The Luck of the Irish [Kayce Dutton]

Prologue

I was born on March 7, 1991 in Boston, Massachusetts to two wonderful and loving parents. My mother was a stay at home mom and did everything in her power so I would be prepared for the world that was waiting for me. She'd often say "Everyone has tricks, you just need to make sure that yours outshine the rest." My mother was an immigrant from Ireland. She taught me her country's ancient native language and from that point on learning new languages became somewhat of a pastime for our family. Shortly after my birth, my father being an Art buyer and exporter for the Smithsonian Museum meant that we were living all over the world.

It wasn't until we returned to Boston that everything changed. I was with my father coming home from picking up dinner to surprise my mother and in the short time that we were gone someone came into our home and took the most important person to me from this world. I still remember the excitement and smile on my face, hurrying my father to open the door. Only when that door opened, we both would come face to face with an image that we wouldn't be able to wash away no matter how hard we tried.

The back window was smashed open, most likely broken with a rock on the street. The whole room was a mess and in utter disarray. Apparent of the recent and violent struggle that had taken place. There was no question, my mother fought back, or at least tried to. As we walked further into the living room the horror of what had just transpired became even more jarring. There was my mother. From the moment we had reentered our home I became so focused on the scene in front of me that I almost forgot my father was there. Looking back I don't remember his movements after we opened that door. Once that door opened, all I remembered was my mother's body. She was lying on her side, naked on the ground. Her hands and feet were tied with rope above her head. Her body was bruised, battered and bloody. She had several slices all over her exposed skin, deep enough to bleed but not kill her. No, that pleasure belonged to the man's belt wrapped tightly around her neck. All I remember next was my father quickly taking me outside as I screamed while we waited for the police and corner to arrive. Once they were there I felt all the rage and hope that I had leave my body when I saw the corner's bring my mother's body outside in the black body bag to be loaded into their van and taken to the morgue. It wasn't until a month later that my mother's body was returned to us and we could finally hold a real funeral service and bury her with grace and honor.

Here lies

Roisin Nora Bridget Jameson

Beloved Wife and Mother

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After my mother's funeral, my father became hell bent on finding out who it was that killed his wife, my mother. He also became increasingly paranoid and overprotective of me. Fearful that the same thing that happened to my mother might happen to me, my father decided that it would be best if I went to Montana and live with his parents, my paternal grandparents. Although I don't have any real concrete memories of them, I do remember that Every Christmas and Birthday I would get a card in the mail from them, I just didn't remember their faces. My father said that they came down to Boston when I was a baby but left after two weeks. Noting how with our busy travel schedule and them having to run their ranch, It made finding time quite difficult. My father said that they were aware that I was coming and were overjoyed to have me. As we were pulling up to my grandparents ranch all I could think about was my mother, how much I missed her and the image of her in those last moments and that with moving to Montana I wouldn't just be missing her, I would be missing my father as well. Apparently, he thought it would be best for me to spend half the year with my grandparents and the other half the year with him, wherever he was living abroad for his job. Needless to say I felt utterly alone. The family I knew and everything with it was being stripped away from me and I was being forced to start over without any of the comforts of my old life. As a little girl I just wanted my mother and after realizing that I couldn't have her then all I wanted was my father but we don't always get what we want and I was being shipped off to the armpit of the world, also known as Montana.