It’s a question I refuse to ask myself because even if I knew the answer, which I don’t, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. Ace is dead. Irish is as good as dead. What our conversation did do is explain her reasonings. It’s clear she wants me to move forward with Eoin.
I won’t. Even if I wanted to try, I know the relationship would be short-lived if the key feeling isn’t reciprocated, and regardless of what she thinks, I don’t love him.
I tried to force things with Delaney. I didn’t want to hurt him or let him down, but in the end, I succeeded in doing both. My taking four years to reach the conclusion that I no longer wanted to be with him almost destroyed him mentally. I’m not going through that with anyone else. I’m not saying it would bring Eoin O’Connell to his knees if we tried and subsequently failed, but I know he wants it all. The wife. The marriage. The children.
Do I even want more kids?
It would need to be all or nothing, and I can’t commit to all as easily as I can to nothing. I care, but it isn’t enough. I’d rather him face rejection now as opposed to in years to come. Surely Roisin must see the sense in that. It’s what she’s just admitted to doing for Irish. He deserves better than me. I want more for him.
Then why is it that I hate the thought of him being with anyone else? She’s right. I’m confused, and in turn, I’m confusing him. I’m not playing fair.
But now is not the time. At the moment, the chances of either of us getting out of here alive are slim to none.
I exhale. It’s dark. I have no idea what time it is, but I reckon we’ve been in here for around six hours, give or take.
“You should try to get some sleep.” I speak quietly. At least if she’s asleep and I accidentally drop a sword on her head, she won’t know anything about it.
She doesn’t answer, but I hear her breathing even out not much later.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
I’ve no idea how long passes. There’s no clock in here counting down the time to Roisin’s expected doom by my hand.
My arm aches. My fingers are numb.
But worst of all, I’m struggling not to fall asleep in the pitch dark. I keep jerking awake in a panic thinking I’ve let the rope go. My fingers are so cold that I can barely feel it, and I don’t want to adjust them in case I accidentally let it slip and kill my little boy’s grandma. I want to shout across to make sure she’s still okay, but there’s no point in both of us being awake.
So, I sit in the dark, surrounded by the non-existent stench of lilies and death and the unwelcome memories of Irish’s wedding.
Malky’s expecting to walk in tomorrow and find the deed done. As soon as Roisin’s dead, the blonde driver will be next as she’ll be surplus to requirements.
There really is only one option. I’ll have to let the rope go because there is no Plan B.
I spend the rest of the night jerking myself awake until I’m not sure whether I’m asleep or not, or whether it really is just one big nightmare.
* * *
Dawn’s breaking.
At least now I can see the rope, even though I still can’t feel it. My arm’s now threatening to snap. I can’t hold on much longer.
Roisin’s staring at me.
She knows it too.
Even though she’s slept, it’s clearly done her no great favors. She looks old and haggard. I can’t imagine I look much better. I can barely see out of my left eye, so the bruising to my cheek must be pretty extensive. What’s one more bruise if not just another visible reminder that you’ve survived one more day with what this life has to goddamn throw at you?
“I’m going to have to let go of the rope.” My voice sounds stark against the silence, and I can see my breath in the frigid air.
It feels like a morgue in here. Seems fitting somehow.
The church is closed for repairs because of the extensive damage suffered when The Exterminator took out the bad guys.
When The Exterminator took out the bad guys.My rifle is still behind The Virgin Mary in the room next door.
“I know.”
“I have access to a gun.”