49 - My Boy
Matthew
Staring into the eyes of the young woman before me is a twisted trip down memory lane.
They’re the same piercing blue as my late wife and wield just as much fire.
I often accused Annabel of wearing contact lenses.
I’d joke most nights, reminding her to take them out, accompanied by a wink.
She’d roll her eyes, giggling, and the sound would warm every crevice of my darkened soul.
I would do anything to hear that laugh again.
I’ve never been a particularly good man.
In my younger days, I played hooky a lot, smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish.
I’ve tried more illegal substances than I care to remember and ended up having more than a few near misses.
I was a wild child in every sense of the word.
It’s clear where my son got it from; it wasn’t his mother.
Annabel and I met in college; both of us were barely sixteen.
She wanted to be a Marine Biologist. I remember the day like it was yesterday because we had this ridiculous conversation about Dolphin behaviour that led to me suggesting we continue it on a date.
Myself; I’d enrolled in some finance course just to appease my father.
I wasn’t passionate about it, but it was something to pass the time.
All it took was one night for our lives to spiral.
Anna fell pregnant just six months into our relationship.
We were so young; far too young, but despite being together only a short time, our love for each other was certain.
I could never imagine myself with another woman after Anna waltzed into my life.
I’d wager that’s exactly how Logan feels about his newfound love.
I cast my eyes across the room to Cordelia.
Even though she’s petrified, even though every one of her instincts is likely telling her to run, she won’t.
She won’t because once you develop those feelings for a person, those deep connections, it becomes impossible.
My parents kicked me out when I told them.
Our relationship had always been rocky, and that was the final straw that broke the camel’s back.
Anna’s mum was furious and threatened to report me to the police–despite us both being at the legal age of consent.
So, Anna washed her hands of her; she couldn’t bear to be involved with someone who would go to such lengths to tear us apart.
Both of us essentially homeless, we spent a few months in a hostel.
Because of the pregnancy, they bumped us up to the top of the list, and we didn’t have to wait long until we were offered a flat.
It was small, but suitable. We both dropped out of college, and I got to work searching for a job.
I wanted more for us, so much more. So, I landed myself a job doing skivvy work for a gang, gradually working my way up to assist with the riskier, but better-paid missions.
By the time Logan was born, I’d saved up enough for a decent deposit on a better house.
We spent sixteen blissful years together as husband and wife.
I continued to partake in illegal activities to bring home money until we had a comfortable enough nest egg.
Anna returned to college, and I spent my hours looking after Logan.
The day my wife was taken, my world crumbled.
All because of a messed-up drug deal. Human error. I’d left the criminal life behind me, swore never to get dragged back. But my old boss made contact for one last job; promised it’d be easy and worth my while.
I trusted those men. I’d been obedient and proven my loyalty over years of working with them. I’d risked life and limb. Murder. Assault. Drugs. You name it, I’d done it.
And they betrayed me.
I wanted to end it all. I’m ashamed to admit that a few times I tried.
When Logan lay lifeless in that hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machines and life support, I had no idea if he’d come back to me.
When he finally woke from the coma, he was a broken little boy again.
The vivid memory of when I broke the news to him still haunts me to this day.
His anger and confusion as he tore the tubes from his arms, trashing everything within reachable distance.
I tried to calm him down, but even at sixteen he was a force to be reckoned with.
In the end the doctors had to pin him down to administer a dose of Ketamine; strong enough to knock out a horse.
I’d just got him back and suddenly he was gone again.
That night was horrific, and I spent every waking hour watching him sleeping, dreading the moment he would open his eyes again and relive the agonising pain.
Anna’s death should have brought us closer together, but instead I let it tear us apart
My boy. Once so happy. So carefree. With a bright future ahead of him. He wanted to pursue a career as a paramedic, but the tragedy left his dream to die.
“How can I train to become one of the people who let her down? That failed to save her.”
I understood. God, I understood. But with his dreams shattered and his future bleak, he sunk deeper into a black pit. A pit that even I couldn’t pull him out of.
The illegal fights eased some of his mental suffering.
But it brought physical pain, blood, black eyes and broken bones.
The doctor had said he needed to take it easy after the surgery.
I forbid him from going, but he’d sneak out in the night, anyway.
Logan has never been one to follow orders; he’s always been a free spirit, just like his mum.
I’m proud of the man he’s become, flaws and all. Let’s face it, we all have them.
My son didn’t change when Annabel died. He just needed someone to be strong enough to bring him back to the light. From the harrowing nightmares that haunted his dreams. And finally, he found his reason to carry on.
And that reason is sitting in front of me, strapped to a chair.
Cordelia Rousseau
A woman who loves as fiercely as he does.
A woman who doesn’t shrink under the eye of the storm.
A woman to bear his children.
It doesn’t matter that they’re young. I have every faith; they’ll make it work.
Whilst both of them learn how to navigate this new life, they’ve already experienced one of the most traumatic experiences a person can go through.
Losing a child. I have an inclination of how that feels, and if they can make it through that; they will survive anything.
“Seems you don’t have your boys under control, Scar,” Cillian mocks, pulling me back to the room. “That’s a dangerous game to play.”
Scar’s far too mature to respond to his schoolboy antics.
“What do you want in return for protecting our men?” The heavy timbre reverberates through the room.
Cillian’s thin lips twist into a calculating smirk as he takes a step forward. Marco keeps his aim trained on his every move. Always watching; like a hawk, prepared to swoop in at a moment’s notice to secure a successful kill.
“Firstly, I want an invite to the wedding of the year,” Cillian says, a smooth, syrupy execution that shouldn’t be possible with his thick Irish accent.
Cordelia’s eyes round upon hearing his proposal, and my fingers strangle my gun. Scar’s black eyes slide over to me, and with a defeated sigh I nod.
Cillian’s eyes dart to catch Cordelia’s lips parting, gauging her reaction carefully, but she doesn’t say a word. Smart girl.
“You and your bodyguard. No one else.” Scar makes it clear. “Next.”
“Wonderful,” he claps his hands together. “As I said to your son, Matthew.” His gaze snaps to me. “I’m not 100% sure what I want. Let’s have an open I.O.U until the night of the wedding.”
I fucking hate this guy. Everything he does, everything he says, insinuates something sinister wrapped in his happy-go-lucky attitude. He’s like a method-actor, never slipping out of character for a second. A slippery, manipulative eel.
Scar’s eyes narrow. He’s not particularly happy about that arrangement, but he nods, nevertheless. “You’ll have until midnight to decide.”
Cillian dips his chin, his smile fucking devious.
“Blood needs to be shed for this, Cillian,” Vincenzo adds. “Nothing else will soothe the boy’s rage.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Logan’s anger will be contained by nothing less.
“Him.”
Scar points a steady finger at the kid tied to the chair, who’s been watching the scene unfold with quiet indifference.
Before we arrived, Cordelia’s father informed us of the undercover scumbag within his daughter’s friendship group.
The man who had lied and fabricated his whole existence to keep a close eye on Louis.
Who betrayed her trust and forwarded the photograph to his older cousin.
Dominic has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes. “Nice try, but he’s–”
“Done.”
The abrupt, one-word answer has his jaw dropping to the floor. His wide-eyed stare swerves to Cillian, who offers him a nonchalant shrug.
“Collateral damage,” he says.
What a cold-hearted motherfucker. Even his family isn’t spared from his wrath.
Cordelia, who’s managed to hold her tongue up until this point, finally shrieks. “No! You can’t do that! Leave him alone.”
We all turn to look at her red, panic-stricken face in unison. Scar pins her with a blank stare; he almost looks bored now. Then he tilts his head to address Vincenzo.
“Take her back to Logan.”
Vincenzo steps forward and whips out a blade to cut the ropes. She squirms in protest, but he throws a burly arm over her narrow shoulders and strides out with her in tow.
Leaving us with Cillian and a second, very grey-faced Irishman.