“Suppose,” he finally mutters.
The Father sighs. “That’s all I can tell you, lads. It’s enough to go on. If you’re to secure your arms deals, and solidify the financial wellbeing of The Clan, and most importantly, keep the peace here in Ballyhock, then I advise you to go at once to the lighthouse.” He gets to his feet, and my father shakes his hand. I get to my feet, too, but it isn’t to shake his hand. I’ve got questions.
“Was the lighthouse keeper involved?” I ask. “Was he mates with our rivals? What can we possibly find at the lighthouse?”
Inside the lighthouse? I’ve never even thought of there being anything inside the small lighthouse. There had to be, though. The old man lived there for as long as I can remember. There’s no house on property save a tiny shed that couldn’t hold more than a hedge trimmer.
My father holds a hand up to me, and Cormac mutters beside me, “Easy, Keenan.”
Father Finn’s just dropped the biggest bomb he’s given us yet, and they expect me just to sit and nod obediently?
“You know more, Father,” I say to him. “So much more.”
Father Finn won’t meet my eyes, but as he goes to leave, he speaks over his shoulder. “Go to the lighthouse, Keenan. You’ll find what you need there.”Chapter TwoCaitlinIt’s been thirty-four days since my father passed away.
Perhaps thirty-five.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, feeling a little queasy when nausea gnaws at my stomach. I step down the small ladder that brings me to the main floor of the lighthouse, and the largest room of the home I’ve never left, holding tightly to the rails so I don’t fall.
I’m out of my mind starving.
Maybe he had food stores he didn’t tell me about.
Maybe there’s money somewhere in this tiny home, something hidden that he put away for my well-being.
Maybe…
But I’ve been going crazy trying to find anything at all that would help me survive, and I’m scraping the barrel at this point. If things were normal… if people could be trusted… I’d go into the town center. I’m taking my life into my hands doing that, though, if I’m to believe what my father told me since I was a child.
Even if it wasn’t dangerous… what would they think of me when they saw me? I know what they’d see physically. A tall, thin girl with raven black hair down to her bottom, dressed in her mother’s old clothes. Barefoot. My mother was smaller than I am, and I’ve long since outgrown her shoes. It made me sad when I did for two reasons: it gets cold in the lighthouse at night in the winter, and wearing her clothing and shoes were the only contact I had with her.
My mother died when she gave birth to me.
According to my father, no one even knew she was pregnant, and no one knows of my existence. I prefer it that way. Or at least, I used to.
Now is another story.
Though I’ve had no contact with the outside world beyond the small confines of this lighthouse, I’ve spent the past two decades reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. My mother was an avid reader, or so he told me, but after I went through all of her books, I needed more. My father would get me books from the library when he bought our groceries.
When I was a little girl, I used to beg him to take me with him into town. After reading Little Women, I longed to meet the acquaintance of another little girl, at the very least.
“It’s too dangerous,” he’d tell me. “You’re much safer here with me.”
He never told me what the danger was.
But I know now that if I stay here much longer, I’m going to die. I have no food left.
I’m so hungry, I can’t even sleep anymore. When I lie down, the hunger eats at me like moths to clothing, and I imagine my starvation has pushed me to desperation. I’d give anything for a slice of bread or scraps from a table.
My father hadn’t planned on dying.
And though I’ve torn this place apart looking for hidden stores of food, I know it’s no use. It’s such a small place anyway.
I’ve found other things, though. Curious things. Books and notes, a diary of sorts with strange things written in its pages. A metal box I can’t find the key to.
But no food. And no money.
If I were to walk into town, where would I go? How would I get there? Would my bare feet hold up to the two-mile trek? In the stories I’ve read, churches will often take in the hungry, and feed them. Or perhaps a kindly widow would. Or… something. I can see the spire to the church behind the mansion that overlooks the cliffs. I’d have to get past the mansion to get to the church, and what if no one at the church could help me? Maybe the rich people at the mansion could spare some food.