A reason to kill, p.50
A Reason To Kill, page 50
While the well-padded wooden seats had been set in semi-circular rows so there were no designated bride and groom sides; still it was pleasant for her to notice that Mr. Raymond Connors Senior and his wife had chosen to flank her mother. She is beautiful, Ann thought and remembered how Tom Devlin teased her, “If I met your mom before I met you—forget it girl. Roselyn and I would have taken off for parts unknown.”
Michael had once told her, “It’s wise to check out your future mother-in-law. What is gorgeous at twenty-five can become gargantuan at fifty-five.” Well, if he’d checked Roselyn out, she smiled as she glanced at her mother, no surprise he chose to marry me. She looks like an enchanting teenager sandwiched between the slightly balding, growing a bit portly, Raymond Connors and his rather doughty wife. Green, of all shades, had always been her mother’s color, even before she began adding the golden highlights to mask the gray without completely changing her dark brown hair. Ann was content now that she’d chosen emerald for the bridal party. Her mother’s slender body wore the color to advantage.
Ann was coming abreast of the front pew. She could see the pleasure in her mom’s face. Raymond Connors was smiling down at her; he bent and whispered something that caused Roselyn to cover her lips with a gloved hand. But as the hand fell quickly away it was apparent to Ann whatever he said pleased her mom.
Out of the blue, an idea entered Ann’s mind. God! No! Not the two of them? Then she struggled not to laugh out loud at her ridiculous thought.
A few more steps. They were both standing there. How ironic the only men she’d ever loved. One was standing as best man to one she would finally marry.
Michael was coming towards her. A lump formed in her throat. Everyone would rave about the lovely bride, she thought, but it was only politeness. This man claiming her would eclipse her for the rest of her life. Michael had loved Shelia and what a regal pair they made—a perfectly stunning couple. Little Ann Ryan was nothing but a shadow beside the elegant Michael O’Neill. My God, he’s magnificent; even Tom’s good looks diminish beside him.
He was in front of her now his hand reaching towards her. Her father lifted her veil and softly kissed her cheek. “Foolish girl,” he whispered, “but this is what you wanted. Be happy.” He was passing her to Michael.
She felt the warmth of tears in her eyes as Michael slipped his hand beneath her elbow. Years ago, Ann had convinced herself she could forgo his love and settle for whatever he offered because she knew she had to be near him. Michael, I cannot know nor will I ask what is truly in your heart; I only know that I have always loved you…
Ann silently rehearsed her wedding vow as the ceremony commenced.
Chapter 92
New York, 1984
Megan O’Donnell entered her father’s establishment at 1:00pm sharp. She knew Pat would be gone for the afternoon before she’d made this appointment. She spotted her quarry in the back booth—their booth. She smiled sadly, they always called it their booth. She hurried over and motioned Thomas Devlin down when he started to stand.
Tossing her camera bag on the table she dropped into the seat across from him and grabbed at his hand. Having spent hours of indecision working herself up to this, she wasted no time. “Tom, I’m pregnant. Don’t you dare look at me like that!”
“Meg, I would never feel that way. I’m here for you whatever you need. You should know that.”
“That’s the problem—I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what to do. I thought about abortion. It’s not a person yet. It’s only as big as my thumb.”
“You owe it to Seamus to tell him.”
“He’d want to marry me, Tom. You know he already does. I don’t want to marry him…not really. I don’t think I could love him enough to forget you.”
“Don’t start that nonsense again! Please. You have no idea what kind of man I am.” She hadn’t mentioned her love for him since the original upset at Andrea’s death. He’d convinced himself that was all it had been. “You needn’t marry anyone; I will see after you and the child if that’s your choice. But think about your dad; Pat’s old fashion.”
“Don’t you think I have? The abortion is the only solution.”
“Is it? Can you live with that? You will be destroying not only your own child but also your father’s grandchild. I’ve never desired a child of my own,” Devlin admitted. “It’s not like I’ve got these great genes to pass on. But some males do and your dad is one of them. He may be upset at first; but he’ll get over it before the baby’s actually born—believe me.”
“No, I can’t do that to him. Give him a bastard grandchild? I’m not that modern myself.” Megan covered her face with her hands and rolled her head side to side as she said, “What a damn fool I was. With all the safety nets available, I let him make me pregnant so now I pay the piper.”
Suddenly new ideas came popping like fireworks in her mind and she stared wide-eyed at Devlin. The tears were gone and her features formed in an angry frown. Did he do it on purpose? The anger became concern, what if he doesn’t want to marry me now? Doesn’t want a child born too early? “Tom, this may not set all that well with Seamus. Even today, people start counting the months on the first baby.”
“Meg,” he softly laughed. “You can’t honestly believe that?”
“Wishful thinking,” she groaned. “Guess I should make that friggin’ call?”
“You won’t be sorry.”
~~~
He loved this little minx but knew it could never be in a sexual way. She’d been like a little sister he watched grow up and wanted the best for. He had no doubts Seamus would take good care of Megan and this little Catholic bride would be perfect for O’Donnell’s political career. “You won’t have to use an impersonal phone call.” He smiled as he informed her. “Seamus and the boys are still at my place. They decided to stay a few extra days after the wedding. In fact, why don’t I call Seamus? I’ll pick up the boys and you two can be alone. You’ll have lots of privacy to talk this out.”
“Lucky me.”
~~~
The car sucked up gallons of fuel and spat out clouds of exhaust as she sped down the New York State Thruway towards Westchester. Megan O’Donnell had no clear idea of where her life was headed now. It’s rather sad, she thought. Her friendship with Deirdre had gotten her an early exclusive on the O’Neill wedding preparations. Her escort being the well-known Seamus O’Donnell meant she’d been treated like an honored guest not a nosey reporter. The bit pieces of coverage others fought for were nothing compared with the face to face interviews she’d been able to give her editor. Now this?
How had this happened? She laughed out loud but there was no humor in the tone. You ass, if there’s one thing for certain; you know damn well how it happened. You enjoyed every second, every thrilling moment, while you wiggled and squirmed like a puppet performing for her master. Oh, he was the master all right, she groaned, he could make your body dance to his will, while desire shut off your brain.
“Damn! damn! damn!” She pounded the steering wheel with heel of her hand. Tom didn’t need to tell her Seamus was still in New York, her service, her private answering machine, even the message board at the paper were peppered with, Mickey please call me.
Listen up you little wretch, she spoke internally to the soul growing within her. You ain’t much yet; maybe an inch, no eyes, no hair, don’t tell me you’re going to have that damn red hair. You know if for one second I could believe you were nothing more than some tissue, bones, and organs, feeding off me like a parasite, you’d be sucked out quicker than I could spit…
The tears that rolled down Megan’s cheeks were hot and sticky. Would she hate this child who was changing her life before it was even born? It’s not the church or some priest howling that abortion is murder bothers me, you, you little monster, it’s you. You must have found a way to send out invisible chains that you’ve wrapped around my soul. You’re squeezing the life out of me; you know that? You are going to destroy everything that I want for myself.
You must be male; she patted her still flat belly. A nasty little boy, who will soon turn me into a roly-poly elf. Have a heart little fellow, I know you got some great genes there, but don’t get too big. Keep in mind this silly little female body that has to tote you around, and have some pity.
She started to chuckle as she pictured the look on Seamus’ face when he saw her become as wide as she was tall. Saints alive, a five-by-five she remembered an old school age tease for a short fat person. Bet he won’t feel very passionate then. He will probably give me a private room with the excuse; I want you to be comfortable. He will be too kind to admit the sight of all that blubber turns him off. He’ll gush with those ridiculous statements like how beautiful a pregnant woman is, how soft her skin, lots of luck. All I ever saw in one was a puffy face and a belly with the skin pulled so tight it marked momma with scars forever.
You hear that, you little prick, your papa’s gonna have to watch you turn your mamma into a misshapen breadbasket and incubator for you. He aint gonna be too thrilled when you start kicking him in the belly if he should decide to show me a bit of consideration. It will have to be in the dark or he’ll never get a hard on.
“Damn! damn! damn!” Again she pounded the steering wheel. I don’t want to give up my career. I sure as hell don’t care to live in Ireland. You hearing me in there you little leech. You better like plastic nipples, because you sure ain’t sucking on me. This body of mine has to feed you ‘til you’re born after that you’re on your own. You know Toby or whatever the hell your name is. Toby? Tobias? She commenced giggling. Pop, Seamus, they would have a heart attack. Yuck, even I couldn’t be that cruel much as I hate you right now.
Suppose he’ll want to name you after himself? Maybe he’d settle for Patrick. It would thrill pop. Patrick Seamus O’Donnell, Little PS— Postscript? Why not? You sure are going to be some add-on to my life.
Listen up now Pat, you got to help me figure out the best way to spring you on your old man. We don’t want him expiring on us from the shock. Well, then, an evil grin creased her mouth but it faded. Nah, Pat, you’ve got years of growing, you’re going to need him…now let’s see…Darling? Screw that! We’ll tell him like it is. You hear me Pat? We’ll just say to your daddy, Seamus, lad, we have ourselves a bit of a problem and we have about seven and a half mouths to agree on what we name it besides O’Donnell?
Chapter 93
South Carolina, 1984
Jason Connors bolted up the stone steps, bolted down the stone steps. He cursed the stone steps like they were a living thing, and they cursed back. They slugged him, they burned him, and they reached up twisting his calf muscles until he wanted to cry from the shear agony. The stone walls closed in on him choking off his air while the quadrangle rose up in scorching defiance of the young flesh pressed against it.
The whole fucking place is set to devour me, the youth groaned as he staggered along with the other victims.
Suddenly he spotted his cousin for the first time since they’d left sanity behind and stepped on to the quadrangle of the First Battalion.
Without the slightest hint of recognition, Brian Fitzgerald rushed by. His thing, Jason sneered, gonna be a fucking general. “Damnit!” He yelled. “Hold up!”
“Shut up.” The other boy warned barely slowing his pace.
“Fuck it!” Jason kept step with him.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Bri,” A hoarse moan came though Jason’s dry throat. “I gotta get out of here.”
Brian had taken special care to see that his cousin entered the academy physically and mentally prepared. But Jason’s mouth he couldn’t control. “Hang loose.” He grinned for the first time in days. “The worst will be over soon.”
“How? My ear drums are vibrating to the point of deafness, my throat feels like sawdust, every inch of me aches, and I stink like a toilet.”
“Duck in the showers.”
“Sure, and have a bastard ram his stick up my ass for missing some damn formation.”
“Don’t get yourself singled out,” he pleaded. “Remember stay with the herd. It will ease off soon,” he promised as Brian quickly rushed away. A knob, he’d forgotten how to walk.
“HAY! MAGGOT FACE? WHAT THE HELL YOU GAZIN’ AT? POP OFF!”
“Nothing.”
“NOTHING SIR?”
“Nothing, SIR!”
“I can believe that Connors. You got nothing between them ears but empty space. “WHAT’S MY NAME? POP OFF!”
“Mr. Reilly, SIR.”
“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU CONNORS! POP OFF!”
“MR. REILLY, SIR!” Jason’s screech hit soprano before it cracked.
~~~
Obeying the senior’s bellow to get a move on, the youth hurried through his shower.
“This community property shits,” the wealthy teenager complained to himself as he wrapped the towel around his waist relinquishing the stall to the next pitiful wretch.
As another youth moved from a sink, Jason Connors stepped up to it. In the warm room the water dried quickly on his flesh making him feel sticky again. He frowned at the exhausted expression in the mirror as he thought, Four years of playing tin soldier? I’ll never make four weeks.
The youth on his right scratched nervously a few times at some dark fuzz on his chest. Still staring in the mirror, Jason became painfully aware of his own childishly smooth chest with its slightly protruding pink nipples. His cheeks colored slightly as he rapidly brushed his teeth; he was in a hurry now to become securely clothed.
A few whispered conversations died abruptly. Jason spun with the others to view a doorway filled by a sinister sight.
Uniforms announced the intruders’ god-like position—seniors!
One was large and white. One was large and black. The center one, lankier and shorter than his mates, gave an impression of bigness he did not possess. Hands locked behind their backs, legs spread slightly apart, they rocked on their heels as they surveyed the room full of raw freshmen. A menacing grin split the lips of the center man. With an easy Southern drawl he slurred, “Noisy as a day nursery in here. You’all still into wetting your pants?”
“SORRY, SIR!” Filled the air.
“EY…E ASKED, IF YOU BUNCH OF PUSSIES! ARE STILL PISSIN’ YOUR PANTS? POP OFF!”
“YES!NO!SIR!”
“You keep up the racket, you’re gonna find yourselves doing just that and it won’t be from habit.”
“YES SIR!”
Noticing that Jason wasn’t shouting with the rest, Brian slipped up behind him to whisper, “Answer up before you’re spotted.”
Under his breath Jason said, “Shit.”
The exaggerated Southern drawl continued. “Here tell we’ve been honored by royalty. Did you’all know you got a wee prince amongst you?” Raising his voice above the “YES SIRS!” The senior bellowed, “Connors? Where you at boy?”
A sudden weakness invaded Jason’s legs as the other freshmen fanned out leaving him in full view of the oncoming warriors. Sorely tempted to deny the fact, Jason muttered, “I’m Connors.”
“I’m Connors, SIR!”
“YESSIR!” Jason jumped to attention flipping a mocking salute.
At his side, Brian groaned as the wicked grins spread across the seniors’ mouths.
The bookends snickered as the center drawled, “Cute little bugger, ain’t he? oh, so, pretty. Would you’all believe how pur-tee?” He bent in a formal bow as his victim blushed in embarrassment. “The royal Mr. Connors.” He sneered. “Always wanted to see a royal asshole. How about the rest of you? POP OFF!”
“YESSIR!”
Sweat glistened on Jason’s flesh as Philip Caine ordered, “All right, Connors, give the boys their show drop the towel and bend!”
Jason stayed riveted to the spot as the seniors advanced. Then Caine’s hand fell on his shoulder. “You didn’t hear me?”
“I heard, sir!”
“Drop the towel and bend.”
“Fuck you!”
The senior’s features stiffened as if he’d been slapped. “Pretty boy’s got a dirty mouth.” He snarled, “Laundry time.”
Cursing under his breath, Brian moved quickly in defense of his foolish cousin but it was wasted effort. Matthew Reed moved faster. The tall blond senior encircled the freshman’s arms pinning them to his chest. He lifted him slamming him back down on the soles of his bare feet. Brian let out an involuntary yelp as the pain shot up his calves.
Simultaneously, the muscular black moved in on Jason. Throwing a fake jab at the youth’s jaw, when Jason’s hands came up to ward off the blow, Randal Johnson captured his wrists. He viciously twisted the out stretched arms over Jason’s head forcing him to his knees. Jason clamped his teeth on his lower lip as the back of his head banged into the edge of the sink. His eyes squeezed shut.
Then he opened his eyes to the sight of the grinning face hovering over him. Philip Caine waved a bar of soap. Jason tightened his closed mouth. “Come on sweetheart,” was a coaxing yawn. “Open up.” Caine caressed his victim’s chin while pressing the soap into the boy’s flared nostrils. Suddenly, in a joint motion, he drove his knee into Jason’s stomach causing the mouth to gape and shoved in the soap. Quickly his fingers tightened forcing the youth’s teeth into the bitter bar. “Apologize,” came the gentle threat. Jason only glared back.
Caine turned on the tap; held a tumbler beneath it until the water gave off a hint of steam as it splashed into the glass. Never taking his eyes from Jason’s, Caine tipped the glass over his mouth and let the hot water pour over his face. “Apologize.”
