your shrieking, woman.”
“Jaysus, why I married you I’ll never know. ‘Sure, he’s a handsome one,’ me mum said. ‘But he’ll come to nothing if he hasn’t come to it by now. He’s the reek of fish on him already,’ they said. ‘He’ll reek of it until he dies.’”
“The life of a fisherman is an honorable one, woman. There are worse things a man can do to put food on the table.”
Lost in her own drunken need to emasculate her husband, vandalize and destroy his pride, his life, his world with her slovenly disillusionment and resentment, Brigid slurred on. “I wouldn’t listen though. I’ll never know why I didn’t listen.”
“No and I will be as in the dark as always,” Niall countered. “I didn’t force you. I hadn’t a gun to your head.”
“And sure I wish you had. I wish you’d blown my brains to kingdom come, is what I wish.”
Brigid emptied her teacup in one long swallow and then tried to grab the bottle away from Niall. He fought her for it, pushing her back as she screamed with fury. Her cup hit the floor and broke into a thousand pieces as she jerked around, making her hand into a claw. She raked it down Niall’s face with a howl of satisfaction, and then snatched the bottle and held it up triumphantly.
Beside Danni, Sean’s breathing came faster. Cautiously she looked down at the boys, watching as their chests heaved with the same short, rapid breaths.
Brigid tipped the bottle and drank straight from the neck while Niall blotted at the blood oozing from the scratches on his face.
“Christ in fucking heaven, you’re a crazy bitch.”
“And you are nothing but a failure dressed like a man.
She
thinks it, too.”
Brigid stumbled and staggered against the counter, dropping her cigarette as she fought to save the bottle from slipping. She’d stepped in the broken glass and cut her bare feet, but she didn’t seem to notice the pain or the bloody footprints she left in her wake. “A failure,” she spat. “Always ogling another man’s wife. You think I don’t see? I have eyes, and it’s fine that they see.”
“Brigid,” Niall said, his voice pitched low, pleading.
In his eyes lurked hurt, confusion, and just a little bit of guilt. After what she’d seen earlier, Danni couldn’t help wondering . . . couldn’t help believing that Brigid spoke of Danni’s mother, Fia.
“Brigid,” Niall repeated. “You’ve got it wrong, love. You’re the only woman for me. Wife, my heart is true to you.”
He stared at her, eyes beseeching, and even though Danni had seen him with Fia herself, she believed him. At this point in time, his words rang true.
Brigid swayed in place, scanning his face, seeking the lie she seemed sure she’d find. “I see you watching her like she’s a fecking fairy princess. Deny it. Go on with you, tell me it’s not the way of things.”
Niall swallowed hard, giving his head one brief shake. “Never have I been unfaithful to you, Brigid. Never will I be,” he said simply.
Again, there was truth in the words—Danni could see it as clearly as Brigid claimed to see his longing for another. But he hadn’t answered her question and the both of them knew it.
“Faithful,” she spat. “Not in your heart.”
“In every way I can be.”
She wavered then, and Danni caught her breath, wanting to rush forward, to beg her to believe him. Because Danni knew what they’d come to see, and like the rigid man at her side, she wasn’t sure she could bear it. She clasped Sean’s hand with both of hers, holding on as he watched his parents with silent horror.
“Well, I can’t say the same, Niall Ballagh. I’ll not be faithful to a man whose heart is black like yours.”
“Mind your tongue, wife.”
“Oh, I mind it,” she said, squaring her shoulders, thrusting out her breasts. She circled her lips with her tongue in a drunken gesture that fell far short of seductive. But she made her point. “Trevor isn’t even your son. You know that? He’s not even yours.”
Niall grew very still, staring at her with black eyes and a hard jaw. “You’ll take that back,” Niall warned.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll ring your fucking neck, that’s what.”
Brigid laughed hysterically and took another swig from the bottle.
“It’s the truth. I don’t even know who his father is there were so many. Could be Patrick Walsh, maybe. Or Harold O’Conner it could have been, or—”
Niall moved with a speed that belied his size. One moment he was standing by the table, holding a towel to his raw face, and the next he was across the kitchen, yanking the bottle from Brigid’s grasp and slapping her hard with the back of his hand.
Her head snapped back and a trickle of blood trailed from the corner of her mouth. The look in her eyes when she leveled them at Niall made Danni’s blood run cold. With the insulation of rage, Niall blithely turned away and started across the room. Brigid pulled herself up, looking at the bright blood smeared on her fingers with sparking outrage. Calmly she opened a drawer and withdrew a knife with a long, wicked blade.
“Oh my God,” Danni breathed. Tremors began to shake the solid man beside her. Still holding his hand, she turned to him, pulling him against her, wishing she could shelter him, knowing it was futile to try. The two little boys went unnoticed as they cowered in the doorway. She wanted to hold them, too, but there was no way to do it.
Unaware of anything but his anger, Niall splashed four fingers of whiskey into his cup and drained it. His hands shook. In his eyes, Danni saw wretched grief, the kind that ate away at the soul until it had consumed everything in its wake.
Brigid moved silently now, holding the knife in a strong fist as she closed the distance between them.
“No,” Trevor shouted suddenly, startling them all. The boy took a step forward just as Niall spun around and Brigid lunged. But Michael was there first, grabbing his brother around the waist. He carried the kicking and screaming boy back to the door and set him down.
“You stay there,” Michael said, his face pulled in a mask of fury and determination.
Wishing he’d taken his own advice, Danni watched Michael rush back into the brawl. Beside her, Sean made a sound of disbelief and a shudder went through him.
Everything seemed to slow then. Danni was aware of Sean trying to shake her loose, trying to step between his parents even as his younger self did the same. He dragged Danni with him as he fought to separate the two, but he couldn’t stop what was happening. Not now. Not then. Only when the knife passed through him did he realize how insubstantial he was in this world. The eyes he turned to Danni were both tormented and enraged.
Brigid sidestepped and came at Niall with dogged determination, and instinctively Danni pulled Sean away, though the logical part of her knew it was unnecessary. Like cursed spectators, they watched Niall struggle to disarm her, but her rage and her drunkenness gave her the strength of a man.
Michael tried to force Niall and Brigid apart—just as the grown-up version had tried to do—but only managed to become tangled in their legs while his little brother screamed from the doorway.
Brigid stumbled over her son, but didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t care that her actions would traumatize him for life. The knife was over her head now and she brought it down hard, burying it in the soft flesh of Niall’s shoulder. Niall shouted with pain, trying helplessly to lift his son and move him to safety, telling him, “It will be all right, son. Go on now,” even as Brigid was on him again, throwing her weight behind the blow as she took aim at his heart.