Deadly Shamrocks: An Irish Tale of Love, Murder and Revenge
Page 17
“Mr. Flannery, were you aware that my mother was raped and beaten while working at your father’s pub?”
Tommy stared straight ahead at Vivie’s grave.
“Now that you mention it, I do seem to remember something about that. Gee, that was a long time ago. I had completely forgotten about it. I guess things worked out for her in the end though, I mean, she married your father and became a successful business woman and all.”
“Yes, my mother was a strong woman, Mr. Flannery. She survived many hardships in her lifetime.” Rose opened her purse and removed a knife that Vivie had given her the day she left for college. She told her she wanted her to have it for protection; she had carried it ever since.
“There is something that no one knows, Mr. Flannery that I’m about to tell you. Since you were such a good friend to my mother, I’m sure she would not mind my telling you. Michael was my mother’s husband but he was not my father; at least not my biological father. You see, Mr. Flannery, I am the product of that violent attack, I am the bastard child of a rapist.”
Tommy’s blood ran cold; he wasn’t sure what Rose was going to say next. Tommy started to turn around to look at Rose but was stopped when she grabbed him by the hair of the head and put the blade of the knife to his neck.
“You, Mr. Flannery, are my father. You are the rapist who beat my mother and left her to die that night. My mother would never permit any harm to come to you because you and I have the same rare blood type and she worried that someday I may need you. She protected your worthless ass; that’s the only reason you are alive today. I am fully grown now, Mr. Flannery; I‘ll have no need for you. You can go to hell.”
Saying this Rose, slit Tommy’s throat, letting him fall to the ground. Within a few seconds Tommy lay dead, just a few feet from Vivie’s grave. Rose walked over and knelt between Vivie’s and Michael’s graves. She jammed the knife into the ground between the two of them.
“It’s over Mother. You and Michael can rest in peace. You don’t have to worry about me any longer. After all, I am my mother’s daughter.
Rose stood to her feet, turned, and walked out of the cemetery.
About the Author
J.B. Reed was born in Charleston, West Virginia, the youngest of three children. In 1958, her father was transferred to central Ohio and the family settled in a small town by the name of Baltimore. In
1987, J.B. returned to her roots when she and her daughter relocated to Charleston, West Virginia.
In 2006 J.B. accepted a job transfer and found herself once again residing in Ohio; this time in southern Ohio, in a little town by the name of Proctorville.
In 2013, she moved to Kentucky, where she currently resides..
J.B. tried her hand at writing children's stories in her twenties, but with working a full time job and with her was at a premium and writing was placed on the back burner. Demands on her time are less these days, and J.B. has found that she now has the freedom required to devote to writing....her true passion.
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