Chapter 16 Caroline
CAROLINE
The shower water scalds my skin. I scrub and scrub but I can’t seem to make the lingering feeling of Shane’s hand on my ass go away.
I close my eyes and see Finn gleefully stabbing my brother in the neck.
Blood everywhere. It’s somehow still under my fingernails and I don’t even remember touching it.
If there’s a hell, I’m going. I’ve never been religious though. When I was young, I found it hard to believe in a God who would ignore what was happening to me every day.
Now I wonder.
I had the chance to be better. I could’ve moved on with my life.
Instead, I’m exactly like them.
I’m a murderer.
I didn’t do the actual killing—that was Finn—but I helped.
I’m as responsible for my brother’s death as he is.
The sickest part is I don’t feel sorry Shane’s gone.
I hate the way it happened, and I’m pretty sure my soul’s stained forever, but I’m happy my brother’s dead.
I can imagine the string of broken and hurt women he left in his wake over the years.
I’m sure there are more than a few dead girlfriends and prostitutes in the ground because of him.
He was going to kill me if Finn hadn’t come in and stopped him.
I don’t want to be a murderer. But I’m happy Shane’s a bloodstain on a carpet.
My phone rings as I’m getting dressed. We’ve been home for a few hours. Finn’s upstairs by the pool drinking and dealing with his own trauma. I have only the smallest inkling of what he’s feeling right now.
It’s Malachy’s number on my screen.
“Hello?” I try to sound normal. But it’s also two in the morning, so it’s fine if I’m a little off.
“Hey, Caroline. Were you sleeping?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I was. What’s going on?”
“Listen, it’s Shane.” Mal talks very softly.
I hear the emotion in his voice. It’s rare for Mal to sound like he’s actually feeling something.
Leave it to another piece of shit to mourn a monster.
“There was an altercation and… shit, how do I even tell you this… he’s been killed, Caroline. Shane’s dead.”
I wait to feel something. Nope, nothing.
Just the same vague sense of unease.
“I don’t believe you,” I manage to force out.
Suddenly, an ugly, giddy laughter threatens to claw its way up.
God, Mal would be so mad if he knew what I did.
Shane was going to fuck me! Shane wanted to fuck his own sister, and it got him killed in the end!
I bet Mal would shout and rage and cry if he knew the truth of how Shane died.
It’s so hilarious I have to cover my mouth and move the phone away.
Tears roll down my face. I’m laughing so hard, I’m crying.
I put the phone on speaker. Mal’s voice cuts back in. “—going to figure out what happened and deal with it. Mom’s a wreck. Everyone’s here. You should come over.”
“Yeah, okay, of course,” I'm able to say.
He must hear the laughter and think I’m sobbing or something. “It’ll be fine. You have to be strong now, okay? We’ll talk to your husband about hunting down Shane’s murderer. We’ll do it with the Whelans. Don’t worry, we’ll get justice for him.”
“Good!” I’m almost screeching with mirth.
I have to hang up, and once the line’s dead, I drop my phone and fall to my knees.
I’m laughing so hard my throat hurts, laughing and laughing, because my brother’s dead, my dumb fuck abusive stupid asshole brother’s a rotten corpse in the earth, and my family has no idea they’re next.
It’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
The house is cold and quiet. Mal meets me at the door. I’m in black jeans and a dark sweater. He hugs me lightly and awkwardly. Malachy never was good at emotion. “Red and Dermot are in the living room. Mom’s upstairs. Dad’s in his office. You should go see him.”
“You think he’d want to talk to me right now?”
“You’re his daughter.” He doesn’t sound very sure. “Go ahead and check in at least.”
I make my way stiffly to the office. I’m afraid of seeing my father.
There’s a part of me that thinks he knows it was me and my husband who killed Shane, but that can’t be possible.
Finn swore that brothel had no cameras and the owners were all loyal to him personally.
None of the girls saw my face or knew Finn was even there.
Still, I’m terrified. I’m always terrified of my father.
I knock on the study door and step inside.
There’s a fire going and it casts long, flickering light.
I remember one time, Shane punched me in the mouth and nearly knocked me right into that fireplace.
I barely stopped myself from getting seriously burned. Shane would’ve loved that.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, lingering near the door.
My father’s at the window. He’s got a glass of whiskey in one hand. His hair’s messy and he’s still wearing his pajama top. I’ve never seen him looking so old before. He turns to look at me, a deep frown cutting through his lined face.
“Took you long enough to get here.”
Nothing else. Not asking how I am, not checking to see how everyone’s doing downstairs, nothing, just criticism.
“I came the second Mal called.”
“Your brother’s dead. You could at least show enough respect to get here faster.
” He takes a long drink. “Shane was a good man. He was strong. And now he’s gone, but you’re still here, aren’t you?
Good-for-nothing Caroline. All you could ever do was walk down the aisle, and now that’s done, so what use are you? ”
I hang my head, rage burning in my guts. His son’s dead, but he can still treat me like shit. It’s his favorite pastime, after all.
“I’m sorry about Shane.”
“I bet you are. We all are. Shane is a real loss. If you were the dead one though—” His nose wrinkles and he turns away. “You can go.”
I don’t think I’ve ever left a room that fast before in my life. I shut the door and stand on the other side, breathing hard. My guts twist in a knot. I close my eyes and see Finn stabbing Shane again, over and over. This time, the memory isn’t so bad.
The rest of my brothers are in front of the TV. Some late-night action movie is on. They’re all drinking. Red ignores me. Dermot barely gives me a nod. Mal’s on the phone, pacing back and forth, talking to some soldier or lieutenant, probably looking into Shane’s death.
“How’s everyone doing?” I ask Dermot.
He glances at me. Any normal brother would get up and hug his sister in a time like this. Instead, he just shrugs and drinks. “How the fuck do you think?”
I last ten minutes with them before I get the hell out of there. That’s the story of my life. I’m always running away from my brothers.
Mom’s up in her room. I find her sitting on her bed, her eyes red with tears. She’s looking at her phone, scrolling through old pictures of the boys. There aren’t many of me.
I finally get the hug I’ve been waiting for. Mom squeezes me tightly. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? For what?”
“Shane’s dead, honey. He was your brother.”
“I know, but I’m sorry for you. He was your son.”
“We can all mourn, right?” She wipes her face. “I just keep thinking he’ll come storming through that door with a big smile for me, the way he always did.”
I hug her again. She lets out a little sob but gets herself together quickly. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am.” The guilt creeps back. I don’t care if I hurt Dad or my brothers. But a part of me wishes Mom didn’t have to go through this. “That’s how he lived, right? We all were waiting for it.”
She stiffens. “I don’t believe that.”
“Mom, I know it’s probably not the time, but Shane—”
“Your brother was a good man.”
I stare at her, shaking my head. “Mom, come on. You’re really going to pretend right now? We don’t have to lie to each other. He’s dead. You can be honest.”
“Shane was my son. I loved him. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried his best.”
“He was a violent, drunk, womanizing asshole. I know you’re sad, but—”
Mom pulls away sharply. “Watch your mouth, Caroline.” She looks toward the bedroom door, and I realize she’s terrified. Her voice softens to a whisper. “Don’t you dare let them hear you talk that way.”
My guts clench. All my life, Mom’s been acting like nothing’s wrong.
She tried over the years to protect me in her own twisted way.
She’d warn me when the boys were in a mood, try to hide me, try to deflect Dad’s rages, but it rarely worked.
It was always Mom who cleaned up their messes, who gave me icepacks, taught me how to cover up bruises, introduced me to long sleeves and dresses that hid my scars.
But never, in all this time, has she ever actually admitted out loud what’s been going on.
“Shane did this.” I show her the scar on my neck. “Remember this one? From the screwdriver? I used all the hot water one night, and this was my punishment.”
Mom’s face twists. “Darling, please, now isn’t the time.”
“He did this and worse. You have to admit it. Please, Mom, I’m begging you—”
“No,” she hisses sharply. “He’s dead. That’s enough.”
I pull back. I’m shaking and I feel sick. I stand and back away. Mom watches, hugging herself.
“What do I have to do to get you to just admit it?” I whisper, fighting tears. “How much worse does it have to get?”
“Just go, Caroline. I can’t deal with this right now.”
I turn and leave my mother. I’m crying when I get downstairs. The boys probably think it’s for Shane. None of them get up to comfort me. After a few minutes, Dermot shoves a beer into my hands.
“Quit fucking blubbering,” he mutters and slaps me on the back. “He never liked you anyway.”
I bite my tongue, open the door, and stare at the TV.
Three brothers to go.