Perfectly Preventable Deaths

48 Mandrake

I am asleep in Mamó’s little box-room. My room now, I suppose. Though I still feel half guest and half employee. I’m trying to stay positive, visualising that stupid hand and stick on Catlin’s cards. I mean, there’s nothing to it, but at this point I’ll take what hope I can. It’s pretty grim here – Mamó’s not big on decor. I’ve put pictures on the walls. Photographs of family, and friends. I’ve organised my textbooks on a shelf above my bed. Mam’s getting me a little folding desk so I can study when Mamó doesn’t need me. It’s OK here at night. For one thing, it’s not as warm as inside the castle. I need my blanket round me when I sleep. My dreams are softer. I can’t see the moon or mountains from my window. Only the garden. There’s a peace in that.

There is a tentative knock at my door. ‘What?’ I bark. Sometimes she gets me up to sort things out. Collecting moss or feathers. Visiting people. She makes me stay in the car most of the time. I’m only being trained. I amn’t ready. I resent that almost as much as the lack of freedom.

The door creaks open. Catlin’s face peeps in.

‘How did you get in?’ I ask, surprised.

‘It was unlocked.’ She’s whispering, and gesturing as well.

I feel like I am in an old black-and-white film about sneaking.

‘You need to come,’ she says, and I say, ‘What?’ out loud, because Mamó clearly already knows she’s here – she got in, didn’t she? Nothing happens here without that woman knowing.

‘Be quiet,’ she whispers. ‘Get your shoes. It’s Laurent. I mean, Lon.’

My heart inside my throat. It beats too fast. I cannot stuff it down. I look at her. Her eyes.

She says, ‘I’m scared.’

We move in silence down the garden path. I can feel the tang of her nerves in the air.

She feels it more than me, I think. I need to keep it together. To weave a world where I am calm and strong.

I follow her. Up the stairs and shut the door behind me. In the castle. Up another flight.

We’re standing in front of Brian’s office door and Catlin’s shaking. Her voice is cracking with the weight of this.

‘Brian asked me to get you. And come to the room inside the tunnel. I don’t know if I can go through that door again. I … I don’t want to see him, Maddy.’

Her voice cracks, though she doesn’t say Lon’s name.

‘You don’t have to,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to do anything Brian says. You have had too many choices taken from you, Catlin. What matters is what do you want to do?’

Her face is miserable, twisted white and red. Her eyes are focused beyond me at something. Remembering, I think. She grabs the door.

‘I think I want to end it.’ I look at her, the blood he spilled still clinging to her skin.

Brian is in his office, next to Mam. He looks taller, I think, than I remember.

‘I want to apologise,’ he says. ‘For not being around the past few weeks. For everything that’s happened.’

The lights are bright. The yellow through the green harsh on his face. I look around for Lon, but Brian keeps talking.

‘It was a shock. I never thought … this is my home. It’s always been a safe place. For me. My father … he was close to Lon. They worked together for a time. I didn’t think that he would hurt my family.’

‘How old is Lon?’ I ask, even though it isn’t that important. Even though I do not really care.

‘Older than he looks,’ says Brian. His mouth tightens. ‘Old enough to know better.’

Mam hasn’t said a word. And now we move. The door sliding open again, and we walk down the passageway. Catlin grips my hand, and I can feel her shaking. We’re quiet, but the mix of panting breaths carves something in the air. I hope that she will be OK. When she sees Lon. I hope she won’t forgive him. Want him back.

The cave is shaped the same. The bed’s gone, the stone scrubbed. You can still see some blood, pinking the grain. It’s hard to get the colour out completely. I see the list of girls upon the walls. And there are so many other crumbled parts that could have once been more names. So many scars through soft bright stone. Things erode here. Things just fade away.

‘This was my father’s place,’ says Brian. ‘I didn’t fully know until he died. All that went on here, the cave. I tried to tell you, at least a little. Something of the truth of what he was.’

Mam snorts. ‘Truth.’

Brian’s voice is soft. ‘Sheila. I know I’ve failed you. I was so afraid that you would leave, when you found out. I even tried …’

I think of foxes, prayers.

He carries on. ‘… but I don’t have his power. Or yours, Maddy. However, there are some skills that I have learned.’

There is a steamer trunk where the bed used to be.

‘He didn’t get too far,’ Brian says, his tone chillingly matter of fact. ‘I think after a while, he knew we’d find him. John Collins … helped. His young lad came as well.’

He topples the box over, the lid flies open. Lon rolls, broken, out. His clothes are stained with dirt and, I think, blood. He looks a mixture of ashamed and furious. Like a wet cat, I think. I notice that he still has on his ankh. We stare at him, while Brian keeps on talking.

I feel like I’m in a horror film or something. When we found Catlin – there was such a panic welling up, such a lot to do to save her, that it muted things. It made them feel, if not more normal, somewhat less abnormal. There is very little more abnormal that staring down at an inhuman thing your stepdad rounded up a mob to capture, bound and gagged on the floor of his secret murder cave.

I look over at Catlin. People say it’s awkward, running into your ex. She doesn’t look awkward, just very, very vigilant. Her eyes birds’ ink dots focused on a cat, waiting for the flicker of a threat. He’s all trussed up. I think they call it hog-tied, wrists and ankles together at his back. It isn’t very dignified.

‘I’m still not sure,’ Brian tells Catlin, circling Lon, ‘what he is. I know that we were wrong to trust him as much as we did. To allow him to spend time with people who looked his age. To believe the best and not the worst. I’ve made a lot of mistakes these past months, girls. Sheila, I should have told ye what Ballyfrann was, about the community we are – it can be difficult to put it into words. I was afraid that it would put you off me – and then once you were here, time and again I put it off … there’s no excuse for that.’

I keep my eyes fixed on Lon, daring him to move, or speak, or groan.

‘I broke your trust. It will take work to get that back. Those things I know. But, this lad? He’s a mystery.’ He pokes him with his foot and Catlin nods.

‘He is,’ she says. ‘Hi, Lon.’

In my head, I’m wondering if two wrongs make a right. I’ve always felt that the death penalty was a strange one. I mean, to kill a person. Would it not kill a part of you as well, to do that? Because that’s where this is going.

Brian keeps looking at Mam, as if he’s given her a present. And her eyes are sad.

Lon’s not a person though. He is something else. A parasite. A predator. A threat.

‘Be careful,’ says Brian. ‘He is very strong. Even though of course he’s weaker now.’ The now speaks volumes.

‘Where did you find him?’ Catlin’s voice is high. Pretending to be brave.

‘We asked around. The key to Ballyfrann is knowing who to ask. And how to ask.’ Brian is opening a bag. He takes out something sharp, and made of wood. A sword, I think. A long and skinny skewer with a handle. I see the edge of something like a saw inside the bag. The gleam of drill bits.

Brian holds the sword, making sure Lon sees it, before he hands it over to Mam. ‘Could you hold this thing for me, Sheila, love?’

Mam nods. Her eyes are fixed on Lon and they are angry.

‘He was at school with me for a bit. He goes back to education every now and then, you see. For a refresher. My father gave him money. He told me that he wanted to be around people who looked like he did. That the youth club was helping him control the darker parts of who he was. To empathise. It’s hard to look so young and be so old.’ He glares. His features harden. ‘I listened to him because of Dad. Because I thought it’s what he would have wanted. In retrospect, I don’t think he would have cared.’

He walks towards Lon. ‘He swore to me that Helen wasn’t his. That it was different. I like to hope that people can change. Get better. I wasn’t ever sure that I believed him.’ He gives Lon a kick, he flops down on his side. ‘I also wasn’t sure that I didn’t. Benefit of the doubt.’ He kicks again. ‘And then he had the temerity to interfere with my daughter. With my family.’ Another vicious kick. His face is calm. His face is very calm. I don’t think I have ever seen Brian like this. He’s always been just a little nervous. Hands twitching at his cuffs. There’s a confidence to him, a sort of horrid grace. I’m not sure if it’s comforting. It’s unnerving.

He closes his eyes. His voice is his again, high and uncertain. ‘Forgive me, girls. Sheila. I let this happen. I’m sorry. Madeline, I’ve tried to reason with Mamó, to bargain, but there isn’t any way …’

His eyes are wide. I incline my head a touch, like she does. Acknowledging.

‘I know you tried. It’s OK, Brian. I’m coping.’

‘And coping very well, fair play to you.’

Mam walks closer to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. For better or for worse. She loves him still. I see it in her face. I’m not sure that she trusts him, but she loves him. Which is just as well. This version of Brian is definitely best kept onside. I’d hate to see that calculated rage turned against me. Every kick timed for the perfect hurt. How did our stepdad get so good at this?

Lon moans; his mouth is gagged, I think it’s stuffed with rags. I’m glad, I think. I don’t want him talking. Catlin’s little hand inside my hand. Her fingernails have almost grown back. I stare at Lon. The thing that killed my sister. I look for my compassion. It isn’t here. I used it up on Catlin, Mam and Brian. The people that he hurt with what he did.

Amanda Shale. Nora Ginn. Bridget Hora. Helen Groarke. Cold bones in rough soil. And all the other names upon the walls. Each one a girl. Each one a person’s life.

Brian takes the sword from Mam. Passes it to Catlin. He strides to Lon, and cuts his feet loose from his hands. Lon is missing several fingers, I realise. They should be bleeding but the soft pink stubs seem to be forming something to replace. What is he? Is he a thing that broke through at the crossroads, in the wake of something big and old? I look at him. His copper penny eyes on mine, wide, pleading.

What did Mamó say to me that night?

Our face on their appetites.

He is a mask, a lie. He would have killed her.

‘Thank you, Brian.’ Catlin walks towards her crumpled ex.

Mam is standing straight, but her face is hollow, caving in.

‘Lon?’ Catlin’s hands brush the side of his face. ‘Lon?’

He makes a creaking sound from his mouth, and my sister tells him, ‘Shh …’

She looks to me. ‘Maddy, can you hold him?’ I venture over. Put my hands around his waist and haul.

He’s very light for somebody so tall. I think of the shadow stretching through the garden. Birds have hollow bones. The swoop of claws. He makes another sound. I curl my fingers tight beneath his ribs. My sister on the bed, her face splayed wide.

‘I forgive you, Lon.’ Catlin’s voice is jarring through my thoughts. ‘I don’t want you to think that I am doing this because we broke up, or out of revenge. After this is finished, I’m going to work really hard on never thinking about you ever again. On turning you into nothing. This is the first step.’ She pushes the tip of the wooden sword towards his chest.

‘Left a bit,’ I say. ‘If you want heart.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, and presses it into his skin. It parts like butter but he does not bleed. I put my hand down to feel where his fingers went missing. I can touch them now, the muscle and the soft nubbed baby growth that moves beneath. The blood on him, I realise, must not be his.

Catlin pushes harder, angling up between two of his ribs. I can feel him tensing and convulsing. His armpits are dry. He mustn’t sweat. I wonder how he regulates his body.

Brian has looped an arm around Mam’s waist. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s still staring.

‘You broke my heart,’ Catlin says to Lon. Her voice is so, so gentle. ‘You broke my heart. Because I really loved you, till you killed me. I dream about you sometimes, and I cry. Because you warped a lovely thing and turned it into something else entirely. You made me less. And then you ate my face.’

She looks at him, her eyes flashing angry.

‘It is not OK for girls to be your food. We’re not for eating.’

There is a pause. Her face is tense, she’s putting all her weight on the sword but it isn’t budging. Maybe something’s stuck. Who knows where his heart is or if he even has one?

She turns to me, her face twisting against itself.

‘I asked him to stop. I kept on begging, pleading with him to stop. And so he took my tongue. He tried to shut me up. But I am speaking. Mam, I need some help.’

She’s crying now. I feel Lon shrink a little, slump and soften. I wonder, then, how much of her he loved. Brian’s blade in Catlin’s hands and inside Lon, and Catlin crying when a puppy dies on television. Me playing with my doctor dreams. I wanted to save lives, not to take them. I wanted to help people. And maybe in a weird way, this is that.

Mam starts to move towards her struggling daughter. Brian removes his hand, letting her go, stands awkward at the side. The three of us crowding around the lanky awkward half-corpse.

‘It’s not revenge,’ she says. ‘It’s not for me. But it is for someone.’ We all look at the wall. She starts to say their names.

‘Dearbhla, Sibéal, Amanda …’ We join in.

We say their names like prayers.

We wield the sword.

‘… Laoise, Eimear, Laura, Bríd, Sorcha, Bridget, Karen, Gráinne, Julie, Roisín, Gobnait, Violet, Dymphna, Alacoque, Aoife, Fionnuala, Victoria, Elizabeth, Emer, Sinéad, Sally, Ciara, Mary-Ann, Nancy, Susan, Fiona, Delia, Maisy, Laura, Rachel, Caoimhe, Julie, Ava, Sheila, Maria, Antoinette, Cathleen, Martina, Jennifer, Carol, Nora, Lee, Colette, Ellen, Claire, Laurel, Jacinta, Mary-Bridget, Mary, Ann, Marie, Noreena, Savita, Carmel, Sarah, Aoibhe, Scarlett, Dearbhla, Katherine, Cecilia, Lisa, Lillian, Louise, Patricia, Katie, Cliodhna, Shona, Nuala, Shauna, Patricia, Monica, Meabhdh, Jean, Gillian, Elaine, Anna, Sabhdh, Sarah, Adele, Rose, Grace, Joyce, Nicola, Ruth, Frances, Naomi, Elizabeth, Sandra, Dolores, Aisling, Sharon, Lola, Chloe, Helen, Daisy, Megan, Úna, Fawn, Catlin.’

We move our hand and I now understand the expression ‘twist the knife’. It’s because of what a body does, when you curl a blade inside it. We push and worry our way deeper in. And then there is a sigh.

And he is gone.

Catlin starts to cry, and so does Mam. And I can feel a building-up behind the tops of my cheeks but there’s a wall that’s keeping them from flowing and I wonder if what used to push them out of me was in my soul. Maybe now I’ll be a little grey cloud. Never raining. Always full of rain.

I press my face into Catlin’s shoulder so hard that I feel as if when I pull back there should be the imprint of my features in her skin. Me and Mam and Catlin go to put on the kettle. Brian stays back, to safely bury Lon. He’s brought cement.

Button is in the kitchen. Mamó has sewn his eye shut. He looks like a little Franken-cat. He’s still small, but shaped like a cat now and not a kitten. He hisses and he starts when he sees me. He slinks away, back arched.

‘He hates you now,’ says Catlin, looking amused. ‘I wonder why.’

I haven’t told them how he lost his eye. What I was prepared to do, for her sake. I don’t think there’s a need to. I’m not proud.

‘It’s these shoes,’ I say, pointing to my mucky army boots.

‘On Mam’s good floor. He used to love you though.’

Mam nods. ‘Sure, who wouldn’t love Maddy?’ She kisses the top of my head and stirs the spoon round and round in the fat red teapot. Listening to the rhythm of their voices, I can’t quite put away the harsh reality. I don’t think Lon should be alive, but what came out of him – the stuff that was his blood but wasn’t blood – the smell of it all wrong – it’s on our hands. And that’s the kind of thing that changes people. Button cringing out of rooms and hating me. I lost my soul, but apparently my conscience is still around to nag me. I wonder …

‘Madeline?’ Mam says. They are both looking at me, across the table. Their expressions mirroring each other. It’s a little weird, I think. Aren’t Catlin and I supposed to do that? Maybe that’s what Mam has every day. I try to force my thoughts away from darker places and join in, but my eyes are getting heavier and heavier.

Eventually I drift off into sleep. I feel Catlin’s breath against my ear. ‘I’ll say a prayer for you tonight, Mad. Love you.’

Mam lifting up my head, sliding a pillow gently underneath.

‘Put her to bed.’

‘If she gets up, she’ll only go downstairs. To that … that woman.’

Feet move, lights click.

They leave me.

I’m alone.