by Willow Rose
“Okay,” she replied, then ate her toast and sausages.
When she took her plate back to the sink, she caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Life had been hard on her. It was visible. Her body was tired and worn out.
Father Allen looked at her with that look in his eyes that she once had loved, but had now grown to loathe. He got up, then pressed himself up against her body from behind. He grabbed her shoulders, then kissed her neck.
“You still drive me crazy,” he said. He grabbed her dress from underneath, and then pulled it up. He pressed her against the kitchen counter when he entered her. She closed her eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t get pregnant again. It was all she could think of when he did this to her. A tear escaped her eye and rolled across her cheek as he finished his business.
Never again. Never again, God.
When he was done, he zipped up his pants, then finished his coffee, kissed her on the cheek, and left with his briefcase under his arm.
At least now she had three days off, three days to herself. Violet had grown to love the days when Father Allen left for his many trips. This was her time, just her and her alone.
Violet smiled as she cleaned up after breakfast, then poured herself some more coffee, then sat down with the newspaper, leaving the laundry for later. She put her feet on the kitchen table and leaned back in the chair the way she was never allowed to when the father was around.
Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Violet almost spilled her coffee. She got up and walked to the door. When she opened it, it felt like her heart stopped. Outside stood the man she had been waiting for, dreaming about for most of her life.
“Hello, Violet,” Conan said.
Violet hardly believed her own eyes. He, too, had gotten older, but he was still handsome.
“Nice place you have here.”
Violet was speechless. Her entire body felt numb. How did he know where to find her? Why had he come?
“W-w-w-hat are you doing here?” she asked.
Then he spoke the very words she had longed to hear for eighteen years.
“I have come to take you away.”
Violet dropped her shoulders. She stared at him like he was a ghost. Was he? Was this just some crazy dream? Had she finally gone insane?
“What?”
“You heard me. I have been looking for you for years, Violet.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have. You have no idea how much I have wanted to see you. I’ve asked everywhere. Your father refused to tell me anything; your brothers have all left the farm, so I couldn’t talk to them. I finally got it out of your father that you were sent to that place, The Good Shepherd. I can’t believe you spent time there, Violet. I can’t believe the things you have gone through. I am so sorry.”
“But…but…”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” he asked.
“I am…but…but why? How?”
“Stop with all those questions,” he said. His smile was still the same. It could melt her heart in an instant. His charm and charisma hadn’t changed either. A million thoughts ran through Violet’s mind. Could this really be true? Had he really finally come for her? Would he take her away from this awful place? Would he give her a way out? A new life?
She didn’t dare to believe it.
Conan reached out his hand. “Come,” he said. “Come with me.”
Violet stared at it for a long time. Should she? Could she? Dared she?
She looked back into the old kitchen, then realized she had nothing to lose. She faced him, then took his hand.
85
July 2015
He had to take Caitlin to the wake with him. Her grandmother was out of town all day and couldn’t take her. Marie was at the TV station, as usual. They had been so busy all week, reporting about The Rose Killer. And, as usual, they were totally without a clue as to who was behind all this.
It amused the man, and he accidentally chuckled out loud as he walked, holding his daughter’s hand, towards the church.
“What’s so funny, Daddy?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he said. “I just thought about something funny, that’s all.”
“Do I have to go to this thing?” Caitlin said.
“Yes.”
“I’d rather be with Granma, then.”
“But you can’t. Not today. And Daddy has to be at this thing.”
“But isn’t there going to be a dead body there?” she asked, sounding appalled, yet slightly intrigued.
“Yes. It is common that the deceased is in the coffin when they have the wake.”
“What is a wake anyway?”
“It’s a possibility for the deceased’s loved ones and friends to say a few nice things about her before she is put into the ground. It’s a way of celebrating her life and saying goodbye.”
“Did you know her well?” Caitlin asked.
“I guess you could say so,” the man said, and pulled his daughter’s arm. He wasn’t in the mood for any more questions. He wanted to get into the church and be there early so they could get a good seat. The gun in the right pocket of his jacket felt heavy, yet comforting. This was going to be some wake. One to be remembered. And remembering was what he wanted them all to do. Remember what they had done and never ever forget.
He was going to send them all straight to hell.
“So, how did you know her?” Caitlin asked.
“I just did,” the man said, and pushed open the heavy church doors. They were among the first there. Father Allen stood by the entrance and greeted him as he came in.
“Welcome. Did you know Miss Callaghan well?” he asked.
The man stared at the father in front of him. He felt the rage grow inside of him. He stared at the thin veins on his neck and wondered how much effort it would take for him to rip them out.
No. Not now. It’s too soon.
He restrained himself and calmed down.
“My dad knew her, I didn’t,” Caitlin said.
The father smiled. “And yet you have come anyway. What a sport you are to help your daddy on this day. Go ahead and find a seat. The service will start in less than half an hour.”
“What a nice man,” Caitlin said, as they walked up the aisle towards the casket that had been put on display. The man felt his heart beat faster as they approached it. Caitlin held his hand tight in hers and hugged his arm.
“And you’re completely sure she’s dead, right?” she asked with a slightly shivering voice.
“Yes,” the man said. “I am one hundred percent sure.”
“Okay, good.”
They walked all the way up to the casket, where Bridget Callaghan lay lifeless, her eyes closed, dressed nicely in a yellow dress. There was no blood on her face, and they had covered the wound on the back of her head nicely. She looked nothing like she had by the river when the man had pushed her in the water.
“Look, Daddy,” Caitlin exclaimed excitedly. “Look, she has a crooked pinky just like me.”
86
September 1996
“Where are you taking me?”
Violet giggled like a schoolgirl as Conan dragged her through the forest. It was nighttime and her stomach was full after a nice dinner at the pub. She had never gotten out of the house much, since Father Allen preferred to stay home, and she was so enchanted with this entire world that had opened up for her as she chose to walk out of there with Conan.
They had stayed at a small hotel downtown, and the next day they simply stayed in each other’s arms, until they went out for a nice dinner. Violet had ordered fish and chips and never tasted anything like it. Conan had ordered beer for the both of them, and soon, Violet was getting slightly tipsy. Maybe it was just from happiness, because she was as happy as she had ever been.
She couldn’t believe her dream had finally come true.
They were leaving town. The plan was to ride up the coast and settle in a small town up North
that Conan had always dreamt of living in, away from the big city, away from everything they knew. They were going to start over, a second chance, Conan called it. They would stay in a place where no one knew who they were and they were going to live there happily for the rest of their lives.
Violet liked that plan and had butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it. Finally, she had some luck. Finally, light was shining on her path.
It was about time.
“Come,” Conan said, and pulled her arm. He had stopped the car outside of Enniskerry. Violet had wanted to keep driving, to get as far away from the town as possible, as fast as possible. She couldn’t wait to leave her old life behind and start anew. This was her chance, and it was here right now.
“I have something I want to show you before we leave. It’s the most beautiful place on this earth.”
Violet really didn’t want to go into the forest now; she wanted to get going, but Conan persuaded her with all his charm and his gorgeous smile.
“Okay then,” she said, and let him drag her through the wooded area and into a clearing by the river. The moon was shining above them and lit up the entire area. Conan sighed deeply.
“Isn’t it breathtaking?” he asked.
Violet looked at the thousands and thousands of beautiful wild roses. She had to admit, he was right. She had never seen anything like it.
“It sure is,” she said, feeling glad that Conan wanted to share this with her.It was truly romantic. “But, shouldn’t we get going? If we’re supposed to get all the way up North?”
“We’re in no hurry,” he said. “Look over there. There are more roses. Do you see them?”
Violet tried to see, but it all looked the same to her. She turned to look at him when she saw the rock in his hand.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked.
“Have you ever heard the song, Where the Wild Roses Grow?” Conan asked.
Violet didn’t understand.
“It’s sung by Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue. It’s being played everywhere these days. All over the radio. Do you know what it’s about?”
Violet shook her head. She took a step backwards. She didn’t like the look in Conan’s eyes.
“It’s an old tale, as a matter of fact, an old Irish tale of a man courting a woman and killing her while they are out together.”
“Okay?”
Conan stepped closer. He leaned forward, still holding the rock in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he whispered.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You never told me.”
“I tried to. I came to you at campus, remember? I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You hid it from me. How could you hide such a thing from me? That I am a father? I want to know where my child is.”
“But…but the child…it…it died,” she said.
Conan growled in anger. “You’re doing it again. You keep lying to me!”
“No. No, I don’t; it’s the truth.”
Violet walked backwards fast now. Conan was groaning and growling as he walked closer to her, reminding her of a big animal getting ready to attack his prey. Violet whimpered; she had no idea what to do, how to get away. She took the chance, turned around, and ran. Screaming, she ran back in between the trees.
“Heeelp! Someone heeelp me!”
She could see the road in the distance, but could also hear Conan’s steps behind her.
Just a little longer. Just a few steps and you’re out. You can make it. You can make it, Violet.
Just as she was about to jump out of the forest, she felt a hand on her ankle, grabbing her foot, and she fell on her face into the dirt. Violet screamed while being dragged across the forest soil. She managed to kick him and get free again, then crawled a few inches across the soil before an excruciating pain hit her head from behind. Violet screamed and screamed while blood ran from the back of her head into her face. She couldn’t move anymore; she could only pull her legs up underneath her and cry. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Conan lift the rock into the air and, with a vicious look on his face, slam it into her head again, whispering:
“All beauty must die.”
87
July 2015
The church was packed when we entered. I was surprised at how many people had showed up.
I spotted a lot of familiar faces. The deceased’s mother Mary Margaret Callaghan was naturally up front with Father Allen. Sister Ryanne Mulligan was sitting in the front pew with tears already streaming from her face. I saw the clerk, Daniel, who I had met at the father’s house; he was standing behind the father. I said hello to Gael, who was there with her mother, Colleen Higgins, and nodded with a smile as I spotted Bradan and Aileen from the hotel.
Even Inspector Grady was there and greeted us shortly before he sat down. He didn’t seem as cocky as I had seen him before. I guessed the entire case must have been bothering him, especially after Gael’s statement the night before. But with my luck, I also guessed he believed the woman had been me. I knew he would find some way to blame me for it.
The father started the sermon by leading us all in a prayer, then he gave a small speech, saying a lot of nice words about Bridget Callaghan, while her mother sobbed in the front pew.
Then, one after the other, the citizens of the town took the pulpit and said a few words about her. They had all known her since they were children and spoke highly of her, even her teachers said a few words. I really liked this tradition, the way they got to celebrate Bridget Callaghan’s life and remember her for all the good things in her life.
By the end, when most had been up, Father Allen took the pulpit again. “I guess, if all have said what they needed to, it’s time for us to close with a small prayer.”
I threw one glance at Morten, then rose to my feet. “I would like to say a few words, please.”
The entire church was humming with murmuring and mumbling. Father Allen stared at me.
“Well, come on up then,” he said.
I walked up the aisle, feeling all eyes on me. Voices were mumbling behind me. “Who is she? How did she know Bridget?”
I took the pulpit and Father Allen stepped down. I cleared my throat.
“Hello, everyone. Most of you don’t know me. My name is Emma Frost. I am a tourist from Denmark. I have only been in this town for a little more than a week. Nevertheless, I was the one who found Bridget Callaghan in the river. And, ever since then, I have been a big part of the investigation into what happened to her. I realize this is a time to talk about her, to say nice things about her, and in some way, I will be talking about her. But not so much about her as a person, more about who she was and where she came from. To be more specific, I will be talking about her parents and who they really were.”
I paused for effect. Mary Margaret stared at me from the pew.
If looks could kill, I was already a dead woman.
I had their undivided attention. That much was certain.
“It has come to my attention that Bridget Callaghan, Fiona Delaney, and Carrick Mulligan, who were all killed in the same manner this week, they all had a lot in common, more than you’d think. For instance, they were all raised here in Enniskerry, by single mothers who had once in their lives been nuns and once worked at The Good Shepherd, a home for troubled young women, for those of you that don’t know what it was. It closed in ninety-six. Now, you might say that all these things they have in common might as well be a coincidence, and that might be so, if it weren’t for the many other similarities, like the crooked pinky that they all seem to share. A detail not many would notice, unless, if you, like me, suffer from the same birth defect, only in my case it is a toe. See, the thing is, it runs in the family.”
I paused again and looked at Mary Margaret. She was fuming with anger, but still restraining herself. I continued:
“Since they all had the same crooked pink
y, it led me to believe that it was because they all shared the same father. For a while, I ran with that presumption. But I was wrong. I didn’t realize it until earlier today, when I read an article that grabbed my attention. As many of you may know, Bridget Callaghan wasn’t the first to be found dead in the river with a rose in between her teeth. It is an old myth, yes, but it has actually also happened once before. Back in nineteen ninety-six, they pulled out a young woman by the name of Violet Gibson, just like the famous woman who shot Mussolini. She ended her days in the river, just like these three did, her skull fractured by a blow to the back of her head and a rose stuck between her teeth, just like the four people that were killed last week in your town, except for Anna Delaney, who was found in her home, but I’ll get back to that. Her death was different, but still connected to the others. So, the question is, why did Bridget Callaghan, Fiona Delaney, Anna Delaney, and Carrick Mulligan have to die?”
I cleared my throat before I continued on:
“I have reason to believe the answer can be found in this church right now, as can the person who is responsible for it. The Rose Killer is among us in this church right now.”
88
July 2015
The murmuring wouldn’t stop. People were talking amongst themselves; agitated faces were staring at me. I had stirred the pot, I know. But that was the point.
“Now, to get to the point I was trying to make,” I said. “I noticed on the photo of the deceased Violet Gibson, that she too had a crooked pinky, which led me to the conclusion that what really tied these bodies together was the fact that they all had the same mother.”
I looked at the crowd, who stared back at me. Mary Margaret had had enough now. She rose to her feet.
“I will not have you smear my daughter’s name like this. Please, leave now,” she said.
