Thy Kingdom Come

But the aul’ lad has had enough.

Without warning, he flips the shotgun and delivers a buttstroke to the center of my forehead. I stagger back two steps and clutch at my bleeding head, stu

“Keegan! If yer mother were still alive, that would kill her,” Imogen scolds, but Keegan, aka the aul’ lad who just kicked my arse, ignores her and comes chasing after me with the shotgun.

“Is that you? Or ye away in the head?”

My vision is blurred, but I manage to dodge the gun-wielding lunatic as he tries to hit me again.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I pant, raising one hand in surrender while the other cradles my brow.

“Yer head’s full of wee sweetie mice. Trouble’s been had.”

“I’m not leavin’ until ya tell me how ya knew Cara,” I persevere. The only way I’m leaving here without any answers is if he kills me.

“Stop saying her name!” he screams, advancing once again. “Give ma head peace.”

I recoil, impressed with this aul’ lad’s stamina and how stubborn he is. But I’m not leaving until he gives me answers.

Cian and Rory come ru

Imogen shrieks.

“Naw!” I bellow when they make a move for Keegan. “Don’t touch him.”

Cian and Rory freeze, looking at me like I’ve gone mad, and I may just have. But I don’t want to hurt either of these people. They’re not the enemy. They’re only protecting their home and one another.

“Yer bleedin’,” Cian says, as if needing to remind me the reason for my injuries is holding us hostage with his shotgun.

“Slap it up ye!” Keegan spits, pointing the shotgun at Rory and Cian. “Call the peelers, Imogen.”

This is my last chance.

Submitting is not in my nature, and it appears it’s not in Keegan’s either, which is why I slowly drop to my knees, admitting defeat.

He won.

“Cara was—” I lick my lips, tasting nothing but the sharp metallic sting of my blood. Visions assault me, or rather, memories leave me winded because I’m suddenly inside this bungalow, locked away in that wardrobe as I watch my ma being killed.

I clearly see my five-year-old self, painting my face; each stroke denoting what those three fuckers are doing to her as she screams for them to stop.

I can feel her skin cooling as I lay nestled in her arms.

I smell the stink of decay.

Memories my brain had suppressed are reborn, refueling this desperate need to avenge my ma and stop at nothing until I do.

“Cara, she was my ma,” I state, unsure if I said it aloud.

But when the shotgun drops to the ground with a hollowed thud, I know that I did.

“Houl on, what did ye say?”

Shaking my head, I return to the now and observe Keegan turning a terrible shade of white.

“Cara was my mum,” I repeat, still on my knees. “My name is—”

But I never get to reveal who I am, and that’s because they already know.

“Puck?” Imogen gasps, placing her weathered hand over her mouth.

“How’d ya know my name?” I ask, looking from her to Keegan.

“Boys a dear,” she utters, shaking her head, eyes wide like she’s seen a ghost.

Keegan blinks once, as he too appears like he’s gone into shock. “Get up from there, lad.”

I do as he says, hoping one of them will explain what the fuck is going on.

“Says I to her, don’t marry that good for nothin’ sleekit. But she didn’t listen. And look what happened,” he says, talking to himself.

I have no idea what’s going on.

“Married who?” I ask, wiping the blood from my eyes and hoping to clear away the confusion as well.

“Yer dad,” Imogen replies softly, coming out of the doorway and walking toward me. “Cara is our daughter, Puck. Yer our grandson.”

The gash on my forehead suddenly pales in comparison to the one on my heart because there must be some mistake. I came here for answers, not to find long-lost relatives. But before me stands just that.

“I don’t believe it.” Imogen gasps, staring at me. “Ya look just like her.”

When she attempts to touch me, I recoil violently as I need a minute. Or two.

These strangers are my grandparents? Do they look like my mum? I don’t know. I can’t really remember what she looks like. I don’t remember them. I know where I got my temper from, however.

I have so many questions. I don’t know where to start.

“Yer so big,” Imogen says in awe, unable to take her eyes off me.

“Aye, yer a big mawn. How old are ye?” Keegan asks, which has me arching a brow.

“Twenty-one,” I reply, needing to address the obvious. “Did ya know I was alive all this time?”

Imogen draws the lapels of her dressing gown across her chest. “Aye, but yer da—”

“We tried, lad,” Keegan interrupts, sensing the sudden shift in the air.

All I hear are excuses.

“You should have tried harder. How can ya live in there?” I ask, peering at the bungalow with disgust.

“This isn’t our home. It’s our son’s. Yer uncle’s.”

An uncle? I have another uncle.

“He’s on holidays with his family. We’re mindin’ his dogs.”

I don’t know how to process this. I have this entire other family, and they’ve moved on, moved on without me. They’ve made a life without me when all I ever wanted was to make a life with them.

“Come inside,” Imogen begs when she notices me processing what they’ve just shared.

Clenching my jaw, I can’t hide my rage as I spit, “Are ye jokin’ me? I don’t wa

Imogen muffles her cries, while Keegan lowers his eyes, ashamed. “Cara was awful stubborn,” he says, shaking his head with regret. “We told her if she married that hallion, we’d never speak to her again. She didn’t listen.”

“And that excuses ya for abandonin’ her?” I ask, barely reining in my temper. “She came here to escape my da? Am I right?”

“Aye.”

“She had no one,” I state, nothing but anger filling my words. “Her family disowned her because she chose the wrong man to marry. And she died here—alone. Ya may as well have killed her.”

“Don’tcha say that,” Imogen cries, wiping her tears away with trembling fingers.

“Why not? It’s the truth. She didn’t come to ya because she obviously didn’t think she was welcome. How old was she when she got married?”

“Sixteen,” Keegan replies with regret.

“And my dad?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“For fuck’s sake, she was only a chile. How could ya allow her to marry him?”

Keegan doesn’t appreciate me pointing fingers, but what the fuck? Why didn’t they stop her? She’d need the consent from a parent or guardian to be married at such a young age, but I suppose the church was happy to bend the rules for a Kelly.

“Ya don’t know yer ma. She—”

“That’s right,” I interject, curling my lip. “I don’t ’cause she was murdered in front of me.”

Imogen crosses herself with fresh tears in her eyes. “Yer dad has told ya nothin’ ’bout this?”

“Naw, but he should have done. I know nothin’ about her. The only memories I have are of her covered in blood!”

“Oh, Puck, I’m sorry. We tried to see ya. But yer dad wouldn’t allow it. He’s a Kelly.”

“And so was yer daughter,” I counter, like that excuse is supposed to make everything all right.