Erin Hart - Haunted Ground

Cormac watched Nora’s upturned face as Conover grasped her hand between his own burly paws, and all the carousers sat with bowed heads and closed eyes as they listened to the sound of her liquid voice:

There was a brief silence when the song finished. Gerry Conover lifted Nora’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “By the Jaysus, that was gorgeous!” he shouted, and the spell was broken; everyone could go back to drinking and swearing and telling stories at the top of their lungs.

Nora eased her way past a pair of black-suited mourners and made her way to Cormac. Her face felt flushed and damp from the heat of the crowd, and she fanned herself with both hands. “Did you see Devaney?”

“He says he’ll check it out as soon as he can,” Cormac said. “Listen, I was thinking of heading off. You can stay, if you like. I’m sure Gerry would see you home.”

“I’m sure he would, but I’m fed up with this place.”

“I was going to walk back. You don’t have to come along.”

“Ah, but I want to.”

The night was fresh and cool after the stifling atmosphere of the pub. They were a good way outside the town before either of them spoke.

“Did you get that letter from Ned Raftery?” she asked. Cormac patted his breast pocket. “And have you read it?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“I didn’t think it’d be so black out here. I didn’t even think to bring a torch.”

“I dropped mine at the tower.”

Nora felt something brush against her legs, and stumbled over a sturdy branch lying across the roadside. Cormac reached out to keep her from falling. “I’m all right,” she said. “It’s only a stick or something.”

“Take my hand.” She hesitated briefly, then slipped her hand into his. As his warm fingers enfolded hers, Nora wondered if Cormac understood what it meant for her to actually feel safe with someone. They were passing by the tower, and she could barely distinguish its ivy-shrouded outline against the inky night sky.

“I suppose you’ve known Gerry Conover a good while.”

“Only about three months. We met in Dublin when I started going down to the singers’ club at the Trinity Inn. That’s where I first met Robbie as well, before I realized that you and he and Gabriel all knew each other. Sometimes I’m still amazed at what a small world it is here.” She knew that wasn’t really what he was asking. “Gerry’s a lovely guy,” she continued, “but he’s a singer, you know, and I’m finding that I’m more partial to flute players. I’m not even sure why. Maybe I’m just a sucker for a nice embouchure—”

She couldn’t say any more, because Cormac had pulled her close and was touching his lips to hers, at first gently, then more urgently, until Nora felt dizzy, even slightly delirious.

“Let me stay with you tonight,” he said. “I can’t stand the idea of leaving you alone in that room again. I’d sleep on the sofa.”

“You wouldn’t have to do that, Cormac.”

“I don’t want to take advantage.”

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage. You’d be welcome.”

She took his hand once more, and they turned into the gate at Bracklyn House. Their feet made a rhythmic crunching in the gravel as they ambled up the long drive.

Cormac tried the front door. “Locked. We’ll have to ring the bell.”

Now that their feet were silent, Nora could barely hear a faint noise in the distance, like a motorboat propeller idling underwater. “Cormac, do you hear something?”

His hand dropped from the bell. “I hear it. Seems to be coming from the garage.” The old stable building where Hugh Osborne kept his car was set perpendicular to Bracklyn House, thirty yards from the doorway, but they both covered the ground in a few seconds. Through the window on the side door, they could see the black Volvo inside the garage, enveloped in gauzy clouds of exhaust. Cormac tried the doorknob.

“Locked.” He used one elbow to break the glass, then reached in to unlock the door. The billowing fumes made them both cough as they made their way to the car. “See if you can find a way to open the garage door,” he shouted as he pulled at the car door. “This is locked as well.” He searched around the floor for something heavy enough to break through safety glass, and finally came up with a sledge from the corner. She couldn’t see him swing it, but heard a dull thud and the rain of shattered glass as it fell into the car. Cormac pulled open the door and struggled to lift the slumped figure from the driver’s seat. It was Hugh Osborne.

“Turn it off,” he said, “then come and help me.” Nora reached in to switch off the ignition, and heard something roll off the seat onto the floor. She felt around the floor mat until her fingers closed on a small plastic cylinder, and held her breath as she read the label. She ran quickly to where Cormac was kneeling over Osborne’s still form.

“Cormac, let me have a look at him; he may have taken sleeping tablets as well.” She held up the pill bottle. It was empty.

Two hours later, after the flashing lights had disappeared and the ambulance had taken the unconscious Hugh Osborne off to hospital, Bracklyn House was quiet again. Lucy had rung for the ambulance and insisted on going off to hospital with Hugh. In all the chaos, Jeremy was nowhere to be found. Unable to sleep, Cormac lay on the sofa in Nora’s room, revisiting the troubling events of this night and the past few days. He looked over at her, lying on the bed, and saw that she was asleep. Nora was convinced the case was closed, that Osborne would confess if and when he ever awakened. Cormac didn’t feel sure. He’d begun to regret this whole episode, everything that had taken place since he had answered the phone call in Dublin and agreed to come to Dunbeg. Well, almost everything. He couldn’t regret coming to know Nora better. He still felt a certain kinship with Hugh Osborne, despite Nora’s suspicions about the man. He also felt bound to Jeremy Osborne, in whom he could see so much of his younger self. But how much of that understanding was real, and how much was based on illusion?

Responsibility. His father had felt it for complete strangers more than for his own family—the people for whom he should have felt truly responsible. Cormac had always told himself that he wanted no part of his father’s abstract notion of responsibility. But wasn’t that what had brought him here in the first place? What was the word Nora used in talking about the cailin rua? Obligation. He had understood exactly what she meant, and felt it acutely when he first laid eyes on the girl’s small ear exposed in that cutaway. The thought of it pierced him through, along with the memory of the expression in Hugh Osborne’s haunted eyes out on the bog, and Nora’s laughing, tearstained face on the road from Tullymore. He felt exhausted, and lay very still.

The next moment he was awakened by Nora’s voice in his ear. “Cormac. Cormac, there’s someone out there. I saw the light.” What was she talking about? The tower. She was talking about the tower. And then she was out the door. Cormac threw off his blanket and stepped hurriedly into his shoes, fully awake now. He couldn’t let her go out there on her own. He only realized he’d forgotten his glasses as he left by the kitchen door.