by Willow Rose
“Just shoot him and get it over with,” Aileen said, addressed to Bradan. “It’s taking too long.”
“You’re right,” Bradan said, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He had gotten emotional.
I held my breath as I watched Bradan place the gun at Inspector Grady’s temple again with a vicious smile on his face.
“Send my greetings to Father Allen when you meet him in HELL!”
Just as Bradan yelled the last word, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. No matter what. So I rose to my feet and jumped from the pulpit. I flew through the air, and landed big and mighty on top of Bradan before he managed to pull the trigger.
I hardly hurt myself as I landed. I guess landing on top of Bradan softened the fall. Bradan screamed, and I soon saw why. His arm had broken when I hit him. It had an open fracture, and I could see the bone. He was grumbling underneath me, trying to get loose, but I was too heavy for him to be able to move. For once, it paid off to be big.
Aileen approached me with her gun pointed at me. My heart dropped as I looked directly into the barrel of the gun.
“Say goodbye,” she said.
I watched as her finger moved on the trigger.
“Don’t!” a small voice said from behind the pews.
It was a small girl. She peeked up, then rose to her feet. She had the same crooked finger as the others. The girl looked pleadingly at Aileen.
“Please don’t, Aunt Aileen,” she said.
“Stay out of this, Caitlin,” Bradan grumbled from underneath me.
“No, Dad. You’re hurting these people. Please, stop it, Daddy!” she cried.
Aileen turned her gun to face the girl. My eyes widened.
“Oh, no you don’t!” I yelled, then lifted my leg and managed to kick her in the stomach. Aileen fell forward, and turned the gun back to me. Meanwhile, Bradan’s gun had fallen to the ground and slid towards the crowd when I hit him. Morten spotted it, jumped for it, turned, and fired a shot at Aileen. I watched as the bullet went into her chest and blood spurted out of her mouth; some of it hit me in the face before she fell to the ground.
Morten then ran to me and helped me get up. He placed the gun on Bradan’s head while I rolled him to his stomach, grabbed Inspector Grady’s handcuffs from his pocket, and cuffed him.
Epilogue
“I guess I should thank you for saving my life.”
Inspector Grady had arrived at the hotel just as we were checking out. He had taken a serious beating to his head and had most of it in gauze. But other than a minor concussion, he was fine, he told us. Morten and I had spent two days talking to the police and the many reporters from all over the country who had come to town to hear the story of the twins, The Rose Killers, who went on a killing spree in the sleepy town of Enniskerry.
We were finally allowed to leave, and I was looking forward to seeing my family like never before. I had told Victor about what had happened and how much he had helped me over the phone, but he hadn’t seemed to care. He was already in a new world of his own and had moved on. I wondered if he already knew everything. Maya, on the other hand, was terrified when she heard. They had even spoken about the events in the Danish media, she said.
“It was no big deal,” I said, and shook the inspector’s hand.
The story of how the small town with the beloved Father Allen as a front-runner had taken the children was all over the media now. What would happen later was out of my hands. People were still waiting for an apology from the Church, but I had a feeling they weren’t going to get it. Not even a statement had been issued so far.
Mary Margaret had been arrested for killing Mrs. Delaney, and Bradan was facing a jail sentence as well. I had given my statement, and now I was leaving the aftermath to someone else. Meanwhile, I was just glad no more people were killed that day in the church. It was only Father Allen and Aileen. Daniel, the clerk, had suffered a shoulder injury, but would be all right, I had been told.
“You ready?” Morten asked, as he picked up my suitcase.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, and followed him to our car. He put our suitcases in the back, then held the door for me so I could get in.
“Thank you,” I said, and leaned over and kissed him before I got in. The last couple of days we had been all over each other. Guess an experience like that, where you were almost killed, really does make you think about what you have to be grateful for. And I was very grateful for Morten and for not having to be on the dating scene again. Ever.
Morten drove off and I breathed a sigh of relief when we crossed the city limits and I could only spot the village in my rearview mirror. I couldn’t wait to get away from there.
“So, I was thinking that maybe we shouldn’t go on a vacation anytime soon?” Morten said, as we approached Dublin, where our flight was waiting to take us home to Denmark.
“Yeah,” I said, and looked out the window at the green pastures rolling by. “Let’s stay home for a while.”
I paused and looked at him. “Or…” I said. “Maybe we should go to Greece next time.”
The End
Afterword
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing Where the Wild Roses Grow. I hope it was a pleasure to read. To those of you that don’t already know it, the Magdalene Laundries were real. They existed until 1996. The things that were done to the women there are appalling. They’re even worse than what I describe in this book. You can read more about it here:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magdalene_laundries_in_Ireland
And read some of the stories told by the survivors of these places here:
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-21345995
Furthermore, the story of Father Allen is also inspired by true events. A very well known priest from Ireland did hide an entire family in his home until a news magazine revealed it. It was a story that shocked the nation. Read more here:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Cleary_(priest)
Or here:
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/the-secret-life-of-michael-cleary-entertainer-radio-show-host-father-of-two-and-priest-401971.html
Now I am sending Emma and Morten back to their island, and let’s see how long it takes for them before they get involved in something again. Until then, you can check out my other books by following the links below. And don’t forget to leave reviews, if you can.
Take care,
Willow
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WALTZING MATHILDA
Emma Frost Mystery, Vol 11
You’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me.
Prologue
Fanoe Island 1982
Chapter One
John Andersen liked to say he was at the bottom of the food chain. A bottom-feeder. It was things like that they said about themselves, you know—plumber to plumber—while smoking behind the shop. They'd make jokes about it and say stuff like, Your crap is my family's bread and butter; or Every time your toilet won't flush, you put food in my mouth; or John's favorite, Plumbing is the only profess
ion where you can take a leak and fix it at the same time.
Other than the jokes, there wasn't much to laugh about in his profession. John Andersen had stopped enjoying his work many years ago. To be honest, he was sick of it. They were busier than ever around the island since more and more people lately had problems with their pipes and plumbing. Sometimes, John wondered if it was an age thing, if the pipes laid underneath Fanoe Island were getting too old. It wasn't unusual for John to be busy this time of year since the cold was starting to set in and often people's pipes would freeze overnight and even crack. But this January had been a lot busier than what they were used to. A lot.
John rolled the minivan up in front of the old building that housed Fishy Pines and killed the engine. He let a long sigh hiss through his teeth and took off his seatbelt. It was his last job of the day and, hopefully, it was going to be a fast one.
Tina, his wife, was waiting back at the house. She had dinner ready. Pork chops and mashed potatoes, his favorite, and he had promised to be home before six o'clock today. He looked at his watch. Half an hour. It was all he had and all he was going to give this.
John got out and grabbed his toolbox. A woman came out from the building and approached him.
"Are you the plumber?"
John nodded indifferently and pointed at the van that said Plumber-John in big letters. Next to it, a sticker said:
THE MAN
THE MYTH
THE PLUMBER
"So glad you're here," the lady said. She was wearing a white coat over her knitted sweater and he guessed she was a nurse. She could also be a doctor, but she didn't look like one to John.
The place was known around town as the nut-case house. It was where you ended up if things didn't quite add up inside your head, as John's mom had put it when driving by back when he was still just a kid himself. John remembered how he, as a child, would picture the people in this place. How they would sit in their chairs and rip out the hair from their head, pull it all out, while laughing maniacally and pointing at you with their crooked fingers, telling you that you are up next.
A shiver ran down John's spine as he walked up toward the front door and followed the lady inside.
"I understand it was some issue with the pipes?" he asked as the fluorescent light engulfed him.
The woman nodded. "Yes. Especially at nighttime. It keeps our patients up and, between you and me, the last thing you want in a place like this is grumpy patients."
John chuckled. "I bet."
"Let me show you where it is," she said, and he followed her to the door that had WOMEN written on the front of it.
Back when John was younger, he had often fantasized about what was on the other side of a door with that sign and dreamt of going in there. Back when he was a teenager in high school—and he didn't know toilets would be all he would see day in and day out for the rest of his life—he and a friend had even spied on the girls through their window while they were in there chatting and putting on make-up. But the janitor had caught them one day, and that was the end of that. John had served detention every afternoon for a year after that stunt, whereas his friend Max had somehow talked his way out of punishment. John had never been able to talk his way out of anything in his life. Most of the time, opening his mouth meant getting himself into more trouble. He realized that at an early age. So, ever since his teenage years, he had kept it shut unless speaking was absolutely necessary. It had proved helpful in marriage and in his work.
"It's this one," the lady said and pointed at the middle stall. She opened the door and revealed an old pink toilet, a Gustavberg anno 1931.
"This one makes a lot of noise. Like a thumping. It goes on and on all night long with no end to it. On and on. And it is clogged. We can't use it."
John looked down into it, then back at the woman. "It looks fine." He flushed it and it worked perfectly.
"Yes, right now, of course, it works. It stops working at the same time as the noise starts."
"What noise? I can't seem to hear anything."
The woman looked at her watch a little annoyed.
"It usually starts here at six o'clock and goes on for the rest of the night. It's like a loud banging noise, sometimes scratching. To me, it sounds like an animal might be trapped down there or something. But that's just me, I guess. We can hear it all over the building once it starts. In every room. That's how we figured it had to be the pipes. A colleague of mine said it had to do with the fact that the temperature drops as the sun goes down."
John nodded. It amazed him how many people were amateur plumbers.
"I don't know. I’m not a plumber," she continued. "But I do know we need it fixed as soon as possible. It's such a commotion and very unsettling for the patients. If you'll just wait a few more minutes, you can hear it for yourself."
John looked at his watch and thought of the pork chops. He was going to have a cold dinner again. There was only one thing he loathed more than cleaning people's pipes and looking into their toilets—and that was eating cold food.
Chapter Two
"It's probably frozen pipes," John said. "They might have cracked. It's been happening a lot lately."
He got down on one knee next to the toilet. His knee complained. It was getting harder and harder for him to do his job since it had started to act up. They had always told him it would one day. It happened to all plumbers, they said. Especially with the changing winds when it got colder, then he would be able to feel it. Back then, when he was younger, John had just thought it was old nonsense. He was stronger than most and it would never happen to him.
John winced in pain as he plunged into position. The lady was still hovering above his shoulder. He hated when clients did that…when they stayed to watch him. It was like they believed they had to be there in case he needed help or just to keep an eye on him. There was only one thing he hated more than that and that was when they left money out in plain sight, just to check if he would steal it.
"So, you believe that would cause it to make that sound?" the lady asked. "If they are cracked?"
He sighed. The pain shot through his knee and into his body. "That could be it, yes."
The woman shifted on her feet and looked at him. "I have to go check on a patient. Let me know if you need anything."
Finally.
He didn't turn to look at her as he said, "Will do."
The lady's high heels clacked across the tiles as she left and finally John could get started. He wasn't going to wait for the sound. He could already tell that the toilet tank had cracks in it. It was no wonder. It was very old and so were the rest of them in this restroom. They were probably going to have to replace all of them within the next six months.
John knew how it would go. One of them, probably the one he was looking at now, would crack first, then spill water down the side of the toilet and on the floor. About one hour later, the entire restroom and the hallways outside would be flooded. Since those things mostly happened at night, the patients would probably wake up and put their feet into the rising waters as they tried to get out of their beds. It was going to be a lot more disturbing to them than a thumping noise from the pipes.
It wouldn't be enough to just replace one of the toilets. If they didn't replace all of them, it would happen all over again a few weeks later, once the next in line cracked. John had seen it before and he usually recommended that people replace all their toilets since they were often from the same time period, but for the most part, people couldn't afford to replace all of them at once and so he would have to come back once it happened all over again. It was their loss, not his since he would make more money that way, but it amazed him how people always refused to listen and thought he was just out to get more money out of them. He would often ask those people if they owned a canoe before he left the house.
John looked at the cracks in the side of the tank, then wondered if that could be what made the noise at night. Probably not, he concluded. There had to be more. It wa
sn't the reason for the clogging either. There had to be something stuck in the drainage. Probably just old dirt and maybe tampons that the patients tried to flush. He would recommend that the lady have them cleaned as well as put in new toilets.
John rose to his feet, straining with the pain, then turned around to put his tool back in the box. This wasn't something he could fix in this short period of time. It was a bigger job. He’d probably have to come back with several of his guys and it was going to be costly.
Maybe I will be home in time for dinner after all.
John sighed. He hated restrooms like these. They reminded him of elementary school. Those years hadn't been good to him. John had been a bed-wetter and occasionally he peed himself in class as well. An overactive bladder, his doctor had told him. He would grow out of it. But he hadn't until he was fourteen and it earned him nicknames like Pee Bucket or The Urinator in school.
John shook his head when remembering the days he feared going to school. Just the smallest tickling sensation inside made him wince. Constantly fearing, What if I don't make it in time?
John's back was still turned to the toilet when he heard it. He turned to look over his shoulder, tool still in his hand. He took a step inside the stall and looked down in the bowl. The water in it was shaking, splashing up against the sides. John took another step closer and stared into the bowl, where the water was rising fast while the thumping grew louder.
