Hey Fey!

           

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Maureen gathers lavender and honey to call upon the fey

         Maureen gave her brother a poke, and when he didn't respond, a tentative shake to the shoulder.  He opened one blood shot eye, squinting in the afternoon sun, and then rolled over to bury his face into the sofa cushion.

             "This is so rude, Kev.  The least you could do is sit up and acknowledge we're here.  We've come to do...to try...an intervention of sorts."

             From his position in the doorway, Beckett clarified.  "We didn't come for that reason at all.  You came for the 'intervention'.  I just came to make sure you didn't hurt yourself, or anyone else."

             There was a muffled, mumbled response from somewhere in the upholstery, but no further interaction except for the breathy, rythamic sounds of snoring.  Shaking her head at his lack of cooperation, Maureen dumped the contents of the bag on the floor of the rectory parlor, and began arranging the strange items around the sofa.

              "What the hell are you doing, babe?  It's obvious that Kevin is dead to the world.  He's going to need to sleep it off for a few hours.  I told you...he was sucking that vodka right out of the bottle.  He's gotta be pretty hammered.  Why don't we just come back tomorrow?  Or the day after, when he's at least standing upright and conscious?"

              Lips pressed, and hands on hips, she stood her ground.  "If you want to go, you can.  I'm staying.  There's no rule that says the person has to be awake.  Maybe it's even better that he's sleeping. He won't interupt the process."

               "Damn it, Maureen!  Do you really think your brother is going to be okay with all this?  After all, love, he's a Catholic priest, and these are church grounds.  I'm not sure the Kevin I know is going to be on the same page with you practicing some voodoo witchcraft in his home."

           "I told you, Ted.  It's not witchcraft!  Nothing like that at all.  It's just a little fey magic.  Part of my cultural heritage, and perfectly grounded in positive energy.  There's nothing dark about this at all.  A lot of cultures still practice the old ways of their ancestors.  My Granny O'Kenney was as devout a person as I ever met.  Went to Mass everyday.  She wouldn't have taught me this if she thought it was against the church. Never!  Plus Kevin and I were her absolute favorites.  She doted on us, especially Kev.  Spoiled him rotten to the point it made my other brothers jealous.  I know she'd want me to do all I could to save his vocation.  Kevin becoming a priest meant the world to her."

          He grimaced and shook his head, settling himself comfortably in a chair across the room.  "Well, I think you're wrong on this, especially since Kevin isn't even sober enough to voice his consent.  But hell, he's your brother.  You'll have to deal with the shit storm that follows this."

           "Agreed.  This is my family issue, and I'll deal with any fall out."

__________________________________

           The tile floor of the vault room was icy cold, and the woman struggled to lift the man to an upright position.  Using the corner of her shawl, she wiped the sweat from his forehead, running her hand over the stubble on his cheek.  His breathing was shallow and labored, and though his eyes were closed, she could see the dark rings against the gray, pale skin.

           "Oh amore mio, amore mio! Eravamo così vicini. Quindi molto vicino. E ora siamo condannati. I destini sono crudeli, e mi maledicono la mano di Dio.  Oh mio caro amore .."   Oh my love, my love!  We were so close.  So very close.  And now we are doomed.  The fates are cruel, and I curse the hand of God.  Oh, my dear love...

        She tried once again to lift him, but even in this weakened state, he was too heavy to handle. Having no other choice, she yelled at the top of her voice, "Aiuto! Qualcuno per favore mi aiuti! Oh Dio, ti prego, aiutami!  Che ne sarà di noi due withut voi?"  Help!  Someone please help me!  Oh God, please help me!  What will become of the two of us without you? Then she buried her face in chest, and wept.
__________________________

         Maureen arranged the items in a semi-circle around the sofa.  The bread, the honey, and the bottle of Guinness to the left, the daisies, the lavender and the fresh rosemary to right.  She stripped the gold bangle off her wrist and placed it in the center, and then added her wedding rings, which caught the light from the bay window, sending slivers of rainbow across the room.

       Her husband watched in amusement as she fussed and re-adjusted things in precise formation.  "Wow.  This fey magic is an exact science, I see."

        "Don't make fun, Ted.  They can feel your negativity and disbelief, and you'll ruin the whole thing.  This is important.  For Kevin, for me...for my whole family."

         He held up his hands in mock surrender.  "Sorry.  Far be it for me to spoil your magic faerie circle.  Would it be against the rules for me to ask why you selected those certain items?"

         "Of course not.  This is basic faerie lore.  To lure the faeries for conversation, you have to be a good host.  Create a safe space, and provide them gifts and refreshment.  Once you have their attention, you can present your petition.  Hopefully, they'll appreciate your respect and genrousity, and comply.  One can never tell, though.  Faeries can be quite tempermental."

           "Ahhh...I see."  He worked at keeping the smirk off his face.  The sooner she finished, the sooner they could go home.  "And faerie lore requires your wedding rings?"

           "No.  Not my wedding rings specifically.  Just the emeralds.  The Sidhe love colored gem stones...especially emeralds.  And my wedding ring has two very large ones.  They're of exceptional quality."

           "That they are.  Sixteen carats worth of exceptional.  Aren't you worried they'll make off with them?"

            With her back to him, she realigned the items a final time.  "Of course not!  The faeries will only take the essence of the items, not the actual items themselves.  My rings are perfectly safe."  She turned around, and seeing the smile on his face, knew he had been teasing her.  "Look, if you can't be serious here, I'm going to have to send you outside.  You're disrupting the whole atmosphere of the moment."

           "No way am I letting you out of my sight.  Shit always seems to happen to you for some reason."

           "If you want to stay, you're going to have to be, at the very least, neutral.  Make your mind blank.  Don't they teach you that kind of stuff in spy school?"

           He frowned, and pointed to the figure on the couch, reminding her of her promise to keep that aspect of their lives between the two of them.

          "Don't worry.  He's totally zonked out.  I doubt he can hear anything."

          "You better hope so.  I got a feeling he's gonna be mightily pissed at you when he wakes up and sees all this pagan 'magic' going on."

         "Let me worry about that, okay?"  She stepped back, and inspected the scene.  "I think we're about ready.  Are you going to behave?"

         "Absolutely.  Go ahead."

         She turned back to her brother, and closing her eyes, she placed her hands out in front of her, palms up.  "In the name of God, Father Almighty...I declare this space sanctuary for the spirits of nature, and the children of His wonderous creation."

          A light summer breeze moved through the room, and ruffled the papers on the desk next to where Beckett was sitting.  He looked around for an open window, but found none, they being soundly shut with the air conditioning humming in the background.

           Maureen must have felt the very same thing, but said nothing to him about it, instead smiling to herself.  She continued.  "We ask all faeries who visit to accept our humble offerings, and to release my brother Kevin from all mischief surrounding him.  This we ask with respect and gratitude."

          She stood this way for several minutes, the quiet in the room falling like a heavy shroud around the three of them.  On the sofa, her brother stirred, stretching his arms above his head, and unfolding his long legs.  He rolled over, and opened both eyes, then quickly closed them again, moaning to no one imparticular.  "Damn that hurts!  The light is like a dagger to my head!"  It took a second or two for him to realize what his eyes had taken in, and without warning, shot off the couch to an upright position, only to find himself in a state of dizziness.  Reaching upward, he grabbed his sister's hand.  "Moe!  Is it really you?"

            Maureen turned to give her husband a self-satisfied look before answering.  "Of course it's me, Kevin.  How are you feeling?"

             He didn't answer, instead rising with a wobble from the sofa, and wrapping his arms first around his sister, and then his startled brother-in-law.  Releasing them, he went around the room, touching odd pieces of furniture in an attempt to make certain of his situation, much to the bewilderment of his visitors.  This went on for several seconds before he abruptly stopped, porcelain Last Supper still in hand, and began to check each and every room of the rectory as if on a mad search for something...or someone...important.
                 
                               

Siblings reunite

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus  2014
All Rights Reserved
         


       

   

   

       

     




         

 

              

Watch Me

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Will the watch do its thing?

        They made such an usual pair, that those who might have confronted them on breaching the genteel business air of the bank, instead stared a moment, averted their eyes and wandered off, leaving sizable distance between their person and the struggling couple.  The woman was battered and bruised, her worn shawl covered in bits of muck, while the man she both propped and dragged appeared to be more than under the weather. With one arm around his shoulders, and another swung around his waist, Roxanne worked at keeping Fr. Kevin in an upright position, while moving him toward the back of the building with very little help from the priest himself.

      Despite the 114 year difference, the basic layout of the bank was the same as she remembered, the teller windows to the left of the massive front door, the huge vault to the right, and the space leading to the safety deposit boxes in the back.  They were nearly half way across the floor, before they were confronted by a gentleman in a vest, who first called out to them, then soundly blocked their way.

      "You there.  This is a restricted area for bank patrons.  You can't be here.  The bank closes...", he turned and pointed to a large wall clock above the entry way, "in less than ten minutes.  You'll need to leave before I call for the constable."

        Roxie slipped Kevin's weight to her hip, and pushed the words out through gritted teeth.  "We have business.   In there."  With her free hand, she pointed to the space behind him.

        The gentleman squinted at her, and then looking them both up and down, sniffed.  "That area holds our safety deposit boxes.  I'm sure you have no business there."  Then frowning, added, "None of  proper, legal measure, I'm sure."

        With clenched jaw, the washer woman spat back.  "We have a key to one of the boxes.  Let us pass.  Now.  Or I will call for the constable."  When the man made no move to let them by, she spoke to Kevin, whose energy was focused simply on remaining upright.  "Ke...uhmmm...Father Murphy...show this man the key.  The key to the box."

         The priest raised his head, giving the bank employee a good look at his sweaty pale face, before fumbling with his free hand inside the pocket of his coat.

         Without realizing he was doing so, the man stepped back.  "What's wrong with him?  He looks like he's ready for the undertaker?"

         "He's got the cholera.  And if you don't let us pass, he's gonna die right here...right here on the floor of your bank.  How many customers will want to come here then...knowin' a man died here in a pool of shit?"

           At that moment, Kevin produced the key, laying it across his bone white, sticky palm.  "Here.  It's here.  Check it if you will, and...and let us pass."

            Seeing the state of the ailing, rumpled man, the bank teller took another step back, and covered his face with a hankerchief drawn from his breast pocket.   "Go... attend to your business.  Then leave quickly.  The door closes promptly at 5."  And then turning on his heels, he walked away, quickening his step as he did.

           Part pushing, part mental willing, the pair shuffled past the room with the normal, metal security boxes, and then into the wood paneled back room, where they had earlier been led by the strange little man a life time ago.  Roxanne ran her eyes around the room, looking for a landmark that might offer a clue to their last position.  On the wall was a painting depicting the Battle at Concord, flanked on both sides by ornate gas lamps.

           "There Kev...right by that painting.  I remember that day...thinking that I had seen that same painting in my grammar school history book.  We were standing at a table right under it."

             Kev braced himself against the wall.  "Yes...I remember the painting too.  But there's no table there now.  Are you sure?"  He's breathing had become more labored, and each word was like pushing a boulder through cracked lips.

             "As sure as I can be.  No doubt they've moved the furniture around through the years, but the painting...it's too large to fit anywhere else in this room.   This has to be the spot!  C'mon Kev, we're almost to the finish line."  She pulled a chair over for him to sit, but he instead slid down the wall, and sat on the floor, his long legs spread out in front of him.

               Sitting herself down next to him, Roxanne pulled the chain from the front of her blouse, and pulled it over her head.   The watch seemed to give off an eerie light in the gloom of the large, dim room, casting strange shadows on the walls around them.  Head back, and eyes shut, Kevin's lips moved in what seemed like organized words that made no sense to her.  Grabbing his hand, she shoved the face end of the watch into his palm.

              "Grab it tight, Kev.  It has to seem like you're really holding on to it.  I'm gonna take the fob end...just like we did before.  Then...if all goes the way it's supposed to, we should wake up in our own time"

           She reached to take the end of the fob chain, but her friend reached out and stopped her.  His blood shot eyes flickered open, and he took her hand in his free one.  "Rox...in case this doesn't work, and we end up still in 1849.  Or worse yet, we end up separated...somewhere else.  Or...or if I just...don't make it, 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm in bad shape here.  I...I want to tell you something.  Something I should have told you a long time ago, and never did."

           "Don't be silly Kevin O'Kenney!  We're both gonna make it.  Right back to 2014.  Safe and sound.  And someday, we're gonna have us a couple of shots of Jameson, and shake our heads over this wild, crazy impossibility."  She tried to shake her hand free, but despite his poor physical condition, he held onto it with a grip that belied his true state.

        He closed his eyes again, and took a deep, shuddering breath that rattled in his chest, before laboring with the next word.  "Please Rox, let me finish.   From the first day I saw you, I knew there was something... special between us.  And even though God's set us on different paths, I need for you to know how I feel.  In case I never get the opportunity again.  Roxanne Spinelli, I lo..."

           In a flash, she wrenched her hand out of his and covered his mouth with it, then grabbed the other end of the chain.

________________________________

Maureen comes to help her brother.  But just who is on that sofa?

           It took most of the rest of the afternoon for Maureen to gather the things she needed.  All the while, her husband tagged along, shaking his head, tisking and swearing under his breath, but not allowing her out of his sight.  So when she announced that she was ready to "take care of business", he was relieved to see that her crazy plans had an end.

           Beckett watched as she placed the items in a shopping bag.  "What the hell is all that stuff?"

           "I told you.  It's what I need to summon the fey.  Then we can politely ask them to remove whatever mischief they've placed on Kevin."

           "And this shit is going to help your brother stop drinking and carrying on?  Come on', love, you don't really believe all this nonsense, do you?  Kevin is having some kind of mental breakdown, pure and simple.  We should be calling a doctor, not paying a round with voodoo witchcraft."

           "It's neither voodoo or witchcraft, Ted.  This is simple Celtic faerie magic.  It's part of my family's heritage, and I rather resent you making disparaging  remarks about it.  I told you, this has been part of the O'Kenney legacy for generations.  Didn't you ever wonder why so much stuff just seems to happen to us?  Crazy things?"

           "Things don't happen to your family anymore than they do to other people.  You people just add more drama to it all.  It's like second nature to you guys."

           "Well, that's how much you know, Ted Beckett!  You are so closed minded about things you can't see or explain.  I can hardly believe that you have a drop of Irish blood in you.  Must be all that French and English DNA swimming around in your veins.  Otherwise, you'd understand why I have to go to all this trouble to save my brother's vocation.  I'd do the same for you..or your brothers."

            The thought of his wife summoning faeries for any of his estranged family made him queasy, and so he dropped the subject, instead concentrating on getting the whole thing over with as soon as possible.  "So then, what is it you have to do to..uhmmm...remove faerie interference from Kevin's life?"

            Satisfied she had his attention, she explained, "We have to place these items around Kevin, and offer them as a gift to leave him alone.  Once they accept them, he should be fine.  The fey never go back on their word.  They're incapable of lying or cheating."

             "How do you know if they've taken the bait?  Made the deal, as such?"

             She bite her lip, and thought about the question.  "To be quite honest, I'm not really sure.  I've never actually done this before."  He rolled his eyes, and she continued.  "Seriously, I've read a ton on the subject.  And I remember everything my Granny told me.  Every word.  At least the stuff that wasn't in Gaelic."

            With nothing more to be said, he ushered her down the stars of the flat, and out the back door.  They walked the one block to the rectory in silence, each contemplating the outcome of what was sure to be an unusual experience.  Upon arriving, they knocked on the door, but after several minutes, no one answered.  Maureen took her key, and opened the door, calling out before barging right in.

              "Kev?  It's me, Maureen?  Hello?  You here?"

               There was no answer, so at Beckett's urging, they took a few more steps into the parlor.  There on the sofa was her brother, passed out in the same dirty rumpled clothes he been wearing since morning, a gold pocket watch clutched in his hand.


Copyright  2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

           



     

Mayhem and Magic

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Fr. Kevin waits for Roxie at the bank, and tries to stay conscious.

      The blow to her back seemed to come out of nowhere.  One minute she had been turning the corner,  and the next, she was face planted on the rough stone, her knees bleeding and skinned under the heavy material of her skirt.  She struggled to push up, the sudden fall making the breath stick in her throat.

       "I'll take those papers, girl.  Now."

        She didn't recognize the man at all.  Not a single clue.  But at the mention of the papers, she pushed the roll of documents further into her waistband.  "Misericordia, Sir! Io non parlo inglese. Io non capisco!"  Mercy, Sir!  I do not speak English.  I no understand.

        "I'm no coot, woman.  Parkman thought so, and it cost him dearly.  I heard you speak's the King's English perfectly well.  With that sot of a Papist, and then later, at the library.  I damn well know you can understand every stinkn' word I'm sayn' to ya.  So if ya have least a halfa brain in your head, you'll do what I'm sayn."  From his back pocket, he produced a long handled hunting knife, waving it in front of her face.

       At the mention of Parkman, realization came to her.  The murder.  George Parkman.  John Webster.  They hadn't fought over money as history had claimed.  It had been the portal locations.  One...or both of them...had discovered certain points on earth where doorways to the past and present could be used for time travel.  And now it seemed someone else knew as well.  The question remained as to whether or not he possessed a similar pocket watch to the one she had tucked in the folds of her blouse, or if he even knew that one was required.  With a grimace, she nodded at him, and pushed herself to a standing position.  "Fine.  I'll give them to you.  Just give me a moment to catch my breath."

        "I'm glad to hear you're seein' it my way."  He relaxed his stance, but still held the knife in front of him.  "I've waited too long for my chance at a way out.  Ain't no one gonna take this opportunity from me, ya hear.  They'll be no more moppin' and fetchin' for Ephraim Littlefield."

          So that's who he was.  Ephraim Littlefield, the Harvard janitor who was instrumental in locating the remains of the victim, George Parkman, and thus sealing John Webster's fate.  She thought of her history professor, who had lectured at length on the hanging of an innocent man, despite the evidence to the contrary. At the time, she had thought it all silly conjecture. Now, standing in this darkening alley, fighting for her life, she knew the truth.  She wondered if the professor had known all of the story?  Realized the whole time travel possibility?  If she got back to her own time, it was a question that would need answering, but in the here and now, her immediate plan was to get to that bank, meet Kevin, and hopefully make the journey back to where it all had started.  With her right hand, Roxanne fumbled with the band of her skirt.  "It's right here.  In a safe spot."  She pulled out one of three pages, leaving the other two hidden.  "Here you are."

         The man reached out to take the roll from her hand, but realizing there was only one sheet, grabbed hold of her wrist with his free hand.  "Watcha tryn' to pull, you guinea slut.  I know for a fact there are several pages to these documents.  I want all of them."

         With her free hand, she threw a handful of gravel and sand into his face, scooped up from her initial shove to the ground.  Startled, the man's hands flew up to cover his eyes from the onslaught.  With the toe of her worn boot, Roxie kicked upward, aiming for the man's groin in the manner taught to her by older brothers.  Littlefield's knees buckled, and he went down hard, the sheet still clutched in one hand, the knife in another.  Wasting no time in the retrieval of either, she gathered up her skirts and ran like hell.
__________________

        Fr. Kevin leaned against the wall outside the bank, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.  He could not remember a time when he had felt as bad as he did now.  How he had managed to get from the rectory to the bank, he wasn't sure.  He felt as if his legs were made of jelly, and unable to hold him up.  He was exhausted from hours of retching and diarrhea, and he had begun to count each breath he took, afraid that if he stopped counting, they would cease coming.  Mrs. McBride had done all she could to try and stop him, including bracing her rotund frame in front of the door and forbidding him to exit.  But he had insisted, going as far as to threaten her with mortal sin he'd refuse to forgive if she did not let him pass.  She eventually relented, weeping all the time that they were sure to find his dead body somewheres on the streets of Boston.  Now, as the clock above his head struck fifteen minutes before the hour, he was sure her words would end up prophetic.

          They were supposed to have met at 4:30 in front of the very same bank that had started this adventure.  But now, at a quarter to five, he had the sinking feeling that this was not to be.  She was nowhere in sight, and the bank employees inside scuttled about preparing for closing time at 5:00 PM.
He knew that he'd never be able to make the trip back the following day.  Hell, he didn't think he could even make the walk back to the rectory this very evening.  He slid down the wall, and settled himself against the bricks, garnishing stares of disdain and disgust from the foot traffic around him.

          He closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, thinking about the happy and sad times of his life, and praying that his Lord would welcome his return home. He hoped that his family would all know how much he loved them, as a shard of guilt sliced into him over the fact that he hadn't spent much time with his mother at Maureen's wedding. He fought not to think of Roxie here, in 1849, without him, and begged his heavenly Father to allow her to return to her own time.  He sat that way, for what seemed like a very long time, until a pair of arms seemingly wrapped themselves around his own.

           Eyes still closed, he mumbled.  "Is that you, Lord.  Have you come to take me home?"

           The female voice caught him off guard.  "Damn it, Kev.  You have to help me lift you up... just a little here.  You're like dead weight.  Plus, you smell like shit."

___________________________

Maureen plans an Irish Intervention

        "I don't believe it, Ted!  Not for a moment!  I know Kevin's been acting odd...but a woman?  Roxie?  It's just not possible!"

         Beckett watched as his wife chopped the makings of a salad, and considered taking the knife out of her hands until she was calmer.  "Look, babe.  I'm just telling you what I heard.  He was on his cell, talking to someone, and he referred to them as 'my love'.  Now, unless your brother's come out of the closet, he was talking to a woman.  And who could it be in the week we were gone, except for Roxie."

         She shook her head, the red wavy curls bouncing with her vehemence.   "You don't know him like I do, Ted.  He just wouldn't do that.  Wouldn't break his vows.  It just goes against ever fiber in his body.  His vocation is everything to him.  It's who he is.  I've never met anyone who is so...so naturally...religious.  You had to have heard wrong.  Or misinterpreted the conversation."

          He sighed, and munched on a slice of cucumber that had flown off the cutting board, most likely in fear of her manic chopping.  "I hate when you're like this.  When it comes to your family, you refuse to hear any thoughts other than your own.   I admit it, Kevin's a nice guy.  Solid.  But, he's still a human being, Maureen.  Capable of succumbing to the same temptations as the rest of us.  Especially when he's drinking.  Alcohol does lower one's...inhibitions...as you can so readily attest to."  He gave her a salacious wink, and she blushed a perfect shade of pink, throwing another cucumber directly at him.

       "I'll give you that.  We O'Kenneys have had our difficulties with alcohol, that's for sure.  Patrick almost screwed up his entire marriage with his drinking, and Brendan's heading in the same direction if he doesn't shape up.  And Daniel...well, you know the bad luck he's had.  I suppose even Kevin could suffer from the family curse."

        "Family curse?  That's a new one.  You've never mentioned any 'curse' before."

         "Oh, for sure.  My Granny O'Kenney sat Kev and me down when we were kids.  Told us the family had a long history with the fey."

           He snorted his disbelief, and put his hands in front of him to guard the next incoming vegetable. "Oh, so now your family is part of the fairy kingdom.  Gimme me a break, love.  You don't honestly believe that nonsense, do you?  Just accept the fact that St. Kevin doesn't exist, and no wee folk made him sin."

            Maureen narrowed her eyes, and put the knife on the table, which was a great relief to her husband.  "Don't make fun of me Theodore Beckett!  You know perfectly well that I don't believe that my family is descended from the fairies.  That would be ridiculous.  The fey are a totally different race of beings."  She watched as he rolled his eyes, but continued.  "My Granny said that we O'Kenney's had some type of connection with the Sidhe.  That we were...different.  More open to magic then other people.  Some how, we seem to attract the attention of things not of the natural world."

            He tried not to laugh, as that would only make her more agitated, a reaction he hoped to avoid after the fuss of the day.  With perfect seriousness, he asked, "And you think Kevin's 'issues" have something to do with magic?"

            She nodded, trying to gauge his level of belief.  "I do.  Something strange, anyway.  Kevin would never act the way he's acting if there was not something ...unusual at work here.  We need to go see him, Ted.  Make him understand he could fight this.  My Granny taught me a...a...oh I don't want to say spell 'cause you'll think I'm crazy.  But a ritual of sort...to make peace with the fey. We'll have to go there as soon as I round up the things I need."  Her voice trailed off,  her mind obviously somewhere else.

            "You're off your nut if you think I'm going over to that man's home and being part of some hoo-doo nonsense.  That's not going to happen.  I'm the damn Sheriff.  And there's no such thing as fairies...or magic...or secret rituals."

             "Fine.  You don't have to go.  I'll do it myself."

             "Absolutely not.  I forbid it.  I'm not letting my pregnant wife go traipsing off to preform some rain dance in the rectory of the local Church.  Forget this whole insane idea."

               "Look, Ted.  You're my husband, and I love you.  But I have to do whatever it takes to help my brother.  His whole life is in peril.  He can't leave the church.  In the end, it would kill his spirit, and Roxie's too.  And if this is the only way, I have to at least try.  Think of it as...an Irish intervention of sorts."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved

       


   
     

           

   

Leave it To Love

 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

 

Beckett observes the activities...and conversations... in the rectory

     Beckett stood on the porch, momentarily stunned.  The guy had shut the door in his face.  There was no other way to describe it.  He had been put off, and told to scram.  That in itself wasn't unusual.  Most people with things to hide liked to keep them that way, especially from law enforcement.  But this was Kevin O'Kenney.  Caring pastor and all around nice guy, as well as doting big brother.  From the day she had blown into town, Maureen's business was also Kevin's, so his blase, dismissive attitude was suspicious.  It appeared that his wife was correct.  Something strange was going on over at Holy Family.

    He considered his next option.  As the town's sheriff, he could insist, and the fact he was also the guy's brother-in-law, might lend weight to situation.  But experience had taught that he'd gain a lot more information by stealth observation. With little fan fare, he turned and headed back to his car, making no attempt to hide his departure.  He drove a few blocks away, sliding his distinctive black Mustang in the busy parking lot of the town's shopping center, and made his way back on foot.  Part of him felt silly running the whole covert operation thing on Kevin.  After all, the guy was Catholic priest, and his wife's brother.  It wasn't likely he was involved in anything seriously questionable.  Then again, he thought about the whole kidnapping thing with Marzano, and how the parish priest had gotten himself involved with syndicate money.  Images of Cassie floated in the back of his mind, and a hundred warning bells went off in his head.  If there was any chance at all that the psycho bitch had reappeared, then he needed to know exactly what was going on.

         Beckett walked the half mile back to the rectory, coming up on the street just behind Holy Family.  Unlike urban neighborhoods, the properties butted up next to the ones behind, with no alleys or walkways between them.  Holy Family was set on four lots, with the church in the front, and the small house that served as the rectory in the rear. That property had been owned by the diocese for nearly 75 years, and the grounds boasted several full grown trees, and over grown hedges, allowing the sheriff to
easily come up to the buildings without being observed.  He had been pestering the priest to remove some of the brush since he had moved there, siting it as a major security issue.  But at this precise moment, he was grateful O'Kenney had chosen to ignore him, and he was able to make his way toward the back of the building without being seen.

        He paused at the window furthest in the rear, the large bay that gave him a complete view of the rectory's kitchen.  From where he stood, he could easily see into the room, which was currently empty.  Remnants of a breakfast meal were still left out on the table, but there was no sign of the priest.  Beckett moved quietly to the other side of the house, to the windows that overlooked the parlor and front hall, and hoped his brother-in-law had not decided on an afternoon nap, as the second floor would be harder to access.  Luck was with him, as he spied the priest cross-legged on the floor of the room, a sea of books, papers, and maps spread around him in a complete circle.  His full attention was focused on the screen of a lap top propped on his knees, and the sheriff could hear him muttering and swearing in Gaelic, a language he had always professed to know only bits and pieces of.  He stopped, taking hefty swigs from an opened bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, and grunting in appreciation.

         Crazy enough, it was the bottle of vodka that alarmed Beckett the most.  Anyone who knew Fr. Kevin O'Kenney, knew the man detested vodka, the reason a favorite family story amongst the large Irish clan.  He himself had heard the story first hand, shortly after he had started dating Maureen.  It seemed that after high school graduation, Kevin, and a group of his friends had headed to the Cape for a beach party, as was the local custom.  During the celebration, the new graduate had imbibed nearly an an entire bottle of rot gut vodka, resulting in him being  embarrassingly ill for several hours afterward, and vowing never to touch the wretched spirit again.  It seemed inconceivable that in the week or so since he and Maureen had been gone, her brother would have developed a taste for this particular selection of alcohol.  His wife was right.  Something was off in her brother's behavior.

         He watched the man for several minutes, contemplating what he should do next.  As odd as the behavior was, it still wasn't against the law for someone to sit in their own home and drink vodka. He considered using a ruse to get the man to leave the rectory so that he could have a chance for further conversation,or even exploration, but before he could dial the number, the priest's cell phone blared from a spot on the floor.  His brother-in-law seemed startled by the sound, and paused before picking up the phone and placing it near his ear.  From his spot next to the window, Beckett strained to hear the conversation.

          "Hello?   Ah..it's you.  No.  I haven't found anything.  You?"  The priest ran his hand through unkempt red hair, and then took another long drink from the bottle next to him.  "Miracle?  No, my love.  We both know there are no such things."

          From his position at the window, Beckett felt a mental whack to his head.  Did the priest just call someone "my love"?  Hell, this just put a whole new spin on everything going on.  A woman in Kevin's life?   It was unthinkable, and on the same hand, made perfect sense.  The woman.  She had to be Maureen's friend, Roxanne.  The priest's blast from the past.  He had teased the guy unmercifully about her coming to town for the wedding, but never had truly believed there was any way the guy would break his vows.  When it came to his vocation, Kevin had seemed the genuine thing.  On the other hand, he was still a human being, with the same feelings and desires as everyone else.   Was this the reason for the man's odd state?  He put his ear near the glass, hoping for additional information, but feeling a tad guilty for eavesdropping on someone he considered a friend.

         "Are you well?  Safe?  Yes...it is quite strange, all of it.  But wonderful.  No, I don't know how long it will last.  Or even how it happened.  But there must be some logical answer to this all.  The universe is an orderly place, we just lack the sense to understand it."

          Wow, Kev.  Mr. Romance you're not.  I guess not a lot of practice, huh?  

         "No, faic tusan...you best stay where you are at.  The less that know, the better. We must be cautious."  There was a deep sigh, and the man continued. "Yes, I understand... I long for you too.  But I need some time to...to get things in order.  It is best that way."

           Hell.  This is gonna cause a big pile of shit. 

          "Yes. Soon.  Very soon.  Then we can disappear.  You have my word, love."

           The conversation ended on that note, leaving Beckett wondering just how he was going to break news of this sort to his pregnant wife.  Or even if he should.

____________________________________

             There wasn't much time.  Of that she was sure of.  Kevin had looked awful, and there was little doubt that his condition would get steadily worse with each passing hour.  Finding a longitude and latitude map of Boston had proved impossible, and she thought of how she had taken the access of the internet for granted back in her time.  Within her heart, she was positive the library was the right spot, the portal in which she and Kevin traveled.  But the skeptic in her wanted...no needed... verification.  And now it seemed this important objective was going to be impossible.  Though the public library was open, access to the types of materials she needed was not within her reach as the impoverished, immigrant class she was.  Yet another freedom she had taken for granted in modern day Boston.

            She would have to go with her common sense and gut feeling on this one.  It had, on many occasions, been the key to difficult situations, and for Kevin's sake, she hoped her luck would hold out.  They had made plans to meet on the corner closest to the bank, at 4:30, in hopes of re-staging the original moment this all had happened, and when she had left the library, it was already well after 4.  Now, as she hurried toward the meeting spot, apprehension that none of this would work, built in her head like a ticking bomb.  So focused was she on the situation at hand, she never noticed the man following several steps behind her, and when the shove came, she wasn't at all prepared.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved