Calling Up Trouble in More Than One Form

                 

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

                         

Brian explains things to Fr. Kevin

    "Aye, laddie. It be me what ya eyes are seein'.  I am no small happy to see that yourself is no worse for the wear after your journey.  Canna say I was not a wee bit in angst over the whole shenanigans."

     "You knew?  You knew I went...went back in time."

     "Aye.  The Sidhe are well aware when the here and now is shaken.  Happens more than most mortals imagine.  They just keep their wee mouths closed about it all, less the common folk think them touched in the noggin'"  He rolled his finger about his head, and crossed his tiny brown eyes.  "Just agreed that it is far better to have you here than there."  He ran a hand over his lips, wiping away any trace of honey, and then licked his palm clean.  "And the lesson?  You've discovered it?"

     "Lesson?  I'm not sure what you mean.  All I know is one minute I was standing in a bank vault in 2014, and the next I find myself 116 years in the past!  No clue how...or why, for that matter.  If there was a lesson in all of that, then I've surely missed it.  I'm just grateful to the Lord Almighty that I'm back here in one piece."

      The little man made a clucking noise, and shook his head in disgust.  "I'd have thought himself a much wiser mortal than it appears.  How can ya not have alearned yourself to the lesson?  Your Granny would be most disappointed in her wee laddie."

       His indignation rising, Fr. Kevin shot up from the sofa, remembering the state of his head and stomach too late to prevent the pounding and rolling.  The fact that the little man had not made an appearance in several months, and was now here to scold him, rankled his pride.  "Look, my friend,  I'm just flat out lucky to have made it back home alive.  Did you know I ended up with cholera?  Cholera, for pete's sake!  People died from that disease in 1849!  A lot of them!  The same thing could've happened to me, and you sit here chewing me out because I didn't learn some life altering lesson?"  He lowered his lanky body back down, this time slower, and with deliberate care.
"Frankly, I think you're being entirely insensitive to what I've been through."

         The clobhair-ceann (clurichaun) slid his small body off the the sofa, and took possession of the bottle of Guinness still left from Maureen's earlier ministrations.  "Himself is far too surly to deal with the fey.  Me thinks ya should take a deep breath and calm your fire down a mite.  I offer only what I know.  A lesson unlearned leads to yet another challenge.  One that grows with your lack of understanding."

       "Are you telling me this could happen again?  That I could just be...swept away again into someone else's life?"  The thought chilled him, and he let out an involuntary shudder.

       The wee figure shrugged his shoulders.  "Can not say, laddie.  The truth is..."  He paused, taking a long sip from the bottle in his hand. "... everything that turns does so for a reason.  Every leaf that falls, every tear that's shed, every kiss that's given...has a purpose.  There is no random.  Your adventure?  Not a thing of chance.  You best figure out the why of it, is all I'm sayn'."  Brian paused a moment, and examined the items still strewn on the floor of the rectory's parlor.  "But, your quest is not the reason I'm here."  He pointed to the trampled herbs and flowers, and the food he had not yet devoured.  "I'm here about this."

        Kevin glanced at the menagerie left on his carpet.  He had seen it earlier, but in his frantic attempt to locate Roxanne, had paid it little mind.  Then, his physical state took over all consideration, and the mess, plus the reason it was there, went unattended.  "Yeah.  I was wondering why this stuff is all over my floor.  I meant to ask Maureen, but then things got...confused, and she and Ted left.  I wasn't in the mood to discuss what had happened, so I was glad to see them go."  He gathered a crushed daisy in his hand, and looked at it oddly.  You're here because of this stuff?"

          Brian nodded, his odd, little face grim.  "Aye.  I was officially called."

          For a second, confusion reigned, and then the priest remembered a certain evening a year earlier, when he had first set out his own fairy circle.  "These items.  They're part of a fairy circle."

           "Aye.  That it is, laddie."

           "But...who?  How?"

           He finished the ale with a long gulp, smacking his lips over the last drop. "The wee red head.  She set out the items, then called upon the Sidhe.  I'd not heard the greeting in a long, long while.  Would have been better in the old tongue, but still quite impressive in it's strength."

            "Maureen?  She called a fairy circle?  Here in the rectory?"

            The clurichaun raised one dark eyebrow.  "Aye.  As did himself several moons ago.  But the sweet flanna (red headed girl) went a step further, and recited the old invitation.  Any fey in the area could not have resisted."

            The priest gave the room a once over, fighting the urge to check the closets and the space under the furniture.  "They'd come here?  Right now?  To the rectory."

             "Relax, laddie.  I be the only one here in the present."  He moved in closer to the priest, and in a voice not much louder than a spirit's whisper, added, "But the flanna...she has surely caught the attention of 'Herself'."

             "Herself?  Who do you mean?"  The priest's voice seemed to echo around the room, and the little man shushed him with a warning finger pressed to his lips.  "The one who is above all others.  Her Majesty...Meadhbh."

             It took only a second for Kevin to translate the Gaelic.  "Maeve?  You mean THE Maeve?"

            Brian waved his arms frantically, willing him to lower his voice.  "Aye.  She be the one.  Tis quite rare for her to make an appearance among the common folk, especially this far from the Ole Country.  Why she was here, I canna say.  But here she was, called to this place by the flanna's circle and greeting."

             Racking his brain for what knowledge he could, was more than difficult in his present state.  "So...her appearance here?  Is it a good thing?  Or bad?"

             Brian shrugged, his little shoulders touching the lobes of his pointy ears.  "Canna say for sure.  Her Majesty's moods change with the shifting of the wind.  History has proved that it is best not to have  Meadhbh's scrutiny.  She can find humans to be...quite amusing.  It be best that she forget entirely your flanna, though she has been known to have favorites among the common folk."

            The hammer in his head vibrated against his temples.  Maureen involved with the Sidhe was an issue with so many levels of trouble, it was hard to fathom where to begin.
                                                       

Maureen calls up trouble

__________________________________

         If the state of her apartment was any indication, Roxanne Spinelli's life was in total disarray.  Every item of clothing she owned was out of drawers and closets, and in piles around her studio apartment.  Her one piece of good luggage was open on the bed, bits and pieces of her belongings stuffed inside with little thought on how they would look when they were taken out at a later date.  Her purse was turned over on it's side, her checkbook, and cash laid out on the table in neat little piles. But it was the large bouquet of flowers stuffed in her emptied cookie jar that caused her the most confusion.  The card next to the arrangement read,  To Roxie...best of luck in your next chapter!  We will miss you!
The message was signed Rachel, Tiffany and Ruth, three of her best friends from the strip club where she danced.

          Miss her?  Where the hell was she going?  While she was busy barely surviving in 1849, what in God's name was the crazy woman dong here in her body?   And where was Kevin?  She had tried repeatedly to reach his cell, but the calls all went directly to voice mail.  Had he made it out of the past? And if he hadn't, just what could she even do about it?

           She wondered if he had a land phone, and reasoned that it being the rectory, one would be  necessary.  Dialing directory assistance, she asked for the number for Holy Family rectory in Dollyville, Massachusetts, and waited, breath held, as the phone rang several times.

Roxanne tries to reach Kevin

___________________________________
                                 

Storms Ahead

            The sky had turned a muddy, green color by the time Beckett was wrapping things up at the station, and he could hear the first rumblings of thunder several miles off in the distance.  The weather matched his foul mood, his head tied up with problems both at home and abroad.  The Powers that Be were significantly unhappy with the way things had gone down in Mexico, and were pressing for his return to tie up lose ends.  It wasn't that he disagreed with their take on the situation.  What should have been an easy drop and out, had turned into a major cluster fuck, due entirely to his wife's presence on the mission.  He owed his reputation an opportunity to return and make things right.

         But that wasn't going to happen when the psycho bitch was still roaming around on the outskirts of his life, another situation in which he was fully to blame.  There was no reason on earth that this woman could not be caught.  His men were trained operatives, used to tracking people all the time.  She seemed to have ungodly luck in getting out of tight corners, and remaining hidden.   She was brilliant.  No doubt about that.  It was that crazy genius of hers that drew him in the first place.  An intellect that matched his own in every way.  Stunning good looks, yes, but it was her mind that kept him hooked like a fish on the line.  So, it shouldn't be any surprise that she was still in the game, unwilling to give up, or give in.

          His phone pinged with an incoming message, and he reached for it, expecting that it would be Maureen checking in on his arrival.  But the number on the screen was one he didn't recognize, and the fact that it was a media message gave him pause.  He pressed the screen, and the image appeared, all white flesh, with just the sliver of red at her throat.  For a second he stared at the photo, the ribbon around her neck reminding him how easy a human throat was to cut.  Then, he deleted the message, and tossed the phone on the seat next to him, the first heavy rain drops hitting his windshield with a barrage of splats.
                                     

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved

             

       

 

Of Fate, Faeries, and Fact

     

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 works at keeping Maureen safe

     It was very weird.  No doubt about it.  He did seem...well...different then he had earlier in the day.  Still drunk as hell, and a rumpled mess, but less hostile, and more like the guy he'd know for over a year.  He didn't think for one minute that Maureen's silly fairy nonsense had anything to do with it.  That had been a coincidence, or more likely, Kevin just pulling his sister's leg.  But she had given him an out for his irresponsible behavior, and it was only human nature for her brother to take advantage of it.  From his observation, the O'Kenneys did behave "over the top" emotional, and far too dependant on one another, an opinion his wife didn't share.

        Whatever the reason, Beckett was glad to see Kevin more in control of himself.  Something had obviously gone down between the priest and Maureen's family friend, Roxanne, while they had been away in Mexico.  Whatever had happened was no business of his, but getting Maureen to agree would be a challenge.  In the meantime, he had problems of his own that took precedence.  It was beyond his understanding how the crazy bitch could elude a team of four trained operatives as well as she had.  Granted, they were acting as civilians, and were without the comforts and toys government backing would offer.  Still, his men should have easily been able to track down the woman's location, and keep her under direct surveillance.  The fact that they had been unable to physically verify her presence had him more than a bit concerned.

           From his patrol car, he watched his wife move around the deli, helping the Schiller's with the late afternoon, pre-dinner crowd.  At least she'd be occupied for the next several hours.  Glancing in the rear view mirror, he could see the telephone company truck parked several feet down the block, and breathed a little easier.  His men, assigned to keep an eye on Maureen while he was away.  They'd do a perimeter search on a regular basis, though in his mind it seemed highly unlikely Cassie would make a move in broad daylight.  The fact that she remained unfound this long lay testament to the fact that she was very smart, and very careful.  Still, the detail assigned to his wife gave him peace of mind, and would remain in place until he was sure the threat was no longer viable.

         On that note, he dug the cell phone from his pocket, and tapped the icon for Mike Nolan.  The phone rang only once before it was answered.

          "Yeah, Boss."

          "Any change?"

          "No, Sir.  We tracked that lead in Montpelier, Vermont.  It looked like a definite location.  A room rented, an ATM card used, a rental car booked. Even a prescription ordered at the local drug store. We thought we had a hit for sure.  Biggs and Thompson staked out the motel for 3 days.  No sign that anyone actually checked in.  The desk clerk confirms the room was paid for by credit card, but that the guest had never arrived.   Same with the car and prescription.  We can try and get hold of the ATM surveillance tape, but I'm guessing it won't show anyone using the machine for that transaction.  It's like she's a fuckn' ghost.  Everything done on line."

          "You checked the servers?"  Once the question was out of his mouth, he regretted asking.  The pronounced 'tisk' on the other end verified the man's annoyance at being second guessed.

           "Of course we did, Captain.  Checked, and rechecked.  All bounced around several locations across the globe.  Complicated pattern.  This broad's good.  Very good.  Too bad we can't get her to work for our side.  She'd be a hell of an asset."

          The thought of having Cassie as part of his team made him shudder.  She knew his weak spots as well as he knew hers.  Forging a relationship with her had been a monumental mistake, blinded as he was by her inherent ability to feed into his deepest needs.  He had few regrets in his life, and the psycho bitch was one of them.  Now this huge error in judgement was a monkey on his back, one he needed to shake off.  "Sorry, Mike.  I know you guys are doing your best, especially with privacy being an issue in all of this.  I appreciate the loyalty."

         "No worries, Cap.  You've covered my ass on more than one occasion.  Frankly, I'm intrigued by this target.  She seems quite the little minx.  I know it's weird to say, but the way she laid out the C-4 on your house was...well...genius level.  She was able to take the whole building out with only three detonations.  Most operatives would've felt the need to hit at least four corners.  Never thought to breach the main porch supports as she did.  The babe knows her physics.  Plus, she's got an ass on her that'd give a man a wet dream.  I can see why you were attracted."  There was no response, so Nolan continued.  "No offense offered, Captain.  Just sayn', is all.  We'll keep tracking her.  Keep you updated on what we find.  It's only a matter of time until she gets bored and or sloppy, and screws up.  Then we'll have her."

           Beckett looked up, and watched as Maureen helped an elderly woman carry groceries to her car.  She caught his stare, and then smiled and waved, the early evening sun making the curls on her head shine like new pennies.  The sight made a knot in his throat, and he grunted in disgust at this show of weakness, causing him to sound much more gruff then he'd planned.  "I hope so, Nolan.  Do whatever you have to...but find that crazy bitch!"

__________________________

Trouble comes to town

      It took well over an hour to finish the email to her satisfaction.  She had gone through several drafts and edits, changing words and restructuring sentences, to get the message across in the manner she'd wished.  There was a certain way to get through to Teddy.  Trigger words she had learned in their months together.  There was no way he'd be able to resist the offer she was making.  What man could? They all wanted more than their share.  It was how they were made.  Selfish and demanding.  That dumb piece of fluff could have the title.  The "dutiful husband show" the rest of the world would see.  The white picket fence and the mini van.  Even the baby.  She'd settle for the best part of him.  The one he worked so hard at hiding.

       She double checked that the link was working, then hit the "Save" button.  Rummaging in the back pack, Cassie located the burner phone she had bought a week earlier just outside of the state line.  Powering it up, she thought for a moment, than began to strip out of her clothing.  From the same back pack, she pulled out a crumpled red ribbon ripped from the handle of a gift bag, and tied it around her throat.  A media message "selfie" would have an even greater impact.

       Kneeling on a white sheet, she raised the smart phone over her head, careful that the back ground gave away no hints of her location, and snapped several shots from different angles.  Finding one that met with approval, she typed in a message and sent her future on its way.

___________________________

         He waited all of about 30 seconds after his sister and her husband had left the rectory to search for his cell phone.  The parlor was a complete mess, and despite frantic exploration, the device was no where to be found.  He used the land line to call himself, but had no luck.  Either the phone was on silent, or the battery was dead.  For the life of him, he could not remember Roxanne's cell number, having put it in his contact list a week ago, and never giving it another thought. And it wasn't like he could call and ask Maureen.  She'd never give it up without a hundred questions about why he needed it.  Like most people, he doubted Rox had a land line, so there was no way of making sure she was safe and sound from here in Dollyville.  He was sick with worry, not to mention the quantity of alcohol consumed by the now missing Fr. Murphy.  His head pounded, and he found himself teetering on wobbly legs.  In this shape, he couldn't even travel to Boston alone to check on her.
 
      For a moment, he considered calling Beckett, and throwing himself on the man's mercy.  He would explain what had happened.  Where he had been.  Why it was imperative that he get to Boston, and check on Roxanne.  Then the absolute absurdity of that situation hit him.  Beckett would never believe him.  Would never accept the fact that he had somehow time traveled to another period in history, and had been trapped in a different body.  Hell.  He didn't quite believe it himself, and he had lived it! No.  The Sheriff would surely have him committed to a mental hospital for observation.  And who could blame him?

       He plopped back on the sofa, and then regretted the sudden movement, as his head and stomach both revolted.  He felt his foot crush something soft, and squinting down through blood shot eyes, he wondered why the hell bread and honey was smashed into his carpet.  He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, hoping the room would stop spinning.  He sat there quietly for what seemed like only minutes, slowly dozing to a state of light slumber, until a voice in his ear caused him to awake with a start.

       "I see ya arrived back, laddie.  An none worse for the wear.  Ya be all in one piece, far as me ole' eyes can see.  Quite the adventure you be havin'"

        Kevin turned his head with deliberate care, learning his lesson about sudden movements.  The little man sat on the back of the sofa, a piece of bread in one hand, and his mouth smeared with something sticky that smelled suspiciously like honey.   "Brian?  Is that you?"
     

Company in the rectory

______________________________

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved.


       

       

For Every End, There is a Beginning

                   

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... happy to be home

        "For Pete's sake, Kevin!  Just what in the world are you looking for?  If you tell us, maybe we can help you find it"  Maureen stood at the bottom, yelling up the flight of stairs.  When no reply was offered, she wandered back into the living room, joining her husband on the sofa, who was busy examining the abandoned pocket watch.  "Well, he seems to be be back to normal.  Mostly."  She gave him a finger poke to the shoulder, which earned her an arched brow.  "I told you I knew what I was doing."

            "You don't really expect me to believe that this...this hoodoo nonsense did the trick, do you?  The man is pulling our leg for sure.  I bet he's upstairs having himself a good laugh over your fairy dance."

             "Honestly, Ted...you're the most cynical person I've ever met.  You saw it with your own eyes, and you still claim disbelief.  Kevin is back to normal!"

              "Then why the hell is he racing around the rectory?  Explain that.  I think he's just embarrassed to have been caught going on a bender, and you offered him an easy out.  I suspect that he'll sober up a bit more and then apologize profusely for his...indiscretion."  He held the watch up, the gold cover reflecting the late afternoon sun from the parlor window.  "You ever see this before?"

                She shook her head.  "No, I don't think so.  My Dad had a pocket watch.  It was his father's.  But that one was silver, and I know for a fact that Patrick has it.  He wore it on our wedding day."  She fingered the fob hanging from his palm, but before she could inspect it, found it it ripped from her hand by a returning Kevin.

               "That belongs to me."  He shoved the time piece in his pants pocket, and without a single shred of additional information, headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

________________________________________

              He felt lousy.  Queasy, with his head pounding, but...Thank the Lord Almighty... alive.  A hundred percent alive, and back to his own time and place.  He swept his eyes over the church grounds, over grown and weedy, but blessedly here in the 21st Century.  He tried to remember the final few seconds before he'd "jumped", but could only recall bit and pieces.  He on the floor of the bank's vault, so sick and exhausted.  Wanting to get the words out while he could.  Roxie in that strange body, covering his mouth.   And then, nothing.  Nothing at all until he woke up here on the sofa, staring up into Maureen's face, with no clue as to why she was there or what she was doing.

             His first thoughts had been for Roxanne.  Had she jumped with him?  Was she here in this time and space?  It was obvious she wasn't in the rectory, but reasoning...if there was any reasoning involved in all of this craziness...would put her where ever the other women had been at the time of the jump.  He needed to find her.   Make sure she was alright.  That she had really made it through the time warp too.  She surely must have, as the alternative wasn't knowledge he could live with.

_________________________________
                               

A storm gathers near the Cape

            From the second floor window of the beach house, she could see the storm moving over the water, the clouds heavy and dark.  She paused at the window for a few seconds, and then went about her business, setting the lap tops nearest the outlets.  Despite the gloom of the approaching bad weather, the huge palladium windows allowed enough light to work by.  Though it would have been helpful, she resisted the urge to turn on any lights, less it attract the attention of the neighbors who might find it odd in a house that rightfully should be empty.

          It was an old ploy, but one that had been successful in the past.  Most people never imagined that the things they were looking for might be right under their very noses.  For over a week, she'd been able to lead his people on a merry goose chase over five different states, while never being more than 100 miles from their very location.  They were good, but she was better.  And now he was back.  Of that she was certain.  Teddy might know the ins and outs of staying under the radar, but the silly bitch obviously did not.  First, it was that $3.59 purchase at the airport in Florida, then a cell phone call from Logan International.  It was things like that, things people took for granted, that made them track able.

           All she needed was a chance to talk to him.  Explain things from her perspective without the little twit's interference.  If he wanted to be married, so be it.  She could live with a part time arrangement.  Had done it plenty of times.  But he needed her as much as she needed him.  What they had went beyond a simple relationship.  It was symbiotic in nature...he could dish it out, and she could take it.  A complicated dance that was at the core of who they were.  She just needed Teddy to understand that.  Cross legged on the floor, she pulled the computer into her lap and struggled with the right words as the downpour finally reached the shores of the Cape.

____________________________

           She awoke with a start, mouth open and gasping for air.  It had been the same way the first time, the feeling that she was suffocating.  But unlike the initial jump, her return was a joyful realization that she was back where she belonged.  The water from the shower head beat down on her head and shoulders, and a look down at her naked self was proof enough that she was back.  The long narrow toes, painted purple and pink, the scar at the ankle left over from a childhood accident, the dancer's legs.  All there in a complete package.

          She turned the knob, and the water ran to a trickle, a luxury she would never again take for granted.  She grabbed the shower curtain, and was about to pull it back, then had a thought.  Kevin.  Did he travel with her?  Would he be on the other side of the tub?  And she standing there stark naked?
The thought made a giggle rise somewhere in the back of her throat.  Awkward, to say the least.  She grabbed the plastic, and draped it in front of her, then poked her head out.

              "Hello?  Anybody there?  Kevin...?"

           Her voice echoed in the empty bathroom.  She was alone.  At least here in the shower.  She reached for a towel, and stepped out of the tub, drying herself off in the process.  The sight of her worn terry cloth rub hanging on the door hook, her dirty clothes in a pile next to the hamper made her want to weep.  She was home.  Safe at home.
           

Home again

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved


         

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