Mary O'Reilly 10 - Veiled Passages

by Terri Reid

  Stanley leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

  “I can’t get married, Poppa Stanley, I’m just a little girl,” Clarissa explained. “I can’t get married for at least ten years.”

  “Twenty,” Bradley inserted from across the table.

  Chuckling, Stanley turned to Rosie who sat on the other side of him. “I thought you said there was going to be a wedding in two weeks,” he said. “Clarissa tells me she’s not getting married.”

  “My daddy’s getting married,” Clarissa exclaimed

  “Oh, your daddy,” he replied. “And who is he going to marry?”

  “He’s going to marry Mary,” she answered.

  “Yes, I know he’s going to marry, but who is he going to marry?”

  “Mary!”

  “Yes, I know that. But who is he going to marry?” he asked again, his eyes twinkling.

  “Nanna Rosie, help me,” Clarissa pleaded, leaning forward in her chair to look at Rosie.

  “Now Stanley, you stop teasing her right now,” Rosie said. “You know darn well that Bradley and Mary are getting married in two weeks.”

  She leaned over Stanley towards Clarissa. “Are you excited about the wedding?”

  Clarissa nodded. “Yes, I have a dress and everything.”

  “That’s lovely, dear,” she replied.

  “Maggie told me she had a dress at your wedding,” Clarissa continued. “I didn’t think old people got married.”

  Ian swallowed hard and nearly choked on his food. Mary leaned over and patted him on his back. “Be nice,” she whispered.

  Stanley glared at Ian for a moment and then turned to Clarissa. “The wonderful thing about love, girlie, is that you are never too old to find it,” he said. “And when you find it when you are older, it’s even sweeter because it’s a surprise.”

  Rosie placed her hand over Stanley’s and smiled at him. “Your own Prince Charming can come at any time in your life and in many disguises,” she said.

  “And Stanley has the best disguise I’ve ever seen,” Ian commented softly and Mary slapped his arm.

  “So, my Prince Charming can come when I’m eight?” Clarissa asked.

  “No,” Bradley said immediately. “Not until you’re thirty-four, at the very least.”

  “Well, that gives me plenty of time to get her invitations created and out,” Rosie said. “Now your invitations are another matter.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t even thought about the invitations,” Mary said, falling back in her chair. “I can’t invite people with less than two weeks to go.”

  “Of course you can,” Rosie assured her. “I have your list. I’ll call everyone and let them know how the circumstances have changed, and then I’ll send the invitations out at the end of the week. Then you can concentrate on…your newest assignment.”

  “And I’ll help,” Stanley said. “I can make calls too. And iffen anyone says they can’t make it because of the short notice, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

  Rosie patted Stanley’s hand. “You can help with the addressing, dear,” she said. “You have such nice handwriting.”

  Mary breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t worry, Mary,” Rosie said with a wink. “Everything will be fine.”

  Later that evening, when the house was finally quiet, Mary tucked herself into the corner of the couch and called her mother.

  “Hi Ma, it’s Mary.”

  “So, Mary darling, how’s the bride-to-be?” her mother asked.

  “A little frantic,” she replied honestly. “Bradley asked me to move up the wedding.”

  “Oh, and did he now?” her mother said. “And why would he need it to be sooner?”

  “Well, it’s been hard on Clarissa to have a divided family,” Mary explained. “So, he thought, with everything going on, getting married sooner rather than later would be better.”

  “Well, there’s wisdom in that,” her mother agreed. “And so, when have you decided to marry?”

  “Two weeks,” Mary said hesitantly.

  “Oh, my,” her mother replied. “Two weeks. That’s not much time is it?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, Ma, it’s not,” she said.

  “I can see why you’re a bit frantic. So, I’ll take some time off work and come and stay with you,” she offered. “Would that be all right?”

  Mary felt tears of gratitude welling in her eyes. “That would be wonderful, Ma,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Well, how often does a woman get to help plan her only daughter’s wedding,” she said softly. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Really? Tomorrow?”

  “If that’s not too soon?”

  “No, it will be perfect,” Mary replied. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Well, I’ll be thanked more than enough when I watch you walk down the aisle,” she said, the emotions clear in her voice. “It will be a grand wedding, Mary.”

  Nodding, Mary wiped a tear from her cheek. “Now it will be, Ma,” she said. “Good night.”

  “Good night, darling.”

  Mary put her phone on the table and walked up the stairs to the second floor. She tapped on Ian’s door and waited until he invited her in. She walked in and was surprised to see most of his equipment packed up and Ian with a suitcase on his bed. “What’s this?” she asked.

  Carrying a pile of folded shirts from the dresser to the bed, he stopped and smiled at her. “Do you think I wouldna ken you’d want your mother staying with you for a while as you prepared for the wedding?” he asked. “I already made arrangements with Bradley. I’ll be his house guest until the wedding.”

  Walking over she hugged him. “Gillian is a lucky girl,” she said.

  “Aye, and make sure you tell her when you meet her,” he replied with a grin. “Course, if you could ugly yourself up a bit before we explain that we’ve lived together here for most of three months, that would be helpful.”

  Laughing, Mary nodded as she walked back to the doorway. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She was at the top of the stairs when she heard her phone ringing. Hurrying down, she was able to catch it by the third ring. “Hello,” she said, not taking the time to look at the caller ID.

  “Really! You had to move the wedding up during one of the worst crime sprees in Chicago’s history?”

  Smiling, she sat down on the couch and laughed. “When is Chicago not going through one of the worst crime sprees in its history, Sean?”

  Chuckling, her brother sighed. “Well, when it’s going through the storms of the century,” he replied. “We have one of those at least once a year.”

  “And the century is still so young,” she mocked.

  There was a comfortable pause and then Sean spoke. “So, does he really make you happy?”

  “If he wasn’t so ugly, he’d be perfect,” she teased, and then her voice softened. “He makes me very happy.”

  “Okay, so what do you want me to wear?” he asked. “Do I need a monkey suit?”

  “If by a monkey suit you are meaning a tuxedo, I don’t even know if we can get them in this kind of a rush,” she said with a sigh.

  “Hey, Mary, don’t worry,” he replied, adding his best Chicago accent. “I know a guy.”

  A bubble of laughter burst from her lips. “Well, of course you do,” she said.

  “You get me sizes and colors, and I’ll get you tuxes,” he said. “Hey, it’s my baby sister’s wedding, it’s got to be perfect.”

  “Thank you, Sean,” she said. “I owe you.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t go thanking me until you see the tuxes. We might be dealing with something from Saturday Night Fever.”

  Mary sat back on the couch and laughed. “I always had a certain fondness for bell-bottoms and platform heels. I wonder how Bradley feels about them.”

  “You could always not tell him until it was time to get dressed,” he said, biting back his laughter. “Do you think Bradley w
ould do a fake afro?”

  She laughed harder, picturing Bradley in that outfit. “I think he would go running and screaming out of the church first,” she said.

  “No, not if you were waiting for him,” Sean said, suddenly serious. “He would do anything to make you his wife.”

  Sighing contentedly, she smiled into the phone. “When did you get to be such a nice guy?” she asked.

  “I was always a nice guy,” he replied, “you just never had the good sense to notice.”

  “So, how’s work?” she asked.

  There was a pause and Mary could hear his long exhale. “It’s a little crazy here lately,” he said flatly. “We think we’ve got a serial killer in the downtown area. The guy is an animal. There’s not much left of his vics when he’s done with them.”

  Mary sat up, her cop instincts kicking in. “Any patterns?” she asked.

  “No, it seems like they are all just crimes of opportunity,” he said. “They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Any prints?”

  “No. We think he must be using some kind of a tool made with razor blades,” he said. “The vics are really chewed up and if we can’t find ID nearby, we’ve had to use dental records or DNA.”

  “That’s bad,” Mary agreed. “Are you putting out warnings?”

  This time the inhaled breath was sharp and angry. “I’m sorry, did you forget that we are in the early part of tourist season?” he replied, his sarcasm biting. “We wouldn’t want to notify the media that people are being slashed and mutilated in downtown Chicago. That might prevent someone from spending their money here.”

  “Sean, I am so sorry,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice brightening. “I’ll get him. I always get my man.”

  “Um, that was Dudley Do-Right or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” Mary said, trying to match his tone.

  “Well, they got it from me,” he insisted.

  “Be safe,” she said softly.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, I will,” he replied. “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you too.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sean set down his phone softly on the table, walked over to the window of his fifth floor walkup, pushed the curtains aside and looked down onto the streets of Chicago. Looking into the distance, he could see the car lights from Lake Shore Drive, traffic was still moving at a steady rate. He glanced across the street to Lincoln Park and saw the glow of the streetlamps reflected in the puddles on the sidewalks that wove their way through the park.

  A slight mist had begun to rise and floated from the lake edge of the park towards the street. It seemed mystical, magical, to Sean. And it reminded him of his visit to Ireland so many years ago.

  He shook his head. He didn’t have time to go on a vacation of the mind; he had a serial killer to catch. And he had some tuxedos to rent. He dropped the curtain and turned back to his living room. Tiny, his very large orange marmalade cat, was perched on the edge of the couch, watching him with his mysterious green eyes.

  “Hey, Tiny,” he said, walking over and scratching the cat behind the ears. “Do you want to go to a wedding?”

  The cat studied him for a few more moments, then opened its mouth and replied with a tiny “meow.”

  Chuckling, Sean gathered the cat’s head in both of his hands and rubbed it. “No reason to get so excited,” he said. “It’s not for two weeks.”

  Purring, that could probably be heard in the next apartment, was Tiny’s affirmative response until he turned his head and bit into the fleshy pad of Sean’s palm.

  “Hey,” Sean cried out, pulling his hands away. “Keep that up and you’ll find yourself doing mouse patrol at the station house.”

  Tiny just rubbed up against Sean and purred louder.

  “Yeah, sweet talk won’t work with me,” he growled, then patted the cat’s head. “Come on; let’s open a can of tuna.”

  A few hours later Sean glanced up at the clock. It was 2 a.m. and he knew he really needed to get some sleep. He shuffled the report he’d been studying back into its manila folder and shut off the desk lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, but Sean knew his apartment well enough to walk through it blindfolded, if needed. He pushed open the door to his bedroom and climbed into bed, letting the foam mattress and down comforter enfold him.

  Seconds after his head hit the pillow, his breathing was soft and rhythmic. A moment later, another figure moved through the dark apartment and walked through the open doorway. It neared the bed and contemplated the sleeping man for just a moment before it gathered itself and jumped onto the bed. Soft purring filled the room, and Tiny roamed the large bed for a moment before lying squarely on Sean’s legs for the rest of the night.

  The air smelled sweet and the sun was shining brightly on him as he made his way across the meadow. He turned and could see his grandmother’s cottage in the distance; it looked much smaller than it had when he was a boy. His long pace took him to the stone fence in a matter of minutes and, rather than climb it as he had as a boy, he merely jumped over the barrier. The path to the woods was now overgrown, but the woods themselves seemed the same – ancient, ageless and foreboding.

  Stepping forward, he climbed the small ridge that led to the entrance and pushed his way through the bramble bushes into the interior. The trees were tall and blocked most of the sunlight, causing a dappled effect on the forest floor. A carpet of leaves created a padding underneath his feet as he moved forward on the small path. He studied the trees and the bushes looking for the plant that had caused his injuries so many years ago. Unconsciously, he shielded the scars under his shirt with his hand and rubbed the area lightly before he moved on.

  Somehow he knew where to turn and which path to follow. The woods were familiar to him, although he’d only entered them once in his life.

  Dreams.

  The soft voice reminded him. He nodded. Yes, he had walked these paths for years in his dreams.

  He continued forward, searching for long thorns, long enough to catch a boy’s arm and scar him for life. Strong enough to penetrate his skin and leave its poisoned sap. Sturdy enough to hold him tightly and rip his clothing. He had to find it, because if he didn’t…

  It wasn’t a thorn tree, you dolt.

  The voice wasn’t always very nice. As a matter of fact, the voice was often rude. The voice had guided him in his dreams through the forest since he was twelve. He must have thought it strange at first, but now it, no she, was part of the whole experience.

  “If it wasn’t a thorn tree, what was it?” he shouted into the forest.

  The sounds of brush rustling startled him and he turned quickly. She stepped out from behind an ancient oak. She was tall, nearly his own height. She looked like a woodland nymph, yet much more vibrant. Her red hair was nearly to her waist. Her pale skin was porcelain smooth. Her eyes were an unearthly shade of green and reminded him of Tiny’s, mysterious and patient. He studied her for a moment more and then realized, in a moment of shock, that he knew her.

  “It’s you,” he whispered. “You were a girl.”

  “Aye and you were a boy,” she replied.

  “You’re the voice,” he gasped, shaking his head. “The voice in my dreams.”

  “Well, since you’re in a dream now, it would be safe to agree with you,” she said with a smile. “Have you always been so daft?”

  “It wasn’t a thorn bush,” he said, the memory of that day causing him to stagger and lean back against a tree.

  Her face sobered and she shook her head. “No, it wasn’t,” she replied. “You saved my life that day and very nearly lost your own. I won’t forget I owe you a boon.”

  “A bone? Why do you owe me a bone?”

  Her face broke into a smile. “You aren’t as smart as you look, are you?” she asked. “I owe you a boon, a favor. You saved my life.”

  He shook his head. “No, this is just a dream,” he stated firmly. “You a
re just a part of my dreams. There are no such things as monsters.”

  He turned away from her and looked at the clearing. The clearing where he met her all those years ago. The clearing where he had nearly lost his life.

  “You saved my life, too,” he said. “You owe me nothing.”

  “Aye, but your life wouldn’t have been at risk if you hadn’t tried to save me,” she replied softly. “It’s a boon I owe you, Sean O’Reilly, and I’m hoping soon to be able to repay it.”

  He turned quickly. “What do you mean?”

  She began to fade away in front of him and her voice, though a whisper, echoed in his mind. “Be wary, my friend, there is more than dark-souled men in the shadows of your world.”

  The alarm went off. Sean jumped up in bed with a shout and wiped the sweat from his face. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his heart, still pounding from the dream. “It was a dream, it was only a dream,” he said.

  Tiny rose slowly and stretched, then walked over and rubbed himself against Sean’s naked torso. Sean absently scratched the cat while he relived the dream again in his mind. He lifted his hand away from the cat and rubbed the old wound on his other arm. “Dammit,” he whispered harshly. “It was only a dream!”

  Chapter Ten

  The room was dark, except for the glow from the streetlamps outside her window. Her room was filled with all of the trappings of a typical young girl’s life: stuffed animals, a dollhouse, a collection of barrettes and hair clips, several pairs of colored sneakers, a bulletin board filled with her drawings and the school lunch calendar, and a varied collection of clothing strewn in all directions. The only thing in the room that wasn’t usual was the ghost that slid through the door and stood at the edge of the bed staring down at the sleeping child.

  As she gradually woke from her slumber, Maggie could tell something was different. Her stomach was tightening and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew that someone or something would be in her bedroom with her.

  Slowly, opening her eyes, she looked up from her pillow and stared at the face above her. The old man stared down at her, his face a mixture of sorrow and confusion. “Maggie,” he whispered. “I’m lost.”