Iron and Salt

by Calinda B

  A lightness filled his chest from being with Anne. In two days, they’d shared more laughter and love than any other time he could recall.

  “Me, too.” She crouched and fit the head of him inside her mouth.

  He leaned against the stall wall, surrendering to more bliss.

  His mobile phone ringtone jangled from its hiding place in the pocket of his pants on the carpet, just outside the door. He ignored it, giving in to Anne’s succulent mouth on his throbbing cock.

  The phone stopped.

  Good, they’ll leave a message.

  “Feel good, baby?” Anne murmured, gazing up at him with her beautiful blue eyes.

  “Mmm,” he groaned.

  “I never knew you were such an animal in bed.” She cupped his balls and gave them a squeeze.

  He chuckled. “Me, neither.” He found himself free of habitual inhibitions with Anne. She brought out the naughty in him.

  She lowered her mouth to his cock and sucked.

  His legs started to shake. He gripped her head and urged her deeper.

  His phone began to ring again.

  Go away, whoever you are.

  Again, it stopped.

  He was close to orgasm, so close he was sure he’d shoot into her mouth any second.

  The phone rang again.

  “God damn it,” he growled, losing his focus.

  She backed away, pushing to standing as his erection started to take a nosedive. “You’d better get it. Someone really wants you.” Reaching behind him, she flipped off the faucet.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Stuff happens.” She smiled, pushing open the door and stepping onto the blue tile floor. She grabbed a fluffy white towel and handed it to him.

  He seized it and hurried out to snag his phone off the floor. His eyes scanned the screen. Shit. Now what? Three calls from Bres. No message.

  Hoping for no bad news, he tapped Bres’s number and held the phone up to his ear.

  “Where’d you disappear to?” Bres said.

  “Oh, uh…” He glanced through the door to watch Anne drying her gorgeous naked form. “Waterford. I’ve been, uh, helping Anne decide her next move.”

  “Good, good. Bring her to Ward’s house. We’re meeting in an hour.”

  Damn, no time to breakfast. That’s what we get for screwing around. He smiled at the pleasure he and Anne had shared in their “screwing around.”

  “So, this isn’t some terrible news?”

  “What? No. We want you all here. We decided to spend time debriefing together. We never did that with the earlier rounds of violence, and all of us suffered,” Bres said.

  Paul sighed. I could have been coming in the mouth of my girlfriend. That would be therapy enough.

  “So, you’ll be here? Both of you?”

  “Yes, I guess so. I’ll have to scoot to get there in time. We’re at least an hour away.”

  Anne sauntered from the bathroom, fully clothed. She picked her new shoes up from the floor and put them on.

  “Good, see you when you get here.” Bres hung up the phone.

  “We’ll have to snag muffins and eat them on the way. We have to meet at Uncle Cillian’s to ‘debrief’,” he said, making air quotes. After tossing the phone on the bed, he snagged his pants from the floor and stepped into them.

  “Oh? What about?” Anne pulled on a blue jumper.

  “Everything. It’s sort of a therapy session.” He crossed to the closet and retrieved a new shirt he’d purchased when he took Anne shopping.

  She said it made his eyes stand out.

  Shrugging into the long-sleeved linen, he didn’t care what it did to his eyes as long as she liked it.

  His phone blipped, indicating a text. He picked it up from the bed and read. “It’s from Marie. She and Ryan said there’s some sort of surprise waiting for us. I hope it’s not a ‘punch to the balls’ sort of surprise.” He dropped the phone back on the bed. “Anyway,” he said, searching the floor for his socks. “Let’s get rolling. You can finish what you started later today.” He winked at her, sliding his feet into his shoes and reaching for her hand.

  An hour later, they pulled up to Aunt Lassi and Uncle Cillian’s home in a taxi.

  Outside, strong winds blew rolling clouds through the blue sky. The hills were their typical windswept verdant green. He turned to look at Anne.

  She looked utterly gorgeous, dressed in a soft blue linen shift that brushed against her calves, new leather shoes, and a woolen jumper. Her hair—the same flaxen locks he had his fingers in and around for the last day—hung loosely around her shoulders.

  “You ready?” he said.

  She tugged at the bottom of her jumper and nodded, eyes wide. Her lips pressed together tight. She looked anything but calm.

  “Don’t worry. Everyone will love you as much as I do.” He leaned across the seat and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

  When they broke apart, she said, “Okay, but what will they think when you tell them we’re heading back to the hotel? That we’re staying there until we find a flat somewhere?”

  “I don’t care what they think. We might move you into my place. It’s my life. They’ll have to deal.” He thrummed the seat with his fingers. “You’re going to have to learn sign language to communicate with Ma. You up for that?”

  “I’m sure I’ll get on just fine,” she said, with a wave of her pretty hand.

  He nodded. “Good. But, other than that…” He shrugged. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you,” he repeated.

  Looking toward the house, nestled in Uncle Cillian’s garden mastery, she let out a deep breath and said, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  She slid from the passenger side back seat.

  He exited his side, paid and thanked the driver, and strode around the car. He laced his fingers with hers and, together, they walked toward the Ward’s lovely home, tucked at the base of rolling green hills. At the door, he gave a soft knock and opened it.

  “We’re here,” he called, poking his head inside.

  “Come in, come in,” Auntie Lassi said, standing in the kitchen. Her sharp-gazed glower and pinched lips indicated her mood might be just this side of a bitch snit. She waved them into the front room.

  Paul’s eyes widened at the sight of Marie on the sofa snuggled next to Ryan, holding his hand. He glanced at Auntie Lassi, choking back a laugh, suddenly understanding why she was in a feral mood.

  Marie didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, she conversed with her dad, who sat across from her and looked like he was trying valiantly not to appear ill at the sight of his baby girl in love.

  Ryan looked a bit uncomfortable.

  He tried to pull his hand away, but Marie kept an iron grip on him. He kept glancing at Lassi, then at Cillian, then at Marie. His eyes softened each time his gaze landed on Marie, but the poor sod looked like he carried a load of confusion.

  Paul chuckled.

  Auntie Lassi slammed the tea kettle against the stove in a manner he’d seen far too frequently. When she slammed about in the kitchen, it usually meant she was storing up some good phrases. This time, they were probably to share with Marie and Ryan when the dust had settled.

  A figure flew around the corner and barreled into him.

  His indomitable mother wrapped him in a fierce embrace. She sniffled into his shoulder and hugged him hard.

  He hugged her back, feeling enveloped by the force of her love. For a second, all his ma had suffered in her life flashed past his mind’s eye. How she’d turned out to be the strong force of love she was today, was beyond him. If he became half as formidable in his life, he’d consider himself a success.

  When Ma finally released him, Paul looked up to see Bres standing before him, arms open wide.

  He reached out to embrace the only man he’d ever known as a father.

  The hug Bres bestowed upon him came as a surprise. As his arms clenched around Paul’s back, he realized Bres had always held
something back from him, as if he sensed a line of affection that should rightly belong to his bio dad.

  Paul eased away from Bres and looked into his warm green eyes. “Thanks. I needed that. I love you…Dad.”

  Bres’s eyes filled with tears. “Paulie. I’ve waited a lifetime to hear that phrase and didn’t even know it.” He wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and cleared his throat. “Thank you…son.” He turned to face Anne who stood awkwardly next to Paul. “And who is this gorgeous young lady? Your friend?” He flashed a cheeky smile at Paul.

  “Oh, she’s more than a friend.” Paul’s gaze swept around the room. “Everyone. I’d like you to meet my courageous girlfriend. This is Anne Adams.”

  Bres signed his words to Ma.

  Anne gave a demure curtsy, her cheeks a rosy red. “It’s my pleasure to meet all of you. Paul, here…” She reached for his hand. “Well, Paul has saved my life and given me my heart.”

  Ma let out a cry, stepped before Anne, and kissed both her cheeks. She signed.

  “She says ‘welcome to the family,’” Paul said, his eyes bright with joyful tears.

  A crisp, clear knock sounded on the door.

  Paul’s gaze swung in that direction, along with everyone else’s.

  Ryan eased away from Marie, pushing to his feet, and said, “This is our cue for the surprise.”

  He strode toward the door and opened it, revealing, of all people, Moira Brown.

  The room stilled as all eyes stared at her.

  Then Uncle Cillian stood and strode toward her.

  “Moira,” he said, ushering her into the room. “What brings you to our home? Come in and take a seat.” He gestured for her to enter.

  Paul studied Inspector Brown. She looked tired. She clomped into the room as if her spirit had fled the formidable Garda, leaving a defeated individual. Yet, determination shone from her eyes as she shuffled across the floor.

  William tottered into view, emerging from the top landing, making a slow, shaky entrance. He wore loose-fitting sweatpants and a long-sleeved, too-tight t-shirt like he had dipped into his teenage trunk of cast-offs. He looked weak from blood loss and fatigue, and his arm was in a sling.

  Paul’s heart leaped into his throat. A lightness he barely recognized mantled William’s shoulders.

  William stepped toward Paul and put his free arm around his shoulder.

  “Stop staring at me, you wanker.” He squeezed Paul.

  “You look…different,” Paul teased. “What’s going on besides blood loss?”

  Before he had a chance to answer, Auntie Lassi and Marie carried trays of tea from the kitchen.

  “Get yourself a cuppa, generously dosed with fine Irish whiskey,” Marie stated.

  “Fine-a-fuckingly,” Auntie Lassi declared, extending her tray to Paul and Anne. “It’s good to see the light shining in your eyes, Paulie,” she murmured to him, giving him a nod. “I can relate to falling in love with a person of the cloth.” She flashed that look of love at Uncle Cillian.

  Uncle Cillian returned the gaze with potency and passion.

  For once, Paul didn’t cringe at their display of love. He threw his free arm around Anne and pulled her close. Standing between his good pal, William, and his girlfriend, Anne, in a room full of his favorite people, Paul felt like the luckiest fellow in the world. Then, he reached for a cup of whiskey-infused tea from Auntie Lassi’s proffered tray.

  When Auntie Lassi extended the tray to Moira, she regarded the woman with something resembling thoughtful compassion, not the snark expression Paul expected.

  Once everyone held a cuppa, Ryan lifted his cup high. “Here’s to happy endings.”

  “I’ll second that,” Uncle Cillian said.

  Everyone slurped the whiskey-dosed tea.

  “So, we’ve asked Moira here today to tie up a few loose ends,” Ryan stated.

  Paul had never seen Ryan look so content. If Marie brought a spring to Ryan’s step, Paul’s heart cheered for them.

  “Moira’s retiring next week, and I wanted to give her the best retirement gift I could think of—closure,” Ryan said.

  Auntie Lassi and Uncle Cillian exchanged nervous glances.

  Ryan gave them a nod of reassurance. “William,” he said, turning in his direction. “If you don’t mind, please tell us when you first suspected Father Gillespie.”

  Appearing flustered by the attention and unable to summon his usual snotty disposition, William quietly stated, “Actually, it was when I was a kid at St. Christopher’s.”

  Auntie Lassi gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth.

  Uncle Cillian said, “Please don’t tell us the bastard had his way with you. I’ll dig him up and murder him all over again.”

  “I’ll get the shovel,” Auntie Lassi said.

  “No, Ma,” William said, giving his mother a tender smile. “He never touched me. The wanker was obsessed with purity and chastity. He also suspected you, Dad, of breaking your vows of celibacy.”

  A flash of wounded uncertainty appeared on Uncle Cillian’s face.

  Auntie Lassi took his hand in hers and murmured something soothing Paul didn’t catch.

  “Don’t worry about it, Dad. He didn’t know what to do about it. He never went to any higher-ups. Not that I could tell, anyway.” William gazed at his father with fondness.

  Uncle Cillian matched his gaze with something like fierce protectiveness.

  A strange calm fell about the room.

  Paul recognized it as the Leviathan energy, emanating from Auntie Lassi and Uncle Cillian, bringing a gentle fuzz to their minds. While he recognized the feeling, Anne and Moira probably felt like the buzz of potent whiskey had taken residence in their veins. Paul knew he’d have to tell Anne about the Leviathan energy and the Dearg-Due eventually, but there would be time enough for that sharing. He didn’t want to scare her back to the nunnery with stories of monsters in their midst.

  “So, I made it my mission to keep an eye on Father Gillespie. And he did the same to me,” William said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “The asshole would supposedly ‘run into me’ at Uni or come to the Devil’s Arms in streetwear, drink, and watch me. He’d also stop by the house when only I was here.”

  “William,” his dad said, sharply. “You should have told your mother and me.”

  Auntie Lassi’s eyes glistened with tears. She squeezed Uncle Cillian’s hand like a lifeline.

  “You’ve always had your own demons to slay, Dad. I took one for the team. That’s why I felt I had to move out. I didn’t want that bastard to include Marie in his obsession.”

  “Oh, God, William,” Marie said, pressing her hand to her cheek. “All this time…you’ve been protecting us.”

  “I love you guys,” William said. “Even though you all piss me off.”

  “Right back atcha, kiddo,” Auntie Lassi said, smiling.

  William stepped toward the sofa and settled on the arm next to his ma. “Then, I noticed Gillespie seemed to track the girls I dated. I even figure he sabotaged some of those relationships, but I have no proof. It’s only conjecture. Well, sort of based on something Helen Pelletier said to me before she broke it off with me. She said Gillespie painted me as a horrible dude, incapable of being faithful. Helen was a one-man woman.”

  “Clearly, I should have hired you to help me investigate, son,” Moira said from her perch across the room.

  A titter of laughter flitted about the room, breaking some of the tension.

  “Yeah,” William said, smirking. “I doubt if I would have accepted the job. There would go my street cred.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “So, anyway, a few months back, his stalking lessened.” William glanced at Anne and frowned. “I think that must have been the time you arrived at St. Christopher’s, Anne. That’s when all the murders began. I didn’t pay it too much mind until I noticed him targeting women I’d dated. And, you know, we went out a couple of times.”

  Paul stiffened and h
is mouth pressed into a hard slit.

  “Relax,” William said, directing his gaze at Paul. “She’s here with you, not me.” He turned to face the others. “Anyway, the dude was sick as shit.” He grimaced.

  “Good Lord, I hired him.” Uncle Cillian looked like he might vomit.

  “You can’t blame yourself, Dad. Don’t even go there. There’s no way you could have known. I started collecting clippings from the paper, trying to find a hole in Gillespie’s alibi. I even began to reverse stalk him.”

  “Bad move, William. I got in his way and look what happened to me,” Paul said.

  “Yeah, well, you’re a wuss,” William said, grinning.

  “Fuck off,” Paul said, smiling back at him.

  “Hey, you got the girl. Quit complaining,” William said.

  Paul squeezed Anne’s shoulders. “I sure did.” He leaned to kiss her cheek.

  “Eyes back on me,” William said. “I’m about to get to the good part. After our big fight…” He directed his gaze at his mum. “Which I’m deeply sorry about, by the way…”

  Auntie Lassi placed her palm over her heart and gave him a warm gaze.

  “I spied Gillespie pulling up at Stinker’s house and, when I snuck inside, I found Pete dead.” He frowned. “But, that’s where the similarity to the murders ended. I think Gillespie went there to collect something he’d left behind when he assaulted Sarah. But, again, that’s only conjecture. He left, I entered, and there was Pete, slaughtered by something eviler than the priest.”

  Auntie Lassi shook her head at him.

  Uncle Cillian made a slashing gesture in front of his neck.

  William glanced at Moira Brown.

  She looked as if wheels turned inside her head, and connections were forming.

  “I’m sorry I had to arrest you, son,” she said. “I was just following procedure. I knew the evidence was circumstantial. And, I also knew the murder of Pete Hornsby looked very similar to the one that killed your dad, Paul.” A look of uncharacteristic compassion flashed in the Inspector’s eyes as she regarded him. Then, she sighed. “I never solved that case, and I’m no closer to solving Pete’s murder. It’s not the failure to solve it that hurts, because I’ve lived enough to know that pride is a piss poor excuse for doing things. It’s that I feel I failed the victims…and their families.” Her gaze flicked to Paul and Siobhan. “I failed you by not finding the real murderer and bringing him to justice. I mean, what kind of monster plucks the eyeballs from a person and jams them in his hand? I haven’t seen anything so sick since those murders twenty-odd years ago.”