faded into blurry bits and pieces.
And what about the rumors that the Book of Fennore had been found? Was that why her mother had shown it to her? Danni scrolled down, hoping there would be more to the article, but instead of text she found pictures.
The first was a grainy black and white. The caption read, “Niall Ballagh, only suspect in the Fennore Murders.” She hesitated for a moment before meeting the eyes of the man accused of murdering everyone in her family except her father, putting off for just one more moment seeing the man thought to have committed Danni’s own murder. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and looked into his face, knowing that at least two of the victims had been alive at the time he’d killed himself.
She shouldn’t have been surprised to recognize him. He was the man she’d seen in the cavern with her mother. Niall Ballagh hadn’t been threatening when she’d seen him then. In fact, he’d been just the opposite. She remembered how he’d held his hands out, palms up, trying to soothe whoever was in the shadows. Danni thought about that. The article said her father’s injury had made his memory unreliable. What had he really seen that night? What had he imagined—or thought he’d seen? Danni didn’t even remember him being in the cavern at all. He had to have arrived later, then. Maybe the vision had ended just before Niall Ballagh went nuts.
Niall Ballagh’s eyes stared back from the sepialike picture, shadowed with despair. Like Sean, he was a tall, solid man with broad shoulders, thick arms, and big hands. He stood on the deck of a boat, dressed in a raincoat and rubber boots. She leaned closer to her screen, trying to discern his features from the many shades of ivory and gray. His gaze was direct and piercing, his jaw set. No smile or glimmer of humor in the light eyes.
As she stared at him, she was filled with a host of conflicting emotions. The part of her that had grown up in foster care, never knowing a home she could call her own—that part thought death by his own hands had been too kind for Niall Ballagh. But there was another part of her, a piece that remembered the ravaged anguish on his face as he’d stood beside his son’s body, and that part couldn’t help but feel compassion.
Had the murderer of Niall’s son sent him into the rage Danni’s father witnessed? Perhaps her family had stumbled into a show-down, had become innocent victims to violence not intended for them. She tried to piece the possible scenarios together in her mind. Niall Ballagh might have gone berserk and killed Danni’s brother and wounded her father—but Danni and her mother got away—not knowing, perhaps, that her father was still alive. And maybe her father’s grief and guilt over not protecting them had later filled in the pieces his memory could not.
But, if it had happened that way, why hadn’t Danni and her mother returned home after they learned Niall killed himself? Why had they run to America? And why had her mother abandoned her there?
Questions. Always questions without answers.
She rubbed goose bumps from her arms and moved to the next picture. This one was of her family. They were wearing the same clothes they’d worn in the snapshot Sean gave her, but the camera had caught them unaware, each of them lost in thoughts of their own. Without the fake smiles, they appeared somehow tragic.
Danni’s mother stood shoulders hunched, staring at something far off and unattainable. The breeze teased a strand of hair across her face and lifted the hem of her skirt. Beside her, Danni’s father was grim and distant, hands shoved deep in pockets, chin pointed to the thundering ocean. Sandwiched in the middle, Danni and her brother held hands, each of them stoic as they quietly waited. There was resignation in Danni’s expression—a mute and forlorn acceptance that made her wonder if she’d known what was to come next.
“Cathán MacGrath, pictured with wife, Fia, and their two
And what about the rumors that the Book of Fennore had been found? Was that why her mother had shown it to her? Danni scrolled down, hoping there would be more to the article, but instead of text she found pictures.
The first was a grainy black and white. The caption read, “Niall Ballagh, only suspect in the Fennore Murders.” She hesitated for a moment before meeting the eyes of the man accused of murdering everyone in her family except her father, putting off for just one more moment seeing the man thought to have committed Danni’s own murder. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and looked into his face, knowing that at least two of the victims had been alive at the time he’d killed himself.
She shouldn’t have been surprised to recognize him. He was the man she’d seen in the cavern with her mother. Niall Ballagh hadn’t been threatening when she’d seen him then. In fact, he’d been just the opposite. She remembered how he’d held his hands out, palms up, trying to soothe whoever was in the shadows. Danni thought about that. The article said her father’s injury had made his memory unreliable. What had he really seen that night? What had he imagined—or thought he’d seen? Danni didn’t even remember him being in the cavern at all. He had to have arrived later, then. Maybe the vision had ended just before Niall Ballagh went nuts.
Niall Ballagh’s eyes stared back from the sepialike picture, shadowed with despair. Like Sean, he was a tall, solid man with broad shoulders, thick arms, and big hands. He stood on the deck of a boat, dressed in a raincoat and rubber boots. She leaned closer to her screen, trying to discern his features from the many shades of ivory and gray. His gaze was direct and piercing, his jaw set. No smile or glimmer of humor in the light eyes.
As she stared at him, she was filled with a host of conflicting emotions. The part of her that had grown up in foster care, never knowing a home she could call her own—that part thought death by his own hands had been too kind for Niall Ballagh. But there was another part of her, a piece that remembered the ravaged anguish on his face as he’d stood beside his son’s body, and that part couldn’t help but feel compassion.
Had the murderer of Niall’s son sent him into the rage Danni’s father witnessed? Perhaps her family had stumbled into a show-down, had become innocent victims to violence not intended for them. She tried to piece the possible scenarios together in her mind. Niall Ballagh might have gone berserk and killed Danni’s brother and wounded her father—but Danni and her mother got away—not knowing, perhaps, that her father was still alive. And maybe her father’s grief and guilt over not protecting them had later filled in the pieces his memory could not.
But, if it had happened that way, why hadn’t Danni and her mother returned home after they learned Niall killed himself? Why had they run to America? And why had her mother abandoned her there?
Questions. Always questions without answers.
She rubbed goose bumps from her arms and moved to the next picture. This one was of her family. They were wearing the same clothes they’d worn in the snapshot Sean gave her, but the camera had caught them unaware, each of them lost in thoughts of their own. Without the fake smiles, they appeared somehow tragic.
Danni’s mother stood shoulders hunched, staring at something far off and unattainable. The breeze teased a strand of hair across her face and lifted the hem of her skirt. Beside her, Danni’s father was grim and distant, hands shoved deep in pockets, chin pointed to the thundering ocean. Sandwiched in the middle, Danni and her brother held hands, each of them stoic as they quietly waited. There was resignation in Danni’s expression—a mute and forlorn acceptance that made her wonder if she’d known what was to come next.
“Cathán MacGrath, pictured with wife, Fia, and their two
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