Boston Blood

Three

Micka glared at the young man. His eyes looked like they were on fire. Frances held her breath. "What the fuck are you doing, son? You better take that hand off me if you know what's good for ya," Micka snarled at Cillian who was now smiling wider and more maliciously. "Hang on, Micka. I was just going to ask Frances to go get some air, instead. If that's alright with you," Cillian's words sounded innocent enough, but you could hear the harsh tone, underneath. Micka stood there, speechless for a moment, then released his grip on Frances, who could not take her eyes of Cillian.
"Alright. But you're lucky your Da is my boss, son, cause if he wasn't, that hand of yours wouldn't be attached to your arm, anymore." Micka didn't try to hide the bitterness in his voice. Frances inwardly recoiled. Paul is Micka's boss? She was confused but the tense scene in front of her prevented her mind from continuing that train of thought. Cillian had embarrassed Micka and he was not happy. Cillian grabbed Frances's shaky hand and led her towards the kitchen. "I'll be back in a second," he whispered into her ear and walked out to the hall. Frances stared after him and couldn't help but feel exhilarated. She couldn't believe this gorgeous boy had the nerve to do that. She smiled to herself as she opened the door and froze. Her mother was in the kitchen with Paul and they had both jumped when they heard someone coming in. "Jesus, Frances, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Margaret hissed, breathlessly as Paul seemed to be wiping his mouth with a napkin. Frances thought she had seen some of her mother's pink lipstick on Paul's lips. "Are you okay, Ma? You look all flustered." Frances asked Margaret. A familiar knot was growing in her stomach at the sight of the two of them. They looked like naughty school kids. Paul cleared his throat as he poured himself a large whiskey. "Where's that son of mine?" He asked cheerfully but Frances could see the fear building in his eyes. "He's in the toilet, I think. We're just going to go out the back and get some air," she said, quietly as she brushed past. What the hell is going on with them? She thought as she stepped into the cold December air. It was freezing. She thought about going back to grab her coat but she didn't want to go back through the sitting room with all of them. Instead, she sat on the old wooden bench at the end of the small garden and wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to calm down but she was nervous for some reason. She ripped the bow from her head, throwing it onto the snow covered grass.  
Frances stared up into the sky, the lights of the nearby city were creating a dim glow and she was thankful for the peace and quiet. The knot in her stomach was still there, gnawing away at her. She couldn't explain what she was feeling but she felt like something was off.  She was pulled from her thoughts when she saw Cillian walking down the garden towards her with two glasses in hands. He had put his jacket on and had a cigarette between his teeth. The mixture of the cold air and the now searing heat in Frances's cheeks made her shiver. He handed a glass to Frances and sat down next to her.
She took the glass and swigged, enjoying how the bubbles in the coca cola burned her throat. See stared at Cillian from the corner of her eye as he pulled a small flask from his coat pocket and let a large amount of dark brown liquid fall into his glass. He took a large gulp and sighed. Frances turned her head to him and raised her eyebrows. "What?" he asked her, smiling. "It keeps me warm." Frances smiled, rubbing her arms, again for warmth. "Yeah. I didn't realise how cold it was." Cillian immediately stood up and removed his jacket. He leaned over and placed it around Frances' shoulders and sat back down, a bit closer to her this time. She was glad it was dark in the garden because she was sure her entire face was now bright scarlet. "Thanks," she whispered and continued to stare up into the sky to avoid his gaze. They were quiet, again but she didn't mind. It was like he knew she needed some peace and just let her be. 
The sound of a lighter brought her eyes to him, again. He took a large puff of his smoke and leaned back onto the bench, staring at her. Frances eyed the cigarette, longingly and Cillian smiled, handing it to her. "Thanks," she said, quietly as she took a deep drag. "So, what's it really like living in Boston?" She asked him and as she handed back the cigarette her heart fluttered when their cold fingers touched. "It's okay. My Ma wanted to get away from this life, it was just getting too dangerous and she was terrified all the time and couldn't take it anymore but it turns out her brother, over there, is actually worse. He keeps trying to convince me to drop out of school and come work for him but I couldn't do that to my Ma. She's barely hanging on as it is. " He laughed, humourlessly, taking a big drag and looked up at the sky. Frances couldn't stop staring at his Adam's apple which was protruding out from his throat but she was pulled back when his words sunk in. Dangerous? His ma was terrified? She thought and bit her lip. She hesitated but then finally plucked up the courage to ask the question she needed answered. "Are our fathers criminals?" She blurted out the words in a hurry and felt her heart rate increasing. Cillian's breath hitched as he was taking a drag, causing him to cough, violently. He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "You have no idea what they do, do you?" He was shocked but then his eyes were apologetic. Frances shivered and stared deeper into his piercing blue eyes. "I mean, I have my suspicions, but he's so secretive. I wasn't sure. But I suppose it's obvious. He's always either coming home at all hours or not at all. One time I saw him covered in blood and holding a gun. He didn't know I was there. God, he would have fucking killed me." Frances almost mumbled to herself, suddenly very aware that she was sharing too much. Her eyes darted up to meet his. She couldn't describe the look on his face, he looked like he was pitying her and she didn't like it. He handed her the end of the cigarette and she took it with shaky hands, avoiding his eyes. 
He turned his body to face her. She lifted her head and met his eyes, they were wide and kind, now. She held her breath. God he's so handsome. She thought and bit the inside of her cheek. He opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated. Frances stared at his full pink lips and spoke quietly; "What do you want to say?" He pursed his lips and sighed. "I was just going to ask you how bad it is. I've only met your dad a few times and no offence or anything but he's an evil bastard." His face looked pained, tense. Frances closed her eyes and felt the tears flow down her frozen cheeks. Cillian wrapped his arm around her waist to reach into his jacket pocket. He grabbed a tissue out and handed it to her. "That bad?" He whispered and to Frances's surprise, he left his arm around her waist, squeezing, gently. All she could do was nod and try to control her angry tears. Cillian sighed, deeply. "What?" Frances asked, gazing at him through her wet eyes. Cillian stared up to the sky and closed his eyes. "I'm afraid that this is going to be my life. I'm afraid that there's no escaping it." Frances blinked her eyes in confusion. He sounded sad. "I don't think you'll end up like them, Cillian. You're too kind." Frances wiped away the last of her tears and smiled at him. His eyes studied her pretty face and gave her another squeeze around the waist but she could see that he was worried. Before she could stop herself, Frances leaned over and let her head rest of his wide shoulder. He pulled her closer to him and she loved the feeling. In that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt safe.
They were interrupted by Margaret who had come into the garden. She looked panicked and exhausted. "Frances, will you come in and give us a song? Your father is asking." Frances tried to argue, but her mother had already turned on her heel and disappeared. My father is asking...Yeah right. He doesn't ask. She thought bitterly. "Ugh, she always makes me fucking sing," she groaned and grabbed Cillian's drink out of his hand, taking a messy gulp. She stood up and gave Cillian his jacket. He was smiling at her with his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What?" She asked, grabbing the ribbon from the ground and securing it back onto the top of her head. "Nothing." He laughed and stood up. Frances shrugged and walked towards the house but she was almost sure she could see a hint of pink creeping onto Cillian's cheeks. 
She walked into the sitting room and was instructed by her mother to stand in front of the fireplace. She used to love to sing when she was younger, but now it always just felt like a chore, something she was made to do by Tommy. She never had a choice. Margaret stood beside her husband and took a drink of her sherry, smiling lovingly at her daughter. Her father narrowed his eyes at her, silently warning her to do a good job and not embarrass him. She sighed, inwardly and began to sing one of her favourites; "She moved through the fair."

The room was dead silent and everyone's eyes were on Frances. Everyone's except her father. His were constantly darting to to window and he looked like he was sweating. Frances pulled her eyes away, willingly from her fathers and briefly laid them on Cillian's. His mouth was slightly open and his eyebrows were raised in surprise. She had to stop herself from smiling as she sang the last sentence.

The room erupted into applause and Frances saw her mother wipe her eyes on her handkerchief. She walked over to Margaret and squeezed her hand. "That was beautiful, love,"  her mother sniffed as she straightened the bow on her daughter's head. "It really was. Well done." Paul agreed, squeezing Frances' shoulder, gently. "Thanks, I'm just going to go get a drink," she mumbled, before risking a glance at Cillian, again. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like his eyes were a bit watery. 

She smiled to herself and headed towards the kitchen door but before she could open it, a deafening, terrifying sound stopped her in her tracks. She whipped her head around in shock. Everyone was on the floor, covering their heads and the women were screaming. She could hear her father roar in anger as he, Paul and the others sprinted towards the front door. Frances felt like her feet were glued to the floor when another ear splitting bang sounded, this time causing the front window of the house to shatter into a million pieces. A pair of hands were on her, suddenly, yanking her down to the green carpet. Cillian covered his head and glared at Frances through petrified eyes. "What the fuck is going on? Are those gunshots?" She screamed, raising her trembling hands to cover her head. "Just stay down!" Cillian instructed her but Frances' blood had turned cold. "Oh God, Michael!"

Before he could try to stop her, Frances was on her feet and darting towards the sitting room door. "Frances, no!" Cillian shouted after her but she was already half way up the stairs. She crawled towards her brother's bed while the loud, bone chilling pops continued outside. She sighed with relief when she saw Michael was still fast asleep. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking from head to toe. She lifted Michael up, unsteadily and pulled him, gently, to the floor, careful not to wake up. A few minutes past and she was so thankful to hear the shooting seemed to have stopped. She could still hear screaming and the sound of a car speeding off. She cautiously made her way to the bedroom window. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. Her father and Paul were pulling someone's limp body into the garden. The porch light was illuminating the trail of blood drenching the snow covered garden. It was Micka. He was dead.

Frances covered her mouth with her hand and tried to control her breathing. "Oh my God," She whispered to herself as she watched her father and Paul drag Micka towards the car in the driveway. They lifted him into the back seat and her father jumped in to start the engine. Sirens were blaring in the distance and Paul frantically screamed for his son. A minute later, Cillian was running from the house with Tony and Peter. They were headed for Tony's car that was parked just across the street. Paul grabbed his son into a quick hug before shoving him away and telling him to leave. Frances stared at Cillian from the top window, tears were now streaming down her face. Their eyes met for a moment and then he was gone. 

***
Frances shivered in her bed as the memory from that night three months ago tormented her. Her poor mother was distraught. She tried to ask Margaret what the hell happened but it was no use. Her mother didn't say a word and over the next few weeks, her father just got more and more violent with them all, even Michael. 
Frances glanced at her little brother. He had a black eye. She was furious at herself for not being there to protect him, for not being able to stop it from happening. But she was actively trying to stay away from that house as much as possible. Word had gotten around about the shooting and even though she thought it was impossible, the other kids avoided her even more now.

The sound of keys turning in the front door made her stomach turn. Tommy slammed the door closed with such force that it felt like the entire house shook. He stomped into the kitchen and Frances heard her mother scream. 
"You stupid fuckin' bitch! I knew it. Did you think I wouldn't find out? I'm going to fuckin' kill you."