Page 66 of Cillian

Made me feel like she really saw me.

I could have asked Oisín anything about mum, or vice versa and both of them would have come up short for what they knew about each other. It had been an arranged marriage to fulfill the pursuit of keeping the family Irish—from Cork, no less. But I fancy knowing things about Queenie. The things I didn't know, I wanted to know them.

We would probably lose a night in sales, but a Ginger Rogers picture was playing and I had planned to clear out the theater for a private show.

It was still pretty new to be a married couple of different races in public. I was still adjusting and learning how to navigate that space to prevent another malt shop incident from happening, but I was committed to not keeping her caged up inside the house so she could show off all those pretty dresses she had gotten tailored.

“Queenie?” I yelled. Nothing feeling a miss so far; it wasn’t like she wasn’t known for going on walks or drives when the maid service came in. Guess it made her feel uncomfortable to watch people clean our messes.

Or she could have been just been taking a nap. Most times she was waiting for me, enthusiastically running into my arms when I got home. That or cooking. But only the smell of maid service and peonies stretched across the penthouse. My only other guess was she was in the shower.

I wanted to get cleaned up before I saw her but I wasn't opposed to joining her in our effort to get clean. Even if we got dirty on our way to get there.

Replacing the old flowers with new ones, I laid down my coat jacket tiptoeing toward the washroom that hosted the shower. As if in unison, the phone rang and thinking it could have been her, I instinctively went for that first.

“If you want to see the girl again, you're going to do what I fucking say.” An old country accent on the other end spoke. It wasn't Americanized like mine. So, they were either older or fresh off the boat.

“Who the fuck is this?” My blood boiled with rage.

“Consider me an old friend. Follow these instructions. You're gonna go to Rebel City—your brother's restaurant—an hour from now. You're going to receive a call. You don't answer, the Colored girl dies.”

“Who the fuck is this?” I yelled, but before I got an answer, the phone went dead. With so little time to process what I had heard, I screamed at the top of my lungs, tossing the light fixture closest to me against the wall.

It shattered, as I had been seconds away from ripping the phone from the wall, but I thought against it since this seemed like a situation I’d have to call my brothers for. For all the changes he had made, Tadhg had nearly everything figured out.

Dare I say, he was better at leading this family better than Oisín had been, completely transforming how we did things in a matter of three years. He was particular, but if anyone would know what to do, he would.

But I had to call him now. I couldn't miss that call at Rebel City.

“Hello?” Tadhg said, picking up on the fourth ring. That was his thing, he never picked up before the fourth ring.

“Tadhg, you gotta round everyone up. It's a fucking emergency?—”

“Slow down, Cilly. I can hardly understand you.” He spoke over me.

“They took her.”

“Who took who?” Tadhg asked for clarification, with as minimal emotion as he held with most conversations.

“My fucking wife—they took my fucking wife! I don't know who they are, but when I find out I'm going to fucking kill them. They're all dead?—”

“What fucking happened?” With so little detail, I could only repeat what I had been told. But the words didn't come. All I could tell Tadhg was that I didn't have time to waste and if that if he came to Rebel City, I would tell him what I had to tell him then. I had already wasted so much time and I couldn't miss this call.

***

“Breathe in, breathe out. You're turning beet red, and that's saying a lot for a ginger.” Tadhg’s poor attempt at calming me down.

Bellamy, the last of us to reach Rebel City, walked through the doors and joined us at the booth.

The place was filled with our people; roles as high as enforcers, roles as low as footman. Everyone was waiting on orders and since Tadhg didn’t move until his second was by his side, I decided to wait until he showed up so I only had to tell the story once.

“Alright, Bell’s here. We’ve got five minutes before the call. Tell us what the lad that rung you said.”

“It was a short conversation. Straightforward. I have your wife and if you want her alive, go to Rebel City in an hour and don't miss that call. Only thing that stood out about it was he had an old country accent kind of like Pa. He also said he was an old friend. I had no idea who it fucking was.”

Banging my frustration onto the table. That had been one of the major drawbacks of spending time in prison. It meant I wasn't used to new faces and I had been too wet and reckless for Pa to hand me half the responsibilities Tadhg had, to learn the old ones.

“Maybe you should just let me do the talking when the call comes. We want the best outcome. The outcome where your wife comes out unharmed. And you're no good to us or Elizabeth. When you're like this?—”

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