Boston Blood

Four

Frances held her breath. It could just be like any other night when he came home pissed drunk from the pub, but the darkness and anger in his voice makes her feel sick. She slowly got out of bed and tip toed to the bedroom door. It was already open a few inches because Michael was having constant nightmares and still needed to have the hall light on, so she could hear them very clearly. "Tommy, please. Just listen to me, it's not like that. He-, he's just a good friend, Tommy. He only wants to make sure that we're okay," Margaret pleads with her husband. Her voice was shrill and shaky. This wasn't like any other night. Something was very wrong. The blood drained from Frances' face as she stepped put onto the landing. She wanted to go downstairs. She wanted to help her mother but she couldn't move. She was terrified.

"Do you think I'm fucking stupid? You were caught! Tony saw the two of you the other night all over each other. You've made a fucking fool out of me, you silly cow. After everything I've done for you and those spoiled, ungrateful kids!" There was a sound of skin hitting skin, hard and Frances could hear her mother whimper. Then, Frances heard a strange sound, a sound that sent chills down her back; her mother was laughing, darkly. Margaret's voice was quiet, now and Frances finally took a couple of steps so that she was standing half way down the stairs. She was trembling. "Alright, Tommy. You're right. Me and Paul have been seeing each other for a few months now. We're in love, Tommy and we're getting out of here, together. He's twice the man you are. He'd never dream of laying a hand on a woman or child. He's not a miserable fucking coward, like you. I fucking hate you, Tommy Ryan. I'm leaving you. I finally have the courage to get out of this hell hole and take my babies somewhere you can't hurt them, anymore." Her mother's tone was sharp and cold. Frances couldn't believe her ears. What the fuck? Paul and her are having an affair? My ma has gone mad! She thought, trying to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. She could hear her father laughing, now. It was an odd sound, un-natural and un-nerving. "It might be a bit hard for you to run off into the sunset with Paul Duffy, love. The only place Paul is able to go to, now, is the fuckin' morgue."

Frances gasped, loudly and immediately threw her hands to her mouth, trying desperately to quiet the sobs that were escaping her chest. He killed him. He fucking killed Paul!

"Frances? What's going on? What's wrong?" Michael's sleepy, sweet voice made Frances jump. She ran back into the bedroom and held her brother's face in her hands, trying to compose herself. His big green eyes were wide and worried. "Nothing, sweetheart. Just stay here, okay? Don't leave this room. Okay? Do you hear me?" Her grip tightened around Michael's face, frightening him. He wanted to argue with her, to question her but he just nodded. There was a loud crash of glass hitting the floor and an ear-splitting scream. Frances ran to the wardrobe and grabbed Michael's hurly stick before slowly walking back to the stairs. Her entire body was trembling but she had to do something, anything. She had just reached the bottom when a familiar, heart-stopping sound attacked her ears.

"Ma!" Frances screamed in horror. She sprinted towards the kitchen and as she burst through the door, she fell to her knees at the image in front of her. Her father was holding a hand gun and was towering, menacingly, over her mother, who was lying on the floor, completely limp. She was bleeding from her chest, which wasn't moving. "No! What did you do! Ma! Please God, No! Ma. Ma. Wake up!" She screamed and glared at her father, whose mouth was curled into a small, evil smile. "No one makes a fool of Tommy Ryan, Frances," Her father snarled as he lit a cigarette. Frances reluctantly let her eyes fall onto the puddle of blood which was trickling towards her across the linoleum floor. Her mother's eyes were closed and she looked like she had a hint of a smile on her face. She looked peaceful. Frances crawled over to her mother and took her hand. She felt like she was dreaming. This couldn't be real. She was trembling, violently and just sat there, holding her dead mother. Her mind was reeling and she could feel the bile rising up from her stomach. Oh, God. No. Please, please. She repeated, silently, to herself. I should have come down earlier. I could have stopped him. "You bastard," she growled and scraped herself off the floor to face him. He smiled and squared his shoulders. "Watch your mouth or the next bullet will be yours."

A visceral growl escaped her chest as she scowled at him. She was just about to bend down and pick up the stick but the sound of hesitant footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She tried desperately to get to the door before he walked in. But it was too late. Michael's gut-wrenching scream pierced her ears and broke her heart, simultaneously. "Mammy!" He screamed and darted towards her body but Frances was able to grab him just in time and wrap her arms around his trembling little body as he crumbled to the floor. His sobs were causing her physical pain. His eyes rose up to his father's who was now standing and putting on his coat. Frances wanted to kill him. She wanted to take the gun from him and shoot him. She couldn't believe he was acting so casual. The hate and fury she felt in her soul petrified her.

"Daddy, do something. Help her! Mammy!" Michael pleaded with Tommy. Frances glared up at him as scoffed and flicked his cigarette towards them. "I need a drink." Tommy snarled. The door slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Michael's weepy, terrified eyes searched his big sisters. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him everything was going to be okay but she couldn't. Nothing she could say would help. The truth was Frances knew that her father wasn't going to come back. It was her and Michael now, alone, left to pick up the pieces. Frances wiped her brother's tears away and peeled herself off the floor. She yanked the white table cloth from the table and draped it, carefully, over her mother. Michael dragged himself over to where his mother was and threw his arms around her, squeezing tightly. Frances let the tears fall. Her poor mother. She didn't deserve this. But Frances couldn't help but feel angry towards her. How could she have done this to them? She must have known her father would find out. To be with Paul, his best friend and right hand man behind his back? Frances tried hard to push the thought from her mind, but part of her wondered if Margaret wanted to get caught. Maybe she wanted to die. To finally be free of Tommy.

Frances shook her head and ripped Michael away from Margaret. He kicked and screamed and fought his sister, punching and scratching her in rage. She let him. She let him feel all the things he wanted to feel. Their lives were going to change forever and he needed to get used to that fact. They both did.

When he eventually calmed down and sat in a kitchen chair, sobbing quietly, Frances went to the small bar in the sitting room and poured herself a large whiskey. It burned as it went down her tight throat. She poured another one, trying desperately to steady her shaky hand. When she raised the glass to her lips she froze at the red hue on her fingers. She wiped her hand on her pyjamas and closed her eyes. She had to keep it together. For Michael, for her mother. She placed the glass down and slowly walked toward the hall. She picked up the phone and dialled the number. The phone rang only once before someone answered. "Hello?"

"I need an ambulance. My father just killed my mother."

Fear was creeping up inside of her, now. She was terrified of what would happen. She was only fifteen. She was a child with no other family. They would be taken away and sent to live with the nuns. She tried to fight the dread and panic in her mind. Her life was over.