Dark Waters (Celtic Legacy Book 1)

Dark Waters

Celtic Legacy Book I

Shannon Mayer

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.

-Mark Twain

~~

1

The Eric Martin Pavilion was a nuthouse. A nice nuthouse, but still, that fact didn’t change what it was.

“
Do you think Grandpa will know us today?” Ashling asked. Her strawberry blond curls were held back in a bouncy ponytail, wide green eyes—just like Mom’s—had a look of perpetual surprise—also just like Mom’s.

“
I hope so,” I said. We paused at an intersection to let two attendants pass, a patient between them. The patient hung forward, allowing the attendants to carry most of his weight, his feet dragging behind. We were in the minimum security section. That meant there were no really dangerous people—just those that had lost touch with reality. Like Grandpa.

“
I, I, I, I don’t, want, want, want a bath. I’m melting, melting!” The patient started to scream as they disappeared around a far corner. He ended with a fair imitation of a witch’s cackle.

Ashling let out a giggle. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning. These people were here for the same reason Grandpa was: their inability to adjust to reality and deal with what was inside their heads. But sometimes, even knowing that, it was hard not to be amused by the things they said and did.

I coughed into my hand. “You shouldn’t laugh Ash, it isn’t nice.”

Her mirth was wiped away in an instant. “Shut up Quinn, you aren’t Mom, you can’t tell me what to do.”

My jaw clenched in a sudden reflex that I had to quell. She was right. I wasn’t her mother; yet I might as well have been for all the time Mom took for Ashling. Recently she’d taken to reminding me I had no say in what she did, or who she did it with. It irritated me and she knew it.

As we passed closed doors, voices flitted towards us—gasps, groans and even the occasional screech.

“
I hate that Grandpa’s here. He doesn’t belong with these crazies,” Ashling said, her voice quivering as we passed a particularly bad screamer, one that threw himself at the door over and over again, banging and freaking out about the doctors; that they were using him as a test monkey.

I reached out for her hand and, for the first time in a long time, she took it, her petite fingers wrapping around mine. Not one to throw her fear in her face, I said nothing.

Finally we stood in front of Grandpa’s room, the door ajar. The nameplate read Blake Lorcan, though they’d misspelled it, using a k instead of a c in Lorcan. He was one of the patients that was allowed to wander the Pavilion; perfectly safe, just totally bonkers. None of the anti-psychotics, sedatives or whatever else the doctors had tried had worked. He was trapped inside his head, and the monsters that haunted him there had gotten him into trouble more than once in the real world.

Mom had tried putting him in an old folks home, but he was still too young for that—too healthy. So the Eric Martin Pavilion Mental Institute it was. I pushed the door open and peeked inside. Grandpa was sitting in his chair, staring out the window.

“
Grandpa!” Ashling called out, dashing into the room. I don’t think she noticed, but I saw him jump when she spoke; shudder when she gave him a hug.

He tipped his head and stared at Ashling, his eyes fogged over. “Hello? Who be here?” The faintest of Irish accents was still on his tongue from his early years.

Ashling’s face fell, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. She had always had a tighter relationship with Grandpa; he’d been our surrogate father, the only male role model we’d ever had.

“
Grandpa, it’s me, Ashling. I came to visit you,” she said, her hands reaching out to take his. He pulled his fingers away from her, slowly bringing them to his chest.

I sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. “That isn’t very nice Grandpa. Ashling and I came here to see you. We didn’t have to come you know.” Ashling flinched at my hard words. I shrugged; there was no point in pulling any punches. It wasn’t likely he’d remember anyway.

Ashling sat next to Grandpa, and took his hands in hers, speaking softly to him. I looked out the window, not really seeing the view, just thinking.

Our family was a weird one at best. Mom had all but ignored us, though, if there was one of us she preferred, I suppose it would have been me—though saying she favoured me was a stretch. All it meant was that she hadn’t completely ignored me. As a young child I’d seen how her behaviour towards us affected Ashling and tried to make up for it in my sister’s life. Grandpa, he’d favoured Ashling, coddling and spoiling her to the point where I wanted to pull my hair out, while he snubbed me, many days acting as if I didn’t even exist. It didn’t surprise me that I’d always felt as if we didn’t fit; as if there was some gaping piece in our genetics that kept our mother from loving us.

Grandpa gave a grunt, silencing Ashling, then slowly turned to face me. His eyes were just like mine, a golden amber that had gained me more than my share of double takes.

“
You. You will kill her. Bitch,” he snarled, surprising me. His hands flexed against his chest, the linen of his pale yellow pyjama top rippling under his fingers.

Ashling gasped and my eyes popped open wide. “Grandpa, watch your language,” I said, my response automatic. It’s what Mom would say if she were here.

He stood, fast, faster than I’d ever seen him move. “YOU WILL KILL HER YOU BITCH!” he screamed, his six foot height towering over me. Ashling started to cry and I made a motion with my hand, a hang loose signal. It was our sign to get help when Grandpa was acting up. I wasn’t afraid—this wasn’t common, but it wasn’t unheard of with him either.

I stood up, and lifted my hands to the air. “Okay then Blake, I’ll go.” I started to sidle around him. At the last minute I realized I should have just gone over the bed, but then I’d never had him raise a hand to me before. Yelled at me, yes. Hit me? Never.

He lunged at me, his fingers wrapping around my throat before I could react. Shocked, I stared at him for a full second before I realized the trouble I was in.

Ashling started to scream. “Somebody, help! He’ll kill her!”

“
That be the idea Ashling,” he said, his eyes fierce as they bored into mine. I fought his hands, clawing and scraping at the wrinkled skin, astounded at the strength in his old muscles. My body began to sag as the blood slowed to my brain. I knew what was happening but I couldn’t stop it. The black dots that danced in front of my eyes were getting bigger with each passing second.

Voices, footsteps, more yelling. But still those hands clenched around my neck. His fingernails drew blood, the warmth trickling down my back.

In the fog of my brain a voice whispered; it sounded like my Grandpa, but younger.

It be better this way Quinn. You must be believing me that to be Quickened by me is better than ta other’s that would draw forth your powers. Protect your sister. Above all else.

I wanted to ask why he was trying to kill me, what had I done? Tears burned; how I had wanted him to love me too, as he loved Ashling. Now I would never get that chance.

I loved you both, but she needed me more. As she will need you now that I’m gone. I have used ta last of what makes me whole to Quicken your blood granddaughter. I am no more.

And with that, the darkness that threatened swallowed me whole, and everything that I knew vanished.

~~

2

“
Quinn, wake up!” Hands shook me, and I gasped as I opened my eyes, sitting up reflexively.

“
No, let her lie still for a minute. We are so sorry Ms. Lorcan. We had no idea your grandfather had it in him to attack someone. Especially one of you girls. He talks about you all the time,” one of the male attendants said.

They laid me back down on the cool linoleum floor; I rubbed my neck, wincing. Crescent shaped cuts from his fingernails still oozed and I knew from the tenderness that I was going to be badly bruised.

I tried sitting up again, and this time the world didn’t spin.

“
Quinn!” Ashling threw herself at me, and I caught her with one hand, using the other to brace myself.

“
I’m okay Ash,” I whispered into her hair, the scratch of my vocal chords against my throat painful.

“
I’m so sorry, it was my idea to come and see him before we go to Tofino,” she said. I let out a hoarse laugh, my throat aching with each noise I made.

“
S’okay.” I patted her back.

“
I’m sorry,” she said again, green eyes full of tears that trickled down her cheeks. I sat up a little better, and wiped her tears away, the motion a reflex.

“
Don’t cry. Nobody got hurt right?” I asked. The attendants around us lifted eyebrows. Okay, so I had gotten hurt, but that didn’t count. They’d hustled Grandpa off to the infirmary while I was out, to “check his blood pressure,” they said. I shared a look with Ashling. We both knew it was more likely he was been sent for some hard core sedatives.

Maybe I could use this as an out. I really, really didn’t want to go to Tofino.

They helped me stand, and the attendants escorted us back through the Pavilion—right out the front doors. They suggested I go to the hospital next door. I declined. I hated hospitals and as long as I was standing and able to breathe, see and hear, I wasn’t going into one voluntarily. It was bad enough going to the institute.