by Calinda B
“Please don’t do this, Anne, I’m begging you. Choose me, instead.” He looked up at her, his eyes stinging.
Her eyes bright with tears, she shook her head. “Paul, I…no. Father Gillespie is right. I’ve got to stay true to my purpose. Otherwise, I’ve given up everything for nothing.”
Hearing Father Gillespie’s name forced Paul’s stomach into a rage-filled knot. This can’t be happening. I won’t let it. He bolted to his feet, grasped Anne’s face between his hands, and kissed her fiercely.
Anne responded, meeting him with the same torrent of passion he poured into the kiss.
His door flew open, banging against the wall with an explosive thwack.
Father Gillespie barreled into the room. “What’s the meaning of this blasphemy? Anne…come away from this heathen.”
He held out his hand to her.
Anne jerked away from Paul and dropped her face into her hands.
“What have I done?” she cried, then she turned and bolted from the room.
Father Gillespie stormed toward Paul.
What the hell? What’s he doing roaming the halls? Was he spying on me? Keeping watch over Anne? Paul rose to his full height, leaning toward the not so good Father.
“This is an outrage, Mr. Riordan,” Father Gillespie said, his body bloating like a Pufferfish. He stabbed his forefinger against Paul’s chest.
“Stop it.” Paul shoved Father Gillespie’s hand away. “The outrage is you bullying Anne into a vocation she doesn’t want. Clearly, she has her doubts. Any fool can see that.” His body shook with rage. If she took her vows, he’d never see her again which might crush him. But what if she, as a new bride of Christ, finds herself in the crosshairs of Bluebeard?
Father Gillespie’s face grew red. Sweat trickled down his nose, dripping onto his black cassock. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and sopped up the sweat. “Her path has been chosen by God. He’s called her to his flock, and she’s accepted.”
“No, you’ve bewitched her into thinking she’ll be better off here. I think you have your own unsavory thoughts about her. The Catholic church is ripe with secrets and hidden deeds behind closed doors. Are you hoping to bed her? To claim her for yourself, huh?” Paul poked the priest’s pudgy chest, looming over him as he spoke.
Father Gillespie jerked back as if struck.
“Why you little…” he spluttered. Then, right before Paul’s eyes, Father Gillespie’s outrage fell from his shoulders, dissipating like morning fog. “Forgive me, Mr. Riordan, for losing my temper,” he said in a calm voice. “I have sinned in the eyes of the Lord. And, for that, I shall have to atone.” He cocked his head to the side as if listening to someone. A few seconds later, he said, “Yes, yes. The Lord speaks to me. Yes, my Lord, yes.” He nodded as if accepting his orders. A chilling smile crossed his face. “Anne’s chosen her path and you, my child, have chosen yours.”
“I’m not your child,” Paul protested. A rant formed in his mind, ready to launch.
Father Gillespie’s hand lifted before him, his palm facing Paul.
And like some doltish altar boy, Paul shut his mouth.
With eyes glacier cold, Father Gillespie stared calmly at Paul. “You’re fired.”
Paul fell back against his desk. “What? You can’t do this. I’m a good teacher.”
“No, you’re a disruption to this fine institution. You have ten minutes to clear out.” He calmly spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving Paul a broken mess, and worse, Anne soon to be nothing but a memory. He shuddered at what that might mean.
Chapter 18
Late Tuesday afternoon – Marie
Sitting in her bedroom, with Crusty by her side, Marie strangled her phone as she stared at it. Her forefinger poised over the connect icon.
Ryan’s number stared back at her from the screen.
Finally, she scrunched up her face and tapped the little green phone.
Ryan answered with a sigh on the third ring. “Hello, Marie,” he said, in a tired-sounding voice.
“Ryan, I…” I what? Want to kiss you again? Want to be friends still? She let out her own sigh. “I want to go to my brother’s. I was hoping you could accompany me.”
“It’s a crime scene,” he said, speaking to her as if she was a stranger.
She hesitated before saying anything else. “I know that. That’s why I’m calling you. You’re a Garda. Could I please go over with you? I’m desperate to look for clues.” She hated to plead and beg like a child.
Another huff of air met her ears. “Fine. I’m on my way there. I’ll pick you up in ten.”
“Thank you.” She quickly hung up lest he changes his mind or lest she blurts something out, like, “Let’s go back to the way things were,” or, “let’s take a chance on deeper exploration.”
Twelve minutes later, smothered in weighty tension, Marie sat next to Ryan in his official Garda electric BMW SUV pulling out of the driveway.
Ryan had been one of the lucky ones to get one of the first electric vehicles back in the day, in the government’s “bid to ascertain the suitability of electric vehicles for police use.” Recently, they’d given him a sleeker, finer upgrade, complete with autonomous driving. He flicked a switch on the dash, removed his hands from the wheel, and sat back, letting the vehicle do its thing.
The vehicle zipped down the narrow road, past the homes and cottages, sheep and cattle, and winding stone walls slicing the verdant green, heading for Dungarvan.
“Thanks for agreeing to take me to the crime scene,” she said to his stony profile.
He grunted something unintelligible, keeping his eyes trained on the road, wet from the recent rain.
She sighed and stared out the window, watching cottages and rolling hills zoom past. While having a Garda for a godfather may not have been the best thing as a teenager trying to rebel, drink, and get in trouble, having a Garda for a godfather was bloody fantastic when it came to getting into the apartment-now-crime-scene of her twin brother. The twin who has been arrested for murder. She turned to look once more at Ryan. I wish he’d address the elephant in the car. We kissed. It’s over. It’s in the past. Let’s move on. She scrunched up her nose and then sighed. That kiss was fantastic. I know he felt it, too. So why not just pull off the road and try it again? She chuckled, despite her warring emotions and discomfort with Ryan.
“What?” he said, side-eying her.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling. She bit her lip. “Actually, want to know what I thought that made me laugh?”
“Nope,” he said, flattening his lips, staring out the window as if chasing a storm.
More like running from one. Marie let out a huffy sigh and crossed her arms, hoping the short drive to Dungarvan didn’t take bloody forever. It did, though. With their newly forged disconnect, each second lasted a minute and each minute felt like an hour.
When they finally arrived at Devil’s Arms, she threw open the door of the vehicle and exited the SUV as fast as she could, if only to breathe again. A light drizzle spattered her face as she gulped huge lungfuls of oxygen.
The neon sign of the Devil’s Arm sputtered and blinked. She wished she had a hammer, so she could put the sign out of its misery.
The driver’s side door slammed, letting her know Ryan had exited. She didn’t look over at him. It was too painful to have lost her best friend.
“You’re the one who asked to come with me,” Ryan said, in his new ice-cold tone of voice.
“Yeah, your point?” she said, not turning around.
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic? The air in the vehicle was as fine as the air out here,” he said.
“No,” she said, slowly turning around. “It wasn’t. An elephant was stinking up the inside. It’s the same elephant stepping on both our toes.”
He shook his head, pivoted, and said, “Follow me. Unless you’d like to hang out in the rain, of course.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said sharply, gratef
ul to be conversing with him again, even if it was snipping and snapping. Anything was better than the silence. “You’d like that if I were cold and shivering, begging you to keep me warm, huh?”
He lifted his hand over his head, dismissively.
She tromped behind him into the pub.
Inside, she crossed the tile floor, heading for the back staircase. The gloom inside the pub looked more depressing than usual.
Chip looked up from behind the bar.
“Marie,” he said, in greeting. “Sergeant Conway. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see William’s apartment. Is it upstairs?” Ryan said, appearing all official and cop-like.
“Where else would it be? There’s a bloody cop standing guard outside his door. He came in his bloody cop-car. Notice the place is empty? Why do you think that is?” Chip said, wiping the bar with crisp, angry-looking strokes.
“We’ll see ourselves upstairs, then,” Ryan said, ignoring the snide remarks. “Marie, can you show me the way?” He barely afforded her a glance.
“Sure thing, Sergeant Conway,” she said coolly, pushing past him. Her heart felt like a lump in her chest, stiff and lifeless. After opening the door to the back hallway, she clumped up the worn stairs.
An officer stood glumly outside of William’s door. He brightened when he saw Ryan flash his credentials. “Sir, I’m glad you’re here. Are you here to relieve me?”
“Hardly,” Ryan said. “I’m here to inspect the premises. I’ve brought the suspect’s twin over to see if she notices any clues we might have overlooked.”
The guard nodded, his disappointment dragging the corners of his mouth down. He pushed open the door and stepped aside.
“Where’s Moira?” Ryan said, before entering.
With neither man sparing a look in her direction, Marie’s mood slid into sub-zero territory.
“The Inspector’s back at the station with the suspect’s parents and their solicitor,” the guard said.
Oh, no. Marie’s knees nearly buckled. My parents’ had to hire a solicitor? Poor Mum and Dad.
As she shuffled inside William’s messy den, she pursed her lips in a rictus of disapproval. Same old, same old.
Ryan tromped in behind her, closing the door.
“Christ,” he said. “I’ve done a shitty job as a Godfather if this is how he lives. Some guardian I turned out to be.”
Marie blinked at the comment. It seemed so out of the blue. She wondered if he was talking about William or her or both. Is that the reason why he rejected the kiss? He takes his role as Godfather seriously? Her brow crinkled. Godfather or not, he’d always been her lion-hearted friend.
“Clearly, I’ve failed in my responsibilities,” he said.
“What a load of bollocks,” Marie said, whirling to face him. “William has for a good long time been fully responsible for his own fuckwittage, and…” Her eyes widened in horror as she stared at his messy kitchen table. She scurried toward it and scanned a bunch of articles spread about. She turned to look back at Ryan.
“What?” Ryan said, planting his hands on his hips.
“Oh, this can’t be good, Ryan. Look.” Marie’s throat constricted, making her voice sound raspy and raw. She lifted a shaking finger toward the table, littered with articles about Bluebeard.
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Shit. Let’s think this through. It might not be anything other than his own interest in the case. Why would he be collecting articles like that?”
Marie’s heart pounded against her chest. “I don’t know. I may have mentioned that the killer seems to be going after women he’s dated.”
He stepped toward the table, the color draining from his face. “Wow. He’s got articles from the start of the killing spree. Every piece ever mentioned about the killer or the crimes.” He leaned in to look at a couple of pieces pinned to the wall. “There are even psychological profiles on psychopathy, sociopathy, and serial killers. That seems a bit obsessive. When were you here last?”
“A few days ago. And none of this was here.” Marie picked up one of the articles.
“Don’t touch anything,” Ryan barked. “This is a crime scene. You don’t want your fingertips on anything.”
He rushed closer, knocking her hand away from the table.
For a second, his scent overpowered her. But his snarky tone of voice reminded her—he was no longer her best friend.
“Moira’s not going to be able to avoid this,” Ryan said, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth down.
“What do you mean?” Marie said, her fingers itching to wad the whole lot of papers up and burn them in the fireplace.
“Moira isn’t entirely convinced that it’s William. She’s a good detective, and she knows that finding him at the scene could be viewed as just circumstantial. She had to arrest him because it was proper procedure, even though there were doubts about his guilt. But…” Ryan waved his hand at the table. “This almost obsessive collection of Bluebeard is too weird for just a coincidence. Add that to William’s relationships with the dead women, and…”
“Stop. Don’t say it,” Marie said, tears pricking at her eyes. “He’s probably as confused as we all are about this Bluebeard fellow and trying to fit the pieces together. My brother can’t go down for this murder. My mother and father would be crushed. If Moira is such a great detective, why hasn’t she linked the M.O. of Pete’s killing with the Dearg-Due killings from years ago?”
She eyed Ryan hungrily, eager for the comfort he used to give. Before she kissed him, he would be holding her right now, sharing in the sorrow of her brother’s arrest. Now, he simply acted the cop.
Ryan stood, his arms crossed, his entire demeanor walled off. “She’s noticed. She said as much back at the station. That’s partly why she’s less convinced of William’s guilt in Pete’s murder. Bluebeard kills brides, not husbands.”
“And the Dearg-Due kills the unfaithful,” Marie said. She plopped into a kitchen chair, careful to avoid touching the “evidence.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I feel like we’re really close to a clue but everything’s a shit-storm in a shitty sea.” She removed her hands and gazed at Ryan.
For a second, he gazed back at her.
It was the warmest he’d been all day. “Ryan, I…” she began. Her eyelids began to flutter, kicking free the tears she’d been holding back. “I miss you.” She gripped her forearms.
“Don’t open that box of snakes, Marie.” Ryan’s eyes were lined with shadows. “Kissing you was inappropriate. It was a mistake. You need to put it out of your mind. It’s never going to happen again. Besides, there are more important things to do right now…like trying to save your brother, stop Bluebeard, and find the Dearg-Due before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, then let it drop by his side. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a shit of a Godfather to you both. I haven’t done my job properly.”
“So, this is all about rules and duty, then?” A spark of anger flared in her. “Since when did that factor into our friendship, huh? I never realized I was an obligation to you.”
Ryan looked away.
“Let’s wrap things up here,” he said, resuming his Sergeant Conway persona.
“Over and out, Sergeant,” she said, adding a crisp salute. She bolted to her feet and strode toward the door.
The gray kitten pounced out of nowhere, landing on her shoe.
“Mothball!” she said. She scooped up the tiny fluffball.
“Your brother has a cat?” Ryan said.
“Yes. Find some cat food and fill up a bowl, will you?” she snapped, pointing toward the cupboard. “The least we can do is take care of his cat.” She kissed its nose and set the kitten down while Ryan rummaged around in the kitchen.
She would make sure to keep a good distance from Ryan, from this point on—even though her heart had shattered into a billion bits. Nothing could put it back together. At this point, everything she’d ever hoped for—
her brother finding his way, developing a relationship with Ryan, her parents’ well-being…well, it was all a fucked-up wad of shit-stained toilet paper, wasn’t it?
But the big question looming in her brain was terrifying. Was there any chance her brother could be the killer? And why would he want to release the vampire, if it was truly him who dug up the gravesite?
She didn’t think she could deal with the answers.
Chapter 19
Tuesday evening – Marie
Standing in her brother’s apartment, Marie’s chest squeezed tight with the swirl of unanswered questions shooting through her brain. What would make my brother collect all this information about Bluebeard? Do I really know him as well as I think I do? Could his struggles with the Leviathan inside have made him snap into that of a killer? And why would he release the Dearg-Due? Does he need help in his killing spree?
The questions sickened her. I’m ridiculous thinking of my brother as a killer. Confused, maybe. But a murderer? She shivered.
Combined with the fact she couldn’t reach out and seek comfort from Ryan the way she’d done countless times, her sense of confusion and isolation wrapped its icy fingers around her, making it hard to breathe.
“What’s the matter?” Ryan said.
“You don’t get to ask me that,” she snapped. “You’re treating me like a stranger, all because I kissed you. But, fun fact here…” She lifted her burning gaze to him and glared. “You responded to the kiss. You liked it. You even acted like you wanted it as much as I did.”
“Marie, I…” He stopped speaking, and his mouth hung slack-jawed. “Let’s get out of here. We’re finished.”
“I’ll say,” she said, tears pushing at her eyelids.
Ryan winced.
She whirled and began to stride toward the exit. A sense of panicked desperation clawed at her insides. I’ve got to protect my twin, I’ve just got to. Marie spun around and stomped back to the table full of articles. Swiftly, she began stacking them into a neat pile. She yanked the ones from the wall and added those to her pile.
