Bea And The Boys ~Complete~

Prologue

Meet Aislinn O'Connell ^^^ 

So, 17 chapters in and I decided I needed a prologue - because why not?! 

I'd like to thank HelenClayton for all her help and for putting up with all my plot woes and constant 'what do you think of this? and this? and this?' messages. 

As always I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes and hope you enjoy.

ElfinRose x.

~ Omagh August 1998 ~ 

A woman walks along the street, hurrying to get home where her brother waits for her. Her arms are full, bags swinging from both hands filled with food and with clothes that caught her eye in the sales. She glances down and smiles softly before looking around at the crowd beginning to gather in front of her. Police are redirecting people, ushering them towards her. Her face pales as she catches snippets of conversation from within the throng. Her pace increases, eager to reach safety as she turns and walks back the way she came. She hopes her brother is safe - that he won't worry too much.

She passes a soldier, young and dressed in fatigues, his burgundy beret covering a handsome face and dark hair. As their eyes meet he gives her a brief nod and a small smile before moving away, towards the threat.

The woman hurries along, a sense of urgency filtering through the crowd now. Her heart beats fast in her chest, teeth worrying at her lip - the only outward sign of her nervousness. Nearly there, nearly safe, she chants in her head. She reaches the next line of soldiers and police working to block the road and heaves a sigh of relief. She must be safe now.

She turns to look behind her but the mass of people block her view. The street ahead of her is busy with people too - with those shopping and those gathering to see what was happening. She pushes her way through the crowd and continues on her way looking down every so often, humming softly to herself.

A soldier, young and green overhears a message over the radio of one of his senior officers. His heart simultaneously drops and lodges itself in his throat. There is nothing that he or any of his comrades can do. Unbidden a smiling face, with dark hair and stormy eyes comes to mind and he feels the lump in his throat grow larger. The girl can't be more than nineteen, a child.

He feels the blast from almost a mile away, the ground shakes with the force of it. The crowds of people are silent for a moment before the yelling and screaming starts. The wails of grief pierce his heart as he and his fellow soldiers try to make their way through.

The police are trying to hold the people back, to limit their view of the disaster. And it is a disaster, a tragedy pure and simple.

Bodies of the dead and the injured litter the ground around the smoking wreck of the car. Sirens wail in the distance, ambulances speeding to try and save as many as they can. The solider walks among the carnage like a zombie, his brain not quite able to comprehend the senseless loss of life he sees.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a head of dark hair, splayed out around her like a halo, a piece of shrapnel buried in the base of her neck oozing blood. The tears he had been trying to keep a desperate lid on escape, leaving wet trails down his cheeks as he gently pulls her hair to one side to check for a pulse he is certain he won't find. His fingers search for any signs that the girl could still be alive but he finds nothing. His only hope is that she felt no pain, that she went instantly.

He swipes at the tears on his face and sniffs once, trying to regain composure. He turns the woman over carefully so that she now lies on her back, her face pale and slack he brushes his fingers over her eyelids to close them and makes the sign of the cross over her.

So preoccupied is he by her face that he does not notice her cargo until his grief is interrupted by a soft cry. He looks down at her chest, seeing for the first time the baby carrier she had strapped to her. The infant inside must have been protected from the blast, it's mother's last act must have been to shield her child.

With shaking hands he unclipped the carrier, freeing the child. He lay her, for he is certain from the clothing that it is a girl, next to her mother, checking for any immediately obvious injuries. The child appears largely unharmed, aside from a few small scratches where her mother must have fallen. The infant looks to be around four months old, bringing yet another wave of grief at the thought of his own daughter, who did not make it that far.

An idea comes to him, and he tries to ignore it. It would be madness. It was illegal for a start and put his morals into question.

The child gurgled, oblivious to all around her, blinking up at him with wide grey eyes that remind him of his wife's. She reaches up a tiny hand to grab his finger and he is lost.

Looking around him to check if he is being watched he quickly removes the baby carrier from the woman and, apologising to whoever would be missing them, picks up the tiny girl, bundling her underneath his shirt, and walks away.