Page 23 of The Scald Crow

“In the room with your da. I spoke to one of your brothers. I didn’t get his name.” She tilted her face, her gaze questioning.

“Perhaps you were speaking with my father’s ghost. Da always had to have the last word.” I shrugged, unsure of where our conversation headed.

“No, he called your father, da. I heard him. Tall. Blond. You couldn’t miss him.” She convinced me of one thing. She believed what she said.

“There was no one there, Calla.” I relived the moment—my father lying peacefully, his hands clasped together. Her voice echoed in my mind, speaking in comforting tones to someone.

“He walked away when you showed up. I’ve seen him before. I saw him at the Black Horse just last night.” She searched for answers, her brows creasing.

“Hmm.” I considered the probabilities. She could be a medium who spoke to spirits, but what of the other day? “You’re too late,” she had said. I prevented her fall but caused her physical pain. I recalled the fear running through her eyes. My blood ran cold, and I looked at her in a different light.

I offered my hand, testing her reaction. I expected her to walk away, and she did. I followed her down the dim hallway.

“What business do we have? What do you want?” She turned on her heel and leaned forward slightly, commanding my respect.

“I didn’t think you would be here.” I stalled for time. She was not a witch or a spirit medium. No, she was something else entirely.

“And yet here I am.” She clapped her hands together, waking me from the trance.

“I wanted to…well, once things settle down, could I show you around town? Help you get sorted in your new place?” I steadied myself. I questioned my assumptions. Could I be that far off base?

“My new place? You’re not much of a player, are you? Look, you’re a nice guy, Colm. Maybe even the full package.” She moistened her lower lip and then smiled.

She was, in a word––captivating. Yet, I was already aware of this. She possessed a dangerous allure, mesmerizing my thoughts with a whim.

“I’m a nice guy.” It would be so easy to lose myself in those starry eyes. I wondered where she would take me. The possibility filled my mind with unease.

“You’ll see me at the burial. If you’re okay with that?” Her voice soared with her rising eyebrows.

If I listened, I heard tinkling bells. That’s what Saoirse meant when she said Calla sang with the angels. The Angels or the Other Crowd?

“Yes, the day after tomorrow. Of course. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I thought. I’m glad you’re making friends.” My perception changed. Her kind were vengeful beings and not to be trusted.

“You’re glad I’m making friends? You’re funny, Colm.” She backed away but came to a hard stop in the middle of the hall.

I followed her gaze to the family portrait hanging on the wall–the last time we were all together, on the winter solstice seven years ago.

“There he is.” She pointed to the third brother from the left.

“That’s Ciarán.” My brother stared back from beyond a thin pane of glass, unsmiling—something I had never noticed before.

“Yeah? Well, that’s the guy.” Her voice dropped to a haunting whisper.

“That’s not possible. Ciarán’s gone, and he’s been gone a long time.” The hairs on my neck rose when Ciarán whispered, “Brother.”

“Oh, he’s not gone. I spoke to him. I saw him.” Calla shook her head. Her voice conveyed honesty. She believed.

“He is, Calla.” I disregarded her sincerity and ignored her words. A stabbing pain struck my frontal lobe, debilitating my mind. I retreated into the dark, suffocating hole where I had existed for the last seven years.

In the military, a well-known maxim emphasized the importance of teamwork, loyalty, and dedication to the mission: “Never leave a man behind.” That maxim represented an unbreakable bond of trust and commitment. Ciarán had been my mission, and I had failed him. I let him down when he needed me most, and guilt weighed heavily on my conscience.

“You’re not listening.” She batted my hand and walked away, leaving me staring after her, unable to respond.

Her words played in my mind like a broken record. “He’s not gone.”

I turned and slammed my hand against the wall. Plaster fragments fell to the floor, and the pictures swayed. Had I been blind? Had I accepted my brother’s fate too readily? The shadows whispered, and her words sank in. Ciarán lived.

* * *

---