Water In My Lungs

Monster

McGregor had the eyes of a man who held a horrible knowledge. His hair was sparse, silvered and reflective with the rain that resided within each strand. His eyebrows folded into a permanent arch, held by the weight of a lifelong scowl. Droplets cascaded down the old man's face and into the creases of his tired skin.

He beat copper nails into the window frame of his home with a feverish intensity that contradicted his ancient appearance. The wood beneath the old man's hammer began sprouting with bent metal that curved at awkward angles. The fog had settled around McGregor's home like a gate, wisping around his ankles in a slow gathering.

The silver haired man paused as thunder struck the darkened sky once more. "What do you want?"

McGregor's eyes remained trained on the sky, though his question had been directed at the two on his own cobble stone pathway. Killian stepped forward, his movements slow and fluid. He had no intentions of angering the man in front of them. Estelle remained at a distance, nightgown soaked. The grey-eyed girl felt the dew on the grass beneath her trace her barely covered ankles. She cringed.

"Are y'deaf, ya git?" The old man's words spread a hatefulness Estelle had never witnessed before, "I said, what do you want?" He ground. Estelle twisted her dampened hands together. Killian looked uncomfortable, shoving his fingers into his pocket with relative difficulty. McGregor turned his head towards them, fogged eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

"Please. I know, knew Gallagher. Something you know may help us." Killian began. He wasn't able to explain further, for McGregor had already held up a hand to quiet him.

"Oh, y'know Gallagher?" He spit on the ground beneath him, treading through the thick fluid with heavy steps. He threw his hammer to the ground, piercing dark eyes striking Killian like a fist. "So y'know to stay the fack off my property."

"People are dying. They're all drowning." Killian hissed. He expected any sort of emotional feedback from the elder, but realized that his hopes had been set too high from the start.

"Right, and I'm just out here putting wood through my windows y'bleeding tick." McGregor rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeves up over his elbows. He leaned on his left leg, hand on his hip. "Do me a favor and fack off, I have shite to do."

"I'll fuck off as soon as you tell me why Gallagher had such trust in you." The Grogach had crossed his arms, back straightening threateningly.

"Y'didn't care then, why do y'care now?" Mcgregor had already made it onto his porch, head shaking in irritation. He wasn't frightened in the least bit.

"This town is in trouble. Don't you care?" Killian walked towards him with purpose, wondering what it would take to make the man offer his knowledge.

"I don't know anyone. I've made it a damn point not to," Mcgregor hissed, backing away. "There ain't no facking fear of God in me, boy. Or any fear of you. I've got two weeks left and no monster is comin' after me for fackin' with you two over it's business."

Killian stopped, eyebrows narrowing, "You're scared of Bedivere." Estelle's jaw tightened at the name.

Mcgregor chuckled in a dreadful way, a laugh that died in his throat before it made it to their ears. "What kind of eejit wouldn't be? He won't kill me though, as long as I stay away from the likes of ya. He's not interested in me anyway. Just the bridle."

"You know about him then?" Killian questioned once more.

"Of course I facking do." McGregor threw his hands up in irritation, jaw tense.

"What bridle are you talking about? What does that have to do-" Killian's inquiry was cut short by the slamming of the door, McGregor disappearing behind it. Estelle let out a breath of flustered air, running her hand over her braid harshly. They'd have given up if not for the heavy stomping that emanated from the house. Killian startled as the door pulled open slowly and a long, thin piece of leather was tossed into the young man's hand.