The Watchers

by A. M. Shine

  The more Mina thought about it, the less she knew about the woman. What possible reason could have drawn her outside? And after all they had shared together, how could she vanish without saying goodbye? That used to be Mina’s trick. She knew that Madeline wasn’t ready to face the world. After a single night, hidden away like escaped convicts, none of them were. The woman needed help – the expensive psychological sort.

  ‘Should we try to find her?’ Ciara asked.

  ‘She knows where I live,’ Mina replied. It was the way she imagined Madeline would have reacted. ‘If she needs us, she’ll come back.’

  Madeline never shared with them what possibilities her future held or what relics of her old life remained. There was no telling where she had gone, or why she had left. If their company was so dispensable, then she could have fled the coop alone and left them behind. Or maybe, Mina thought, Madeline needed them – to negotiate the forest, to row the boat, or to be cast overboard should the watchers have ever caught them. But that was to assume the worst of the woman and Mina had done that for long enough. As cold as Madeline was, there was still some warmth in her. The woman’s actions, not her words, had proven that.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see if she comes back,’ Ciara said, sadly. ‘I never thought I’d miss her. I hope she’s okay, out there on her own. It must be very scary for her.’

  Ciara’s worries came as no surprise. She had every reason in the world to despise the woman, but she didn’t. Perhaps she had finally come to realise that had Madeline opened the door that night, she would not be standing where she was now. None of them would be.

  Madeline could take care of herself. Mina had no doubts about that. But something still bothered her. It was the way the woman had stared at Ciara when she produced the camera from her pocket. Madeline’s eyes had never seemed so dark, nor had a frail, famished woman ever looked so dangerous.

  ‘She’ll be okay,’ Mina said, ‘you have to focus on taking care of yourself now.’

  Their lives in the coop had been indistinguishable. They shared the same routines and responsibilities; no better or worse than the other. There was no wealth. There were no privileges to ease the day-to-day chore of staying alive. But now their disparities were finally revealing themselves. So focused had Mina been on getting home, she never stopped to wonder who would be waiting for her, if anyone. Jennifer was the only one. Mina thought back to that last voicemail, right before her car broke down. I’m not going to call you again, okay? I’ll leave it up to you. She knew how stubborn her sister could be when she set her mind to it. Nobody had missed her. And there was no one to welcome her home. For these reasons and more, she hugged Ciara hard enough to make her squeak.

  Their parting was inevitable. They had postponed it for as long as they could, dallying around the kitchen, treating the room as they might the coop, never really saying much. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was simply their way together. Company, rather than conversation, was the key to their harmony.

  Mina had offered her the use of the shower. There was certainly plenty of hot water going spare. But Ciara’s heart was set on her own bathroom. She had spoken so excitedly about the size of the tub, and of the scented soaps and salts that John had given her. Mina smiled and mirrored her sprightliness, but she secretly feared for the girl’s heart. She was returning to an empty house.

  ‘Are you going to be all right?’ Mina asked.

  ‘Come stay with me,’ she replied as though she hadn’t heard the question. ‘We’ll find our feet together. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t relish the thought of being alone when it gets dark. I know it’s silly and we’re…’

  ‘It’s not silly,’ Mina interrupted, holding Ciara’s shoulder. ‘It’s going to take us a long time, okay? But we have each other. And I’m not too thrilled about being alone tonight either,’ she added with a smile. ‘Apparently monsters really do exist now.’

  She embraced Mina in a hug, and they held each other, both aware of the other’s tears. It still didn’t seem real. Before she left, Ciara wrote down her address and phone number, and a few directions in case the taxi driver should get lost. Her hand had all but forgotten how to handle a pen, and after a short scribble she had to massage the pain from her palm.

  ‘Sorry about the writing.’ She laughed. ‘I swear I didn’t use to write like this.’

  ‘I’ll come to you as soon as I can,’ Mina replied. ‘There are just a few things I have to take care of first, and I want to be here in case Madeline comes back.’ It was unlikely, but she owed the woman that much. ‘For all we know she’s gone to collect some water from the river because she’s forgotten how the tap works,’ Mina added, immediately regretting her facetiousness.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ Ciara said, before she closed the door after her. Mina slipped the lock in place.

  She braved another taste of her coffee, wincing as it slipped down her throat. That was enough of that. She looked at the wine bottle on top of the fridge. All its notes would have been sharpened to vinegar by now. She would buy the Rupicolo that she loved. Not the garden-variety one, but the overpriced reserve that she had ogled like forbidden fruit but never reached for. If her taste buds had forgotten their affection for red wine, Mina would make them remember.

  The longest, most highly anticipated shower of Mina’s life awaited her. She would fawn over her wardrobe of laundered clothes, turning a blind eye to anything black or brown – the colours that had fallen over her life like a filter. The old rags would be black-bagged and tossed in the bin. Given the chance she would have loved to burn them. All the filth and foul memories would sprout in clouds of black smoke like purged demons.

  Then, Mina would follow through on her promise. Kilmartin had been a lecturer in the university. Nothing else was known about the man, except that he had a wife once. Although Mina didn’t know when he had held this tenure, he must have operated out of an office. He would have had documents – research and records – pertaining to the coop’s construction, and the oddities that would be his subjects and his ruin. And she would destroy them all.

  24

  ‘What do you think?’ Mina asked, with one hand on her hip and her best leg forward.

  The cage was set on the table, wiped clean after the prior night. Every elusive motion made the yellow one’s feathers phosphoresce in the afternoon sun like precious metal. The little guy’s expression was one of absolute confusion. Its head tilted from side to side, like an art critic scrabbling for an opinion.

  ‘You probably don’t recognise me,’ Mina explained, retracting the leg. ‘I’m dressing incognito. You know, going undercover.’

  The bird was seen to nod its head understandingly. It watched as Mina pulled out a chair and sat down beside it, her legs weak at the thought of going outside. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her head in them. She couldn’t act like everything was fine. Her eyes lifted to the yellow one, still smiling, supporting her every step of the way like her silent, feathered therapist.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t, can I?’

  The walk to the university should take her no more than fifteen minutes. If she went the scenic route, along by the canal, there was a chance that she could make it there undetected. It was far too soon for small talk, or eye contact for that matter. Galway had all the intimacy of a gated community. Everyone knew someone who knew someone else, and introductions between residents were practically obsolete. She had learned to swallow back her fear every time she stepped out of the coop. But this was different. The yellow one let out a chirp.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, sitting back straight. ‘You’re right, I can do this.’

  The navy trench coat had been bought on a whim during the spring sales. It had deep pockets, tailor-made for a stubby sketchbook and had a certain French spy chic to it. Mina had thought it was black in the shop, and only realised her mistake after she had brought it home. A red price tag still dangled from one of its
buttons, and it looked black whenever she held it away from the sunlight. It had been worn a grand total of zero times.

  She clutched it in both hands and held it close, still trembling, ‘Get it together, Meens. Just get dressed and we’ll take it from there.’

  In the darkest recesses of the wardrobe she unearthed her black fedora with the wide brim. Next, her broken nails were hidden inside dark woollen gloves. Mina’s eyes still looked as sore as they felt. Her biggest sunglasses – the bug-eyed, red-framed ones – were perched on her nose to keep them hidden. Every addition felt like another clunky piece of armour. A fit of laughter and tears overcame her when her feet slid into her old pair of black Converse, worn and faded, with the inevitable tear in each shoe at the bend. Her toes had been washed and scrubbed until the last of the forest’s filth swirled down the shower drain like a black hole imploding. Her fingers tied a little knot on each shoe, remembering what Mina’s mind had forgotten. Dressed!

  ‘I did it,’ she called out to the parrot in the kitchen.

  Facing the mirror took a few failed attempts. It was ridiculous, of course. Mina was aware of that. It was just a mirror. There was nothing behind it anymore, but Madeline’s lessons had been drilled into her so deep that it would take some time to extract them.

  The daylight laid bare every imperfection; every freckle of dirt that wouldn’t wash. It hollowed in around her cheeks, making the bones pop like a fleshless skull. Here we go again, Mina thought, picking out all the ugliness. Her brown eyes were still there, somewhere, between the flagging lids and the bags beneath them. The teeth had yellowed. Especially around the gums, which looked worryingly blanched. Her lips felt chapped. Even after a wad of lip balm they didn’t feel like a part of her. More like something she could tear off like a wax strip. She had aged, but she had survived, and it had certainly made her face that bit more interesting. Finally, maybe one worthy of sketching.

  Mina poked her sunglasses back into place. They were either far too large or else her head had shrunk, as they kept sliding forward from her nose. She made a mental note not to look down. Otherwise, they would fly off her face, spoiling all anonymity. After her extended sentence in the woodland, there was the chance that everyone she once knew had forgotten about her. But then again, maybe they hadn’t. The hat and glasses were staying either way. This was it – time to venture out into the world and do as she had promised.

  ‘Okay,’ she said to the bird, staring it in the eye, but seeing instead only the forest, the coop, and whatever monstrosities skulked in the shadows of her mind. ‘I can do this, right? Of course, I can.’

  Kilmartin’s research had to be disposed of, and not because it was the man’s dying wish. After what he had done – leading all those sacrificial labourers to their doom – he deserved what he got. His records were, quite simply, too dangerous. If they contained the location of the woodland, which was highly likely, then others might seek it out. More would die because she had failed to act. And Mina’s head was a muddled mess already without adding guilt into the mix.

  She grabbed her house keys from the hall table and lifted her sunglasses just high enough to peep at the address that Ciara had left behind. The girl’s writing was ludicrous but legible, just about. An Diadan was possibly the house’s name. The phone number would take a little longer to decipher.

  ‘Mind the house while I’m gone,’ she called out to the yellow one and let the door slam behind her.

  With her head down and keeping a pace that belied her aching bones, Mina reached the university’s campus without ever catching her breath, and without encountering anyone. Its lawns and tennis courts were deserted. The elderly trees around them were bare; their bark thick and stained. She scanned them for any ominous scratches. The subconscious act of doing so sent a chill down her neck. Was it always going to be this way? Had scared become her new default setting? Get your shit together, Meens. The hum of traffic dampened after veering off the road, until she could hear the soft squeak of her shoes on the tarmac. Soon the library slipped into sight and she slackened her stride. Sunlight danced on the glass, making mirrors of its windows in a way that made her lips twitch. Everything tried to remind her of all that she wanted to forget.

  ‘Nearly there,’ she whispered, taking a moment to steady herself. ‘I should have brought the parrot. He’s always good in these situations.’

  There was an unmistakable loneliness about the place. Any voices heard were weak and distant. Bodies were coming and going, but they were so few. Those who crossed her path wore the most mirthless expressions. Exam season was obviously approaching. So accustomed had Mina become to the dead silence of the forest, that her ears perked at the slightest sound. A crow pranced across the grass, and she was aware of its every delicate step. If she focused, she could still hear the traffic on the road. She glanced around the campus, taking in the bushes that hemmed in the lawn and those thorny old friends of hers from the forest that now sprouted out from the trimmed hedges. Her eyes picked out and counted their coloured berries in seconds. She imagined Madeline nodding her approval.

  There used to be four or five table-benches on the concourse, near the library entrance. As damp as they were, with their moulded wood and creaking seats, Mina used to sit and sketch for hours. Galway’s latest influx of faces gathered there every September when the campus was blanketed in crunchy leaves. Two lost pleasures were habitually by her side – a coffee and a trampled pile of cigarette butts. Her artistic fuel once upon a time. Life was so simple back then. Mina just didn’t know it.

  The library’s receptionist was a twenty-something bearded chap whose breath spoke of a hard night, and an obviously more difficult day after. His jaded eyes strained against the room’s halogen ceiling. Even the carpet’s geometric pattern was enough to jeopardise his sanity. As much as Mina had missed alcohol, she hadn’t missed that feeling.

  ‘What does he lecture in?’ he asked, coughing into his hand to clear his throat.

  The man’s cheeks were plump and flushed. His youth was camouflaged behind that bristly, coffee-coloured beard. Glossy ginger hairs burnished its chin and moustache. The eyebrows were wild like two fuzzy caterpillars, and he had the air of an old soul trapped in a young body.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Mina replied, disappointed for not seeing this hurdle coming.

  The receptionist licked his dry lips and let out a tired sigh. The air around him stank like a brewery. He had never heard of Professor Kilmartin and lacked the energy to act even remotely interested. After a quick succession of taps on his keyboard he sat back and considered the monitor, working his jaw like a cow chewing the cud, all the cogs in his brain turning to make sense of the simplest task.

  ‘Professor Kilmartin is, or he was, a lecturer in history, or so it says here,’ he said, screwing up his eyes to look at Mina through the fog of last night’s whiskey. ‘It says here that he wrote some papers on folklore and…’ again he barked to shake whatever was caught in his throat ‘…stuff on myths and legends, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Is there any research or work that he left behind unfinished?’ she asked.

  The man’s eyes were seen to scroll down the monitor. He ran his hand through his shaggy hair and wiped something imaginary from his eye.

  ‘Ah, yeah,’ he said, looking a touch confused, ‘it says here that a box of his papers are stored down in the basement. They’re not listed as being anything particular. What was it that you were after?’

  ‘Everything,’ Mina replied, leaning forward, her elbows set on the counter.

  ‘Everything?’ the man repeated. ‘Okay, well, you can’t take out his papers, but you can look at them in the reading room. All the primary sources and stuff are delivered up there. When do you need them?’

  ‘How soon can you get them for me?’ she said.

  ‘I mean,’ he replied, ‘I could probably get them for you now, if it’s important.’

  ‘I’d really appreciate it,’ she said, smiling long after the word
s were spoken.

  ‘Okay.’ He sighed. ‘If you want to wait for me in the reading room, I can drop them in to you.’

  There was never any request for identification. The receptionist staggered away from his desk, probably still piecing together his memories from the night before. It made sense that history was the professor’s area of expertise. That was how Madeline had come to find the woodland. It was possible that she had examined the same papers. For all Mina knew, the woman had known of Kilmartin before they gathered around to watch his last recording. Madeline’s face was a book full of blank pages. There was never any telling what she was thinking or what she knew.

  In the reading room Mina was met by the smile of a strikingly small woman. She was seated behind a desk facing four long tables, flanked on one side by a wall of windows that Mina was careful not to look towards. Having a nervous breakdown in such a quiet room was more than likely frowned upon. The woman was possibly in her early thirties but had the stature and jejune features of a child. Her blonde hair trailed like wheat below her shoulders, and her sky-blue eyes were so big and beautiful that they made her perky nose and lips seem all the smaller. She was like a doll propped in a chair, with ceramic skin and the tiniest nub of a chin fresh from a mould. Her clasped hands rested on a desk that was meticulously organised and polished to a mirror’s sheen. Her pens were aligned side by side next to a tower of folders. The fingers were thin and elegant, and their nails shone with a gloss that made Mina conscious of what hid inside her gloves.

  ‘I’m just waiting for some papers to arrive,’ Mina whispered, leaning low to meet the woman’s eye level.

  ‘Okay,’ she replied, in a voice so meek that Mina couldn’t imagine her ever speaking louder than a whisper. ‘You can take a seat wherever you want.’

  Mina did as she was told. The room smelt of old paper and leather, and a faint haze of dust haunted the air. Despite the ample daylight, it awoke that claustrophobic feeling of Kilmartin’s bunker. It must have been the smell. Strange to think that the man had probably sat in this very room. Maybe even at the same table. Fat book spines lined the length of the wall, behind two steel cabinets. The grey plastic bulk of a microfiche reader lurked in the corner. The woman at the desk was reading, utterly at peace amidst the silence, and still smiling with those dainty lips.