Chapter Thirty
The pinhole camera and notebook jostle in my backpack as I weave through the streets.
There is shouting in the distance, the sound of glass smashing.
Police sirens. A couple argues in a house and two men grapple with each other as they fall out of a bar.
The scent of the Morrigan’s war cry is thick in the air.
A car window pulls down and a man calls me a ‘fruit’. There’s a pulse in my fists, an itch in my teeth. I want to hurt him. I want to crush him. I want to split his skin and feel his bones crunch under my—
Get out of my head.
I run from the car, from the shouts, from the violence.
The sounds seem to be swallowed by the light emanating from Acre Street as I turn down silent and empty streets, past shuttered shops and restaurants, getting ever closer. I check my phone, two missed calls from Mum. It’s after 1 a.m. That can’t be good.
Dad… I can save him.
The fog is thicker than before, reaching up to my waist as I push onwards. I’m chilled to the bone and the smell of blood is overpowering.
I hate all of this. The Morrigan, the powers and the history that has caused so much harm to my family. I pass a mural showing the faces of young men, frozen in youth, the years of each one’s death underneath. I don’t even know who they are.
The mural shimmers and one man looms out from the wall, his face destroyed, skull caved in.
So much bloodshed. I can see why Mum and Dad left. Death is everywhere.
But what good did leaving do them?
We’re still here, trying to heal wounds we don’t even know exist. People walk among the ghosts that only we, the filí báis, can see.
I turn onto Acre Street and the light towers above me.
My aunt died here before she ever got the chance to become my aunt. My grandfather saw it happen. My father was forced to forget it. My mum and I have lived with what was left of him.
This riot destroyed my family and I never knew anything about it until this week.
I have to see what happened.
I have to tell the story.
I step into the light.
The noise is deafening. Men and women scream at a line of soldiers braced behind a wall of shields. The army moves slowly forward. There are people on the footpath, others peering out of windows, shouting out of doorways.
Bottles are brandished around me, faces covered by scarves leaving only wide, fury-red eyes visible. Stones are thrown, sticks held high in the air.
I catch a glimpse of Granda Frank shouting at the army, then an inhuman scream from above startles me as a dark smear twists in the air. A shadow-woman with wings swoops down through the crowd. They cannot see her, but as she shrieks, the shouts around me grow louder like a battle cry.
Her ecstasy ignites my veins.
Another shadow whips past me and rises behind the army. A towering woman of shadow beats her giant wings as the soldiers advance.
The Morrigan are moving among them. I search for the third and see a shadow flow through the crowd to circle round a teenager.
It’s my aunt Brigid. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are darker than before.
Some of her hair has fallen around her face.
She jumps back as a man pushes past. She stares through me towards the people rioting and I can see Dad in her features as she frowns.
A shadow-woman rests two hands on Brigid’s shoulders.
I lift the camera and point it at Brigid as her features harden.
I’m about to watch her die.
I won’t forget it. I will take her photo.
I won’t bury her away.
I’ll tell her story however many times it takes to save my family.
I hold the camera steady, as she stares at the army. She opens her mouth and cries out. She takes a step towards me.
‘Brigid!’
She turns and freezes and sees Dad as a child standing beside me, between her and the riot. I close the pinhole camera.
‘Jack, what’re you doing?’
Dad is shaking, eyes darting about.
‘You have to get out of here—’
‘Get back.’ An English voice rises above the others and I turn to see a soldier shouting at the crowd.
‘I’m scared,’ cries Dad.
The soldier shouts again and the crowd erupts. Brigid runs towards Dad and pushes him to one side. ‘Get out of the way, Jack!’
The sound of the gunshot explodes behind me and Brigid’s head whips back. The snap of bones makes me cry out.
Dad squeals.
Screams pierce my ears. People run in all directions.
‘Brigid!’
Granda Frank rushes to his daughter’s side.
As the crowd flees from the soldiers, the light grows brighter. It envelops Acre Street until all that is left is Granda Frank. He’s holding the limp body of my aunt in his arms, shadows seeping into her gaping mouth and staring eyes.
Then they too fade away.
There’s a moan behind me and I turn to see a man.
I wait for him to fade, but as the white light takes over everything he remains, his face in his hands.
‘Dad?’ I step towards him, frightened he’ll not hear me.
His hands move away. ‘Michael?’ His body is shaking. He’s as pale and brittle here as he is in the hospital bed. ‘Can you see me? Are you real?’
I run and throw my arms around him, but they pass through him. I sink to the ground.
Another fucking trick.
‘Son, it’s me.’
I shake my head. ‘You’re in the hospital.’ I stand and scream into the white abyss: ‘Why won’t you leave us alone?’
‘So, you know.’
I turn slowly. He’s still there. He’s wearing the clothes I found him in. ‘How did you…?’ He looks at my hands. ‘My camera. You have the visions?’
I nod.
‘I should’ve told you.’
His words press on the bruises of old hurts. ‘You left us.’
‘I know.’ Dad lowers his head. ‘I had to try and…fix this. To fix me.’
I step towards him. ‘By what? Running away and trying to change this.’ I gesture behind me.
‘It’s my fault.’ He grasps his chest.
‘What?’
‘I got her killed.’
‘Dad, no!’
‘You just saw it. She died instead of me.’
‘You can’t blame yourself.’
‘I said I hated her, Michael.’ His hands are pressed to his stomach. ‘She died thinking I hated her.’
I want to hold him, make him feel better. ‘You were a child.’
‘I just…I just want her to know I loved her.’
There’s a pressure building in my ears. ‘She knew, Dad. I could see it in her face.’
He blinks. ‘You saw?’
‘I saw your fight before she left. Of course she knew you loved her.’
Dad’s chin trembles. ‘I remember so little about her.’
‘Because of Nan. I know.’ He sags to his knees and a lump expands in my throat. ‘You both went through so much and…’ The thought clears a space in my head like a cool breeze. ‘You were doing your best.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I know.’ The pressure is building and voices whisper into the space. Shapes begin to appear in the light. ‘We need to get out of here so I can tell this story. They’ll let you go. They promised.’ I reach my hand out to Dad, but he shakes his head.
‘I can’t leave.’
‘You can’t stay here.’
Acre Street is appearing again. The shouts of the crowd pushing through the silence. ‘Come with me, quickly.’
‘No, they won’t let me. I can’t move from here.’
The memory is replaying.
‘What have they done to you?’
He turns his head. ‘I’m trapped. I’ve watched her die over and over again, hundreds of times.’
The noise gets louder. I see the shadows forming among the soldiers and cry out, ‘You said you’d let him go!’
The crowd roars louder, like the volume on a television being turned up. Dad covers his ears.
‘He wanted to see his sister again, to make amends,’ I shout.
The heat builds around me.
‘Let him go or I won’t tell the story. I’ll break the camera. I’ll walk away!’
A shadow forms before me. I see a glimpse of Meg, palefaced and terrible. ‘Do your duty.’
The shadow vanishes.
Dad smiles sadly then his eyes move behind me.
‘Brigid,’ he whispers.
My duty.
Our duty.
‘Dad.’ I put the camera away and take out his notebook. ‘Dad, tell me what you see.’
‘No.’
‘You have to. You have to accept what happened.’
He grips his head, squeezes his eyes. ‘I can’t do it. I don’t want to say goodbye to her. If I stay here, they’ll let me save her. I know it.’
‘You’re dying, Dad.’ He stops. ‘Your body is in a hospital bed and you’re dying.
What about me and Mum? I need you, Dad. Mum needs you.
’ He’s trembling. ‘None of this is your fault. It’s not Nanny Bet’s fault.
It’s not your dad’s or Brigid’s. This is what happened.
You can’t change it. You can torture yourself by reliving this nightmare or you can live your life.
’ He shakes his head. ‘Dad, look at me.’ His eyes meet mine.
‘Your sister was killed and that’s awful and unfair and I’m sorry, Dad.
I’m so sorry. But you’re alive and you have a family that love you.
We want you back. But you have to accept what happened, you have to confront it.
Not for me or Mum or Nan. For you. To move on.
You deserve to live, Dad. You deserve it. ’
A small sob escapes but he nods.
‘Tell me what you see. Tell me what happened that day.’ My pen hovers over the notebook, ready to write.
Dad clears his throat. His words are hoarse and cracked with pain. ‘My sister, Brigid. She was so angry.’
I write down his story.
Dad shouts over the noise of the riot. ‘She cried herself to sleep when people were killed, on both sides. She was filled with sadness and hate and she wanted to make a difference. She followed my da to a demonstration that turned into a riot. She’d told me to stay at home, that it was dangerous, but I—’
The crack of a gunshot sounds inside the vision.
‘The army fired rubber bullets.’ His voice breaks.
‘They always said they weren’t lethal, but she wasn’t the only one.
She was killed almost instantly – the impact broke her neck.
’ He lets out a wrenching moan as we watch Granda Frank run to Brigid’s side. ‘She died in my da’s arms. He never…’
The light is falling on them, like a spotlight in a theatre. Dad falls to his knees.
‘He couldn’t forgive himself and he took his own life. He left me.’
I put down the notepad and kneel beside my dad.
‘And then I left you.’ He reaches for me again and I put my hand by his.
‘I love you, Dad.’
He opens his mouth but no words come out.
‘No!’ I grasp at him, but he’s starting to fade.
‘Dad!’
He disappears in front of me, dissolving into the shadows.
I’m alone in the middle of Acre Street.
‘Will you tell the story?’ says the Morrigan. Meg’s skin is even paler than before, her broken hand swelling. The dark veins have thinned, the feathers are gone. The talons too. She looks so much like my Meg it aches.
‘Where’s my dad?’
‘Will the story be told?’
I shift my weight, raise my chin. ‘Tell me about my dad.’
She curls her lips. ‘He wakes.’
‘And my nan?’
‘Restored.’
I sit on the kerb and I feel so, so tired. They’re going to be OK.
‘Their powers have been removed. They do not deserve them. Now, answer me: the story – will you tell it?’
I’m not finished. ‘What about Meg?’
She raises her chin. ‘The child is mine. She gave me her body of her own volition. Will you keep your word, file báis?’
I pull myself to my feet. ‘I will, but I want to speak to Meg.’
The Morrigan nods and her features soften to Meg’s. She shivers and cradles her swollen hand. ‘You should go, Michael.’
‘Not without you. Let me help you.’
She steps back. ‘She won’t let me. I’m just here to say goodbye.’
‘Why’re you doing this? She just wants your body, Meg. And what changes do you think she’ll make to this place then? Have you seen what it’s like out there? She is war and death.’
Meg’s features begin to harden as the thrum of the Morrigan’s power radiates over me. ‘She’s more than that. You don’t know anything about her. She has a purpose.’
‘She broke your fucking hand, Meg!’
She winces and her shivering gets worse. I take off my jacket and drape it round her, mindful of her hand.
Her voice is barely audible as she mumbles a thanks.
‘You need to get to the hospital. Let me take you.’
She steps back, her motion unsteady. ‘It’s over. I’m not strong enough to fight her.’
I let out my breath. ‘You are strong! You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. Why won’t you fight back?’
‘She’s a goddess, Michael. I can’t—’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Fine then. I want it, OK? I want to be special too.’ Her lip trembles.
‘You’ll die, Meg, and I don’t want to lose you, because you already are special.
You already make a difference. You changed me.
You made me believe in myself and opened my eyes to what was happening.
You already have that power. You’re fucking amazing, Meg.
How can you make me believe in myself, but not see yourself? ’
A little colour returns to her cheeks. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yes, you dick. I love you.’
She laughs and, oh, I’ve missed it. I laugh too.
‘I’m scared,’ she says.
‘I know, but do you want to be you?’
A nod. ‘But how do I be me after seeing so much?’
A crow caws from the lamppost and an idea drops in my head. ‘You tell the story.’
Meg looks up. ‘What?’
‘You become a file báis. With me. We could…we can tell the stories together. And not just stories of war and death, the stories of the people of this place. Like my aunt, my granda. All the silenced voices, like the mothers who had to leave their babies in graveyards. All of them. The Morrigan want the past to be remembered, but it has to be through the people who lived here, all of them, we need to tell their stories. Think of what you could do.’
Meg’s eyes brighten, there’s a tiny smile and I see her. My confident, curious friend. ‘But will they…?’
‘Ask them.’
She closes her eyes and a whisper of wings fills the night as two crows land on her shoulders. The world falls still. Meg’s skin begins to glow and when her eyes open they are black.
Fear licks at me as the Morrigan speaks through her. ‘You have much to learn about what we are, file báis. Death and war are woven into the world. We are in all stories as sure as every person has a shadow. The filí báis keep the fire burning in us all. Will you do your duty?’
‘With pride.’
She raises her chin. ‘Then you and your friend will work together.’
The light fades from Meg’s skin and the birds fly off, their black forms disappearing into the night.
‘Meg?’
She smiles weakly. ‘That was fucking cool.’
‘Are they still with you?’
‘They’re gone.’ She wipes away a tear. ‘You saved me, Michael.’
Being careful of her hand, I wrap her in a hug for a full twenty seconds.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers in my ear.
‘Thank you.’ I step back. ‘We need to get you to the hospital and I need to see my dad.’ I let a silence settle between us. Every part of me aches but there’s a release too, a lightening. Hope. ‘I can’t believe we did it.’
We walk to the end of the street and she lets out a breath. ‘I’m sorry…for everything.’
I put my arm round her. ‘It’s time to move on, right? No more grudges, no more secrets.’
She leans into me. ‘Agreed. The filí báis have shit to do.’