The Shamrock Killer

Chapter Four: The Aftermath

The first to arrive at the funeral home had been my Mum and Dad. As they drove up the long, windy driveway I could clearly tell that they were going at least 75 miles an hour in a 25 miles an hour zone. Thank God it wasn't raining anymore, I thought numbly.

As I had waited for them to arrive, I had done everything I could to keep my mind off of the dead body in the funeral home. I had played Solitare and Candy Crush for what had seemed like an eternity on my phone but to no avail. I found myself wondering how long Patrick would wait to see his family again. It would be longer than an eternity to him.

A tear slipped from my eyes and slid down my cold, white cheek. I'm sure I looked ghastly. The fact that Patrick was dead had shook me to the core. How could he have been so careless? Especially since he was the man of the family. Something tickled the back of my neck and I frowned as I tried to figure out why he was in the funeral home in the first place. He didn't have a key. At least, I didn't think he did. I mean, Rory didn't have a key, so why should he? And that Shamrock tattoo, that had definitely not been there the last time I had seen him. Granted, it had been a few weeks but the Patrick I knew would never have gotten a tattoo. He simply didn't like them. Especially a Shamrock tattoo. I tried to smile, he probably would have thought it wasn't manly enough.

A knock on the window of my car pulled me out of the quiet emptiness of my thoughts. My heart jumped in my chest, and I was about to scream again purely out of shock before I realized it was my Dad. I moved to open my door and caught a glance at myself in my rearview mirror. I looked like a living nightmare, an accurate estimate, considering I had just found my boyfriend's brother's corpse. Who wasn't supposed to be a corpse, I thought exasperatedly. My blue eyes had gone from a dark blue to a pale blue and were streaked with tiny red veins, making them look completely bloodshot. Maybe they were. My usually full dark brown hair was hanging in lifeless, limp strings on my translucent forehead and my lips and cheeks looked drained of blood. I looked like I was dead, and my mother was sure to freak out.

I kept my face down as I rushed out of the car and into his open arms. My Dad had enough to worry about at the moment and I didn't mean to add to his list. The scratchiness and familiarity of his Irish sweater calmed my nerves a little.

"Are you alright? Not hurt?" My Dad took a moment to look me over. I debated telling him about the bump on the back of my head but decided against it all things considered. It was just a little cut.

"No, it's just...Patrick's still in there." My weak, scratchy voice sounded foreign to my ears. I wasn't like this. I was strong. I had to be strong. "I left him, I-I didn't know what to do." My voice trailed off as I burst into tears and my Dad only hugged me tighter in response. "You did the right thing," he said gently, but it did little to comfort me.

After a few more moments, my Dad thinned his lips in a grimace before pulling out his cellphone. "I'm going to go ahead and call the police and then Mrs. O'Connors. It was her son after all." I numbly nodded my head, wiping away snot and tears from my face into the sleeve of my jacket. I would have to wash it any way, probably multiple times in order to get the scent of death that had permeated the fabric out. I shivered and bowed my head.

My Mum was the next to get to me. She pulled me into her arms and held me tight. My face was firmly smashed into her red hair. I noticed for the first time that it was going grey and wondered if I had contributed to her stress. But I guess seeing dead bodies for an extended period of time did that to you.

"Maureen," Mum murmured, catching my chin in her hands and looking into my eyes. I struggled to get away at first but then gave up. As she studied my face, she sighed and her death grip slowly relaxed. I eased out of her arms and back into my platonic state of nothingness.