Chapter Thirty-Four
The tunnel feels like it goes on forever, but it can only be a few minutes.
’Tis myself that is slowing us, I know. I am falling behind, feeling undone.
My heart is broken in so many places it makes my knees weak.
I can still hear the crack of Mr. Carboni’s gun in the tunnel when Bianca shot at those men.
It was all so terrible, but worst of all was seeing her fall.
The emptiness in her face, which was usually so alive with challenge.
Her stillness. Hearing nothing but my thundering pulse.
Granny used to say, Sorrow’s a poor companion, but one you’ll never shake.
Sure, and she’s right. I know that now. I stop and brace myself against the cold wall with one hand while my stomach threatens to heave.
I’m running and crying and trying to think, but I’m near sick now.
’Tis the baby. A child’s the only cure for a broken heart, Granny would say.
I put my other hand on my belly, wishing I could touch the little person within.
“I have no time for that, baby. Please.”
The baby must be listening, for the sickness lifts, at least for now. I gasp and start running again.
I hear Damien far ahead. “We’re almost there!” he cries. “I see the end. Are you all right, Rosie? Do you need help?”
“No, no, sure, and I’ll be all right. I’m coming.”
But my arms and legs drag. I feel so heavy.
I clutch the thick fur coat around me, and I am so hot I consider dropping it.
I’ll tell you this much. I know I’ll need warmth once we are out of here, but the coat weighs the same as a truck.
Common sense wins over comfort, and I grab it more tightly around me.
Damien waits ahead, his profile outlined by the light of dawn. He’s waving me toward him, and I long to stand in his embrace and forget all this ever happened. If only I could.
“Come, my love. I’ll help.”
He reaches for my hand, then finally, finally, he holds me.
Behind him, I hear the familiar sounds of trains clattering slowly along the tracks of Union Station, carrying on like always.
My pulse picks up, hearing all the noise.
Anticipation briefly overwhelms my grief and tingles in my fingertips.
We’re off, me and him. We are running away together.
No one will find us. ’Twill be Damien and me forever.
All by ourselves, until this little one is born.
“We’ll be all right, Rosie. We’re close to the bus station. It’s just a little farther.”
I feel him kiss the top of my head and wish I could sink deep into his chest. I almost confess to him about my necklace, how it’s probably lying in the dirt with Bianca now, but this is not the time. When we are safe, I will tell him.
“Soon we’ll have nothing to worry about.
” He steps back and pats the chest of his coat, over his heart.
“I have all the money we’ll need for the bus right here, and we can go where we please.
Start fresh. You’ll see. We’ll be grand.
” He strokes my cheek. “Better now? There’s my girl. Come on. Nearly there.”
Then we’re outside, and the banging, the shushing rhythm of the trains, is much louder.
There’s a long, earsplitting squeal as brakes grind, and somewhere beyond, a car honks.
I’ve known the sounds of the city all my life, but right now they terrify me.
Damien rushes ahead, sharp-eyed, his mind set on keeping us safe.
Well now, my baby decides it has waited long enough, and I stop short to get sick in the dirt.
Afterward, I feel hollowed out and weak, but I stand as soon as I can.
“Doing all right?” Damien calls.
He’s a fair distance away now, in the spiderweb of train tracks. A bell is clanging somewhere close. He turns back to help me.
“I’m just sick,” I tell him, “but I’m all right. Stay there.”
But he cannot stop himself. My Damien loves me, and his heart is set on helping me, isn’t it? He will be a grand father, I think.
“I’m coming!” he assures me.
There’s no need, but sure and I am grateful to see him running to me.
He will see to it that our little family of three is happy and healthy and successful one day.
He’s smart and resourceful, and I’m the luckiest girl who ever drew breath.
Sure, we’re murder suspects, and we’ve gangsters on our tail, but I am blessed, for I have his love to keep me warm, and he has mine.
I start running toward him, so we’ll meet in between.
He’s smiling, seeing me. Isn’t he a grand sight altogether?
Then there’s a short, sharp sound, and I lose sight of him. I call his name, but he does not call back. I feel a rush of panic that maybe he’s been caught. But no. I don’t hear police. I do not hear any men’s voices. There are no sounds at all save the clanging and ringing of the trains.
“Damien! Where are you?”
Why isn’t he answering me? I hurry toward the tracks, but there’s still no sign of him. “Damien?”
No answer.
“I’m coming!” I shout, finally reaching the rails.
And that’s when I see him. He’s lying still, sprawled over the rail.
“Get up, Damien! This isn’t funny!” I cry, but the most horrible feeling swells inside me. “Damien, please! We’ve no time to waste!”
The closer I get, the more I can see, the more dread grips my soul. Damien lies facedown on the long, empty tracks, and he is too still. I crouch at his side, my hand on his warm back, and I lean down to whisper, It’s okay, love. Turn your face and look at me, but then I see all the blood.
I stare at it, but my mind won’t hear the truth.
“It’s all right, Damien. You’ll be all right.”
But he isn’t moving. He isn’t breathing anymore. He will not be all right.
I rise slowly, whispering his name as I do, and I stare down at his body, trying to understand.
Then I see his empty boot wedged fast under a rail, and the truth comes to me with cruel clarity.
He’d been running so quick, wanting to help me, not minding his own feet.
He must have jammed his boot hard under the track and gone straight down like a stone, flat on his face.
“No, no, no,” I whimper.
Cruel thoughts spin through my head, wild and vicious, forcing me to imagine what happened, so I see him falling over and over and over until I’m blinded by the sight.
I gasp for breath, heaving for air until I see stars float around Damien’s body, then my legs give out.
I drop to the ground by his head and reach for his face, needing that smile again.
Those eyes on me. He is still warm, his skin soft.
I turn his head ever so gently, praying that maybe, maybe I’m wrong and he will be just fine after all.
He’ll get a good laugh at my expression, then he’ll wipe his face with his sleeve and take my hand.
But my fingers are sticky with the hot blood that spills from his face onto the earth, forming a puddle beneath the rail.
I place my tear-soaked cheek on his back, pouring all I have into listening for the faint thump of his heart.
So many nights I have listened to that magical sound: proof that Damien Walsh loves me.
That he is mine and I am his. That, together, we are perfect.
But there is no heartbeat anymore. There is no more us.
I don’t know how long I sit there, holding his poor, ruined face, weeping and praying and willing him alive.
The thinking part of my brain gave up on the Church long ago, and yet I cry out to God from the depths of my soul.
There is no one and nothing in my world but Damien and this moment, and nothing will change the ending.
He is gone. I have lost him. ó, mo chroí.
I long to burrow within his coat, to soak up the last of his existence and wrap myself in what is left of him. I want him to take me with him. Wherever he is, let me go, too, I pray.
A car horn blasts on Front Street, so close to where I am. Farther away, I hear a siren, and the shriek cuts through my trance. I am sharply aware of where I am. Is that siren coming for me?
My Damien is dead. I cannot leave him, but if I stay here, I will be dragged away in handcuffs. I cannot let that happen, not just for my sake, but for our baby’s. But saints above, what am I supposed to do now that I am on my own? Where will I go?
The bus, Damien had said, and I recall that expression of pride on his face when he’d patted the chest of his jacket, assuring me that our future was safely packed away in there. Faith, if I am to take that bus, I must take the money from within my beloved’s coat.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I weep, gently lifting his left shoulder up and out of the way so I can reach inside his coat.
I walk my fingers over his chest, meaning to be quick, but—Oh, God in Heaven!
How can I leave him? My bloodied hand is enveloped by the heat that will soon leave his body.
But the siren is singing closer now. I am running out of time.
I find his pocket, and my fingers touch the money sack he’d been carrying.
I draw it out, then just like Mr. Carboni’s horrible black notebook I drop it down the front of my dress. ’Tis secure there.
I lay Damien’s face gently down, but not the way I’d found it.
I turn his head to the side so I can see him once more, and so the sunlight can as well.
I see the soft lashes on his ruined cheek.
I see a splash of freckles that have not been obscured by blood.
His lips have been smashed into his teeth.
They’re open and destroyed beneath the waste of his nose.
I lean in and kiss them anyway, but they do not kiss me back. They never will again.
What’s for you won’t pass you by, I hear Granny say. Maybe not, Granny, but it’s been torn away all the same.
I stand and cradle my stomach in my hands.
The bump beneath my skirt is only just starting to show, but to me it is so much more than that.
There’s a tiny heart beating within me, sure and it’s half mine, half Damien’s.
I grieve for the three of us. Damien will never see his child.
Oh, how I hope this baby looks like him.
Maybe it will be a boy, with his impish smile.
“I will be your mother and your father,” I promise.
“I will love you twice as much, my little one.” I gulp in a sob and point my old boots in the direction of the bus station.
“Your father will be watching, and I’ll tell you now, we’ll be so grand he’ll wish he was with us.
We must make him proud. Me and you, we’ll figure this out on our own. ”
My mind shows me again the darkness of the tunnel.
I see Bianca, and I imagine my necklace near her body.
Both are lost to me, and I wonder if anyone will find her once I’m gone.
And now Damien, with his handsome face and hale young body lying ruined on the metal rail, and I wonder who will come for him. Who will find him here?
I have no choice but to go. Once again, I must leave behind the one I love.
As I walk away, I add his name to my list of folks I will never forget.
Granny, Mrs. Evans, Bianca, and now my beloved.
All stolen from me, all leaving great, gaping holes in my heart.
I am not the same without them. I never will be again.
Ahead is the bus stop. Ahead of that, I don’t know.
But I’m on my own now. ’Tis up to me to find out who I’m meant to be next.