AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
Don't trust a ho guy who kills people.
Sorry it's short. I haven't been getting enough sleep so writing's a bitch. Unfortunately, once again I know what the epilogue is but the stuff before it is hard.
***
Oisín was in deep, dreamless sleep, Ruth somewhere in between sleep and waking, their hands crossing a gulf of heavy eyelids and exhaustion. Aidan was finally back in the house; she’d been sneaking out and running away and hiding all day, nothing but trouble. By the time they’d gotten her back in, she stopped trying to leave, only exclaiming, “but there’s someone out there!” He’d looked. “There’s no-one.”
He shifted, turned over, sensing something, though he didn’t wake yet. Just a little prickling on the edges of his senses, a sound somewhere. Blearily his eyes opened. He slipped out of bed, rubbing his eyes and frowning, and found himself by the front door. Her face pressed up to the window, Aidan stood on tiptoes next to it. She turned to her da and, seeing he was about to yell, said quickly, “there is someone there! Honest!”
Could it…no. He gently moved Aidan aside from the window a moment. Through the cold fog against the glass he could see a figure in the distance, a woman walking away. Wordlessly he opened the door, to do who knows what, and she turned back and smiled a little apologetically. Why…?
But, “Dad,” Aidan pressed, looking a little closer, “there he is.”
“There’s no-one there now—“ He looked closer too and found he was looking right into someone’s face. The young man looked unfamiliar. It took a minute for Oisín to be able to identify the shivering, desperate individual as Ciarán. “Haigh,” Ciarán said awkwardly. “Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”
Before Oisín could answer, Aidan grabbed Ciarán and dragged him inside. “Why didn’t you call and say you were coming around?” Oisín asked, still sleep-muddled.
“I wasn’t sure where…” Ciarán began, then, “nevermind.” Oisín caught the look in his eyes before they turned away; Aidan had grabbed at something in Ciarán’s hand.
“Look, da, isn’t it pretty?” She showed him something cold and metallic.
“Shite,” Oisín muttered under his breath. Aidan giggled. Oisín handed the little wire ring back to his nephew, who put it on his thumb. When Ciarán looked back up again, he saw Oisín looking at him, wondering what exactly had happened that Cath had made herself known.
The rest to Ciarán was a blur of tea and nighttime and little glimpses of Oisín revealing that part of himself as he spoke—that part that felt guilty, that Bono hadn’t been told, revealed like bone through a sudden wound. They constructed a revision of some memories to what they had been actually. He explained that he hadn’t known what to do. Ciarán, hearing this, felt weirdly older than his uncle, who at the moment was a tired mixture of tired, sad, hugely relieved. Ciarán felt age faster than it was, in tea burning through his throat and thoughts spinning through his head. He couldn’t pay attention to when Aidan came back and dragged him away and told him excitedly of everything that had happened in the past couple years. Oisín sensed something. That something was wearing away at Ciarán and at the same time, something burning inside of him. He finally got a chance to ask what was wrong and Ciarán answered, ‘there’s somewhere I need to go.’
Ruth, finally awake, worried. She’d had that same urgency before but for different reasons, and it was nothing good. He’d only stay for a brief time, she knew, with whatever it was weighing upon him.
There’s a girl, Ciarán had explained to his mother, and I have to go back and find her. I have this feeling something’s happened. I’m sorry. I have to leave.
On the plane, he still felt the overwhelming unbalance of too many people who cared about him. He tried to shake it off, because here he was alone, and he was about to head back into dangerous territory. He had the oddest feeling, that all that time, the secrets had been to protect him from something. He had no idea that that something had caught up with him, and now he was practically racing for his life. Cath hadn’t had the chance to tell him, she hadn’t been sure, and Ruth and Oisín had no idea.
But—he was going back, unsure if he’d find what he was looking for, quite willing to brave whatever it took (he had faced the currents already, he knew himself) to make sure Corinne still existed and was alright. However foolish the decision was. At the time, he had no idea.
The second time around, he was smarter. He put his money where no-one would be able to take it. He hid any signs of care or absence. He knew the streets like they were his own veins inside of him. He walked this time, not ran for his life, and he hardly needed to look where he was going. It was already outlined into his mind, worn into his feet from so many times getting there and back. He was smarter in all but realization.
The first place he went, he’d hidden everything but his excitement. He didn’t know when he descended into the tunnel under the subway that something was wrong. He saw spraypaint scrawls and nothing else and he took the emptiness to mean a brief absence. Maybe everything was fine now, maybe they were back where they’d started. He had such an energy, hoping, that he ran to the building with two rooms. He missed everyone else entirely. The familiar shadow of the two stairwells was welcome. He ascended the first and opened the door, burning with anticipation. He saw dark hair but when she turned, it was Spider, not Corinne.
“Where is she?” Ciarán asked. Spider opened her mouth, but someone beyond her spoke. Ciarán wasn’t stymied then by the sight of London’s murderous grey eyes. It was only when he spoke.
“She’s dead,” the older man said flippantly, and grinned. There was a pause, where Ciarán couldn’t move. And that was just enough for London to twist his arms behind his back and lead him forcibly somewhere else.
Sorry it's short. I haven't been getting enough sleep so writing's a bitch. Unfortunately, once again I know what the epilogue is but the stuff before it is hard.
***
Chapter Thirteen. Heaven and Hell.
“My lady never told me of her sadness
Bones floating in the sound ”
—Iron & Wine, “Grey Stables”
“My lady never told me of her sadness
Bones floating in the sound ”
—Iron & Wine, “Grey Stables”
Oisín was in deep, dreamless sleep, Ruth somewhere in between sleep and waking, their hands crossing a gulf of heavy eyelids and exhaustion. Aidan was finally back in the house; she’d been sneaking out and running away and hiding all day, nothing but trouble. By the time they’d gotten her back in, she stopped trying to leave, only exclaiming, “but there’s someone out there!” He’d looked. “There’s no-one.”
He shifted, turned over, sensing something, though he didn’t wake yet. Just a little prickling on the edges of his senses, a sound somewhere. Blearily his eyes opened. He slipped out of bed, rubbing his eyes and frowning, and found himself by the front door. Her face pressed up to the window, Aidan stood on tiptoes next to it. She turned to her da and, seeing he was about to yell, said quickly, “there is someone there! Honest!”
Could it…no. He gently moved Aidan aside from the window a moment. Through the cold fog against the glass he could see a figure in the distance, a woman walking away. Wordlessly he opened the door, to do who knows what, and she turned back and smiled a little apologetically. Why…?
But, “Dad,” Aidan pressed, looking a little closer, “there he is.”
“There’s no-one there now—“ He looked closer too and found he was looking right into someone’s face. The young man looked unfamiliar. It took a minute for Oisín to be able to identify the shivering, desperate individual as Ciarán. “Haigh,” Ciarán said awkwardly. “Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”
Before Oisín could answer, Aidan grabbed Ciarán and dragged him inside. “Why didn’t you call and say you were coming around?” Oisín asked, still sleep-muddled.
“I wasn’t sure where…” Ciarán began, then, “nevermind.” Oisín caught the look in his eyes before they turned away; Aidan had grabbed at something in Ciarán’s hand.
“Look, da, isn’t it pretty?” She showed him something cold and metallic.
“Shite,” Oisín muttered under his breath. Aidan giggled. Oisín handed the little wire ring back to his nephew, who put it on his thumb. When Ciarán looked back up again, he saw Oisín looking at him, wondering what exactly had happened that Cath had made herself known.
The rest to Ciarán was a blur of tea and nighttime and little glimpses of Oisín revealing that part of himself as he spoke—that part that felt guilty, that Bono hadn’t been told, revealed like bone through a sudden wound. They constructed a revision of some memories to what they had been actually. He explained that he hadn’t known what to do. Ciarán, hearing this, felt weirdly older than his uncle, who at the moment was a tired mixture of tired, sad, hugely relieved. Ciarán felt age faster than it was, in tea burning through his throat and thoughts spinning through his head. He couldn’t pay attention to when Aidan came back and dragged him away and told him excitedly of everything that had happened in the past couple years. Oisín sensed something. That something was wearing away at Ciarán and at the same time, something burning inside of him. He finally got a chance to ask what was wrong and Ciarán answered, ‘there’s somewhere I need to go.’
Ruth, finally awake, worried. She’d had that same urgency before but for different reasons, and it was nothing good. He’d only stay for a brief time, she knew, with whatever it was weighing upon him.
There’s a girl, Ciarán had explained to his mother, and I have to go back and find her. I have this feeling something’s happened. I’m sorry. I have to leave.
On the plane, he still felt the overwhelming unbalance of too many people who cared about him. He tried to shake it off, because here he was alone, and he was about to head back into dangerous territory. He had the oddest feeling, that all that time, the secrets had been to protect him from something. He had no idea that that something had caught up with him, and now he was practically racing for his life. Cath hadn’t had the chance to tell him, she hadn’t been sure, and Ruth and Oisín had no idea.
But—he was going back, unsure if he’d find what he was looking for, quite willing to brave whatever it took (he had faced the currents already, he knew himself) to make sure Corinne still existed and was alright. However foolish the decision was. At the time, he had no idea.
The second time around, he was smarter. He put his money where no-one would be able to take it. He hid any signs of care or absence. He knew the streets like they were his own veins inside of him. He walked this time, not ran for his life, and he hardly needed to look where he was going. It was already outlined into his mind, worn into his feet from so many times getting there and back. He was smarter in all but realization.
The first place he went, he’d hidden everything but his excitement. He didn’t know when he descended into the tunnel under the subway that something was wrong. He saw spraypaint scrawls and nothing else and he took the emptiness to mean a brief absence. Maybe everything was fine now, maybe they were back where they’d started. He had such an energy, hoping, that he ran to the building with two rooms. He missed everyone else entirely. The familiar shadow of the two stairwells was welcome. He ascended the first and opened the door, burning with anticipation. He saw dark hair but when she turned, it was Spider, not Corinne.
“Where is she?” Ciarán asked. Spider opened her mouth, but someone beyond her spoke. Ciarán wasn’t stymied then by the sight of London’s murderous grey eyes. It was only when he spoke.
“She’s dead,” the older man said flippantly, and grinned. There was a pause, where Ciarán couldn’t move. And that was just enough for London to twist his arms behind his back and lead him forcibly somewhere else.
