Dark Waters (Celtic Legacy Book 1) Read online

  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.

  Ashling took the keys from me. “I’m driving. Who knows what brain damage you have now,” she quipped. I shook my head, and instantly regretted it. Shooting pains through my neck and shoulders had me leaning against the passenger door. Ashling didn’t see me; I pulled myself together before she unlocked the doors.

  “What do you think happened?” Ashling asked as she turned back on to Highway 19, heading north. Damn, it didn’t look like a near strangling would get me out of our road trip.

  Leaning back in the seat I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see her weave in and out of traffic. I could feel it, which was enough. “Don’t know. Who was I supposed to kill do you think?”

  Ashling was quiet a long time. I finally opened one eye and peeked at her. Face tight with worry, she was chewing on her bottom lip. Not a good sign.

  “Ash?”

  She shrugged and switched lanes without signalling. I cringed and closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to start a fight and she was right, I shouldn’t be driving.

  “I don’t know, I thought I heard something inside my head, while he was strangling you.”

  My eyes popped open, and I sat up. “Pull over.”

  She didn’t argue, just pulled to the side of the road. We were near Goldstream, the trees towering over the pathways that wound along the river. The water ran parallel to the highway, though the sound was overpowered by the cars that zipped by us, shaking the Explorer.

  “You heard something too?” I asked, my hand going to my throat. She turned to me, eyes wide.

  “It sounded like Grandpa . . .”

  “ . . .Only younger,” I finished for her. She nodded and I tried to swallow, wincing at the pain.

  Ashling spun in her seat, the straps of her bright red bikini showing underneath her tank top. “He said that we needed each other. That no matter what I was to stick close to you. Not to let anyone between us.”

  Chills swept through me and I found myself worrying at my bottom lip too. I forced myself to stop. Rubbing my hands on my bare thighs, the jean shorts and t-shirt I was wearing suddenly seemed like not enough clothes.

  “What did he say to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Again I swallowed and wanted to curse at myself for doing it. “He said that I was to look after you now that he was gone. And something about Quickening my blood.” I waved my hand in the air. “It didn’t really make sense, other than to look after you. But why would that change now? We’ve always looked out for each other.”

  Ashling stared out at the forest and the people walking under the tall trees, pointing out sights in the park. “I don’t know, but it feels like something is coming, you know? Like there’s a storm on the horizon and the pressure is pushing down on us.” Her eyes stared off into the distance and I wondered what she was seeing.

  I reached over, and put a hand on her arm, my fingertips brushing against the gooseflesh that had risen all over her skin. I knew exactly how she was feeling—totally and completely creeped out.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go to Tofino,” I said.

  Her shoulders slumped. Oh damn. I didn’t want to be added to the list of disappointments in her life. She’d had enough of those already; Mom hadn’t even given her a card for her graduation before jetting off to Ireland. Staring out the windshield, I thought about going to Tofino. Going into the surf again; facing the fears that wanted to swallow me, even here, this far from the ocean. I broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of going into the water. But this wasn’t about me, this was about Ashling.

  “Never mind, we aren’t going to let Grandpa and some crazy voices inside our heads stop us. This is, after all, your graduation gift.” I squeezed her arm and she looked up, a small smile on her lips.

  “Really?”

  I shrugged. “How about we just don’t talk about the craziness that is our family or what happened with Grandpa today. We’ll go and have fun; deal with whatever this is after we get home. Okay?”

  She smiled, and I leaned back in my seat, rubbing my arms, trying to get my own gooseflesh to calm down. “Now, onward chauffeur,” I said, pointing to the highway.

  Ashling let out a laugh and hit the gas, squealing the tires of my Explorer, spitting gravel out behind us. I clamped my eyes shut, the vehicle swerving out into traffic, multiple angry honks greeting us.

  It was going to be a very, very long drive.

  ~~

  3

  This room is amazing Quinn!” Ashling squealed. She dropped her bags, and inspected the corner room I’d rented for the three nights we were here. Five hundred bucks a night, but the smile on her face was worth it.

  The Wickaninnish Inn was the best hotel on the west coast, and my wallet could attest to that. I’d saved up money every month for the last year in preparation for Ashling’s graduation gift. I knew that Mom wouldn’t do anything, though I had tried to persuade her to before she left for Ireland.

  That hadn’t gone well.

  “Come on Mom, at least a card, maybe a gift certificate. Money, anything. She’s your daughter!” I had said, anger fuelling my words. How she could be so callous to her daughters was beyond me. I knew from experience that Ashling would get nothing for her graduation, but I had to try.

  Mom—or Darcy, as she demanded Ashling call her—had just shrugged and looked away. I could see the shame in her eyes, the guilt. What I didn’t understand was why she kept on acting like she did. “I have to go Quinn. Look after your sister.”

  “I always have Darcy.” I’d never called her that before, and her whole body had stiffened, as if an iron rod had been shoved down her spine.

  I’d driven her to the airport in silence and hadn’t even hugged her goodbye. Maybe the time in Ireland would do her some good, give her some perspective on how she had handled raising her two girls. I doubted it, but hoped for it nonetheless.

  An exclamation from Ashling brought me back to the present. She had just found the private bar. I rolled my eyes, then wandered into the bathroom. I stared in shock at the mirror.

  My neck was black and purple, with red crescent moons where Grandpa’s fingers had sliced me. “Well that is just gorgeous,” I muttered.

  Ashling followed me in and I turned away from the mirror. The tub was easily big enough for two people, and the tile in the roo
m was a beautiful white with flecks and veins of gold running through it.

  Ashling hugged me. “You’re the best.”

  “Don’t have to tell me that,” I said, and hugged her back. “You remember that the next time you throw a fit about me eating the last cookie.”

  She laughed, and went back to the main room where the king-sized bed took up a large portion of it. I went to the window and stared out at the beach below us. Chesterman Beach was known for its waves and surfing. That’s why we were here. Ashling wanted to learn how to surf; she was hoping to go to Hawaii next year, and wanted to know how to ride the waves before she played tourist.

  Sweat trickled down my back despite the air conditioning. I’d never told Ashling how badly I was afraid of the water after my accident. Didn’t think I needed to.

  “Dum, dum.” She grumbled. “Dum, dum.” My back stiffened, and my gut clenched. “Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum.”

  The Jaws theme did not impress me; I spun on her.

  “Not funny Ashling. Next time you get dragged around by a shark let’s see how you like watching Jaws,” I said, striding away from the window.

  “Oh lighten up Quinn, you’ve got a little wee scar, and you haven’t gone in the water since. This will be good for you,” she said, unpacking her bag, and hanging her clothes up.

  “I’m going to go find out about a surfing instructor, preferably one that will let you drown,” I said.

  She laughed and I strode out of the room, slamming the door behind me. She would think I was playing, not really angry, and she would be right. I wasn’t angry, but it was a good cover for the fear that had spiked through me. I really didn’t want to go into the water.

  The concierge gave me a few numbers, and I stepped outside to call the Surfing Schools. After dialling through to five and leaving messages, I finally spoke to a real person.