Retribution

There was a hint of dawn in the sky. Tom should have been stiff from hours of sitting, or bored from watching the empty sidewalk in the side-mirror of his van, but he wasn't. He'd thought about this moment for seventeen-years. He'd planned it, dreamt of it, obsessed of it and today it was going to happen.

He stretched his fingers inside the black leather driving gloves, making sure they would not slip when the time came. A folding sunscreen filled the windscreen, hiding him from the front and tinted side windows made him basically invisible inside the cab of the van. He was content to wait, that's what prison had given him. Time to be patient.

A flash of movement in the wing-mirror attracted his attention. Tom knew it was the Judge by the way he moved. He half-jogged, half wobbled down the street. His extended gut swinging around inside an expensive Lycra exercise suit. Even though the day had still to begin he was wearing sunglasses, because in the Judge's opinion, important people should see, not be seen. As the Judge neared, Tom could see the last seventeen-years had aged the man who had taken his life apart, but that would buy him no sympathy. It was too little too late.

Tom rested his hand on the door-handle and waited. The Judge slowly closed in on the van, his head thrown back, looking down on the world as he passed. Three strides away, two, one...Tom threw the van door open nearly knocking the man into a hedge.

"Hay! Watch what you're doing, idiot!" the Judge yelled before properly looking at Tom, and when he did the shock showed in his face even though Tom couldn't see the man's eyes. He tried to get past the door but there wasn't enough room.

"What do you want?" the Judge cried, shrinking back from the man in the mask who was closing in on him.

"Justice," said Tom, quietly then rammed the tazer into the man’s chest and pulled the trigger.

***

Tom didn't know how long it would take the Judge to come around. He had poured a vial of Rohypnol into the man's mouth after he went down on the pavement, and at least some of it went in. It made transporting the Judge easy and quiet. Now he waited and watched the man move fitfully on the hard-concrete floor.

It was evening when the man finally sat up and rubbed his face, trying to get his brain to clear. Tom sat across from him, the warehouse was vast and bare. The Judge wasn't tied or gagged, but he was as caged as Tom had ever been. Slowly, the Judge started putting things together. Tom stood and moved to a spot where the Judge could see him.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, his voice slurred like a drunk.

"The same thing you did to me, taken away your freedom," Tom said, the mask he was wearing reflecting some of his words back at him making his voice sound...different.

"What do you mean?" asked the Judge, his mind still battling the drugs.

"You locked me up, now I've done the same to you."

"No way I'm staying here," the Judge said struggling to his feet. His fat-packed thighs were ridged from lying on the rough concrete floor. The Judge staggered toward the door and Tom did nothing to stop him. He simply waited. 

After ten minutes of pointless tugging, the Judge gave up trying to force the door and began searching for another way out. Tom knew he was wasting his time. The windows were twelve feet up the wall and there was only one door. Eventually the Judge returned to where Tom stood, some of his superior attitude starting to return.

"What is your name? Do you know how much trouble you're in?" Tom didn't dignify either question with a reply.

"I haven't seen your face, it’s not too late to let me go and walk away from all this."

"You took seventeen years of my life! How can I just forget that?"

"I was only doing my Job, if every..."

"NO! If you'd been doing your job, you would have seen that the case against me was bullshit! All you saw was a black man, a poor black man, which I am, but I'm also an innocent black man!"

"So, you came for revenge?"

"Exactly."

"If you're going to kill me, why didn't you do it back on the street. Why bring me here?" asked the Judge and Tom wondered if he was trying to logic his way into a better place than he stood?

"I'm not going to kill you," Tom said, and in his head the words sounded more than generous. 

"So why?"

Tom strode up and down before the Judge, enjoying having the power he'd been denied for so long. "Did you know that the first prisons came into existence in Babylon? Before that, justice was extracted through...retribution. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. You took my freedom, now I want yours."

"You can't leave me locked in here!"

"I can, and I will," said Tom. "But I'm not as cruel as you. Firstly, you have your own cell, and one much bigger than the one I had to call home. And second, I've left you a way out." Tom pointed at a manhole cover, slightly ajar.

"Down there?" he asked incredulously.

"It's another thing I learnt during my forced stay inside. During Roman times, prisoners were kept under the city, in the sewers. So, you've a choice. You can stay in here, with no food, no water. I think you might last two weeks, or even a month. It's up to you, but I'll tell you this, a minute down there is going to feel like a year," Tom said pointing at the manhole.

With nothing else to say, Tom walked to the door and unlocked the padlock. He heard the Judge rushing toward him. He swivelled and drew his tazer. 

"Back!" he said, stopping the Judge a few feet away. With the weapon trained on the Judge's chest, he unhooked the lock and opened the sliding door just enough to step outside. With one swift movement the door clanged shut. The Judge hammered the inside of the door, crying for release, but Tom knew he wouldn't be heard. There was nobody to hear him. The only thing that came through here was thousands of tonnes of human waste from the city in the background.

Tom opened the back of the van and threw his mask, gloves and black jacket inside. He removed the false plates and tossed them in. They clanged off the portable welder as they vanished. Tom looked at the line of manhole lids stretching away into the distance. Each one welded shut. That fat human turd was going where he belonged, The Judge might make it out, he might not, either would be fine by Tom because he had his retribution at last. 

Cosmic Dance

I've heard it said that heart-break is akin to bereavement. The stages of both are the same. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance. 

I think whoever said that has never truly been in love.  

I think a great love...a once in a life-time love...is like a furnace. When the right elements combine - it roars into life, building to such blinding magnificence that it's impossible to look directly at it. It's a thing of beauty but it's also a thing of indescribably delicate balance. 

Love is born of the same unquenchable power that drives the universe. Two particles - thrown together to become greater than the sum of their parts. Lovers spiral in the heart of this destruction but instead of being consumed, they thrive. Cosmic entities destined to dance in perfect harmony. 

Sadly, nothing in this universe remains the same. Stars explode, galaxies collide, planets stop spinning and love falls apart. Hearts are often tipped out of balance by such tiny things that the ensuing separation is inconceivable, but it happens. Sometimes this parting is peaceful, mostly not. Often the lovers are blown apart by the fury of their own existence. The furnace begins to cool and layers of:anger, disappointment, betrayal, deceit, envy, bitterness, resentment and amnesia, begin to form crusts over what was once molten-ardor.

Unlike the dead, love never truly goes cold. Deep in that solid block of hurt lives a fundamental element unique to the human condition...hope. 

No matter how bitter and twisted we may end up...there is always hope...it's what makes that one great love...immortal.   

Floor 6

I climbed up the three steps to the huge timber and brass door, then paused. It didn’t look like the kind of door made for me, this thing opened for captains of industry and important people, the kind of person I hoped to become. I wiped my feet twice before I realsed what I was doing.

“Would you get a grip,” I said silently to myself. I was acting like I was going to rob the bank, not ask for a loan. I pushed the door open and the interior was even grander than the entrance. Polished marble floors and vaulted ceilings stupified the likes of me. I spotted the reception desk and hurried over before security tried to throw me out.

“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you today?”  She was young and very cute but the large diamond on her left hand told me I wasn't the only one to think so. 

"I've have an appointment with Mr Philips.”

“Name?” she asked, clacking her perfectly manicured nails on her keyboard.

“Mr Philips.”

The girl giggled and it was a delightful laugh, it made me fall in love with her a little bit. “I mean’t your name.”

“Oh...” I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. “Jason Bell," I near whispered at her. What a schmuck.

A couple of key strokes later she looked up at me, her eyes dancing with delight. She was truly amazing. “He's free. His first appointment finished early. You can take the elevator up to six, his office is at the end of the corridor.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled and scuttled away with my face burning with humiliation.

                                                                                                                                 

“Oh, Mr Bell,” she called, and I had to turn around.

“Good luck,” she said with a beaming smile and then winked at me. Did I say that I fell in love with her a bit? Change that to a lot. As the elevator doors closed, I got a twinkle of the diamond on her finger and promised myself that someday I would be able to give a rock like that to a girl just like her.

On six, I got out and followed the corridor to the end where I encountered a door with a brass nameplate. Max Philips, Student Loans. I knocked and a man’s voice said, “Come in.” The office was bigger than I thought a student loan officer’s office would be. The walls were decorated with framed diplomas and photographs from high-brow events. The man in the photos seemed the picture of success and very unlike the man pacing around behind a large desk strewn with folders. His tie was puled down and two shirt buttons were undone. There were sweat patches under his arms and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a guy that hadn't seen a good night sleep in years.

“Bell?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sit, sit,” he said indicating the chair across from him as he rummaged through his desk for something.

“Ah, here it is he said,” finding a bluff colored folder with my name on it. The folder was terribly thin, a bit like my bank account. He flicked open the cover and let himself flop back into his chair. “Warton? My old stomping ground. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said feeling my cheeks color up again.

“I see you're looking to finance the full amount, including housing, is that correct?”

“Yes, if possible,” I said, straightening up in the chair. It seemed we were right into the heart of the discussion.

“Can’t your folks cover any of the expense? This isn't going to be cheap you know.”

“Not really. They've still got four at home and to be honest, I'm the first in my family to get accepted in any college, never mind Warton.”

“Local boy does good, hey?”

“I guess...something like that.”

He slapped the folder closed and leaned back in his chair, stabling his fingers together behind his head - inadvertently showing off the full extent of the sweat stains under his arms. “What’s the plan? Where do you see yourself in fifteen years?”

Now this was a question I was ready for, I had been ready for it all my life. “I want to be on Wall Street, the King of Wall Street. I want to have millions running through my hands every day. That’s what I want. I want it all!”

He unclasped his hands and let his chair fall forward. His eyes stopped dancing in his head for the first time since I came into the office and he regarded me with a stony look. Perhaps I had put too much zeal in my answer.

“The American dream,” he mumbled and a little of the color drained from his face. It was like he had been punched or drugged or something. “You want it all kid, who doesn’t.” He stood and turned away from me, putting his hands into his pockets and faced out his office window. A minute passed, then four. I knew I had blown the meeting, there was no way he was going to approve my loan. I quietly levered myself out of the leather chair but he spoke and stopped me mid movement.

“Ok,” he said softly to the window.

“Ok?” I asked, not understanding what he was OK about.

“Yea...I’ll give you the money,” he said, just as quietly.

“Are you serous!” I yelled, not intending to yell but I couldn’t help myself. “Jesus H, that’s fantastic!”

He turned and glared at me, his blood-shot eyes nearly glowing, “You got to hear the full deal before thanking me.” He picked up the folder and slapped it against the desk. “Four years tuition, housing, medical and full package cover. That comes to three hundred and twenty-one thousand dollars. You start incurring interest as fees are drawn down. The interest is eight and a half percent a year. We don’t expect payment until you finish your studies and take up your first position. After that we'll abridge your wages to the tune of twenty five percent until your debt is paid.”

“That's totally acceptable.”

“WAIT,” he roared slamming his fists into the desk. I fell back into the chair and froze with my hand’s half drawn to my chest like a chipmunk. There was something wrong with this guy. Was he having a nervous breakdown or something? Whatever it was, he was losing it.

“Wait,” he said again, his tone more controlled. “I haven’t told you everything yet.” He moved so his head was craned across the desk, fixing me with wild eyes. “I’m going to take your years, I’m going to shackle you to a desk, and you won’t even object. I’m going to take your youth, your spirit, your drive, your majesty and I’m going to squeeze them until I have wringed every ounce of wonder from them and when you're old and withered, I’m going to toss you aside without a second though. Is that a price you are willing to pay?” he said, his nostrils were flaring.  

“Are you saying I can have the loan?” I asked at last. This guy was nuts, but he was still the man holding my life in his hands.

“Yes, that is what I'm saying. If you want this life, this money... you can have it.”

“Yes...I’m sure, l want it more than anything.”

“Sign on the line,” the man said, pointing at the bottom of the document. I picked up a pen and put my name across the line. As I laid the pen aside the man looked at me like he was disappointed, but he held out his hand and said, “Congratulations.”

I shook the man’s hand and he tried to smile at me. “I’m sure you'll have a great time at Warton. Remember, we're always here to help.”

I couldn’t believe my luck as I rode the elevator down to the lobby. The attractive girl at reception looked up and made an expression with her face that said, “Well?” I gave her two thumbs up and she beamed at me. I walked out those doors feeling on top of the world.

***

That was forty years ago. Today I'm standing at my own corner office on the 46^th floor, my own tie is at half mast and sweat stains mar my shirt. I've a beautiful wife who loves my money and her personal trainer, I've a mansion with twelve bedrooms, where I get to sleep four hours most nights. I've money to burn and I’m the envy of Wall Street. In short, I got everything I ever wanted and today, just today, I understood fully what Mr Philips charged me for that loan. I rest my head against the glass and look down at the million twinkling lights laid out at my feet. How I wish I could go back to that day, to that office and slap the pen out of my stupid hand. Only now do I understand the price and it's too much.

I feel the pinch and know my heart has skipped another beat. The time is here. I feel a band of pain cross my chest and I cry out but there is no-one to hear me in this ivory tower. I slide down the glass, the twinkling lights twinkled more magnificently because of the tears I weep over a life wasted in search of lies. I’m a fool, a royal fool, but it’s too late now.   

Photo Credit : Billy Kidd

Up, Up and Away

Imagine how different our lives would be without air travel?

Not long ago, flying was reserved for the military or the mega-rich. These days we all take it for granted. We can strike out for any point on the globe and get there in time for last orders.

But with increased use comes increased opportunities for misbehavior so security has become a huge factor with going up up and away. Now, I like a man that takes his work seriously but some of these airport guys have had the fun ripped out of them...surgically.  

Perhaps I shouldn't judge, my face might be as long as a rainy Monday in May if I had to work eight hours in a vast hall reeking of foot pong, yelling at endless lines of red-eyed people who can't understand "Put everything in the tray!" Imagine the pain of a thousand blaring alarms set off by belt buckle knuckle heads or the horror of horrors, having to pat-down people you never ever wanted to touch. No, airport security is no laughing matter. Every shoe could be a disaster waiting to happen, every bottle of Head&Shoulders a chemical nightmare.

I once started my own international incident...well international might be an exaggeration...inter-county at any rate. 

I might have mentioned that I play a bit of squash and a few years ago I was on a team taking on a team from Dublin. The competition happening right next to the airport so I decided I would treat myself and fly up. Kerry airport is small, pocket size small. It only has two check in desks and you could throw a tennis ball from the front door onto the runway. Knowing that,  I arrived in the nick of time for my flight, making every minute under the duvet count.

I had no luggage, only a tiny rucksack holding my playing gear and rackets. I like to be organised so as I queued for security I put my belt, keys, wallet, watch, glasses, change and even my shoes, into the bag and zipped it up. I was ready to breeze through security. When it was my turn I plonked my bag on a tray and moved toward the metal-detector.

"Hold it right there!" yelled a stern voice behind me. I turned around, sure the command was intended for someone else. I was wrong. "You can't take that on a plane!" said the security guy pointing at my racket handle like it was going to jump up and bite him.

"Why not?" I asked, I was really in the dark about this one.

"It's sports equipment," he said, talking to me like I was an idiot, and I was starting to feel like one as well. The line behind me was grumbling and I was starting to feel very flushed.

"I'm not going to start playing on the plane," I said, but he didn't see the sense in my reasoning. Nope, back he sent me to get the bag checked in as luggage. By now, the intercom had started calling for boarding and I was getting filthy looks from all the people queued up behind me. I scuttled out into the reception area, shoeless and holding my pants up with one hand but disaster...my check in desk was empty.

'All passengers for flight number EI176 to Dublin please make your way to boarding gate 1,' screamed the speakers.

I explained to the girl at another check in desk what had happend and she said, "I'll call Mary, she's just gone for her tea." Two minutes later, Mary appeared like the saint she was. I explained my situation and without any fuss she tagged the bag and sent it shooting down the conveyor belt towards a hole in the wall, she didn't even charge me.

'Last call for boarding flight EI176 to Dublin, can all passengers make their way to boarding gate 1'

Oh no! It looked like my bag was going to make it to Dublin without me. I rushed back to security and thankfully everyone was gone. The same guy who'd refused me earlier stood glaring as I ran through the metal detector half dressed and shoved my boarding card and passport into his hand. Two minutes later I was walking across the tarmac in my socks, trying desperately to stop my pants from hitting the ground. A small twin prop plane was waiting and as I approached from one direction, my bag was being carried toward the plane from another.

Now, this is where the story veers off from what you would expect at JFK or Gatwick. You see, Kerry is a small place and the man carrying my bag had worked in the bar as a teenager. I won't use his real name in case he gets in trouble, so lets call him Alan.

"How-yea, Alan," I yelled over the sound of the engines starting up.

"Hi Squid! God, its been years. Where are you off to today?"

"Dublin," I said nodding toward the plane. The captain was looking out his window at the half-dressed madman stopping for a chat on the runway and he must have thought 'Oh no! It's going to be one of those flights!'

"That's my bag actually, can I get some stuff out?" I asked, pointing to the rucksack Alan was holding.

"Sure," he said and handed over the bag. I got my belt, shoes, phone, keys, wallet. I zipped up the highly dangerous rackets and handed them back to Alan. "Yea can lash that in the boot," I said with a wink and Alan walked a way smiling to himself.

I'm sure if the security man had watched me get dressed under the wing of the plane, he would have shot me out of annoyance, but he didn't see. You'll be delighted to know I didn't blow up the plane, or hold it to ransom with a 'Wilson Hyper-Hammer' squash racket, but I did get a great kick out of living in a place where everyone know your name. It made me fall in love with Kerry all over again.

Neptune's Tears

Neptune's Tear

I felt my knee touch the ground and couldn't believe I was about to do it. The question was lodged in my throat, refusing to come out but the look on her face said she knew what was coming. That look...was it shock or joy, anticipation or terror? It didn't matter now, it was too late to turn back, not that I wanted to turn back. All I ever desired stood before me in the form of a five foot four pixie of a girl with sparkling blue eyes. I tried to say something romantic but my brain seemed to have turned to mush. All I could do was open the box and ask, "Will you...?"

To her credit she never gave the ring a look before throwing herself at me crying, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, YES!" The stone I slid over her beautiful finger was tiny...but still the most extravagant thing I'd ever purchased. I wished I had more...Eve was worth a million bolder size diamonds, not that she'd ever believe it. She was the most amazing, generous, loving, surprising and humble person I'd ever met. Why she loved me I'll never know.

I wanted to wait till we finished college before getting married but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted to be Mrs Zack Markel, and she wanted it now. I tried to reason with her; I pointed out the four years of law school I still had to go, not to mention the internship. I reminded her that being broke would be a step up for my finances but trying to dissuade her was like trying to dam the Amazon. Eve believed we could live on air and love. Two months later we said I do in a registry office and couch-surfed our way through a midterm honeymoon.

When the new college-term started I found us a tiny loft over an all night mini-market. It was pokey and crumbling, the pipes rattled when the water ran and the roof leaked...it was perfect. We didn't sleep much those first few weeks. I was floating on air. We both studied during the days and held down an accumulation of part-time jobs in the nights but Sundays we had to ourselves. We liked to go to the bus station, jump on a random bus and see where we ended up. That was what we were doing the day we found Neptune's Tear.

We'd ridden the sixty-four to a town on the coast called Newcove. We spent the whole day exploring, walking the beaches, kissing and more kissing. At one stage we found ourselves walking hand in hand along a tree-lined road, imagining we lived in the amazing houses we passed, naming our imaginary kids and bitching about our imaginary neighbors. One house had it's front door open and a sign on the lawn declared 'House Sale, Everything must go!'

"Want to take a look," I asked.

"We cant go in there, we can't afford anything. I'd be mortified."

"It costs nothing to look, come on!" I said taking her by the hand and dragging her across the manicured lawn.

The house was amazing, a Gothic three-story dream. The hall was filled with people and a steady buzz of conversation filled the air but there was something gloomy about the place.

"It feels damp in here," Eve whispered in my ear. She was right, there was a chill to the air that went marrow deep.

"It might be haunted," I said, then tickled her ribs to make her squeal with delight. Gloomy or not the house was amazing. Things were priced so cheep they were practically giving stuff away. Upstairs in a bedroom, Eve found the most amazing dark-green pendent on a silver chain. It was just thrown in a drawer, not even priced. How could they have overlooked such a thing?

"It's fabulous!" she exclaimed. I turned her toward a full length mirror and draped the pendent around her neck. She sighed in way that made my heart flutter and I couldn't resist kissing her shoulder.

"You look like a princess," I whispered into her ear.

"It suits you," said a voice behind us. We both spun and saw a gray-haired man leaning against the door.

"I'm sorry...we weren't..." stammered Eve.

"I know you weren't," said the man with a smile. "Did you want to buy it?"

Eve went bright red and said, "We couldn't possibly afford it. Its beautiful."

"Most likely colored glass knowing my aunt."

It was my turn to look embarrassed, "Even so..."

The man unfolded his hands and walked into the room. " Show me what you can afford."

I rummaged in my pockets and held out a few coins.

"That looks like enough to me," he said taking the money and slipping it into his pocket.

"Are you serious?" asked Eve laying her hand over the stone.

"Deadly," said the man and his smile vanished. "I want nothing from this place. It was all my aunt Cassie's and the only good thing she ever did was die. Frankly my dear, you could have it for free."

We walked out of that house not believing our luck. All the way home Eve kept lifting the pendent and twirling it in the light.

"There's no way this is glass," she said as the bus reached the station. We agreed to get it appraised the following day.

***

That night I woke up to find Eve thrashing in the bed beside me. Her skin was running with sweat and her hands were stretched upward, as if trying to touch the ceiling.

"Eve, wake up," I said shaking her gently. Her body was locked solid. Her eyes flew open and she drew in a huge gasp of air, like a drowning woman coming to the surface of a lake. She looked around wildly as if she had no idea where she was. "You were having a dream," I said and waited for her to wake up properly.

"It was horrible," she said, still glaring around the room. "I was in a grave yard and couldn't get out. It was so dark, I had no idea which way to go but I knew, just knew, something bad was going to happen."

"Dream graveyards are never good places," I said trying to be funny and I put my arm around her shoulder.

"It felt so real. I was drawn to one grave, one with a huge black headstone, black as coal. There was only one word on it...Simpson. As soon as I read that name two hands shot out of the ground and grabbed on to my legs. They were old and withered, like mummy hands or something but they were so strong. They started pulling me into the ground..." then she started crying.

"Sush...its over, it was only a dream," I cooed and rocked her in my arms. As I did she mumbled into my chest.

"I was wearing the necklace and a voice said over and over again, It's mine!."

***

The next day was Monday so we took the morning off to go get the necklace appraised. We went into the most expensive jewelers shop in the town and approached the owner.

"Could you tell us what this is?" asked Eve as she handed over the necklace.

"Mummm," said the guy as he rolled the stone around in his hand, then held it up to the light, before producing an eyepiece and examined it closely. He even licked it.

"Is it an emerald?" I asked, because that was the only green gem I'd ever heard it.

"Ha! You wish," said the man taking out his eyepiece. "An emerald about this size would be worth more than fifty thousand dollars. Now that would be something."

"So it's not worth anything," asked Eve and I remembered the man saying it was most likely glass.

"I didn't say that, it's a Tsavorite Garnet, a type of gemstone. They cost about two hundred bucks a carat but its unusual to find one this big. It could be four...four and a half carats, and its got a good setting, solid silver. All in all I would say about two thousand. That's retail of course. If you folks are looking to sell I could offer you...say....nine hundred."

The man waited for an answer but his body betrayed him. While he waited he kept the necklace in his hand, as if he were unwilling to let it go.

"Oh boy...nine hundred," said Eve excitedly. She knew how stuck we were for money but I knew how much she liked that necklace.

"We're not looking to sell it," I said, taking the necklace and putting it around Eve's neck.

"Fair enough...but if you change your mind the offer stands," said the man. We were about to leave the shop when he spoke again. "Its got a name you know."

I stopped and turned. "Sorry?"

"The stone, there is a tiny name engraved in the setting. I saw it with the glass," he said indicating the little magnifying monocle.  "Neptune's Tear."

"Neptune's Tear," I repeated and felt a chill run over my body. Eve didn't seem to feel it as she cheerily thanked the man for all his help.

***

If you had asked me at the time, I would have said the next few months passed without incident. It's only with the benefit of hindsight that I know differently. It all started so very slowly...insidiously. Eve's workload in college must have increased because she spent more and more time with her head in the books. Some of the intense fire went out of the time we were spending together. I just thought it was natural that a little spark would go out of our relationship, it happened to everyone. But her moods steadily got darker...and lasted longer. One day I came home to find her crying hysterically for no reason and when I tried to comfort her she flew into a rage. She only picked at her food and had started to drink a little more than normal. I put it all down to the stress of her studies until I happened to bump into one of her classmates and discovered that Eve had been missing all her lectures.

That night I waited for her to come home from wherever she was...because it sure as hell wasn't college...and confronted her. Of course I assumed she was seeing someone else and went in with all guns blazing. The fight that followed could only be described as biblical. It got so bad that the owner of the mini-market came up demanding we keep the noise down or he'd call the cops. Eve told me I was stupid, and jealous, and stupid again. She said things had all gotten on top of her; being married, settling down when she was only just a kid herself, the college work...everything. She said she knew she needed some time or it was all going to explode on her so she had been going to the coast and spending hours just sitting staring out across the waves. She said she had been going to Newcove, it was the only place she felt at peace.

At first I didn't believe her but she swore that there was nothing more to it than that. I was still worried, even if there was no secret lover, our marriage was in trouble. We talked long into the night and eventually she agreed to see the college counsellor. Eve needed help, real help and I was going to make sure she got it.

The next morning I ditched my classes and went with Eve to Dr Stanton's office. At first he saw the two of us together but he soon asked to speak with Eve alone. I waited outside the door and it was the longest forty minutes of my life. When Eve appeared she nearly looked like her old self. She was smiling and her amazing sparkle was there for all to see.

"I feel great. Thank you so much," she said throwing her arms around me and kissing me deeply. Dr Stanton appeared at the door, smiling.

"This time next week, Eve," he said shaking both our hands before closing the door of his office. All the way home Eve talked about how much it helped to talk with someone. I smiled and nodded but wondered why she couldn't talk to me. I know it was selfish but I wanted to be enough for her, just me. I had to put that to one side and if Dr Stanton worked, then Dr Stanton it would be. I needed Eve and would do anything to have her. I was walking on cloud nine but the good times were short lived. That night the nightmares came back.

I woke up and found the bed empty. I turned on the light and nearly jumped out of my skin. Eve was standing in the corner, her eyes were wide open and there was a snarl on her face. She was actually growling and her body was shaking as if something was trashing around inside her skin. She was completely naked except for Neptune's Tear hanging on her chest.

"Jesus, Eve, what are you doing?" I asked, getting out of the bed. A guttural growl passed her lips and I stopped in my tracks.

"Eve?" I was frightened now.

"It's mine," she whispered, but it was not her voice. The voice that came out of her mouth sounded a hundred years old or more. It sounded like nails being pulled across a black board. I couldn't believe what I was seeing or hearing. What was happening to her?

"Eve," I said again, louder this time, trying to stamp some authority on this impossible situation. I looked more closely at her eyes and they looked distant, as if she were in a trance. I thought she was sleep walking so I rushed to her. She attacked me like a wild animal. She clawed me, digging her nails into my face and chest, drawing blood and leaving gouge marks in my flesh. I fell backwards and Eve clutched the pendent to her naked breast. Again those words came.

"It's mine!"

As I lay there, feeling my blood trickle through my fingers, I saw something change. Her eyes swam and came into focus. The tremble subsided and her hunched shoulders relaxed. She was waking up. She looked confused, gazed around the room,  then down at her own nakedness and finally at me.

"Oh my God! What happened?" she said when she saw the blood.

"You. You happened," I said softly but she just shook her head. It was like she knew the truth but couldn't face it. What ever I had just seen, what ever was affecting Eve was not just stress. Something dark was at work here and the only thing I could see was that green stone glinting in the light of my bedside light.

***

The following morning I insisted Eve see Dr Stanton. She was frightened by what had happened the night before and was happy to agree.

"Are you coming with me?" she asked.

"Wish I could but there is something I cant get out of...and I don't particularly want people seeing me like this," I said indicating the dressings across my cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she said looking ashamed.

"It wasn't you, it was the nightmare," I said, taking her in my arms and holding her close. How could I tell her I thought she was being haunted? I couldn't but I knew I had to find real help, not Dr Stanton.

I left the flat moments after she'd gone. My mind kept going back to the way Eve protected the necklace and the words It's mine. As stupid as it sounded, I was sure this was all connected to Neptune's Tear.

An hour later I got off the bus in Newcove and found my way back to the house where we'd bought the necklace. Today, the door was locked and all the windows were boarded up. A for sale sign was hammered crookedly into the lawn. With nobody around I decided to try next door. A woman in her sixties answered the door.

"Sorry to intrude, Ma'am. I bought something from the house next door a few months ago and I was wondering if you could tell me how to get in touch with the owners."

The woman gave a dark look at the house and said, "Nothing good ever came from that place, particularly that bitch, Cassie." It was a real shock to hear such vulgar language coming from a sweet old lady.

"I take it you didn't get on with her."

"Nobody ever got on with her. She was the most vicious, self centered creature. She could never abide anyone being happy. Cassie was a real looker and that only made her more dangerous. She had a mean streak a mile wide. Do you know she even slept with her sisters husband and then told her about it! That poor girl killed herself and it was all that bitches fault." The old woman actually spit on the ground.

I was shocked, but I guess I shouldn't be. Still it was hard to imagine. I scratched my head and said, "The man seemed so nice that day."

"That must be Peter, Betty's son, the poor thing. He is a sweetheart. He is the last of the family, all the rest are dead now. She..." the woman said throwing a thumb toward the house, "Was the last to go...typical."

"Do you know where I could find Peter?"

"Sure, he has a Cafe on the main street. Simpson's."

"Simpson's?" I asked, shocked at hearing the name from Eve's dream.

"It was Betty's before she married. Peter run's it now. Simpson is the family name." I walked away with awful thoughts of Cassie Simpson and what might have caused her wickedness. Could it have been the stone? Could it be happening all over again to my beautiful Eve?

***

The coffee shop wasn't hard to find and when I entered I immediately recognized Peter Simpson, but he didn't recognize me.

"What can I get you?" he said as I approached the counter.

"You probably don't remember me but I bought something from you a while back." I could see by his face he didn't remember. "It was a necklace with green stone."

"Now I remember you, a very pretty young lady, blonde? Right?"

"Yes, Eve. It's because of her that I'm here."

"Oh?"

"She's been having a hard time and as silly as it sounds...I think the necklace could be behind it."

"How can that be?"

"You said that necklace was a favorite of your aunts and I've heard what she was like. The thing is...Eve has started to change. I think the pendent is evil and the same thing might have happened to your aunt. I know its a mad idea but I'm just convinced."

"Look...?"

"Zack."

"Look, Zack. I'm sorry that your lady friend is not doing so well but I really don't think it's anything to do with the necklace. If anything was evil in that house it was Cassie. She was a terrible person long before that necklace ever came into her life. If I remember correctly she only purchased  it a few years ago at auction."

"I..."

I didn't know what to say. I felt like a total prat. I was so sure that the gem was responsible for the change in Eve but now that I had said the words...the idea sounded ludicrous.

"Can I get you a coffee, you don't look great?" he asked, and seemed genuinely concerned.

"I think I've taken enough of your time. I'm sorry for the intrusion," I said turning and hurrying toward the door.

"It's quite all right," he said but I didn't wait to answer him. I felt foolish and wanted to get back to Eve as quickly as I could.

***

Eve was in the kitchen making dinner when I reached the flat. She looked totally drained. "You're late," she said.

"Sorry, I got delayed. How did it go with Dr Stanton?" I asked hanging my coat on the back of a chair.

"Fine. He wants to send me for tests," she said as she started chopping carrots.

"He's the doctor," I said and wondered how to broach what was on my mind. "Eve?"

"Yea?"

"I think we should sell the necklace."

"What?" she snapped turning toward me. I could see the dark green glint of the stone resting against her skin and I knew, just knew, I had to get that thing out of our lives.

"We could do with the money and I have a feeling..."

"What kind of feeling?" she asked, raising her hand to touch the stone.

"There is something not right with that thing. Nothing has been right since we got it."

"It's mine, I don't want to sell it," she said and her tone was a lot sharper than I liked.

I stood and walked over toward her with my hand extended. "Please, Baby. You got to trust me."

"No," she said backing away.

"Give it to me," I said advancing a little more.

"No!," she said, there was something unnatural in her voice. As I took another step Eve's eyes glazed over and her body went rigid.Her face pulled down in a terrible grimace. When she spoke again the voice that came out was not hers. "No! Its mine!"

I watched in horror as Eve's lovely body spasmed, she was being torn apart. I was frozen to the spot, not knowing what I could do. I watched as her eyes cleared and she became the woman I knew. She looked so frightened and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. "She's in side, Zack. Help me!" she screamed and tried to move toward me but something invisible yanked her backward and slammed her into the kitchen counter. Once again she was racked with shudders and her eyes clouded over.

Her deformed face turned on me and screamed, "Never!" I rushed forward trying to grab the necklace from around her neck but as my fingers closed on the stone I felt the knife plunge into my gut. I refused to let go as the knife plunged again and again. I fell backward, my fingers wrapped around that evil thing and the necklace snapped. I felt hot and cold at the same time and there was a funny smell in the air...metallic. I lifted my hand and saw the dark green stone running with scarlet blood.

Eve leaned over me, the blood dripping from knife still held. Her face was a mask of hate and the most evil voice I had ever heard filled the air.

"It's mine!" she said but made no effort to take the green gem from my hand. An evil grin replaced the scowl as she touched a bloodied hand to her own chest. "It's mine!"

That was when I got it. It was never about the stone. The it was Eve. She dropped the blade on the ground and calmly walked out. I tried to cry out but everything went black.

***

That was one year ago. Thankfully the manager of the mini-market had seen Eve covered in blood and called the police. I spent two months in hospital and nearly died twice.  Eve was arrested but it was clear she wasn't in control of herself. She was committed for mental assessment but I was told that there is a good chance she'd never stand trial. I'd told them about the stone and Cassie Simpson but they looked at me like I was getting the padded cell beside Eve. Nobody would listen, nobody could help. As soon as I could, I got out of the hospital and arranged to visit Eve.

I walked into that room and the woman chained to the table was not my wife. She had my wife's skin and hair, she had her hands and legs, but it wasn't Eve. Her eyes were hard and merciless, her mouth permanently turned down at the corners and the things that came out of her mouth were vial. I talked to her, pleaded with her to fight this, I said I knew she was in there somewhere and I would never give up on her. None of that worked so I played my last card and pleaded with Cassie. This got a reaction. The creature in front of me smiled. Spit dribbled from her tranquilized mouth and her dull eyes focused on me. She leaned closer and a voice I had heard before whispered, "It's mine."

I left that room with cackling laughter ringing in my ears. In the years that followed, I visited her every week, always trying to break through to my darling wife, I know she's in there somewhere and as much as Cassie might want her....now and forever..."She's mine!"

Mrs Kinsella's Boot

We often forget how lucky we are, or should I say, I often forget how lucky I am.

I live in a wonderful country. Yes, we've had wars but thankfully we now exist in a time of peace. We have an economy where anyone wishing to make a living can do so and the majority of our population lives in relative comfort.

Now I do say relative because all things are relative. I hear people complaining about the hardships they're enduring and there are hardships for sure. There are people who are homeless, some people have to spend days waiting on hospital trolleys for a bed to become available. There are those who suffer from addiction, mental illness, disadvantage and economic degradation. There are problems and many who are suffering from them.

But how do our problems stack up against those experienced in other countries or even Ireland a hundred years ago?

Today, most of the homeless can access emergency accommodation in the short term and eventually be  placed in social housing long term. Those waiting on hospital trolleys are getting treatment, even if in less than comfortable surroundings. In this country there are services for all manner of struggles and most of them are free. All in all, I think we're not doing bad at all.

What brought this to mind was a story I heard about a woman called Mrs Kinsella. Mrs K lived in Dublin around the year 1918. Those were tough times, real tough times. I think today's pampered kids would have a heart attack if they had to live there for even one day.

To set the scene for you, Dublin had just been through a bloody uprising that saw the city turned into a shooting gallery, women over thirty were just getting the vote, unions were battling the tyranny of powerful industrialists, work was hard and poorly paid, education was a luxury not a right, money was scarce and if you didn't have a job, well, you starved.

The Kinsellas had been married about seven years, the first of which were spent squashed into a small bedroom in Mr Kinsella's mothers house. Two kids later, that room was about fit to burst. The day they put a deposit down on a tiny two bedroom house of their own was one of the happiest of Mrs Kinsella's life. They moved in carrying all they owned in four small cases but felt like the richest people on the earth.

The house was close to the center of Dublin and only a short walk from Mr Kinsella's factory. Within a year, another little mouth had appeared in the Kinsella home along with an ominous bump forming under Mrs Kinsella's petticoats. Mr Kinsella was working all the hours he could and even became involved with the union to ensure a better life for his family. Despite all this there wasn't enough money to go round. Wednesday often found the cubbards bare with two days till pay day. The preasure was growing on the family and it had caused more than a few heated discussions. Mr Kinsella was a proud man, he wouldn't go begging to the church for a hand out, nor from his family...banks were for people who already had money, not the ones looking for it so the only way of getting a few bob was to visit the pawn broker but Mr Kinsella wouldn't hear of it.

"No wife of mine will go begging to those bloodsucking moneylenders," he declared when Mrs Kinsella suggested it and she had little choice but to forget about the idea. Women had just as much pride as the men in those days, but it was they who had to tend the kids as they cried themselves to sleep with their ribs tickling their back bone. Mr Kinsella was a prideful man but he had the good fortune to marry a woman who was brave enough to do what was right, no matter what the world, or husband, would say.

The amazing thing about having so little is how much value little can have. The Kinsellas weren't unusual in this time, nobody had much. A winter coat was a treasure when the rain was driving down on your back, and an even greater treasure if it covered a thread-bear jumber. The first years of the century were good times to be a Pawn Broker. People would turn up with a clock, a watch, a suit of clothes...practically anything. The article would be wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, and put on a shelf for safe keeping while its owner went away with a few shillings jingling in their pocket. Friday was a busy day because it was payday. The people would arrive to the shop, repaying their loan with a little interest, and reclaim their property.


The first time Mrs Kinsella went down the Pawn Brokers she returned without her boots. Mr Kinsella went ballistic. He ranted and raved until she promised she'd never shame him like that again. Her words agreed but in her mind she simply decided to get more creative.

First thing she did was to change her name. All the woman of the time were doing it. She might leave the house as Mrs Kinsella but when she placed her package on the counter of the Pawn Brokers, Mrs O'Connor was scribbled on the brown paper.

After a while she became a regular in the shop and the man behind the counter stopped checking what she had brought in to trade. He was always sure she would be back on Friday...regular as clockwork. Mrs K took to bringing neatly washed and folded bed linen. Mr Kinsella never missed them. And after a while she kept a special set of older sheets, worn away in the center but folded in such a way that they looked perfect on the shelf.

She had pawned Mr Kinsella's good suit a few times, the one he wore for union meetings and mass, before he spotted it and started locking up the wardrobe. That suited Mrs Kinsella just fine because she simply took the back off the wardrobe and crossed her fingers that Mr Kinsella wouldn't have a union meeting on a Thursday or Friday morning.

But the thing that really made Mrs Kinsella famous was her habit of pawning one of her boots, only one. The man behind the counter never asked why only one boot...but often wondered as he watched the lady limp away from his shop. If he had asked, he would surely have labeled the woman a genius.

Mrs Kinsella dressed like all ladies in those days, in gowns that brushed the ground. Once she had left the Pawn Shop, one boot on, one boot gone, she would make her way around the shops and get what she needed. That night she would feed her brood, and Mr Kinsella of course. Once all the kids were in bed the couple would sit each side of the fire and discuss the happenings of the day. This was when Mrs Kinsella's one remaining boot became vital. Mrs K would deliberately stick the foot with the boot out under her skirt, making sure Mr Kinsella got a good look at it. Once she had seen his eyes glide over the booted foot she could relax in the knowledge he wouldn't question the origin of the bit of bacon they had just eaten for dinner.

I have to tell you every word of this story is true and it makes me sure of one thing. The men of 1918 drastically underestimated the ladies in their lives and I'm fairly sure things haven't changed much in that respect in 2018.

Wish Upon a Star

Greg planted his shepherds' crook firmly in the moss-covered soil and let his weary body hang from it. Tramping across mountains was hard work and every year he did it, it got harder. He closed his eyes and let the breeze whip through his grey whiskers. It might be a difficult way to make a living but it was still better then sitting in some soul-killing office. The warmth of summer still clung to the wind but that wouldn't last long. Winter would soon show its teeth. He arched his back and felt his old bones creak. Bess, his dog, lay panting in the heather; her long tongue lolling happily out of the side of her mouth. He leaned down and let his work-weathered fingers comb her silky fur. Bess closed her eyes with pleasure.

"I'll catch my breath, girl, then we'll get the last of these buggers done."

She nuzzled his palm with a love pure and true. Greg adored two women with all his heart, Bess, and his wife, Mary. Leaning on the crook he surveyed the hill above him. He had one hundred and twenty sheep grazing the mountain, as long as he hadn't lost any. He'd checked just shy of one hundred already but there were more to do. Scattered across the hill were pens where he could gather his heard, it made the job easier but without Bess, it would be impossible.

High up, where barely a blade of grass would grow, the rest of his heard were wandering. It was as if they were doing it on purpose.

"Right! Standing around here won't get us home before dark," he said, pulling the tip of his crook from the ground. With a twitch of her withers, Bess sprang to her feet and was rearing to go. "Walk on!" he commanded and the dog bounded away in front of him, leaping gorse and fern gracefully. Greg remembered days when he could have done the same but they were a long time ago.

They climbed higher and higher until they reached the ancient sheep-pen used by his father and his fathers father. With a shrill whistle he sent Bess bounding up the mountain to draw his scattered flock down. Together, they worked the animals, Greg directing the dance with a combination of whistles while Bess followed his instructions precisely.

Soon the flock was a cloud of wool gliding slowly toward the open mouth of the pen. Then, one animal broke ranks and scarpered for freedom. Bess was about to chase down the renegade ewe but  Greg blew a long piercing call, stopping her in her tracks. The sheep galloped away without a backward glance and disappeared over a cleft in the hill.

"God Damn yea!" he swore. There was no way he was going to start all over again for one sheep. He got Bess turned back on the main group of animals and finished guiding them into the pen. As he swung the gate closed he looked at the area of mountain where the runaway sheep had vanished and said, "Nothing as stupid as sheep."

Dusk was drawing in by the time he examined the last penned sheep. They had passed the summer well, a few minor cuts but nothing serous. When he released the sheep he knew he'd have to go after the lost one. It was only one, but he was he kind of man who wouldn't leave a job half done. One tired step at a time he pulled himself up the slope to the last place he'd seen the sheep. When he got there he paused and scanned the heather. He thought he heard a faint sound but couldn't be sure until it came again. Any man that spent sixty years with sheep would have recognized the bleat of a ewe in trouble.

"What have you gone and done yea daft thing?" he said out loud as he clambered down into the gully, honing in on the cries. Fifteen minutes later he found her tangled up in a discarded length of barbed wire.

"Shush...shush," he cooed as he moved in on the struggling animal. Bess watched intently as he got down on one knee beside the ewe. Crimson blotches marked the spots where the sharp barbs pierced her flesh. The ewe's eyes were full of panic so he spent some time soothing the frightened animal before beginning to unravel the deadly wire. It took a while to get her free. Before he let her go he applied balm to the cuts. Infection could easily kill an animal. By the time he struggled up off his knees the sun was sinking behind the hill.

Climbing down the slope was actually harder than coming up. Each jarring step sent a shudder up through his aching body, rattling his joints and straining his muscles. There were't actual paths up here, just animal trails worn into the bracken. Even in the near-dark Greg found his way easily. He knew the mountain like the back of his hand. After a while he was forced to stop and massage his spine. The stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. He was about to get going when he noticed something. At first he thought it was the north star but then realized the speck was moving.

"Lookit, Bess. A shooting star," he said point up a the sky. Bess cocked her head as if admiring the phenomenon. "Perhaps I should wish for a new back."

The light grew stronger and seemed to come straight at him. He was mesmerized by its beauty. When the object hurtled directly overhead. Greg couldn't help ducking and throwing his hands over his head. From behind him came a huge bang and the ground shuddered under his feet. Greg uncurled his hands and looked over his shoulder. A few hundred yards away a black furrow had been plowed into the side of the mountain. Greg hurried forward as fast as his legs would carry him. Bess was clearly less enthusiastic but kept up.

He followed the ragged trench until he came to a crater. In the bottom lay something about the size of an egg which glowed extravagantly. For the second time that night Greg got down on his knees. He reached toward the object expecting to feel heat. He always thought these shooting stars burnt up before they hit the ground. Amazingly his fingers touched the thing without being singed. He plucked the glowing item from the clay and held it tenderly in his hand.

"Beautiful..." he said to Bess, only to realize that the dog was nowhere to be seen. "Bess?" he called but the words wobbled as they came out. The smile fell from his lips as he felt his palm begin to tingle, then throb. The sensation grew in strength and ran up his arm, infecting his body and mind. He knew he'd made a huge mistake and tried to drop the star but his vision blurred and the world went dark.

***

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. Far above the stars swirled into focus and he remembered what had happened. Gingerly, he sat forward and something fell from his hand. He looked down at the blackened lump lying in the grass. No longer did it glow, nor did it seem different from the rest of the rocks littering the ground, but what had happened was no accident. There was no way he was touching it again. He rolled onto his knees and struggled upright. 

"Jesus..." he groaned as he swayed on his feet. Tenderly he explored his body for injuries. Besides his headache, nothing hurt more than usual. Eventually his head cleared enough to see the moonlit countryside. All seemed normal, well normal except for one thing...he was alone.

"Bess! Bess! Where are you girl?" he called. A whimper came from a nearby bush and the dog edged her nose out into the open. She seemed terrified.

"It's all right," he said moving forward but rather than being reassured the dog skittered away and rocketed down the hillside toward home. This day was going from bad to worse. Bess knew her way, he was sure of that, what he was less sure of was his own ability to make it all the way down after what he'd endured. He took his first tentative steps down the mountain.

He found the going good, even easy. His strides seemed more fluid than usual and his feet found solid ground with a surety he'd not felt in years. It might have been an illusion but he thought he arrived back his own farm gate in no time. A light was burning in the kitchen window and a dark plume of smoke wafted from the chimney. On cue, his stomach growled for his dinner, he could nearly taste it from where he stood. He swung the gate open and the hinges sang their high-pitched song, a noise which always brought Bess running, but not tonight. Greg was starting to worry about the girl, he hoped she hadn't done herself a mischief. He crossed the cobbled yard and his boots rubbed familiarly against the time-smoothed stones. Today had been the strangest of his life and he couldn't wait to tell Mary about it.

He unlatched the kitchen door and ducked beneath the low-hung still. The house was warm and the air was thick with the smell of baking.  

"I'm home," he called as he hung his coat on the hook behind the door. He could hear the TV in the front room, it must be time for Coronation Street. As he did every night, he opened the fire-pit of the kitchen range and turned his backside to it. Mary often said If he was given a choice between heaven and hell, he'd choose hell as long as he could go in arse first!

"You'll never guess what happened up the hill," he called into the front room and heard the volume on the TV go down.

"What happe..." Mary said as she came into the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, her words cut off in mid-sentence. She stood there; starring: dumbfounded.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he saw the colour drain from her cheeks.

"Get out! Get out of here!" she yelled backing away and putting the kitchen table between them.

"Mary.."

"Get out!"

"Mary, what's wrong with you?"

Then confusion replaced shock on her features. "Those are Greg's. Where did you get them?"

"What are you talking about woman," he said, starting to lose his patience.

"What have you done to Greg?"

"I'm Greg..."

"No no no." she said backing further away.

"Mary," he said trying to round the table.

"Get away from me!" she screamed and ran from the kitchen, throwing the door open and leaving it open.

"Mary!" he called and thought about chasing her but it seemed the wrong thing to do. He went as far as the door and called her name once more but she was already heading down the lane. "Fecking hell," he said and closed the door. What the blazes was going on today?

He was still standing in the kitchen half an hour later when the night was filled with blue light from a a Garda car racing into the yard. He opened the kitchen door went out on the stoop. He spotted Mary and the neighbours from down the road standing outside the yard wall.

Sargent Casey leapt from the squad-car with his batten drawn. "You...don't move," he yelled pointing the club at him.

"What do you mean...you? And this is my house! What the hell is going on?" he demanded. This seemed to knock the wind out of the guard who looked around as if looking for guidance from Mary. Mary was in floods of tears and had no guidance to give. The Sargent turned back and said, "This is Greg and Mary O'Brien's house, who are you?"

"You know damn well who I am, Sean. We've sank plenty of pints down at Finnigan's," he said harshly. "Including last night."

"You think you're Greg O'Brien?" the Sargent stuttered.

"Who else would I be?" he said walking forward to join the Sargent at the car. What the hell was going on?

"Don't move," the guard said but Greg kept going. "Don't move!" Casey yelled in a tone that stopped Greg in his tracks. He actually though the man would brain him that sick of his. The guard looked him up and down before asking, "Where did you get those clothes?"

"They're my clothes!" Greg said getting annoyed.

The guard pointed at his pants and asked, "What's that?"

Greg looked down and saw blood from the injured sheep he'd freed up the mountain.

"Blood," he said but got no further into the explanation before the Sargent rushed him and knocked him to the ground. To say he was shocked was an understatement and that was before he felt the bite of handcuffs on his wrists.

"What's going on!" he screamed but nobody seemed interested in answering that question.

***

Greg was pushed harshly through the Garda station by a man he always considered to be a friend.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked, hoping his civil tone would bring some sort of sanity back to the situation.

Sargent Casey didn't reply, instead he punched him viciously in the back forcing him to grit his teeth and stifle a cry. He was guided past parts of the station he'd never seen before, toward a steel-doored cell. He was shoved inside so hard he nearly lost his footing.

"Take it easy, I'm an old man you know!" he yelled and turned to see a look of befuddlement on the Sargent's face. There was a protracted moment during which Greg believed anything could have happened but it was Sargent Casey who moved first. He grabbed some clear plastic bags from a shelf and threw them on the bunk then spun Greg around to unlock the cuffs.

"Take those clothes off and put them in those." he said pointing at the bags on the bed. The guard was a ball of barely controlled fury, his jaw was working overtime as he ground his teeth and his fists were balled ready for a fight. Greg had no idea what he had done to deserve this kind of treatment.

"What for?" he demanded.

"Evidence."

"Evidence of what?" he said throwing his hands in the air at the absurdity of the situation. He had never once in his life broken a law...or at least no laws that mattered.

"You're being held on suspicion of causing harm to Greg O'Brien."

"Have you gone completely nuts. I'm Greg O'Brien!"

The guard whipped out his truncheon and cocked it over his shoulder. "Get those clothes off before I knock you the fuck out and do it for you," the big man snarled, his shoulders bunching under the blue shirt and his face going an alarming shade of red. As mad as this whole thing was, Greg felt it was better to do what was being asked rather than getting a taste of that night-stick. When the bags were full of his working clothes Casey snarled, "All of them," indicating his y fronts.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered as he stripped down his underwear and tried to cover his manhood as best he could. After a short time of standing bollock naked in the cold he was given a set of musty smelling clothes to put on. They smelt like they had been robbed from a wino.

"Can I use the toilet now or is that forbidden?" he asked snidely, not believing he ever counted this man among his friends.

Casey pointed to a room across the corridor and said, "Leave the door open."

Greg went in and was about to pee when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He nearly died at what he saw. Instead of a seventy year old farmer looking back at him, he was faced with a twenty something year old man he'd never seen before. His hair was full and dark, his face wrinkle free and glowing with youthful health. He reached up and traced the line of his jaw. The fingers in the mirror did the same on the face of the young man. What he was seeing was beyond belief, beyond understanding, beyond rationalization. In shock he turned to the guard and asked, "Do you see this?"

"See what?" he snapped with disdain.

"Me you see me? This."

"Of course I see you. You're the crazy one, not me."

Crazy? Yes it was crazy. There was no other way to explain what he was seeing. Were they all seeing the same thing? Could it be a trick of his mind after picking up that thing up the mountain. It might have given him a shock or radiation or anything. He looked back at the guard and asked, "How old am I?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions," he growled.

"Please...how old," Greg was on the verge of tears.

"Mid twenties, at a guess."

"Oh God. It can't be...its not possible," he said looking back in the mirror again. That thing up the mountain had done something to him. Swapped his body with someone else, or something. He needed help, he had to get someone to help him. It was no wonder that Mary went mad when she found him standing in the kitchen.

"What shit are you on about now? Are you on drugs? Is that it?"

Greg turned on the Sargent with wide eyes and rushed forward. He was desperate for him to see what and who he was. "It's me! It's Greg O'Brien! I can't explain whats happened but is me. You got to believe me. Something happened on the mountain but I cant explain what. I passed out it...it....its all a blur."

"What happened up on the mountain? What did you do to Greg?"

"Nothing! I'm Greg." he said, beyond desperate to find one person who could see his side in this.

"We'll find out..." threatened the guard but he didn't get to finish the sentence. Greg grabbed him by the shirt.

"I'm Greg. I'm Greg. I'm Greg! I'M GREG!" he yelled. The punch caught him clean, sending his chin all the way over his shoulder, driving him into the arms of Morpheus for the second time that night.

***

When he woke he was in the cell and the door was locked. He spent a long time exploring his face with blind fingers. He wished there were a mirror on the wall or something so he could see himself in. It felt like his face from the inside but on the outside his skin was smooth and tight. His hands and body were changed as well. He hadn't noticed them before but the body he was in was not his. It was still him inside, he still had all his memories, his emotions but how could he reconcile the two. When the cell door opened again, it was not Sargent Casey on the other side but a suited man he'd never seen before.

He was hauled into the interview room and the most difficult night of his life began. He tried to tell them what happened but even to his ear the story was nuts. Stars falling from the sky, strange glowing rocks, blackouts...who in their right mind would swallow all that. Greg knew he had to make them believe, so he told them everything. Everything that happened, everything he remembered. In all the detail he could remember, to try to prove he was who he said he was. In the end they looked at him like he was crazy.

Eventually they put him back in the cell and time passed even slower. He worried about Mary. She must be going out of her mind, wondering where he was, why he hadn't come home and who she'd found standing in her kitchen. He was sure of only one thing, he had to get out of here and back to her. It felt like days before Sargent Casey reappeared with a sandwich and a mug of tea. 

"What's going on Sean? What are they going to do with me?"

"Don't call me Sean...you don't know me!"

"Just tell me."

The Sargent put the tray on the bunk and glared at him for a second or two. Greg thought he would walk out without answering but it seemed Sargent Casey couldn't help being a decent man. "That depends on what they find on the mountain. There are hundreds of solders and guards up there right now. You better pray that Greg is in once piece when they find him or you'll never feel the sun on your face again."

"They won't find him because I'm Greg and I'm right here!" he nearly cried.

"Shut up and eat your food," he said slamming the door closed.

"I'm right here!" he yelled hammering the door with his fist. Someone had to believe him.

A while later the suited man returned with a question. "You said you were on the mountain when something fell from the sky and changed you into a younger man, is that right?"

"That's what I have been telling you all night. I know it sounds mad but yes, yes, that's exactly what happened.!"

"Can you show us where it happened? We might find something that could prove what you are saying is true."

"Of course. I'll take you to the exact spot."

"Right, lets go," said the man standing aside to let Greg out of the cell.

They got him some boots and an overcoat before cuffing his hands in front of him. They lead him through the station which was now crammed full of people talking on radios and peering over maps. As he moved through the building a hush fell over those who were gathered under the roof. Outside the station stood two four-wheel-drives with their doors open. Once they were aboard the engines started up and began plotting a course back to his own house.

They had to go through his yard to get onto the mountain path. One of the guards got out to open the gate and Greg caught a glimpse of Mary watching them through the kitchen window. She was so pale and drawn, Greg wished he could hold her and make her understand. He smiled and raised his fingers to wave but her face morphed into a mask of hate. She spat at him, his lovely Mary. The phlegm splattered against the inside of the window and she vanished from sight. That just about broke his heart but he had to find a way back to her, he just had to.  

They bounced their way up the dirt road and when the road ran out they walked. His body might be young and fit but his heart was broken. The climb seemed endless. Normally it was only himself, Bess, and the sheep up on that hill but today the place was packed. Lines of people were searching the bracken, beating it with sticks, combing for clues to a crime that had never happened.

Greg led them higher and higher, nearly to the top of the mountain. He found the spot he was looking for with no trouble at all. He pointed out the trench gouged into the ground by the falling star and the crater where it came to rest.

"This is the spot. The rock is around here somewhere," he said, getting down on his knees to search. Surely some clever science type person could discover what had happened if they had the star to work from.

"We'll take it from here," said the suited guard hauling him up to his feet.

"Hang on, we have to find the star," yelled Greg trying to free himself from the policeman's grip. As he was herded back from the crater he saw a group of men move up and start photographing the area. Then they produced something that looked like a metal detector and started scanning the ground.

"What's that?" asked Greg.

"Ground radar. We will soon find where you burred him."

"There is nobody burred..."

"Get him out of here, Sargent," said the suited man turning away. .

"Get moving," snapped Sargent Casey giving him a shove to begin the journey. They were never interested in finding the fallen star. They just thought they'd be able to cut the search short by playing along with his madness. As Greg began the climb down he knew he was more lost than ever.

When they got back to the station Greg was locked in the cell once more. He started to wonder how long they could hold him before they charged him or could they charge him? After all, he hadn't done anything.

It was dark when they took him from the cell again. This time there were more people in the interview room waiting for him. There was Sargent Casey, the two suited guards and another man who was seated in the corner. They took him through all his answers again and again until his head was spinning.

"So what happens if we let you go? Were do you live? What's your name?" demanded the Guard in the suit.

"I've told you a thousand times, I'm Greg O'Brien and I live here."

"But you admit you don't look like Greg."

"I know, I know that more than anyone. I cant explain what happened but there has to be an explanation." All the men exchanged glances. The suited guard continued to ask questions.

"So, if released you intend to go back to the O'Brien farm and Mary."

"Of course, she's my wife. I'll explain what happened. Once we've talked she will see the truth...I know she will."

"And you still maintain you did nothing to hurt Greg O'Brien?"

"Did you find a him up on the mountain."

"No..."

"And you never will because I'm sitting right here. So...are you going to charge me or let me go."

All attention moved to the stranger who was sitting in the corner of the room taking notes. He looked pained and worried but eventually he nodded his head and closed the notebook he was writing in. He delved into a bag by his feet and withdrew a vial and a syringe.

"What's that?" asked Greg, not liking this one little bit. Needles were never good.

"Hold him, Please," the man said, his voice cultured and soft.

Sargent Casey and the suited guard pinned him to the chair as the man filled the syringe from the vial.

"What are you going to do to me?" Greg yelled.

"This is only a sedative, you've had quiet a day. It'll help you...cope."

"Don't touch me with that!" yelled Greg trying to free himself.

"You're a very sick young man. We're going to get you the help you need," said the man approaching with the needle. He pulled Greg's sleeve up exposing the fleshy part of his shoulder and jabbed him.

"It won't take long," the man said to the guards as if Greg were not even in the room. He slid a cap back on the tip of the needle and returned it to his bag.

"Mary needs me, you can..." Greg said but his head began to fill with cotton wool and all the strength left his body. Slowly the guards released him and Greg slumped back in the chair. His body might be unable to work but his ears were working just fine.

"So you're going to section him, Doc?" asked Sargent Casey.

"He is clearly delusional. We need to find out who he is and until then...its for the best."

"I better tell Mary what's happening," Sargent Casey said and was about to leave when asked another question. "How long do you think he'll be locked up."

The doctor shook his head and said, "It's hard to tell right now but as things stand...he may never be let out."

"Throw away the key if you can," said Casey as he left the room.

Greg got his elbows under him and with a huge effort he lifted his head and said, "The wish..a new back..wish on a.."


Then his mind blinked out like a shooting star racing across the night sky.

Price of a Happy Home

I was standing at the bar when Mary, (not her real name), came staggering in under a ton of IKEA bags.

"Some light shopping," I joked as she laid her load by the bar.

"I need a brandy or a Sherpa if you have one."

"A brandy so," I said happily and let the amber liquid flow into the glass.

"I've had the week from hell," she huffed and took a sip from the drink.

"Go on, tell me more," I asked and settled in for her story. I like Mary, she has a dry wit that tickles my funnybone.

She rested her elbows on the counter and began. "The other day I found four floating-shelves down in the Co-Op and knew they'd look great beside the fireplace. When I got home, John (not his name either) hit the roof when he saw the price of them. That much? For a bit of timber and a few screws? It's daylight robbery! he said. Nothing would do him but to take the shelves back."

"Why didn't you put your foot down and say you wanted them?" I asked, polishing a glass to seem industrious.

"You know what John's like. Life wouldn't be worth living if I did that. Anyway, an hour later he lands back home with a plank of timber, a box of screws, a box of wall plugs and some brackets. He said he got it all for half the price of the shelves, not that I believe him. He starts measuring and I just knew in my bones that it was going to be a disaster. Before long he was hacking up the timber with a rusty old hand-saw. Now, John couldn't could cut a straight line if his life depended on it. Sure enough the ends were all cockeyed. So he cuts off another bit, then a bit more and before he's finished the things are too short. You should've heard the language out of him, it would make a sailor blush."

"Now that does sound like John," I agreed. "Did he give up?"

"Like heck he did. Back down the Co-Op he went and this time he came back with more timber and a bench saw! Flipping thing cost nearly two hundred quid but he said it was good value because he'd use it again. Anyway this time the shelves were cut and the edges were straight. He marked up the walls and drilled holes for the brackets. In fairness, they looked grand when he had them up."

"Job done," I said with a smile and gave the bar around her glass a wipe.

"Not even close. An hour later I looked up and saw the shelves were...drooping."

"Drooping?"

"Yes, the brackets he'd gotten weren't strong enough. The whole lot had to come back down and he was off to the Co-Op again. This time he came back with huge ugly iron triangles. He was in such a mood by now that he didn't even bother measuring again. He just guessed where the holes should go and drilled. He was like a dog. I couldn't tell him they were all crooked or that there were holes all over the wall, he would have exploded. They are up a week now and stuff keeps sliding off whenever someone slams a door. John won't even look at them, its like he's pretending they don't exist."

"Oh God, I can see why you need a brandy. What are you going to do about them?" I asked.

"Ah, they wont last long. I've been prying them off the wall a bit at the time. They'll fall down any day soon," laughed Mary and took another sip of her brandy.

"Is that why he let you go mad with the credit card," I asked nodding at the bags on the ground.

"Yes, and no," she said cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wanted some stuff for the bathroom so I made a big list of materials waited until the match was due to start then handed him the list and suggested he pop down the Co-Op for it. Well, he took one look at the list and said, This lot will cost a fortune, you'd get if for half the price in that IKEA place," and like that, I was free to go shopping while he watched the match.

"Mary, that's positively Machiavellian!"

"Would you get lost with your big words," she said and she picked up her bags to leave. Before she did she gave me a wink and said, "I'll tell you this much, there's more than one way to skin a cat."

The Face of God

The Face of God

I think I've figured out why I love surfing so much. It's the feeling of being out of control, on the edge of destruction, only to survive.

To me, that is the face of God. It's a reminder that we are gifted with the wonder of the universe, laid before us in all its forms and we should feel blessed to be here. In that moment, we could, should, be snuffed out but we are allowed to exist to pay testament to the beauty of this world, this universe, in its finest moment.

It is only on the edge do we really appreciate what a gift life is, don't waste a second.