Read Online And Blue Skies From Pain by Stina Leicht - Free Book Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
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a key which he didn’t have. He considered jamming a chair under the bedroom doorknob for privacy, but neither the chairs nor the doorknob were designed in a way that would make that feasible. With nothing to serve as a distraction, he put on the pajamas, brushed his teeth, climbed into bed and tried not to think. Lying in the dim light emitted by security lamps, he rolled over on his side and turned his back on the camera’s staring red dot. With his face to the wall, it wasn’t long before he grew tired of the flowered wallpaper. He turned on the bedside lamp and searched through the laundry bag.
A cup of tea would be nice, but he didn’t trust that the kitchen’s stores hadn’t been tampered with. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out an old photograph of his father and mother. The photo was, along with his wedding ring, one of his few remaining possessions. He supposed he should’ve left it with his mother in Derry where it would have been safe, but for now he was glad to have it with him.
Studying the black-and-white image, once again Liam noted that although Bran was immortal, he’d aged. In the photo, he could’ve been twenty years old at the most. Liam thought his father now looked to be around forty—only slightly older than Liam’s mother. His uncle Sceolán was Bran’s twin brother. Bran had said as much. However, Sceolán could’ve easily passed for twenty or twenty-five. What all that meant, Liam couldn’t have said.
He couldn’t help thinking it ironic. Everything he knew about his father and his father’s people was almost entirely comprised of fiction. Yet, the reason for giving himself over to the Inquisitor was so that the Church could learn about the Fey. In truth, he probably knew less than the Catholic Church did, and they didn’t even believe in the Fey. It occurred to Liam that maybe that was another reason why his father had risked sending him—he didn’t know enough to reveal anything important. The realization gave Liam a chill.
Rubbing his eyes, he lay back on the soft feather pillows. The tension from the day had snarled his muscles into painful knots. He couldn’t get comfortable. As a last resort, he grabbed a volume from the bookshelf and read for a time but found he couldn’t focus on the page. He wouldn’t let himself sleep—couldn’t until he knew that Father Murray had returned. However, he did permit his eyes the briefest of rests from time to time. Once. Twice. And then he passed into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 3
Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
November 1977
“ S o, you finally have what you wanted, Joseph,” Father Thomas said. “I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”
Although Father Thomas was his direct supervisor, Father Murray knew better than to take the remark as anything other than what it was—a symptom of exhaustion and frustration. The peace initiative had gotten a rough start. It’d been a long day, and this was just the beginning. Unfortunately, there were a long series of even longer days ahead, and they both knew it.
“To tell the truth, there are those among the Order who firmly believe you’ve lost your damned mind,” Father Thomas said.
“Are you among them?” Father Murray followed Father Thomas’s bulky form into the steel elevator and attempted to dismiss a sense of foreboding. It didn’t help that the dull ache behind his left eye was showing signs of becoming a rather nasty headache.
Father Thomas shook his head. “You should know better than that. You’ve my full support. If there’s even a small chance you’re correct…” He sighed. “Innocents mistakenly murdered for centuries. I half hope you’re wrong.”
“I’m right in this.”
“I believe that you believe, and that’s enough for me,” Father Thomas said. “But take care how you proceed, and who you push. There are those who want to see you fail. They’ll do anything to prove you wrong. Remember what
A cup of tea would be nice, but he didn’t trust that the kitchen’s stores hadn’t been tampered with. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out an old photograph of his father and mother. The photo was, along with his wedding ring, one of his few remaining possessions. He supposed he should’ve left it with his mother in Derry where it would have been safe, but for now he was glad to have it with him.
Studying the black-and-white image, once again Liam noted that although Bran was immortal, he’d aged. In the photo, he could’ve been twenty years old at the most. Liam thought his father now looked to be around forty—only slightly older than Liam’s mother. His uncle Sceolán was Bran’s twin brother. Bran had said as much. However, Sceolán could’ve easily passed for twenty or twenty-five. What all that meant, Liam couldn’t have said.
He couldn’t help thinking it ironic. Everything he knew about his father and his father’s people was almost entirely comprised of fiction. Yet, the reason for giving himself over to the Inquisitor was so that the Church could learn about the Fey. In truth, he probably knew less than the Catholic Church did, and they didn’t even believe in the Fey. It occurred to Liam that maybe that was another reason why his father had risked sending him—he didn’t know enough to reveal anything important. The realization gave Liam a chill.
Rubbing his eyes, he lay back on the soft feather pillows. The tension from the day had snarled his muscles into painful knots. He couldn’t get comfortable. As a last resort, he grabbed a volume from the bookshelf and read for a time but found he couldn’t focus on the page. He wouldn’t let himself sleep—couldn’t until he knew that Father Murray had returned. However, he did permit his eyes the briefest of rests from time to time. Once. Twice. And then he passed into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 3
Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
November 1977
“ S o, you finally have what you wanted, Joseph,” Father Thomas said. “I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”
Although Father Thomas was his direct supervisor, Father Murray knew better than to take the remark as anything other than what it was—a symptom of exhaustion and frustration. The peace initiative had gotten a rough start. It’d been a long day, and this was just the beginning. Unfortunately, there were a long series of even longer days ahead, and they both knew it.
“To tell the truth, there are those among the Order who firmly believe you’ve lost your damned mind,” Father Thomas said.
“Are you among them?” Father Murray followed Father Thomas’s bulky form into the steel elevator and attempted to dismiss a sense of foreboding. It didn’t help that the dull ache behind his left eye was showing signs of becoming a rather nasty headache.
Father Thomas shook his head. “You should know better than that. You’ve my full support. If there’s even a small chance you’re correct…” He sighed. “Innocents mistakenly murdered for centuries. I half hope you’re wrong.”
“I’m right in this.”
“I believe that you believe, and that’s enough for me,” Father Thomas said. “But take care how you proceed, and who you push. There are those who want to see you fail. They’ll do anything to prove you wrong. Remember what
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