It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 108: Chapter VI (Cont'd)

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

'And what's your name, darlin'?'

'Mickey,' said the little girl, not taking her large eyes off of Alan. The old man scared, but the younger one, she recalled many years later, with his unblinking stare, seemed to be asking something of her. Pleading...

'It's Michelle,' said her father, trying not to show his unease at this meeting. In two different faces, he saw fragments of his wife, and it made him impatient for the real thing. He needed to see Alanna. If he could just see her, that would stop the racing thoughts of doom, that would put the fears to rest that this all might be some terrible misunderstanding—

'No, it's Mickey,' said the little girl. 'I like Mickey better.'

'Mickey,' said Alan, showing his teeth in the worst possible impression of a smile, 'like the baseball player?'

'Like the Mouse,' blanched the girl.

'Of course like the mouse!' said Colin sweetly. 'Ah, but don't mind your Uncle there. 'Twas dropped as a baby. It fucked him up some, I'll tell ya.'

Christopher Mooney's eyes widened, and looked even more upset when in the next moment his perplexed child asked, 'Daddy, what's that mean?'

'Nothing, sweet—'

'It means he's an eejit. Ya know what an eejit is, don't ya?'

But before Christopher could admonish his wife's grandfather, the grouping was distracted by the arrival of Niamh, who had calmed down enough enough to be returned to the general population. 'And,' grinned Colin, a frequent subscriber to the theory of 'ripping off the band-aid', no matter how many times that theory had proved to him problematic, 'that's your grandmother!'

On the list of things that should be handled with delicacy and diplomacy, the introduction of mother to daughter's daughter tops the list. Colin Malone, not a diplomat, morally outraged by such a thing as delicacy, still should have known better. The initial meeting was brief and memorable. Niamh glanced in Valium-induced haziness from her known relations to the unknown duo next to them. Her eyes ping-ponged backwards and forwards with growing rapidity, until Alan imagined a heavenly ding echoed above as the proverbial light bulb blossomed over her crown.

'What?' she panted. 'What? What?!' She suddenly seized at her chest as her frame wobbled and her knees buckled, and in the very next moment fainted on the floor.

It was here, as police officers, grandfathers, in-laws, little descendants, and a couple of nurses and doctors all rushed to assist the mother, that Alan Carr thought it a very good time to take a break from all this trying. He excused himself from the room, not sure if anyone had heard him, and departed for the front steps of the hospital to smell the fresh air and taste tobacco.

By the time the EMTs discovered a pulse upon Alanna Kathleen, it was all but certain that death would take her.

The surgeon, in discussing survival, had not been entirely truthful. They would know more when she woke, yes, but he failed to mention his doubt as to whether the woman would ever wake. The fact she had not died either en route, or during surgery, was a victory to be sure, but a continuing presence on this earth was dubious.

For four days, Detective Mooney lingered in a coma, saturated in death, and much to her brother's chagrin, capturing the hearts, minds, and prayers of the Commonwealth at large. The Commissioner, flanked by both Niamh and Christopher Mooney, gave daily press conferences.