Thy Kingdom Come

We’re all quiet because, thanks to Babydoll, things are about to change. We don’t know how, but I can feel it. We all can.

I’m driving, while Cian is riding shotgun and Rory is in the back. Rory was relieved when I told him I didn’t need Darcy after all as Babydoll had the information I was looking for.

Darcy was going to eat the head off me when I told her I had to go. I didn’t give her an excuse, just that I had to leg it.

The moment I stepped outside, I got into my car, drove home and punched the shite outta my punching bag for an hour. All I could see was Babydoll’s bruises and welts. The bruising indicates she’s been hit before. And the welts were fresh.

I wish this was a one off, but I know better, which is why I’m not going to stop until I find out who did this to her.

It doesn’t make sense, but the attraction I feel for Babydoll just continues to grow. She is strong; she’s a fighter. Her battle scars prove this. I have no doubt she took each lash without surrender, challenging the fucker to do his best.

She has every right to tell me to go fuck myself, but she hasn’t. She gave back my ma’s brooch, and now she’s given me information which led me down this dark, gravel road. I owe her.

“How’s it goin’?” Cian asks, sensing my thoughts are elsewhere.

“Sound,” I reply, half arsed.

I didn’t go into details about what happened with Babydoll. All the boys know is that someone hurt her, and that someone is going to be in the hospital for an awful long time once I find them.

“It’s about half a mile ahead,” Rory says, as he’s the using GPS on his phone.

There isn’t a house in sight, just acres upon acres of green, farmlands, and lots of cows. There are no street lights, so when I park my car and turn off the blinders, we know we’ve got to adjust to the dark. Locking the car, we commence our walk down the deserted road.

“What’s the craic then?” Cian asks, his voice echoing out here in the middle of nowhere.

“I walk up to the front door and knock.”

He laughs, but when he realizes I’m serious, he shakes his head. “Fair play to ya, mate. Yer bollocks are bigger than mine.”

Both Rory and Cian think I’m not the full shilling, but I didn’t come this far to faff about. When Babydoll sent me every listing in Moville, it wasn’t hard to find which one once belonged to my ma because there was only one owner before the current residents—Cara Foster.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Cara Foster had to be my mum.

I don’t know how I feel about this. Finding out so much, so fast, has been information overload. I need to process it, but time is something I don’t have. If my da gets wind of what I’m up to, he’ll do everything in his power to stop me.

But I won’t allow that and this time, I will fight back.

Creeping through the night has me wondering about that fateful night which changed my life forever. Are these the same footsteps my ma’s murderers took? Why wasn’t she in Northern Ireland? What was here for her to choose this location?

It’s in the middle of nowhere with a population coming in at under two thousand.

This quiet, simple life is so different to Belfast. So different to being a Kelly. Is that why she came here? To run away?

When the bungalow comes into view, I delve deep into my psyche, hoping to unearth repressed memories which may resurface being here. But all I’m faced with is a black mass which won’t shift.

Cian slaps me on the back encouragingly, while Rory vows, “We’ve got yer back, mate, so we have.”

I want to thank them, but I’m so lost to this surreal feeling that I merely nod in acknowledgment.

The closer we get, the more unsettled I become, but I squash down the uncertainty and only focus on the answers I will get. The full moon provides the light for me to see the bungalow is painted white with a gray roof. Smoke plumes from the chimney, hinting someone is home.

The property itself is huge, but it’s gone to waste as no crops or animals are in sight. When we reach the long drive, I stop and close my eyes. Was she happy here?

“Yer all right then?” Cian asks.

Nodding, I open my eyes and focus on the bungalow in the distance. There are gardens with shrubs, trees, and hedges. Was it this way when I was last here?

“It’s so quiet out here. No one would have heard her scream,” I utter, surprisingly calm. “Youse stay here. I’ll call out if I need ya.”

Rory and Cian nod, understanding this is something I need to do on my own.

With no time to waste, I commence my walk toward the bungalow with no expectations; this avoids disappointment. On the listing, it has a D. Morrison as the current owner. They’ve lived here for fifteen years, which tells me they bought this place not long after my mum died.

A sensor light switches on when I get within a few feet of the front door. No turning back now. There is no doorbell, so I knock on the wooden door.

There is light from a TV flickering through the sheer front curtain and I’m about to take a peek inside, but when the front door opens and an aul’ doll greets me in a blue dressing gown, I smile.

“How ya doin’? Sorry to disturb ye, but I was wonderin’ if I could trouble ya with some questions?”

She narrows her blue eyes.

She has every right to be suspicious. A strange lad is on her doorstep at nine p.m.

“What questions?” she asks with a thick Irish accent, ensuring she holds onto the door in case she needs to shut it quickly.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I decide to lead with my gut because it’s now or never. “’Bout the woman who lived here before youse. Her name was Cara Fost—”

Suddenly, the door is yanked open, and the muzzle of a shotgun is inches from my forehead. “Away with ya,” says the aul’ lad who is wielding the shotgun.

Slowly raising my hands, wishing to show them I want no trouble, I say, “I mean no harm. I just wondered if you knew her—”

“Ah’ll knack yer bollocks in. Chase yerself!” he warns, his grip firm on the shotgun.

“Boys a dear,” the aul’ doll gasps, clutching at the cross around her neck.

“Really sorry, but I can’t do that. Not until ya answer my question.” I won’t surrender. Not when I’ve come this far. “Do ya know what happened here?”

“Wise up, cub! Did ya not hear me? Away on! Ya got naw business being ’ere.”

The aul’ lad gestures with the gun that I’m to go, but when the aul’ doll’s eyes fill with tears, it confirms it is my business. I’m not going anywhere.

I direct my question at her. “The woman, Cara, she was—” But the aul’ lad doesn’t let me finish.

“Don’tcha listen to him, Imogen,” he warns, his gaze never wavering from me. “Are ye deef? Call the peelers, I will.”

If I wanted to, I could drive that shotgun into his chest, setting him off balance and force my way in. But I don’t want that. This bungalow has seen enough violence.

Imogen reaches for a tissue out of her pocket and wipes her nose. “Who are ya, wee lad?” she asks, ignoring the man, who I’m assuming is her husband. “Why ya askin’ after Cara?”

“Y’knew her?”

A sniffle escapes Imogen, which is a strange response for someone she didn’t know.

“You did know her,” I press, reaching forward to gently grip her wrist. “Please, just tell me how.”