Craving Resurrection
Page 50
My life—the dreams that I’d followed and worked for—flashed before my eyes, and I knew. I’d never live in a small cottage with Amy, filling her belly with babies before I trudged off to teach excited new students about the importance of classic literature. I’d been a fool, and it was finally time to face reality.
My hand began to clench at my side and I consciously relaxed it, loosening my body until none of my tension was apparent. Any sign of weakness would be seen by these men, and I couldn’t afford it.
The short man made it sound as if I had a choice, but there was really no choice at all. I was their puppet or I was a dead man. And they’d effectively cut me off at the knees, because with one word about Amy, Malcolm had known that I’d never take my chances against them. She was a weakness they were willing to exploit.
“What’s de job?” I asked quietly.
My da looked surprised and short Michael was smug.
“I hear yer good wit’ a knife.”
I glanced at Malcolm to see a small, weasely smile on his face.
“I’m fair.”
“Dat’ll do.” Michael tipped his head then stepped forward to the table and laid his hands flat on the surface. “De police commissioner has been makin’ t’ings… hard for me lads,” he said, spreading photos of a house and a man out on the table. “We need to do somet’in’ about it...”
My need to protect my mum while my da was gone had led me down a shady path for a few years as a teenager. I’d come to the conclusion that those who weren’t feared were those who became the preyed upon. Our neighborhood had never been one of the worst, but it wasn’t the greatest either, and I’d realized that even my da’s reputation would not protect my mother and I. So, I’d become one of those who were feared.
I’d never carried a gun, I couldn’t make myself go so far, but believing that fists alone would make my point would have been foolish. Instead, I’d carried a switchblade. I’d practiced and I was good with it. Almost as if it was a natural extension of my hand, I’d made my stand over and over with the local thugs who thought they could intimidate me. My reputation with a blade had eventually made it so that even if I wasn’t in town, my mother and now Amy were safe under my protection. I hadn’t had to pull my knife in over four years.
But I still carried it.
The implication behind Michael’s words was clear. He wanted the man dead, and he wanted me to do it. We spent the day going over the police commissioner’s habits and memorizing his address and by the time I left late that night, my future was set in stone.
Perhaps it had always been set in stone and I’d been too blind to see it.
When the time came, my Da tried to talk me into letting him take the kill, but I knew that was suicide. Da was on the outskirts already. If he took the job I was given instead of being a look out like he’d been ordered, we were both dead men. I had to prove myself… incriminate myself.
The idea was brilliant, really. With one job, they’d successfully assured both my Da’s loyalty and my own. I became a murderer, and Da would do anything to protect his only son.
The police commissioner was the first man I killed. He was a drunk who lived alone. It was easy.
I vomited afterward.
I also vomited the next time.
And the next time.
And the next time.
But eventually it got easier.
And then I became numb to it all.
I’d successfully brought my father back into the fold. It was unfortunate that I’d had to follow him back in.
Chapter 25
Amy
Going back to high school—or secondary, as it was called in Ireland—was so weird. The conversations I’d listened to so intently before about boys and how far so and so had gone the weekend before suddenly sounded petty and immature. The girls all seemed like such babies.
A part of me wanted to speak up when a girl across the lunch table talked excitedly about how her boyfriend had wanted her to touch his ‘you know’ when they’d been out that weekend. The girls had made disgusted faces and it took everything I had to not tell them that eventually they’d be putting ‘you know’ in their mouths. I forced myself not to giggle into the sandwich I’d brought with me for lunch. Oh, the things I could tell them.
Life was just different for me, I had to remember that. Not better or worse, just different.
While those girls were kissing frogs and touching random ‘you knows’ looking for their happily ever after, I’d already found mine. Well, it wasn’t exactly a happily ever after, but it would be. For a while, I’d been talking to Patrick nearly every day, but we’d resorted to letters after a while.
I wasn’t surprised by it; phone calls were expensive and I knew he was busy…but it made the time pass slower when I no longer had his voice to look forward to at the end of the day. The longer I went without seeing him, the more disjointed my life felt. I wasn’t a wife, but I wasn’t only a high school student, either. I was someplace in the middle. I missed him so much that sometimes I had a stomach ache all day long, but it helped a little to know what we were working toward something. All I had to do was picture a small house on a quiet street and Patrick in a suit and tie getting ready for work, and it made things just a little more bearable.
I told myself I just had to be patient. It would all work out in the end.
***
“Peg, I’m home!” I called out wearily, dropping my bag onto the sofa. God, I couldn’t wait to be done with school. Patrick had been gone for a month and I was sick and tired of living like a child when I was actually a married woman. I was ready to move on from that stage of my life. I was so ready, in fact, that I’d stopped by the local pub on my way home asking for a job. I knew I had to finish school, quitting wasn’t an option, but I only had another month left before I graduated. I needed something else to do and a way to contribute somehow.
My hand began to clench at my side and I consciously relaxed it, loosening my body until none of my tension was apparent. Any sign of weakness would be seen by these men, and I couldn’t afford it.
The short man made it sound as if I had a choice, but there was really no choice at all. I was their puppet or I was a dead man. And they’d effectively cut me off at the knees, because with one word about Amy, Malcolm had known that I’d never take my chances against them. She was a weakness they were willing to exploit.
“What’s de job?” I asked quietly.
My da looked surprised and short Michael was smug.
“I hear yer good wit’ a knife.”
I glanced at Malcolm to see a small, weasely smile on his face.
“I’m fair.”
“Dat’ll do.” Michael tipped his head then stepped forward to the table and laid his hands flat on the surface. “De police commissioner has been makin’ t’ings… hard for me lads,” he said, spreading photos of a house and a man out on the table. “We need to do somet’in’ about it...”
My need to protect my mum while my da was gone had led me down a shady path for a few years as a teenager. I’d come to the conclusion that those who weren’t feared were those who became the preyed upon. Our neighborhood had never been one of the worst, but it wasn’t the greatest either, and I’d realized that even my da’s reputation would not protect my mother and I. So, I’d become one of those who were feared.
I’d never carried a gun, I couldn’t make myself go so far, but believing that fists alone would make my point would have been foolish. Instead, I’d carried a switchblade. I’d practiced and I was good with it. Almost as if it was a natural extension of my hand, I’d made my stand over and over with the local thugs who thought they could intimidate me. My reputation with a blade had eventually made it so that even if I wasn’t in town, my mother and now Amy were safe under my protection. I hadn’t had to pull my knife in over four years.
But I still carried it.
The implication behind Michael’s words was clear. He wanted the man dead, and he wanted me to do it. We spent the day going over the police commissioner’s habits and memorizing his address and by the time I left late that night, my future was set in stone.
Perhaps it had always been set in stone and I’d been too blind to see it.
When the time came, my Da tried to talk me into letting him take the kill, but I knew that was suicide. Da was on the outskirts already. If he took the job I was given instead of being a look out like he’d been ordered, we were both dead men. I had to prove myself… incriminate myself.
The idea was brilliant, really. With one job, they’d successfully assured both my Da’s loyalty and my own. I became a murderer, and Da would do anything to protect his only son.
The police commissioner was the first man I killed. He was a drunk who lived alone. It was easy.
I vomited afterward.
I also vomited the next time.
And the next time.
And the next time.
But eventually it got easier.
And then I became numb to it all.
I’d successfully brought my father back into the fold. It was unfortunate that I’d had to follow him back in.
Chapter 25
Amy
Going back to high school—or secondary, as it was called in Ireland—was so weird. The conversations I’d listened to so intently before about boys and how far so and so had gone the weekend before suddenly sounded petty and immature. The girls all seemed like such babies.
A part of me wanted to speak up when a girl across the lunch table talked excitedly about how her boyfriend had wanted her to touch his ‘you know’ when they’d been out that weekend. The girls had made disgusted faces and it took everything I had to not tell them that eventually they’d be putting ‘you know’ in their mouths. I forced myself not to giggle into the sandwich I’d brought with me for lunch. Oh, the things I could tell them.
Life was just different for me, I had to remember that. Not better or worse, just different.
While those girls were kissing frogs and touching random ‘you knows’ looking for their happily ever after, I’d already found mine. Well, it wasn’t exactly a happily ever after, but it would be. For a while, I’d been talking to Patrick nearly every day, but we’d resorted to letters after a while.
I wasn’t surprised by it; phone calls were expensive and I knew he was busy…but it made the time pass slower when I no longer had his voice to look forward to at the end of the day. The longer I went without seeing him, the more disjointed my life felt. I wasn’t a wife, but I wasn’t only a high school student, either. I was someplace in the middle. I missed him so much that sometimes I had a stomach ache all day long, but it helped a little to know what we were working toward something. All I had to do was picture a small house on a quiet street and Patrick in a suit and tie getting ready for work, and it made things just a little more bearable.
I told myself I just had to be patient. It would all work out in the end.
***
“Peg, I’m home!” I called out wearily, dropping my bag onto the sofa. God, I couldn’t wait to be done with school. Patrick had been gone for a month and I was sick and tired of living like a child when I was actually a married woman. I was ready to move on from that stage of my life. I was so ready, in fact, that I’d stopped by the local pub on my way home asking for a job. I knew I had to finish school, quitting wasn’t an option, but I only had another month left before I graduated. I needed something else to do and a way to contribute somehow.
