Tears well in my father’s eyes as I walk him through the house. Recounting memory after memory as best as I can. Over time, Elias conditioned me to forget these memories. They became tainted with the blow of a hand or the crack of a whip. Even now, as I conjure them to the forefront of my mind, hoping to give my father a glimpse into our lives before her murder, the phantom pain sweeps over my skin.
“We had hidden areas all over the house,” I whisper as I open a small hidden hatch at the end of one of the cupboards. Just bigenough to fit my eleven-year-old frame. “She never told me why, just that when the time came, she would utter our safe word, and I was to find the nearest one.”
“What was your safe word?” my father asks quietly.
“Mo réalta,” I murmur.
“My star.” It comes out choked, hoarse, and full of pain. “I used to call her that all the time. My beautiful star.”
“Where were you that night?” Sully asks, his voice soft as not to disturb the quiet contemplation that settled over the room. “We didn’t find any evidence of a child living here.”
My laugh is small and breathy. “You’d never find it if you didn’t know where to look.”
I lead them up the staircase at the front of the house, my fingers trailing up the dark wood of the railing, the steps creaking under my weight as I ascend to the last place I saw my mother alive.
“You cheated.” My eyes narrow at my mother, a pout forming on my lips. “You win every time.”
My mother smiles, it is soft and comforting, but there is a hint of mischief behind the bright green that causes the gold tint in her eyes to light up. They look otherworldly against her porcelain freckled skin and fiery red hair.
“You just are not patient enough, my love.” She winks at me as she settles the game back into its box. “You don’t take the time to consider your moves and the impact they might have later down the road. Think before you act.”
I screw up my face as I look at her. “You sound like a fortune cookie.” She laughs, melodic and low.
“Maybe life would be better if we all sounded a bit wiser.”
It is my turn to laugh. “I never said you sounded wise,” I tease her. “Just old.” She growls, low in her throat beforelaunching herself at me, hands prepared to grab me. I squeal with laughter and take off like a shot.
“I’ll show you old.” She runs after me, barely missing me as I dart past her and scramble up the stairs. There is no way out on the second landing, but plenty of hiding spots. Her room alone has several places to hide. One of my favorite places is beneath the pile of clean clothes in her overly large laundry basket.
Unfortunately, she would see that coming. I choose to hide beneath the mountain of pillows on her bed instead. Curling myself up against the headboard, rearranging everything over me as if it has never been moved.
Let her try to find me now.
Except—she never does.
“I heard her screaming at the top of her lungs,” I choke, refusing to look down at the pictures Aine has laid out on the floor on the landing. The combination of them together, laid one on top of another, creates a life size portrait of my mother’s last moments. “Heavy footsteps thud up the steps after her as she screamed the safe word again and again. We had one of the safe spots in her room.”
“The police report said there was no sign of forced entry,” Aine tells me softly. “She knew her killer, Ava, and she let them in.”
“Doesn’t narrow down a suspect pool,” Liam comments bitterly.
“Actually,” I tell him, leading them into the master bedroom. “It does.” He doesn’t need to ask what I mean. He knows. Seamus McDonough.
The man who masquerades as him, anyway.
Taking a calming breath, I search for the spot I hid in for hours before one of the officers finally found me. The house was crawling with people and any noise I made was lost to their heavy footsteps and loud voices.
Then, out of nowhere, the door opened and a saddened, but caring face appeared in the darkness. His name was Officer Finn, and he did everything he could to take care of me before social services whisked me away without warning.
“No one will hurt you, a chroí,”he uttered the safe word my mother drilled into me to accept.
“They will call youa chroí,” she told me. “Always trust that word, my star.”
“I remember staying with him and his family for almost a week before social services found us,” I tell Sully. “Finn…”
“Kelly.” Sully smiles at the name. “He was a good man. Good soldier.”
“He isn’t still alive?” I cock my head to the side concerned.