Children of Redemption Read online

  “Going somewhere?” I asked him.

  “Vacation,” he replied, walking over to his bedside table.

  “You don’t take vacations.”

  “I do now.” He put his gun in the drawer, and took out his wallet. He checked inside for a moment before putting it in his back pocket.

  No. This is good. He’s reacting normally. This is how normal people act when they’re hurt.

  I nodded to myself and asked, “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

  “You’re smart, Helen.”

  I was confused by his words; they made me feel uneasy. I could only watch as he threw a picture frame into his bag before zipping it closed. As he walked toward me, the way he stared down at me made me feel small.

  “W—what?”

  “You are smart, which is why we have always worked well together. Be smart. Only stupid women die for men who don’t love them in return. Wyatt is going to disappoint you. Especially when he realizes what you’re really like…the real you,” he replied, walking around me and toward the door.

  Just like that he was gone, and I realized why Wyatt’s hand was shaking…Ethan had mastered the art of gutting people with words.

  WYATT

  When faced with no other option, and unsure of what was right or wrong, all I could do was press on, ignoring the scrapes in my flesh, the aching in my feet, making a path where there was none.

  I couldn’t remember where I heard that. Or who even said it. But it replayed in my mind as I waited in front of his door again. And when he stepped out, bag in hand, he glanced me over once before turning turn to walk to the elevator. Stepping in his way, his green eyes piercing into mine, I saw nothing.

  I saw no anger, no rage. Nothing. He wasn’t there anymore. And once again I knew what I had to…I knew I’d have to do this alone. But he needed to at least know this.

  “You leave, I will take over until you come back. Those who did this will kneel at your feet,” I told him. Silence greeted me. He just stared, no response. Hoping to get any reaction out of him, I said, “You can kill me after I do this for you, brother.”

  He still didn’t react.

  “Sir?”

  I looked behind me toward the elevator. Greyson appeared, and upon seeing Ethan, he rushed forward like a five year old on Christmas morning. Greyson wasn’t just loyal. He was a fan. It was how I knew he’d spread anything I told him about Ethan.

  “I came because—”

  “Anything you need to say,” Ethan cut him off while walking toward the elevator, “say it to Wyatt. He’s in change now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Greyson nodded, his eyebrows frowning together as he watched Ethan get on and say nothing else as the elevator doors closed.

  He’s not going to do anything stupid. I reassured myself, and yet I still couldn’t but doubt…help but wonder…No. I wouldn’t. I needed to focus.

  “What’s the plan?” Greyson asked, turning to face me.

  He was so used to the hidden motive behind Ethan’s actions, it was only natural for his mind to go there. There was still a small part of me, a very small part of me, that wondered if maybe Ethan had some plan he wasn’t sharing, but who could have planned for this? The man I saw sitting in the closet…he was hurt…deeply. Certainly not that man.

  And I was part of his pain. So I needed to be part of his joys, too.

  I turned to Greyson, who stared back with the familiar mixture of doubt and annoyance I’d seen on the faces of many of our guards—as if to say who was I to tell them what to do. I was the Callahan who ran away. The prodigal son who’d done nothing for them. To me it felt like ages since I’d returned home…but in reality, it was only two weeks. And just like Ethan had said, I’d done nothing but worry about Dona during that time.

  “Sir?” Greyson questioned, gaining my attention as Helen came out of Ethan’s room. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her jaw clenched at the sight of me. Before I could ask her what was wrong, what Ethan said, Greyson spoke up again.

  “The plan?” he pressed on when our eyes met.

  “The plan is do whatever the fuck I say.”

  “You haven’t said anything,” he fired back again, showing me the difference between Ethan and I. Greyson wouldn’t dare to speak up in front of my brother.

  “Get my fucking car.”

  He nodded, making his way to leave. And Helen frowned as she asked, “The ruthlessness begins?”

  “Yes.” It begins. I was going to remind every motherfucking, cunt-faced, two-bit ass-wipe what the fuck it means to mess with the mafia, seeing how they all bloody forgot. It’s going to take weeks to get the blood I’m going to spill off the streets of the godforsaken city… We are Callahans…apparently people forgot that.

  Reaching out, I hugged her even if she was stiff before hugging back. “Forget what I said before. Call your parents. Call everyone. Tell them come home, okay.”

  Her brown eyes widened she as she stared at me, “Even my brother—”

  “Everyone, Helen,” I replied, putting my hand on her cheek. We had a lot of people to kill. When Ethan comes back, he’s not going to be fighting alone anymore.

  TWO

  “Fire, Water and Government know nothing of mercy.”

  ~ Albanian Proverb

  WYATT – AGE NINE

  “Nine points!” I yelled, lifting the board above my head.

  “Nine!” She made a face as she came out of the water, as she grabbed a towel to dry her hair. “That was a prefect ten!”

  “Noooooo.” I shook my head and pointed to the pool. “You were slow on the second turn. So nine points.”

  “Me, slow?” She threw her towel back on her chair.

  “Yes, you.” I nodded, standing tall.

  We eyed each other down for a long time. And the moment I saw her mouth turn up, I made a run for it.

  “No running, Mommy!” I laughed and yelled at her.

  “If I make the rules,” her arms wrapped around me like an octopus as I tried to run, she started to tickle me, “I can break the rules!”

  “Stop!” I giggled, trying to wiggle away, but she picked me up.

  “I’ll give you a prefect ten!” She was holding me so tight, I could feel when she jumped.

  “No—” I closed my eyes and my mouth. The water pulled us down, and when she let go, I opened my eyes under the water. Everything was blue. The bubbles in the water floated up, and I could see her look back at me. Her black hair floating behind her, she smiled at me, reaching over to me, but I swam away from her. Like she showed me, I cut through the water. I almost made to the other side, but my chest hurt, forcing me to swim up for air.

  “Five points!”

  “Huh?” I asked her, wiping my nose and eyes.

  She didn’t look at me. She just floated on her back, looking up at the painted ceilings. “Five is half of ten. And you held your breath for half as long as you should have.”

  I frowned. “I should get at least eight.”

  “Why would you get an eight when you gave me a nine for swimming perfectly, but slow….in fact you deserve a two on that scale.” She made water angels with her arms.

  “Mommy!”

  She laughed at me, and because it was only us, her laugh echoed. I swam closer and copied her, floating on my back, too.

  “Why do you like being in the water so much?” I asked her, looking at the painted sky.

  “Hmm…,” she replied at first. “Because it can kill you.”

  “What?” I moved too fast and started to sink. But I didn’t care. Standing up straight in the water, I looked at her again…and she was still floating. “You like being in the water because it kills you?”

  “No. Not me. Nothing kills me, but me. I swim because water can kill other people.” She closed her eyes. “I remember my mother, grandmamma Aviela, and I were in an accident, and I got stuck in the ocean. For a little bit after that I was scared of the water. So my father, your grandpapa Orlando, would force me to swim
.”

  “That’s bad! Why do something that you don’t like?”

  She made another face. “Do you think it’s bad that I made you learn how to swim, Wyatt?”

  “No, but…” I frowned, not sure how to explain it. “But every kid needs to learn how to swim.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause then they don’t get hurt if they fall in the water. But if you knew how to swim already, why did grandpapa still make you?”

  “Because not swimming out of fear is worse than not swimming at all,” she whispered gently to me. I had to swim a little to keep near her. “People fear things they can’t control.”

  “You can’t control the water, Mommy.”

  She frowned, her eyes finally opening, but she still didn’t look at me. “Wyatt, don’t think like normal people think. Normal people are mediocre. Think like me, like your father, like a Callahan. You never have to control water. Water, air, fire, dirt. It’s all irrelevant. None of those things care about you. They do not change course for you. Normal people try avoid or fight those things. But I know, and now you know, you are above the water, the air, the fire, and the dirt. The most important element is you. If someone dragged me to the bottom of this pool, would you be scared?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t need to think about it. It was an easy question. “Because you can hold your breath for a really, really, really long time! You’d get down there and punch ‘em for grabbing you, then swim right back.”

  She smiled wide. “Exactly. Normal people would fight the water, try to fight to get back up…why? Because they are scared people. Scared they aren’t strong enough or smart enough to make it out alive. But me? I know no matter what, no matter where I am, I will survive that moment. I like swimming because it reminds me that I don’t fear what kills others, because I am not like any other. I rise and thrive in anything and everything. Does that answer your question?”

  I nodded, and she grinned. “Good. Now first person to reach the bottom and come back up gets homemade strawberry vanilla ice cream.”

  “ME!” I dunked into the water.

  I swam and swam, deeper and deeper…toward the darkness at the bottom.

  WYATT – NOW

  “You totally cheated!” I yelled at the toothless seven year old in front of me. Well, she wasn’t toothless. She was only missing her two front teeth, but the gap was so big that when she smiled, as the little cheater was doing now, I could see inside her mouth, which pretty much made her toothless.

  “I’m not a cheater!” She giggled, as did the other girls around her.

  “Okay,” I raised my hand to pause their laugh fest. “There are four Draw Four cards in an Uno deck.” I lifted the card in the middle of the pile and held it up for them. “This is the sixth Draw Four you girls have put down against me. The math doesn’t add up. Someone is cheating.”

  “OR…,” Little Miss Pigtails, who sat to the left of Little Miss Toothless, said loudly, rising to her feet to defend her friend, “that card got mixed in with the other Uno deck. Stuff happens!” She shrugged.

  I narrowed my eyes at the lot of them, and they only laughed at me more. Miss Bossy Skirt, who sat on the right of Little Miss Toothless, got up as well, “I don’t wanna play with someone who thinks we’re cheaters.”

  She crossed her arms at me, causing the other girls to get up too, in open rebellion, crossing their arms in unity. Can you believe this shit? Seven year olds, a whole gang of them, temperamental with me?

  “You leave the game and you lose automatically. Making me the winner. And you a loser. Losers don’t get more sugar cookies. Sorry.” I said with a smile, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair.

  All the girls looked at her nervously. Miss Bossy Skirt pouted at me, her face getting all round. She looked like she was about to cry. Her bottom lip even quivered. And I knew then these little truants had done this to some other poor schmuck before.

  Where did girls learn to do this?

  “You’re mean,” Little Miss Freckles said with a pout, her voice the softest of the Little Miss collection.

  I gasped and looked over my shoulder. Greyson was trying his best not to pay attention to any of us, out of fear of laughing. “Greyson, am I mean?”

  “Most definitely,” he replied, nodding.

  “See! Even your…what are you anyway?” Miss Toothless asked.

  “Yeah, you’re kinda creeping me out here, dude.” Miss Pigtails agreed, tilting her head to the side, making her pigtails fall lopsided.

  All of their attention focused in on him, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed so hard tears pooled at the corner of my eyes.

  “Ladies,” I finally regained composure. “While I’m sure something sketchy is up with this card game, I’m going to let it slide, because I haven’t laughed so well in a long time. Just don’t cheat again, hear me?”

  “Fine.” Miss Freckles and Toothless replied in unison, to the dismay of their two other friends.

  I snapped my fingers. “I knew it!”

  “Not fair, you tricked them!” Miss Bossy Skirt snapped, pointing back at me.

  “Not fair, you cheated,” I said in the same high-pitched voice, even shaking my head like her.

  She made a fist and squinted her eyes at me, making me laugh again. For some reason, she reminded me of an angry Miss Piggy.

  “Oh…” I shook my head at them, looking over to Greyson, “Creepy dude, go to the kitchen and tell them to bring out more sugar cookies for my deceitful little friends.”

  “Thank you!” They all chirped, reminding me again that they were seven and most likely didn’t know what deceitful meant and just heard “sugar cookies.”

  Greyson shook his head at me, but didn’t argue or grumble about his new nickname. He made his way toward the double doors of the O.S., but not before nodding to a few other guards around, making themselves useful with the staff.

  “How many of these guys do you have, too?” Miss Pigtails questioned when another guard stepped up in Greyson’s place.

  “Forget him,” I lifted the card for them to see again. “Who have you all tricked with these cards?”

  None of them answered.

  “I said never cheat against me. I never said you had to stop cheating others,” I reminded them, leaning in to whisper, “the kitchen staff?”

  Toothless shook her head, grinning. “No, they won’t play with us anymore. We play the boys for their stuff.”

  “They lose all the time, but still play us.” Freckles said with a giggle.

  All of them grinned like little fiends. I glanced over to the boys in the corner playing videogames. I wasn’t sure if I should weep for them or laugh at how dumb they were.

  “You can’t tell them just because you’re a boy, too,” Miss Bossy Skirt said as she pointed at me. She was really working that index finger of hers today.

  “Scouts honor,” I said, raising my hand.

  “What is that?” Miss Pigtails questioned.

  What? “Scouts honor? Like the Boy Scouts?”

  Their faces were blank.

  “Mary!”

  At the sound of the older woman’s voice, the pigtails of Miss Pigtails, aka Mary, spun in the air.

  “Mommy!” She grinned happily as she ran to her mother.

  One by one, all the girls ran back to their parents as I spun the card in my hand, leaning back in my chair to watch them. The O.S. center functioned as daycare during holidays and every other Monday for parents who had to work. On Mondays, there could be upward of eighty children in the O.S. center, if not more. It was still early in day. But as it was Indigenous Peoples Day, school was closed, meaning there were only forty or so, plus those still here from the church bombing.

  “Wyatt,” a woman I did not know, but Irish I could tell, nodded to me. She was the first to step up to the table where I sat. She was short with long, thick red-brown hair. She stood proud and, from the looks of it, had the respect
of the few other Irishmen behind her.

  It was odd to me how they gave her space, allowing her to approach me…no, allowing her to stand for them. My mother used to say that the Irish mob knew they were backward, liked that they were backward, and would most likely try to stay backward. Tradition in the mob was simple. Women were there for two things: to fuck and to have kids with. So to see this woman send her daughter off and sit at the table with me was kind of humorous. My mother would have been annoyed for sure. They respected my mother because they feared her and my father. But as I looked around, it seemed that they respected this woman, and that was that.

  “How is your brother?” She asked me gently…like a mother would.

  “My apologies, who are you?” I asked her.

  “Oh right, you’re the son who left. I’m Maeve Granuaile Gore-Booth,” she replied with a smile. “You can call me Ms. Granuaile or Ms. Gore-Booth.”

  “I just want to make sure I heard you correctly,” I said, placing the cards down on the table. “You want me to call you either Ms. Granuaile, who was historically the Pirate Queen of Connacht and head of the O’Malley Clan, or Ms. Gore-Booth, who was revolutionary nationalist Constance Georgine Gore-Booth? You want me to choose between two former female heroines of Ireland to address you?”

  With a smile that never left her face, she shrugged. “We cannot help who we are named after. That is my name. What can I say? My parents had high hopes for me. I’m glad to know your mother taught you so much about Irish history.”

  “Yes, Ms. Bridget, my mother believed her children should have a well-rounded education, and as for my brother, he’s had better weeks.”

  The smile on her face dropped. But she didn’t lose her composure, nor did I. “Well, Wyatt, we got a message from your brother saying he wished to speak with us.”

  It was funny…no. Not funny, pathetic really, how she tried to deflect to the Irish men who now stood behind her. There was more than two dozen, a few more coming. They all stood back, emotionless but tense. Their eyes wandered around the auditorium. All of them waiting for Ethan.