by Mary Lindsey
It dawned on me that I truly knew nothing about Francine. Who had she lost?
She took my good hand. “Live, Liam. For the first time in your life, really live. Consider this a gift, not a curse. Perhaps that is the way to beat it—to really live.”
14
Thou wouldst be loved?—then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “To F— — s S.nu art not. O ——d,” 1835
Liam.” Anna’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Francine smiled. “Even in sleep, your name is on her lips.”
Anna’s words from earlier played through my head. Please don’t keep stuff from me anymore. “I have to tell her,” I said.
Francine shook her head. “To what end? To worry her when it’s naught but a story from our homeland? There are cases where people live many years after seeing the Cailleach. It’s only rumor, Liam, and I’ve never heard of it affecting an outsider.”
After glancing over my shoulder to confirm Anna still slept, I leaned across the table, closer to Francine. “How many do you know personally who have seen it?”
She lowered her eyes to her lap. “Four. My parents, my brother, and my . . . friend.”
“You told me about your friend. How long did the others live after the sighting?”
“I’ve heard of cases in which people live full lives,” she said so quickly, the words tumbled over themselves.
“How long for the people you knew personally?”
She sighed. “All of them died inside of sixty days.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Anna. “I have to tell her the truth.”
“Suit yourself, but take my advice. You have no control over death, only life. Make it count.” With that, she rose and disappeared up the stairs.
“Liam,” Anna called again.
“I’m here.” I sat on the edge of the sofa. She stirred and rolled on her side, her arm draping over my lap. I took her hand in mine and her eyes fluttered open. “I’m here,” I repeated.
She shot upright with a start. “Oh, God. The thing. The old woman.” Her eyes darted around the room.
“It’s gone,” I assured, squeezing her fingers. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
“You saw it too, then?”
I nodded.
“I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse.” She curled her legs underneath her.
“Nor do I.”
“So, it was real?” she asked, not pulling her hand away. I was glad she didn’t. I needed to touch her.
I stared down at her slender fingers in mine. “Reality on Dòchas often borders on the fantastic; it’s hard to determine where illusion ends and reality begins.”
“That was a well-spoken non-answer.” She slipped her hand from mine. “Okay, then, Mr. Riddle, did I pass out?”
Her color had returned to her face. Perhaps she would not go into shock.
“Francine says our mind protects itself that way sometimes.”
She gave the snort-through-her-nose sound. “Like I tripped a breaker in my head or something.” My confusion must have shown on my face because she clarified. “With electricity in houses or appliances, there’s a switch that shuts down the current if there’s an unusual spike in energy. It keeps things from overheating or burning up.”
So smart, my Anna. “I know nothing of electricity.”
She swung her legsswuancine off the couch, sitting close enough to me to touch all the way down the thigh. “Yeah, but you know all about creepy Celtic creatures. What was it?”
“Celtic lore varies from region to region. Dòchas is no exception. Here, this particular creature is called a Cailleach, or the Washerwoman.” Hoping she would accept that as a complete answer, I got up and pulled a cup out of the cabinet. “Would you like some water?”
“Please,” she said as she stretched.
I filled it from the cistern tap, handed her the cup, and returned to the cabinet.
“So, what did the thing want?”
I filled a second cup, relieved this was an innocuous question. “No one knows what it wants. It just . . . is.”
She shuddered. “Well, it’s creepy as crap. I hope it stays far away.”
“Me too.”
Cup in hand, I sat beside her. She turned sideways facing me. “How long was I out?”
“I don’t know exactly. Less than an hour.”
Her eyes widened. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”
I set my cup down on the coffee table in front of us. “Like live up to your tabloid reputation of taking your clothes off in public?”
She put her cup next to mine. “Would that embarrass you, Liam?”
I smiled. She’d turned my joke back on me. “No. What were you worried about doing in your sleep?”
She fidgeted. “I don’t know. Drooling, snoring, talking . . .”
“Well, now that you mention it . . .” I grinned as she squirmed. “You certainly snore loudly for such a petite girl.”
She punched my shoulder. “I do not snore.”
I pointed to her chin. “You have something wet right . . . there.”
Her laughter warmed me. She rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha. Liam, the demon comedian!”
Now it was clear what she feared. “You didn’t talk in your sleep.” Except for my name. My heart tightened as I remembered Francine’s remark, Even in sleep, your name is on her lips.
“Whew.” She leaned back. “Good, because I say strange things sometimes. Do you talk in your sleep?”
I had no idea. I’d never slept in the same room with someone. Well, not since I was a little boy. “Not that I know of.”
“I stopped going to sleepovers when I was in middle school because I’d say stupid stuff. Sleep is like a truth serum for me or something. I say what’s on my mind. If I was mad at a friend, I cussed them out in my sleep. If I liked a boy, everyone at the slumber party knew about it.” She shook her head. “So embarrassing.”
Live for now, I reminded myself. “You need never be embarrassed with me, Anna.”
She stared into my eyes for a long time and the world seemed suspended, frozen, as our souls touched, entwining. The effect was overpowering to the point I wanted to weep.
She ran her fingers down my cheek. “I really like you, Liam. I like who I am when I’m with you.”
My voice was shaky. “Who are you when you’re with me?”
A smile spread across her face. “I’m myself. The real me. And I kinda like her.”
“I do too. A great deal.”
I realized as her soft, warm lips met mine, I was happier now than I’d ever been in my life. It was better to have a brief time left with her in it than a long life without her. I would take Francine’s advice and live for the moment and be sure as many moments contained Anna as was humanly possible. The prospect of imminent death was, in ways, liberating.
* * *
The glow of sunrise peeked through the curtains of the window. Anna was wrapped around me on the sofa, face completely relaxed in slumber. She hadn’t spoken in her sleep but had smiled and laughed numerous times. Her dreams were pleasant, which brought me comfort. Perhaps she would not fall prey to the lore since she was an outsider.
“Tea?” Francine asked, entering the room.
“No, thanks.”
Anna shifted and made an “mmmm” noise, causing my body to come fully awake.
Francine chuckled and put the teakettle on. “Did you tell her?”
“We didn’t explore the topic fully.”
“Ah, you explored other things fully instead.” She winked and I groaned silently.
I attempted to sit, but Anna repositioned, effectively pinning me in place. “Anna,” I whispered, brushing her hair out of her face. “It’s morning.”
“So what?” she mumbled.
“So, we n
eed to get you back to see your friends off.”
“Screw ’em.”
Francine stifled a laugh. “She certainly knows her mind.”
No doubt about that. It was one of the things that appealed most to me, perhaps because I knew so little of my own. “She does indeed.” I pulled the blanket back and cool air swirled around us, causing Anna to furrow her brow. “Good morning,” I whispered.
“It is good, isn’t it?” she said, rubbing her warm palm up my chest.
I cleared my throat and stayed her hand. Francine laughed out loud, which finally snapped Anna into alertness. She sat up and ran her hands through her tangled hair, face flushed. I’d never seen anything as beautiful.
“Would you care for some tea?” Francine asked.
Anna shook her head. “No thank you. I need to get back.”
I smiled. She must have been asleep when she spoke earlier. “I’ll walk you back.”
“Good. You need to say good-bye to Suz, Mallory, and Nicky, especially since you took off at dinner without a word.”
I slid on my hiking boots. “I apologize. It was the best course of action at the time.” The thought of facing Nicholas again made my stomach roil.
To my horror, Anna’s gaze was locked on the painting over the sink. “That’s the jetty near the mansion, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Francine stepped aside so she could get closer.
“Oh, my gosh. That’s us!” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “The little kids are Princess Annabel and Prince Leem. I recognize my yellow sundress. I wore that thing every day that summer.” She turned to me. ture over he“You did this, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“Liam is a talented painter. He sells his work to the vendors sometimes, and they in turn sell it to people on the mainland. He trades with one who supplies paint and canvas in exchange for a painting of his choice each trip.”
Anna’s expression was unreadable. I held my breath and waited as she studied the painting. Finally, she stepped back and stared at me in disbelief. Was she angry that I had painted her without permission?
“You’re really good, Liam. I’m serious. Crazy good.”
I let my breath out through my nose, heart singing.
“There are several more in here,” Francine said, walking into the store. Anna followed, giving me a curious look over her shoulder as if she were seeing me for the first time.
One was of the lighthouse with a storm approaching, another was of Seal Island, capped with winter snow, and the last was a close-up portrait of six-year-old Anna in her yellow dress with a bucket and shovel, digging in the sand.
“That’s me,” she whispered.
“Most of his paintings are of you, lass,” Francine said, wiping the edge of the sales counter with her dishcloth.
“They are?”
I cringed, leaning against the doorway from the kitchen.
“Where are they? The others?” Anna asked, still studying her portrait.
Francine spoke before I could answer. “He has dozens—maybe hundreds of them in his case. One of the vendors likes his work so much, he gave him a leather portfolio to keep his work in.”
“Are they at your place?” Anna asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Show me?”
I shrugged. “I was unsure of your reception.”
She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I need to see them.” Perhaps my reaction affected her, but her tone softened. “Please, Liam.”
“Not today. You need to get home to your friends.” I would as soon die as show her my work. It was so personal. As soon die, I played through my head. The new relevance of the idiom was almost funny. Live for now, I reminded myself. “Soon,” I amended. “I’ll show them to you soon. I promise.”
Francine gave me a hug on her way into the kitchen. “In the moment,” she whispered for my ears only.
The morning was peaceful and clear, interrupted only by the call of gulls. A couple of men were prepping their gear for the day, but Pa’s boat stood empty in the last slot. There was no sign of either him or Johnny, which was unusual. He was probably nursing a monster of a hangover.
“It’s beautiful here,” Anna remarked, taking my hand.
“Just yesterday, you were saying how much you disliked it.”
She squeezed my fingers. “It’s growing on me.”
Don’t, I begged her in my head. Go back to civilization, where you will be safe. My heart, however, disagreed completely.
Being with Anna made me better—whole. I’d always been a mere reflection of what people expected me to be: a latent demon; a worthless, adopted burden; a leech on the community. Ne c.”
Heavy footsteps farther up the path caused me to freeze. I recognized the cadence of the boots that had stomped toward me so many times in my life, only to bring terror or heartache. I cringed as Pa came into view over the rise.
I attempted to pull my fingers away, but Anna held tighter.
His house was south of the harbor, so why was he coming from the upland side of the island? I wondered.
He halted for only a moment, looking from me to Anna and back again, and then, uncharacteristically, he shoved past me without a word. Not an insult, not a name, not a threat.
Stunned, I watched as he made his way down the path toward the harbor.
“That went well,” Anna said.
The hair tingled on the back of my neck. “Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”
In silence, we continued up the path to the cutoff for the wooded section, which overlooked the cliffs. The jetty could be seen in the distance.
“Oh, my God. Is that . . . ? What is that, Liam?”
Amid a swirl of turbulence, a human form could be seen, facedown in the water, halfway down the jetty just off the edge. The movement of the water was unnatural, and my entire being shuddered with an unexpected chill. “Stay here,” I said.
“Like hell I will,” Anna answered, following me down the cliff-side path.
The strangeness of the current was explained when I neared the jetty. The body was being, for lack of a better word, herded along by a pod of harbor seals. Seals often play with their prey, but that was not what was happening here. They were keeping the body afloat, and it appeared they were trying to beach it on the rocks.
Being facedown, the man was dead, I had no doubt. Who and why could only be answered by retrieving his body. Carefully, I made my way to the midpoint of the jetty. Anna followed several steps behind.
I climbed onto the rock closest to the water, trying to figure out the best way to lift the body.
“You get an arm, and I’ll grab a leg. We should be able to drag him up that way,” Anna said.
It wrecked me that she had to be a participant in such a macabre event, but her suggestion was a good one. With only one arm, it would be difficult to do this alone. A seal took his wrist in its mouth and dragged him closer. The animal met my eyes as if it were trying to communicate. The Selkie myths made sense when interactions like this occurred. It seemed almost human beneath its pelt. Those eyes . . .
From the harbor, the bells clanged a slow dirge, announcing death.
I lay flat on the rock and reached to the hand being offered. The skin was ice cold and slick. I jerked it closer so that I caught it by the forearm and had the shirt as well as slippery skin. I pulled hard, and Anna grabbed the shirt, then the waist of the pants, getting a solid hold on the belt.
“On three,” she said. “One, two, three.”
We tugged the torso up onto the rock and she rolled the body over, face up.
“Johnny,” I said. “Johnny O’Keefe, my dad’s fishing masthe torste.”
His lips were blue and his skin puckered from being in the water, but it was easy to tell it was Johnny because of the red beard and dense freckles. Small, angry gashes covered the exposed skin, probably from being repeatedly washed against the rocks, which had rough edges covered in barnacles. Honestly, he l
ooked much better than most of the bodies rejected by the sea. Many were mangled beyond recognition.
Anna covered her mouth and stared wide-eyed at the corpse. A loud sob rose from her throat. “His eyes!” she gasped.
Johnny’s eyes stared lifelessly at the sky, pupils enlarged to completely fill the iris. I rubbed my thumb over one eyelid and then
the other, closing them. I shouldn’t have let her follow me here. I could have spared her this horror.
The harbor bells continued their proclamation of death. We might have retrieved the body, but someone else knew prior to our grisly discovery.
“You! I should have known you would be involved, Liam MacGregor. I’ve been saying for a long time you would kill soon.”
I fought the urge to vomit and turned to face Mrs. Katie McAlister, Megan clinging tightly to her hand.
15
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
—Edgar Allan Poe,
from “The Bells,” 1848
I was . . . We . . .” I fell silent, deciding not to continue in my discourse with Mrs. McAlister. Words would only exacerbate the situation, which was worsening by the second. Half of the village was filing down the trail toward us, several of them already mounting the jetty.
The villagers’ angry words were indistinguishable, but their intent was as clear as the tolling of the bells in the harbor. Anna crawled closer to me. “What the heck? All they need are pitchforks and torches and we’d have a witch hunt here.”
“A demon hunt,” I whispered.
“Oh, God. They don’t think you—”
“Indeed, they do.”
“I caught him red-handed!” Mrs. McAlister announced with a tone bordering on glee. “I found him in the act!”
Anna pushed to her feet. “In the act of pulling a guy that was already dead out of the water!”
Mrs. McAlister’s face pinched up as if she smelled something foul. More of the villagers were picking their way across the jetty rocks to get a closer look at the demon and his prey. I saw no prospect of a positive outcome. Perhaps the Washerwoman’s recourse would happen sooner rather than later. I hadn’t envisioned my death at the end of a rope.
