by Amy M. Reade
We lingered at the pub for a few hours before heading out into the chilly evening. I’d had a few drams, so I was feeling a bit more relaxed and unguarded. When James reached for my hand while we walked to my flat, I didn’t think twice about putting my cold hand into his warm one. Though I hadn’t come to Edinburgh looking for a romance, it seemed I might have found one without looking. It felt good to have someone besides my family supporting me, someone encouraging me while I searched for my daughter.
But those warm feelings came with a strong sense of guilt. How could I be so selfish as to spend time with James when I should be concentrating all my energy on finding Ellie?
James must have read my mind, because he solved my dilemma for me. “You know,” he said, squeezing my hand, “I don’t want you to feel obligated to be spending time with me. I know you want to concentrate on finding Ellie. But you do need a break every now and then, and I’m happy to provide a distraction for you.”
I looked up into his brown eyes and smiled my thanks.
My flat wasn’t far from the pub. I invited James inside, and the two of us joined Sylvie and Seamus, who were enjoying a pint in front of the fire. We joined in their spirited debate about Scottish politics, and our comfortable evening lasted a few more hours before James reluctantly left, reminding us he had to get to work in the morning. James had been right—the evening had indeed provided me with a much-needed respite from the constant tension I felt when I was searching for Ellie. And though she was always in the forefront of my thoughts, it was nice to talk to other people about something other than my fear and grief.
By the time James left, Seamus had had quite a few pints. He went to bed, leaving Sylvie and me sitting on the floor in front of the fire, chatting quietly. Sylvie had also had a bit too much to drink. She rested her head against the couch cushions and sighed. “I’m so glad you like Seamus. And James seems to like him, too. He’s tried so hard to be accepted again.”
I jerked my head toward her. “What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“By what?”
“What do you mean when you say ‘accepted again’?”
“Oh, nothing.” She laughed lightly and spoke again in an exaggerated whisper. “Seamus got out of prison not too long ago. He doesn’t have too many friends who aren’t real scunners.”
“Prison?” I said a little too loudly.
“Shh!” she hissed. “D’ye want him to hear?”
“Why was he in prison?” I whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.
She looked around the room, finally speaking into her glass. “The truth is, he beat up a man pretty badly in a bar fight. Almost killed him. Seamus didn’t mean to, though. The other guy started it.”
“He actually went to prison for assaulting someone?” I asked in horror.
“I told you, it was an accident. Self-defense, really. He doesn’t want people to know, though, so don’t tell him I told you.”
“No, I won’t,” I said in a low voice, wondering how I had gotten myself into this mess. My entire world was upside-down. My daughter and ex-husband were missing, I was thousands of miles from home trying to find them, and now I had a houseguest who had been imprisoned for nearly killing a man.
“Anyway, he’s paid his debt to society. He even taught art classes to the other inmates. He’s focused on his painting now,” she said in a quiet, dismissive voice.
“And you see nothing wrong with this?” I whispered, unbelieving.
“No,” she answered. “He’s really just a big teddy bear, Greer. You just don’t know him well enough. He’d never have hurt anyone on purpose.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Sylvie, I can’t deal with all this right now. I’m too tired. Let’s talk in the morning. I’ll have to decide what to do then.”
“What’s to do?” she asked. “Surely you’re not going to throw him out?”
“I should,” I replied. “I don’t need that kind of drama right now. Not with Ellie and Neill missing and in danger.”
Sylvie got up from the floor and looked down at me. “You’re an elitist, Greer. You think people can’t make mistakes. Or if they do, you think they can’t be forgiven. It’s sick, that’s what it is. Well, if Seamus leaves, I leave with him.” She spun around, wobbled for a moment against the side of the couch, and left the room, swaying a bit as she walked. I was sure she hadn’t meant to let slip the information about Seamus’s past, but everything was out in the open now and had to be addressed.
Still, I couldn’t reconcile the Seamus I had gotten to know over the past several days with the Seamus who had been in prison.
That night, I slept with my bedroom door locked.
When I awoke the next morning, both Sylvie and Seamus were gone. Sylvie obviously wasn’t keen to talk about Seamus’s past again, and she was likely feeling guilty for having told me about it without his permission. I wasn’t surprised to find a note saying that she was headed home to Dumfries to get some of her things from Mum’s house and that Seamus was out for the day, painting in a park somewhere.
It was just as well. It was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have, either. But as I got dressed, I couldn’t help wondering how well I really knew Seamus. He was brawny, that was for sure, and I shivered at the thought of being on the receiving end of that strength.
* * *
I spent part of the morning on the phone with my department chair. He had, indeed, found several other professors who were willing to teach my classes until the end of the semester, if that turned out to be necessary. I gave him all the information he needed to find my lesson plans and grades, then thanked him profusely for his time and efforts on behalf of me and my students. I rang off with a feeling of relief.
After talking with my boss, my thoughts returned to Seamus and Sylvie. I didn’t know what to do. My heart told me Seamus was a good person. My head told me to get him out of the flat as soon as possible and let Sylvie deal with the consequences. I wanted to bounce my thoughts off an adult other than Sylvie, a person who could look at the situation with objective eyes. I could always call Dottie back home, but she hadn’t met Seamus. That left James. I was torn, though. Even though Sylvie had revealed information to me about Seamus’s past, I was uncomfortable sharing it with anyone else. After all, she hadn’t meant to tell me. I left my flat and walked to Princes Street, then wandered through the gardens, lost in thought. Without realizing where my feet were taking me, I had wound my way up a hill, around a bend, and arrived at St. Giles Cathedral.
I walked into the magnificent building, my low heels clicking on the stone floor, sending echoes tumbling through the soaring space and into the vaulted ceilings. Though I had visited St. Giles countless times, it never ceased to inspire awe, hope, and amazement in my heart. Tourists were clustered in various parts of the enormous nave, speaking in hushed tones, pointing out the architectural wonders in every direction. They walked about quietly, some listening to an audio tour on headphones, some obviously following one of the maps the docents distributed, others sitting in the simple wooden chairs and listening to an organ recital, and the rest looking upward and trying to take it all in.
I preferred to stroll at my own pace, not looking at a map or listening to anyone in particular. I liked to experience the High Kirk in my own way and at my own pace each time I visited. And each visit was different for me. This time, I took in the splendor of the cathedral in a circle, walking slowly and trying to drink in each architectural detail, each sculpted frieze, each magnificent stained glass window. I ended up in Thistle Chapel, my favorite place in the giant church.
Thistle Chapel was tucked away in a corner of the building. A magnificent monument to the highest order of the Scots Knights, the chapel consisted of sixteen splendid stalls carved with cherubs, crosses, and Scottish emblems. Gorgeous stained glass windows depicting Scotland’s past, Biblical saints, and other scenes filtered the light that streamed into the chapel.
I liked to go into
the chapel because, despite its soaring height and splendor, it seemed cozy and intimate. As an art historian, I found an endless font of fascinating material in this chapel, but as a Scot I found inspiration, hope, and a deep spiritual connection with Scotland’s history.
Miraculously, I had the chapel to myself, with the exception of the ever-present guard. I stood for a moment in the center of the room, the echoes of footsteps in the cathedral’s nave receding into near silence. I closed my eyes and let the history of the place envelope me, filling me with a sense of peace and hope, a feeling I would need to sustain me through the coming days as I continued to search for Ellie and Neill, and as I dealt with the issues surrounding Seamus and Sylvie.
I spent several long minutes lingering in the chapel, marveling at the skill of the people who had carved the stone and wood long ago, wondering about the knights and ladies of ancient families who had occupied this space.
When several tourists entered the space and broke the spell the chapel had yet again cast over me, I finally turned to go. I felt restored, stronger, and more energetic. I left the chapel and made my way out into the cathedral’s nave, barely looking where I was going as my eyes turned skyward to take in the view above me.
It was only when I looked down at my phone to see if I had any texts that something moving in the corner of my vision caught my attention. I glanced up when the image grew larger and larger. I was startled to see a stocky, burly man just inches away, a hat pulled down low over his eyes and a tan trench coat cinched at the waist. His shoulder rammed into me, knocking me backward. I dashed my head on a massive stone pillar as I fell to the ground on my back. Several people had seen the incident and came rushing to my aid.
“What happened, dear?”
“Are you all right, lass?”
They crowded around, all talking at once, all solicitous and kind. I craned my neck around their legs, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had hit me so hard, but all I saw was his retreating back as he hurried down an aisle of the nave toward one of the exits.
Two men helped me to my feet and led me to a nearby seat, where their wives tended to the bump that had erupted on the back of my head. One of the men fetched a docent, who used his radio to request an ice pack.
“Did you see that man?” I asked one of the women.
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t. He was gone before we realized what had happened.”
I winced as I touched the back of my head, thinking he was probably some troubled individual who had committed a random act of violence or who didn’t know right from wrong. I certainly hadn’t recognized him. I barely knew anyone in Edinburgh. Another docent appeared with the ice pack, which I placed gingerly against my head. I assured the kind women and their chivalrous husbands that I would be fine, and they walked away to continue with their tour of St. Giles. My faith in the kindness of strangers had been rekindled.
My feeling of calm, of peace and hope, had evaporated. All I wanted to do was get back to my flat and rest. My head and back were in crippling pain, and I knew wandering the streets looking for Ellie and Neill today would be useless.
I left the cathedral and was returning slowly to the flat through Princes Street Gardens when I got the feeling someone was watching me. Wheeling around, I was just in time to see movement behind a grouping of trees nearby. I was suddenly afraid. Looking about for other people, I noticed for the first time that I was quite alone in the gardens. Only a few tourists strolled the grounds in the distance. No busy corporate types were taking a shortcut through the gardens to their next meeting. No lovers, no students, no children.
Just the person behind the trees.
Trying to pick up my pace, I limped along through the gardens, looking ahead to the closest route back to the street. But I wasn’t fast enough. Someone grabbed my elbow and jerked me around.
I gasped. The man wore a plastic tan-colored mask, but I could tell it was the person who had pushed me in the cathedral. His trench coat was still tied tightly around him. I felt my eyes widen and I knew instantly that he was no stranger to the fear staring back at him.
“What do you want?” I demanded, hoping he would mistake my loud tone for bravado.
“Where is he?” the man growled.
“Who?” I asked, bewildered.
“You know who. Where is he?”
I shook my head. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I said, trying to ease my arm from his grip.
“Oh, no I haven’t. We know he’s here in Edinburgh. Tell me where he is or when we find him—and we will find him—we’ll make sure you never see your daughter again.”
Neill. I should have known. Neill was the only person I knew who might have a thug like this looking for him, except perhaps for Seamus.
“I-I don’t know where they are, I swear,” I stammered. “I’m looking for them, too.”
“Bollocks,” he answered with a snarl.
“No, it’s true,” I insisted. “He took our daughter and came here and I followed them. Does he owe you money?”
“None of yer business.”
“Please let me go. I don’t know where they are. But don’t hurt our daughter, I’m begging you. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s just a little girl. Take me instead of her.” I was babbling, terrified.
“We’ll take you both. We know where you live. If I find out you’ve lied to me, I’ll…” He trailed off as he looked up. There was a couple strolling toward us. He dropped my arm suddenly and took off running, back toward the grove of trees where he had been hiding, watching me.
I bent over, putting my hands on my knees, and took several deep breaths. Neill had been right—he was in danger, and more importantly, so was Ellie. I could only assume the man was looking for Neill to enforce the terms of a gambling loan, but it didn’t matter. The fact remained that this man, and the people who had sent him, were serious and didn’t care whom they hurt to get their money back.
I wanted to call the police, but I was afraid the man who had grabbed me would see what I was doing and come after me again. As quickly as my injured back would allow, I returned to my flat, making sure no one was following me. Once through the front door, I made it as far as the couch before I pulled out my phone and, fingers trembling, dialed the police station where I had gone for help once before. I spoke to the woman who had taken Neill’s mobile phone information earlier. She promised to send an officer to Princes Street Gardens to look for the man in the plastic mask. When I told her he had attacked me at St. Giles Cathedral as well, she assured me she would send a second officer to the cathedral to look at the security footage.
After I talked to the police officer, I left the sofa momentarily to double- and triple-check the locks on the front door. As much as I wanted to go looking for Ellie, I couldn’t move. I was starting to stiffen up, and the pain in my back was agonizing. I swallowed two aspirin and lay down against a heat pack.
I was awakened by the sound of the front doorknob rattling. Someone was trying to get in. Panicked, I sat up with a start, my back sharply reminding me not to move so quickly. I limped to the door and peered through the peephole.
Seamus. Now what do I do? My thoughts were still groggy. I had to let him in—all his stuff was still in the flat.
He had unlocked two of the locks while I slept. It was the chain that stopped him from getting in. I opened the door and he stood staring at me.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Good to see you, too. Come in,” I snapped, stepping aside to let him in.
“I’m sorry, Greer. I didn’t mean that. I meant, are you all right? You look like you’re hurt.”
“I know, Seamus. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I’ve had a bad day.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was knocked down at St. Giles Cathedral, and then the same man who knocked me down followed me through Princes Street Gardens and grabbed me there, too.”
“Wha
t?! Why?”
“I don’t know, other than it has something to do with Neill.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Yes. I called them as soon as I got back here.”
“Did the man follow you here?”
“I was checking the whole way, so I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, though, because he said he knows where I live.”
“He’s pullin’ yer leg, Greer. Of that I’m sure.”
“What makes you think so? I’m inclined to believe him. It’s safer to believe him, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean, we’ll be more careful in the future. You know, locking the doors, making sure no one is following us when we go somewhere, that sort of thing.”
“Hopefully the police’ll catch him, and you won’t have to worry about him at all. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
I grimaced. “I’m not sure. He had a hat pulled low over his eyes at the cathedral when he pushed me down, and he wore a mask in Princes Street Gardens. I would definitely recognize his voice, though.”
“Good lass. Have you heard from Sylvie?”
“No. She was gone when I got up this morning.”
Seamus chuckled. “She was gone when I got up this morning. And I got up early. She must have had lots to do today. Now, I want you to lie down again and I’m going to fix you a snack. Have you eaten today?”
“Just some toast for breakfast.”
“You must be half-starved. I’ll be in soon with a tray. Lie yourself down.”
