by Willow Rose
>Yes. Just woke up< she wrote back, then sat in the small kitchen of her apartment downtown and sipped her coffee. From the window, she could see over the rooftops of the sleepy town. She wasn’t going to miss living here once she moved on. Being single wasn’t for her. She knew Michael loved the countryside just as much as she did and hoped he would take her there and they could grow old together.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Fiona. You haven’t even met him yet.
Fiona knew she was getting herself too worked up, and that was usually not a good sign. She always ended up getting disappointed when she did. But she just couldn’t help herself. This guy was so perfect.
>I bet you look beautiful even though you just woke up< he wrote.
Fiona giggled and thought it was a good thing he couldn’t see her, because she really didn’t. Her hair was a mess and she was very pale from all the night shifts she worked. The pictures he had seen online were from after she had been to Crete with Mona last summer. She didn’t exactly look like that anymore.
>I was thinking it was about time we met< he wrote.
Fiona almost choked on her coffee. She had been waiting for him to ask, but still it took her by surprise. Was she ready for this? Was she ready to finally meet this guy? She believed she was. Fiona looked at the screen on her phone with a quickly beating heart.
This is it.
While holding her breath, she wrote back. >Okay<
She didn’t have to wait long for his answer.
>Let’s do it tonight. I know the perfect place.<
17
July 2015
The Irish sea before us seemed angry. The weather wasn’t being our friend; it was pouring down again and dark clouds made the day gloomy. Still, it was beautiful, and I liked the thought of standing there on the beach and looking towards England on the other side. I felt like I could almost see it. But, even if I could on a sunny day, there were way too many clouds to make it possible today. It was a little depressing. The wind and rain felt cold on my skin. Yet, we took a small stroll across the beach, just to be able to say we had been there. We were prepared and were wearing our raincoats and boots, fitting the old Danish saying that, there is no such thing as bad weather, only wrong clothing.
“Beautiful, huh?” Morten said and put his arm around me.
I wiped away a raindrop that had lingered on the tip of my nose for a little too long.
“Sure. In a gloomy, I-wanna-make-a-horror-movie sort of way,” I answered.
Morten chortled. “Or maybe it would be ideal for one of those depressing Scandinavian movies, where the director thinks the true movie mission is to test an aesthetic theory or make a political point.”
I laughed. Morten grabbed my hand and we walked towards the car. We still had a castle that we wanted to see, but it was getting late and I was hungry.
“Let’s do lunch first,” I said, as we sat in the car. I grabbed my phone and saw that I had missed a call from Maya. I called her back while Morten started the car.
“Hi, Mom.”
She sounded happy, so it wasn’t anything catastrophic. “What’s going on, sweetie?”
“I just wanted to hear how you’re doing,” she said. “I loved the pictures you posted on Facebook.”
“How’s Victor?”
Maya sighed.
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s okay, I guess. He just can’t seem to find rest. He keeps walking around the house, mumbling about flowers or something. I think he misses our house.”
“Probably misses his trees and the yard. You know how much he loves playing out there.”
“I think he’s getting on Grandma’s nerves a little bit,” she said.
“I can imagine it being hard on her. It’s been awhile since she last had children, and Victor is quite a handful sometimes. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I think it’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry so much. Victor will live and so will Grandma.”
Morten drove us into the old town. We passed a bunch of old fishing boats at the harbor. It reminded me of home, of Fanoe, and suddenly I missed my little island.
“How are the dogs doing? Are they behaving?” I asked.
“Nah, not really. Brutus just follows Victor wherever he goes, while Kenneth is chewing on Grandma’s furniture.”
“Have you been walking him? You know he needs lots of long walks to get him tired so he won’t destroy things.”
“I’ve been walking him every day!” Maya said, offended, the way only a teenager could say it.
“I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”
“You never think I do anything good enough.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to. I was just wondering.”
“Geez,” she exclaimed.
“He probably just having a hard time adjusting to the new surroundings,” I said. “It’ll get better; I’m sure. Just like Victor. Is he around?”
“He’s right here.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.”
I heard her call for Victor. Seconds later, he was on the other end. I could hear him breathing, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.
“Hi Vic. How are you doing?” I asked cheerfully. I missed him terribly all of a sudden. I felt so far away. I didn’t like to be far away from him. He needed me.
“A rose is a woody perennial of the genus Rosa,” he said. “Within the family Rosaceae. There are over one-hundred species and thousands of cultivars. They form a group of plants that can be erect shrubs, climbing or trailing, with stems that are often armed with sharp prickles. Flowers vary in size and shape and are usually large and showy, in colors ranging from white through yellows and reds. Most roses we buy are manmade. A wild rose is where they all started, then gardeners wanted one with larger flowers and less spikes, so they bred them to have all that. Wild ones tend to be of a simple nature and seem to grow anywhere. A wild rose has a single petal flower, a thorny stem, and a trailing form. The wild rose only has one set of petals, whereas the manmade ones have many sets. Most species are native to Asia, with smaller numbers native to Europe, North America, and northwest Africa…”
“Did you memorize the Wikipedia page on roses or something?” I asked, interrupting his rambling on about roses. I felt a strange sensation in my body when listening to him. How could he know I myself was thinking about roses constantly? It freaked me out. He didn’t listen to me, but continued his speech.
“Roses are all widely grown for their beauty and fragrance. Rose plants range in size from compact, miniature roses, to climbers that can reach seven meters in height. The name rose comes from French, itself from Latin rosa…”
“Stop, Victor. Enough about the roses. I’m calling to hear how you’re doing, buddy. Is everything alright?”
“The Wild Irish Rose is both a native flower and an alcoholic drink. It might also refer to the beautiful young women of Ireland…”
“Put your sister back on, will you?” I asked. Finally, Victor went quiet. He disappeared and Maya came back.
“I told you he was rambling about flowers,” she said.
“Yes. Could you do me a favor and keep a close eye on him for me?” I asked. “I think he needs it. Good thing he’s not going to school. I hope it’ll pass soon. We are, after all, only gone for two weeks.”
I wasn’t talking to her anymore. I was talking to my own gnawing sensation of guilt.
“I will. Don’t worry, Mom.”
“I’m trying not to. I’ll call you later tonight.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
Morten parked the car in front of a small pub. It looked just right, just the way I pictured the place we should eat.
“What was that all about?” he asked, as he stopped the car. The rain was still falling heavily on the car.
I looked at him. “Victor is rambling about roses.”
“That’s not good. Is he alright?” Morten asked.
“I think so. Maya
knows how to handle him and will call me if he gets worse. But it really got me thinking.”
“About what?” Morten asked.
I looked at him. He never quite bought my intuition about Victor that he had a sixth sense about things, that somehow his condition made him know and sense stuff that the rest of us couldn’t.
“About the rose,” I said, and opened the door to the car. “I told you it was an important detail.”
18
October 1977
At first, she didn’t know what was going on with her body. When her first period stayed away, she thought it was nothing; it had been irregular before, and it would come sooner or later. Except it didn’t. Months passed and still nothing. Then, her breasts started to hurt and her stomach too at night, making it hard for her to sleep. Then came the nausea. She would run to the bathroom several times a day and throw up just out of the blue. She felt constantly sick and started to worry about what was wrong with her. She thought about going to a doctor, but hesitated. She tried to ignore it, but deep down inside of her, she knew what it was. When her stomach grew the first small bump, she knew it was time. She couldn’t hide it anymore. She also knew her father would probably kill her when she told him. Either he or her brothers would. And then they would go after Conan, and she didn’t want that. She loved Conan. He had made love to her every day of the summer until the day he went back to Dublin. She knew he loved her. And he was going to love this child as well. Originally, she had planned to wait till she was out of school to go, but with the baby coming, she knew it was time. So, Violet packed her suitcase with what little clothes she had, and headed down the stairs to the hallway where her father was waiting for her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
She drew in a deep breath to calm her beating heart. “I’m leaving, Dad,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” he said and grabbed her by the arm.
She gasped. He was hurting her. When he realized, he let go of her.
“I am sorry, Dad,” she said with tears in her eyes. “But I have a life waiting for me out there, and I have to go now. I can’t stay here all of my life and just work in the kitchen.”
“But…I can have you work with the animals if you prefer,” he said.
She shook her head and wiped away her tears. “No, Dad. I want to read books. I want to study.”
“But…but you’re still in school. You can’t leave home when you’re only fourteen. Where will you go?”
There was a silence. Violet bit her lip.
“It’s that Conan, isn’t it? He’s got you up to this,” he said through gritted teeth and his fist clenching. “I always knew he was bad news. To come here and give you all these ideas.”
“He didn’t do anything,” Violet said. “I love him. And he loves me.”
The words burst right out of her. She gasped and clasped her mouth. She waited for her father’s reaction. He went completely quiet for what felt like an eternity.
“What does a girl like you know about love?” he asked. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was withholding his anger.
Tears were springing from her eyes now. “I know a whole lot, Dad. I know a lot more than you think.”
She grabbed her suitcase and started to walk towards the door. It didn’t matter what he said. She had made up her mind.
“If you leave now, don’t bother ever coming back,” he said.
She paused and closed her eyes. His words were like a blow to her stomach. She bit her lip to not cry. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“I don’t need to,” she said, and continued. She put a hand on the doorknob.
“You’re not my daughter anymore, you hear me? I have no daughter!” he yelled behind her as she walked out into the rain.
“I HAVE NO DAUGTHER ANYMORE!”
19
July 2015
“Are you going out again?”
Marie stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed. She was angry. The man smiled, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. Her skin felt cold against his lips. Almost as cold as Bridget Callaghan’s had felt when he kissed her before he sent her down the river with the rose in her mouth. The memory made his skin shiver with delight. He couldn’t wait to feel that sensation again.
“I’m just going to the pub for a few hours. I won’t be late.”
“You said the same thing last time. Still, you didn’t come home until midnight,” Marie said.
The man smiled with a shrug. “I’m sorry. The boys wanted to bowl and we lost track of time.”
“Bowl, huh?” She looked at him like she didn’t quite believe him.
“Darcy won,” he said.
“Did he now?”
“All three rounds. But I’ll beat him one of these days.”
“So, what are you up to tonight? Bowling again?” Marie asked. She sounded like she was calming down a little.
“Nah. I think we’re just going to have a few pints.”
“Don’t drink too much, promise? I can’t stand it when you’re drunk. You know that. You act like such an idiot.”
The man clenched his fist behind his back, thinking how he would love to snap her neck right here and now.
“Dad?”
Caitlin had come into the kitchen wearing her PJs. She was rubbing her eyes. He looked at her and rubbed her hair.
“Did we wake you up?” he asked.
She nodded. “Where are you going?”
“Just out with the lads for a little while,” he said. “See you in the morning, alright?”
She nodded sleepily.
“Could you put her to bed before you leave?” Marie asked.
The man looked at his watch. He was going to be late. He sighed, annoyed, but received a look from Marie.
“Alrighty,” he said, lifted Caitlin in the air, and carried her back to bed. He kissed her on the nose and tucked her in.
“Night, Daddy.”
As soon as her eyes were closed, he rushed out. He ran to the car and drove to the address that the girl had given him. She was standing outside the door to her apartment complex when he arrived, looking like she no longer believed he would make it. She looked at his car as he drove up and rolled down the window. Luckily, the rain had stopped. It had been pouring all day. The girl’s face lit up. She wasn’t as beautiful as in the pictures he had seen on Facebook; she was a lot paler and a little chubbier, but she was still beautiful, he thought.
“Jump in,” he said.
The door to the passenger seat opened and she got in. He handed her the red rose. She smiled. Her eyes were pretty, he thought. Too bad they weren’t going to be pretty anymore once he was done with her.
“Where are we going?” she asked nervously.
“I was thinking we could get something to eat first. I know a place out of town, away from all the staring eyes of the locals who know you.”
She put her seatbelt on, then turned to look at him. “Sounds like the perfect place to me.”
20
July 2015
Morten dozed off back at the room at the hotel once we got back. We had turned on the small TV in the room, and after watching the news for a little bit, Morten had turned the channel and found some soccer game with teams I had no idea who they were, and didn’t care to know.
My thoughts were elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about Victor and the rose and the woman I had found in the water. I was curious. No, it was more than that. I was drawn to this case. I wanted badly to know what was going on and how far the investigation had gotten.
So, I did what I wasn’t supposed to do. As soon as I heard the gentle snoring from Morten, I grabbed my laptop and found my way into the server of the local police department in Enniskerry. Their system was a lot better protected than what I was used to from back home, but they still couldn’t keep me out. It took about two hours for me to gain access. It took some time, but I finally discovered a series of unpatched vulnerabilities in
the police department’s web server. I found a hole in the server that I used to pull down usernames and passwords and get access to the account details that allowed me to get Windows domain administrator privileges.
Using this privileged access, I was able to gain full control of almost all Windows-based systems in the police-department, including workstations used by the on-site police force.
I found the file on Bridget Callaghan and started reading. I felt a little better about doing this when I saw my own name mentioned at the beginning of the report. I didn’t feel like I was violating as much, since my name was in the file, and a lot of it was my own statement of how I found the body.
I scrolled down to the pictures of the body and looked at them closely, then read the cause of death. She had died from a blunt force trauma to the back of her head, caused by what they believed was a rock. It could have been an accident, the report concluded. She could have slipped and hit her head on the rock.
I paused and looked up at the TV screen, where men in shorts were still running back and forth, yet no one had scored a goal. Someone tripped, and now he rolled in the grass looking like he was in terrible pain. Another player got a yellow card. The hurt player was soon back on the field again like it never happened.
“An accident?” I mumbled. “How could it be an accident? How did the rose get between her teeth? Was that an accident as well?”
I looked back at my computer and kept reading. The rose was mentioned, but in a side-note, like it wasn’t important. I didn’t get that.
