She gasped in horror. He knew everything? That she used before classes and every night out? That she needed to take a heavy dose in order to be intimate with Mark? Brigid collapsed into the chair again. “How could you? How could you, Ioan? I told him… He said it would be confidential.”
He knelt in front of her. “You scared me to death. I don’t know that I have ever been more frightened. Do you know how dear you are to me? To Deirdre? To your aunt? The thought of you harming yourself kills me.”
She sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, she sniffed and rolled her eyes. “You can’t die, stupid.”
He let out a strangled laugh. She finally looked up and for the first time in her life, she saw tears threatening Ioan’s eyes. “You have to get help. You have to, Brigid. For everything. God knows, I’ve tried, but I can’t protect you from yourself.”
She couldn’t seem to move. And the small bag of white powder hidden in the lining of her handbag called to her, promising happiness and peace. She closed her eyes, imagined the easy thrill of the pills, and the deep, pure peace of the heroin. In her mind’s eye, she saw the furious glint in a pair of blue eyes, and a hastily tossed-out command.
“Take care of yourself.”
She’d always taken care of herself. No one else had ever volunteered. From the earliest time she could remember, even before her mother married Richard, she had always taken care of herself. And though her heart fought against it, Brigid knew what she needed to do.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll go.”
Kinvara, Co. Galway
September 2005
The dark night wrapped around her like a blanket, and the sea air carried the scent of salt and seaweed from the south shore of Galway Bay. Brigid stood at the open window and resisted the urge to flee down the small road that led to town. Even if Anne didn’t stop her, where would she go?
Brigid had sweated out the worst of her physical withdrawal in her aunt’s house in Wicklow. She’d wanted to die. Even though she had been careful with her heroin use, her body had come to depend on it far more than she realized. She’d never been as sick as she had those first weeks. At one point, she’d begged Deirdre to kill her. She hadn’t, thankfully, but when Brigid thought about her first “talk” with Anne that she was supposed to have that night, she reconsidered the idea.
“The road or the bay?”
Brigid turned. The silent water vampire had entered the glass-enclosed room behind her and was already sitting in an overstuffed chair.
She couldn’t help but smile. “The road. I’m not a very good swimmer.”
Anne smiled. “Well, definitely don’t take the watery escape route, then.”
Brigid shook her head and moved to the other chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The two women, one mortal and one vampire, both stared out the windows that surrounded them. The study was a small room that faced the water. In the morning, the light would stream in, and it was a pleasant place to drink a cup of tea or read a book. At night, the glass-enclosed room was surrounded by stars and the scattered lights that lined the western Irish shore. It was full of bookcases and stacked tables. Deep comfortable chairs and warm, woolen blankets. It didn’t look at all like a doctor’s office, but that’s what it was.
Anne said, “So, a man goes to see a psychologist. ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘you have to help me. My wife says I’m obsessed with sex.’ The doctor sits down and gets out some ink blots and shows them to the man. ‘What do you see here?’ the doctor asks. ‘A couple on a bed, having sex.’ The doctor nods and shows him another one. ‘And this one?’ ‘A man and a woman on a couch, having sex.’ ‘Interesting,’ the doctor says. ‘And how about this one?’ The man squints and says, ‘That’s a picture of a man and a woman having sex on a boat.’ The doctor finally says, ‘Well, you do have a problem. It appears you’re definitely obsessed with sex.’ The man stands up, outraged. ‘What do you mean I’m obsessed with sex? You’re the one showing me all the dirty pictures!’”
Despite herself, Brigid snorted.
Anne spoke again. “How are a hooker and a psychiatrist the same?”
Brigid remained silent for a moment, then decided to play along. “How?”
“They both turn to each other after an hour together and say, ‘That’ll be two hundred, please.’”
Brigid fought back another snort. “So, are psychiatrists like lawyers? Lots of jokes about their noble profession?”
“I don’t know. I think my secretary finds them on the internet. I get a new one every night on my desk.”
“And I’m supposed to take this process seriously? Now I’m just going to be imagining you in fishnet stockings, saying, ‘Looking for a good time, big boy?’”
Anne threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Brigid, it’s nice that you have a sense of humor. Humor is important.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes.” The counselor turned to her with a wide smile. “It’s very important. Truth is important, but so is laughter. Never be afraid to laugh, even when you’re crying. Sometimes the two go together.”
“Well, I’m trying to think of some junkie jokes, but I’m coming up short. Heard any good ones lately?”
Anne settled into her chair, looking back out the windows. “I’m afraid not. Should I have my secretary look tomorrow?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you think you were a junkie?”
She started to say “No,” but halted. Did she? “I’m not a junkie, but I was weak.”
“Why do you think you were weak? From what your friends and family say about you, you’re one of the strongest people they’ve ever known.”
“They…” She took a deep breath, and her voice came out like a whisper. “They don’t know me.”
“Does anyone know you?”
Her mind flashed through the faces of her friends. Her family. Ioan. Deirdre. Sinead. Emily. Mark. “Probably not.” The last image was a pair of vivid blue eyes, but she shoved it away.
“Do you want to be known?”
A sick, oily feeling twisted in her gut. Shame. Even after so many years. Shame piled on top of shame, because she was ashamed to even feel the emotion itself. She bit the inside of her lip and muttered, “Probably not.”
“Well, I’d like to know you.”
“Because you want your two hundred in the morning?”
“Of course.” Brigid’s head jerked up, and a smile lifted the corner of Anne’s mouth. “I like strong, interesting people, too. And I think you are. Interesting. And strong. Very strong.”
“I’m not strong. If I was strong, I wouldn’t have had to use drugs.”
Anne paused. “Tell me about your father.”
Brigid slid down into her chair and looked out the windows. “He died when I was five.”
“Tell me about your step-father, then.”
Brigid stared out the windows. The shadow of a large bird swooped down in front of them. An owl? She heard a sharp squeak and knew that some tiny creature had just become dinner. “My step-father died when I was ten.”
“He was killed. In front of you.”
Brigid still stared into the dark night, imagining the razor-sharp talons of the owl tearing into the tiny mole or mouse. “Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately? If he were in front of me now, I’d kill him.” Brigid looked up in surprise, but Anne only shrugged. “Human shrinks aren’t allowed to say things like that, but then, I’m not human, am I?”
“I suppose not.”
Anne waited for her to speak again, but she didn't know what to say, except that this session wasn’t turning out the way she thought it might.
“You said, ‘unfortunately,’” Anne continued. “It’s not unusual in cases of long-term abuse for a child to confuse abuse and love. It’s very common and nothing to be ashamed of. From a young age, you were conditioned—”
“I had no love for Richard. I never did. I hated him. I always knew what he did was w
rong. I knew by the look on my mother’s face when she found him in my room the first time. I know he was a sick bastard. I know that I wasn’t at fault, so don’t think that I regret he’s dead.”
Anne fell silent, and Brigid could hear the wind whistling around the old house on the edge of the sea.
Finally, Anne said, “Then why—?”
“I said ‘unfortunately’ because I’m still angry he killed him.” Brigid’s head ached as she sifted through the tucked away childhood memories. The dread of the creaking door and the place she went in her mind when she heard it. It was the same. The same every night he came. Then, one night… it wasn’t. Lights pouring in. No place to hide. Unexpected footsteps and her mother’s soft sobs. A shock of auburn hair and a small pop as Richard crumbled to the ground in front of her.
“Why then, Brigid? Why were you angry he died?”
“Not angry he died.” She turned to Anne. “I only wish he hadn’t killed him, because I wanted to do it.”
Chapter Five
Snowdonia, Wales
September 2006
Carwyn murmured the last of his prayers, made the ancient sign of the cross, then rose from his knees. He walked to the closet where he kept his vestments to dress before left the house and went to the small church he’d tended for hundreds of years. It was Friday evening, and in the small town in North Wales, that meant that the Father would be there to hear confession if he was in town. Carwyn didn’t know if it was the silence and peace of the tiny church in the mountains, or the safe cloak of darkness, but Friday nights were often his busiest nights when he was home.
Well, if you could call three or four parishioners “busy.”
He looked in the mirror to make sure his collar was straight, then hastily brushed back his thick red mop of hair. Sister Maggie would say he needed a haircut, but the nights were growing colder, and Carwyn had never much cared for hats. He grabbed a coat and walked down the hall.
Maggie was baking in the kitchen and looked up. “Down to the church, then?”
“Yes.”
“Friday night. Do you think you’ll be long?”
“Last week there were four parishioners, Sister.” He chuckled. “The week before, there were two. What do you think?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll have dinner waiting, then.”
“No, don’t bother. I’m in the mood for a hunt later.” A hard run in the hills was just what he needed to burn off energy.
“Fine then. No stew for you.”
He gave the old nun a quick squeeze around the shoulders and headed out the door. “I’ll see you later, Maggie.”
“Bye now.”
Carwyn sped out the door and down the mountain, enjoying the whip of wind around his face as he moved effortlessly through the hills. Their ancient energy fed his own, and he had to resist the temptation to take off his shoes and dig his feet into the living soil that called him. He could have stayed lost in the mountains for hours, recharging his amnis and taking comfort in his element, but that was not his purpose that night. His purpose was to offer comfort, not take it.
The small town nestled in the isolated valley had been his tiny province for over five hundred years. Like Deirdre and Ioan’s people, the villagers never asked any questions, knowing that something otherworldly dwelled among them. They offered seclusion and secrecy and, in turn, Carwyn took care of them. The father who lost a job found another in a nearby town. The child whose parents couldn’t afford braces received them. It was a fair trade, in Carwyn’s opinion. They were his people, as small as the community might be. He had watched families form and break apart, much to his sorrow. He christened and buried the faithful. He celebrated the weddings and mourned the lost. The town was his, but as the years passed, even Carwyn had to admit things were changing. His parish was slowly shrinking. More and more young people left the town and stayed in the city. Fewer and fewer children were born.
It was the way of things, he supposed, even if the thought filled him with sorrow at times.
When he entered the sanctuary, his keen, immortal eyes spied only two women. One was as faithful as the clock in his library. The other, though, was a surprise.
“Lynne, are you all right?” He placed a soft hand on the young woman’s shoulders. He had married the girl and her young husband five years before, and they had christened two children in the church. “Nothing wrong with David, is there?”
Tear-filled eyes blinked up at him. “Do you have time to hear my confession, Father?”
“Of course. Give me a moment.”
She nodded and went back to praying while Carwyn entered the small, wooden confessional and took a seat on the bench.
Father God, if you’d like me to be more patient hearing your lambs, put it on Sister Maggie’s heart to get me a cushion for this wretched bench.
He settled in and soon heard the other door open. He slid back the tiny screen and listened to the familiar refrain.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two months since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sins…”
The poor girl was pregnant again. And though her heart loved the child, her husband had lost his job and she despaired of how they would manage to pay their bills when they could barely afford to pay their way with two small mouths. Carwyn’s heart hurt for the girl, whose husband was a proud, but good, man who wouldn’t accept charity. He heard the girl’s confession of anger and resentment toward her husband. Her guilt over not feeling joy at the coming new life. Her sharp words to her older children.
By the time she had finished, his heart was heavy, and he knew he’d be seeing another family leave the town. He could find a job for the young man, who he knew was a steady worker, but it wouldn’t be in the valley. The jobs were all leaving, along with the people.
“Go in peace, Lynne,” he told the young woman after they had prayed together.
“Thank you, Father. It always helps to talk to you.”
He saw her cross herself, stand, and leave. Shortly after, a middle-aged man slipped into the booth. He must have come in after Carwyn had started with Lynne.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last confession, and these are the sins I have committed…”
I’ve been drinking again.
I was unfaithful to my husband.
I’ve had lustful thoughts.
I spoke hateful words to my children.
I lied to my wife.
I beat a man who angered me.
Though the world changed, humanity did not. The sins he had heard in the days of carts and horses were the same committed in the time of computers and automobiles. Life flowed around him. The town grew, then died. Sin and anger, love and life remained the same. As powerful as he was, there was so much Carwyn knew he could not control. Oftentimes, he was helpless to make things right. But he could comfort. He could advise. And as his beloved sire had admonished him a thousand years before, he could have a purpose.
But Carwyn was beginning to wonder if his purpose needed to change. The community he had shepherded through so much was crumbling. It was inevitable.
Shortly after the man had received absolution, the door opened again. He recognized the step and smiled.
“You the last one, Davina?”
“I think so. I waited a bit so I wouldn’t be a bother.”
“You’re never a bother, dear.”
“You say that, but I know you tire of hearing about my cats.”
Carwyn smiled as she sat her old bones in the chair. Davina was one of his oldest parishioners. He had christened her, married her, christened her children, then her grandchildren. Someday, he would give her the last rites before her soul flew to be with her beloved William again. Davina was there every Friday, faithful as the sun.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. These are the sins of which I accuse myself…”
He tried to keep
a straight face as she detailed her litany of failings.
“And I should have told her that the dress made her backside look like a mule, but I didn’t.”
“No?”
“I told her it was grand.” Davina sighed. “Brenda has many fine qualities, but she’s a poor seamstress. She was just so proud, I didn’t have the heart to tell her. But it was a lie. Definitely a lie to say ‘grand.’”
“You might have to make a pilgrimage of some kind for that one, Vina.”
The old woman chuckled. “You’re teasing me again.”
“Lying to Brenda about her dress is hardly a mortal sin.”
“I hope you’re not so light with the young people about these things, Father.” Her voice held a slight note of disapproval.
“What young people?”
The old woman sighed. “Don’t I know it?”
“How’s your daughter and her family in Cardiff?”
“Doing well. Very well. She was just telling me about…”
The friendly woman began filling him in on all her children’s doings before launching into her grandchildren’s. She did every week. Though her family was caring, they were busy, and Davina was quite adamant about not being a bother to them, so their visits were rare.
“Davina?” He finally broke in.
“Yes, Father?”
“Let’s finish up and just go get a cup of tea at the house, dear. This chair is not the most comfortable.”
“Oh! Well, that would be fine, Father. Is the sister about?”
His hunt would have to wait. Carwyn smiled. “She is, and I believe she was baking a cake.”
“Well, that would be lovely, then.”
Carwyn smiled, closed his eyes, and began to pray with her.
Chapter Six
Dublin, Ireland
September 2006
It was amazing how much one city could change in a year. But then, as Brigid opened the door to her new flat that faced the river, she thought she might have changed just as much. And just like the modern construction that lined the River Liffey, she felt ready for the future. Her year with Anne had helped her turn a corner. And though shadows of the past still haunted her at times, she’d finally reached a place where they weren’t an anchor dragging her down.