Morrigan, Book 1: Emergence

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The letter took a long time to write and was interrupted by frequent trips to the front door to satisfy freaks and ghouls and ghosts with sweets and popcorn. They seemed very pissed off whenever she gave out the many apples her mother had left. Apples, it would seem, had gone out of fashion. So, the letter required much editing and re-writing before Mo was satisfied with it. She truly felt as though a weight had been lifted and now that she had done it she was impatient for her parents to come home and read it. The trick-or-treaters had kept her up late and the clock in the kitchen read a quarter to one. She had spent the entire evening either writing in her diary, handing out undeserved sweets, or writing the letter, expunging (was that a word?) her woes. She felt light and happy and ready to turn the page, so to speak.

She was still wide awake and considered waiting for her parents to come home and remain sitting with them while they read the letter, rather than leaving it on the kitchen table for them and going up to bed. Taking it out of the envelope once again, she read over it and came ‘round more and more to the idea of being present when they read it. It might be uncomfortable for her if her dad wasn’t immediately moved but she felt ready to face any reaction he might have.

The doorbell rang jerking her back to the present. She carefully put the letter back in its envelope and placed it on the table where her father usually sat. Walking down the stairs toward the front door she could see the silhouettes of two people behind the frosted glass under the porch light. They didn’t look like your average ghouls and an uneasy feeling crept into Mo’s chest as she opened the door.

“Good evening, Miss. Is your name Morrigan Reilly?”

Mo looked from the female police officer to the male beside her and swallowed hard.

“Yes.”

“My name is Bean-Garda Geraldine Cunningham and this is my colleague Garda Aidan Devlin. May we come in?”

“Eh, my parents aren’t here.” She flinched as one of the ghouls outside set off a loud banger under a car.

“We know, Love. That’s what we’ve come to talk to you about.”

It all felt very surreal, leading two guards up to the kitchen and she grappled for something to say.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’ll make the tea. You sit down," said Garda Cunningham guiding Mo toward the kitchen table where the other policeman had now put his hat. The letter to her parents had somehow gotten lost under his Garda hat.

Beneath the bright kitchen light and minus the hat she could see him properly and she recognised him as one of the sailing instructors from the sailing school she’d been to in west Cork over the summer. All the girls had been mad about him but she’d never spoken to him herself.

 “How old are ye, Morrigan?.... “

She had to concentrate but her mind seemed to be splitting off in different directions.

“Eighteen, seventeen is it?” He spoke very loudly. Maybe he thought she was deaf, or perhaps just daft because she wasn’t saying much. Or maybe it was because he was from the country. Or because he was a guard. You probably need to shout when you’re dealing with people in shock, or shooting at them. But then the Irish police weren’t even armed so that was clearly nonsense.

“Eighteen? Seventeen? Morrigan?” He exchanged a concerned look with his colleague that did not go unnoticed by Mo and for this she warmed to him. He seemed safe and sure of himself, and she was pretty sure that everything else in her world was about to become very unsafe.

“It’s Mo. And I’m seventeen. Almost eighteen.”

“Okay, Mo. Is there any body else in the house with ye?”

“What?” Now Mo was really confused. Maybe there was a robbery happening in the neighbourhood, or a terrorist attack...

“No, I’m alone. Why? My parents will be back soon.”

“Listen to me carefully, Mo. It’s about your parents. There’s been an accident and we’d like you to come to the hospital with us.” A flash of hot white light seared through her entire being. In a nano second and without needing to understand exactly how or why, her world as she knew it disintegrated. She felt strange and thought she might faint.

“What kind of accident?” Her heart was racing now. “They’re at the club for the halloween dance. Are they okay?”

“We don’t know all the details yet, other than there was a traffic accident, and they’ve both been taken to hospital. Is there anyone that could come with you, to keep you company? A friend or relation?” She thought of Sinead, pregnant.

“No. Nobody.”

The female Garda put a cup of tea on the table in front of Mo and added three heaped teaspoons of sugar into it before stirring it. This last addition, Mo knew, did not bode well for her. Sugar for shock. Shock from very bad news. She felt very self-conscious, as though she were being scrutinised and she was at a loss as to how to behave.

Staring at the tea into the miniature vortex where Garda Cunningham had been stirring it, Mo almost became hypnotised allowing herself to fall down into it, but aware of the eyes on her, she snapped back.  She pushed the tea aside.

“Thanks, but I don’t take sugar," she said by way of explanation.

“Ah sure it won’t do ye any harm this time will it?” She was from Galway, and pretty.

“Ok, Mo, drink up and we’ll drive you to the hospital.” Her attention came back to the sailing instructor’s voice again.

“Were you a sailing instructor in west Cork this summer?” If she could just stall them enough then they couldn’t deliver the words she now dreaded hearing.

“I was, yeah, how’d you know that?” he asked, the Cork lilt more pronounced now.

“I spent three weeks there this summer—I saw you. You had the advanced group. I was in the intermediate, with Dermot.”

“Really? Did you enjoy the course?”

“Yeah, I loved it. I’m trying to talk my dad into buying a boat, nothing too big. It’s Aidan isn’t it?”

“Garda Devlin when I’m on duty but Aidan will do. Listen, Mo, we better head out now cause it’s getting pretty late. Do you have a coat or something?”

“It’s at the front door. I’ll just lock up.”