Water In My Lungs: Sins of the Father

History

The mechanic shop was loud, electric whirring and grinding filling one's ears with a gnawing shriek. Killian's face scrunched at the offensive noise.

“Rogan!” the man next to him yelled across the garage, projecting his gruff brogue. Across the concrete floor stood a large, old fashioned truck with a shattered window. Two brown boots stuck out from under the engine. “Rogan!” the shop owner called again.

“What is it?!” the eighteen year old replied with a huff, feet scuffing against the floor and body twisting with an effort they couldn't see.

“Get out here, your da's here!” The shuffling of boots stopped at the wrestling with the undercarriage stopped. Slowly, he slid out from under the truck and lifted from the ground, wiping his hands on his already filth covered jeans. His eyes were fixated on Killian, who smiled and took a step towards him.

“What's up, kiddo?” he asked casually, hands in his pants' pockets. Anyone watching them would have needed a second glance to confirm there was no mirror image involved.

“Uhm,” Rogan looked at Killian skeptically. “Nothing much, Dad, ol' Berney shot his transmission.” Killian chuckled, “That's what 'e gets for gunnin' the engine the way he does.”

“No, he... he literally shot it. With a gun.” Rogan's father stared at him a moment flatly before continuing.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about last night. I didn't want you running off with Kennedy before I had a chance to speak with you.” Rogan's face straightened as his back did and he brushed Killian on the elbow, taking a few steps towards the front of the shop where it was quieter.

“What is it?” he asked seriously. Killian took a deep breath in, drawing his fingers over the scruff that had grown to a soft bed of dark red facial hair.

“You know there are things in Ireland, strange things that other people can't explain,” the middle aged Grogach started slowly, eyebrows knitted. Rogan nodded.  

“Yes, Dad. You, for example,” he said, “ya freak.”

Killian smiled. “Well, there are lots of different kinds of things, dark things. Your mother used to tell you stories all the time about the dark things in the water.”

“Kelpies.”

“Yes. Well, your mother and Aunt 'Stelle came to Ireland a long time ago. Not long after they arrived, I found them. And not long after that... The Kelpies did as well.”

“What happened?”

“They followed her, and it lead someone else to them.”

“Who, Dad? Just tell me and skip all the mystic five hundred year old bullshit.” Rogan's voice twinged with irritation and Killian pointed a stern finger at him.

“Bedivere. He's the one they listen to, he's the one they follow and you know how I first met your mother so long ago. He met your aunt at the same time.” Rogan sighed, confounded at the sudden information.

“Okay. And what happened?”

“He followed her for weeks; showing up at her work, showing up in her home, he tried to kill your mother once when she interrupted them.” Rage boiled to the surface of the boy's eyes, lip stiffening. “Finally, when me and your mother left town one night, he found her. He found her alone, and...”

“That son of a bitch.” Rogan's fists clenched and turned on his heels, shoulders tensing. “Son of a bitch.”

“Wait, son. Just wait.” Killian put a supportive hand on his son's shoulder.