RED REAPER - Soldiers Of Fortune [book one]

Chapter SIXTEEN

Lucky O'Cléirigh

...a few days later...

As I push through the rusty wrought iron gate of the southside suburban home, a tightening sense of determination drives my feet to move forward to the blistered, weather beaten front door.. Even though what I am about to do will be difficult, it is as though there is no alternative.. Something unexplainable had drawn me to this place today, something that I couldn't ignore, even if I wanted to.. Which I don't..

I have seen what true justice looks like in my life, all of the people who had wronged me had known it in the end.. My father Lorcan, My ex boyfriend Darby and his father Malcolm.. Those men who would hurt me and my sister would be lost into the darkness of death, never to breathe again.. The Bible speaks of retribution, an eye for an eye..

I would like to see Abigail's killer have his atrocities returned to them.. Why should they walk free, why should they get to live while she doesn't?

No.. That isn't right.. I have to fix it..
Or at least I have to try..

Lifting a shaking hand to grasp the brass knocker on the pale green door, I rap three times..

-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-

Inside the Brightly home I can hear the sounds of arguments, a man shouts unintelligible frustration at a shrill sobbing woman as the thud of footsteps approaches.. When the door cracks open a middle aged, silver haired woman with red rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks peeks through the gap from behind a tarnished chain.. "What do you want?"

I smile, doleful and sympathetic as I produce my Darkport PD forensics ID card from my purse and show it to her.. "Hello, Mrs Brightly, my name is Lucky O'Cléirigh.. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I'm the forensic photographer who was assigned to your daughter's case and I was just hoping to ask you a few quest--"

Before I can even finish my sentence, the door is slammed in my face and I am submerged in a sinking feeling of rejection as I turn to leave, no closer to knowing the truth..

But then the scratching of the chain unlocking pricks my ears up and I spin back around to see the door pulled wide open, revealing a stout, sloppily dressed Charlotte Brightly.. She stands there in stained sweatpants and an old sports jersey, her hair tied up in a messy bun as she stares at me.. "You a cop?"

I shake my head, producing a business card and offering it to her.. "No mam', I work with the police department in documenting evidence, but I'm not a cop.."

"So then why the hell do you care?" She steps out onto the porch, pulling the door half closed behind her as though she is concerned about us being overheard from inside.. When she takes my card in her hands she inspects it carefully, making sure I am speaking the truth before she folds it between her fingers and tucks it away into her bra..

"I-- I just do.. Mrs Brightly, I'm so sorry for your loss.. What happened to Abigail is a terrible tragedy, and you all deserve justice.. If you'll let me, I'd like to try to help you get answers and make sure nobody else has to go through what you and your husband have endured.."

Charlotte looks me over with discerning haunted hazel eyes and in them I can see the remnants of her daughter.. Abigail had hazel eyes too, beautiful ones.. "What makes you think you can do what the police couldn't? Last I spoke to Detective Donovan and Detective Juarez it sounded to me like they'd all but given up.."

I shift awkwardly, struggling to keep myself together and seem as if I know what I am doing.. In reality I am completely lost, but I don't want her to see that.. I need her to trust me, to believe in me.. And most of all, I need her to know that I really do care.. "I'm not so sure I can do anything they couldn't.. But I'm willing to try, which is more than can be said for anybody else.. If you tell me what you know, maybe there's something there, something the detectives missed? Or Maybe there is something you weren't comfortable telling them?"

A scowl sets acorss her weathered features.. "Are you accusing me of withholding--"

"Oh no!" I inch closer, appealing to her with an empathetic hand on her elbow.. "No, Mrs Brightly.. I'd never do that--"

"Who the fuck are you talking to Charlotte?!" Just then a stern faced, heavy-set man with bright green eyes and a wrinkled brow appears in the doorway, glaring at me as if I were Satan herself standing in his stoop.. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Hello Mr Brightly.. My name is Lucky O'Cléirigh--"

"Ben, Honey, she works with the police department, she wants to help us find who killed Abby.." Charlotte makes an attempt to defend my presence but Benson Brightly doesn't welcome me..

"We don't talk to cops no more, you fuckers have done nothing but accuse us and make me look like a bastard! All you do is cause my family pain and ya haven't done shit to find out what happened to my baby girl!" A snarl of misery and disgust twists his aged features..

Charlotte steps between us.. "She's not a cop, Benny, she's a photographer--"

"HAVEN'T THE PAPERS HAD ENOUGH OF DRAGGING ABBY'S NAME THROUGH THE DIRT! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!! YA NOSEY FUCKING NOBODY!" Enraged by the idea that I am here to get some hot scoop he bellows with intimidation..

I hold up my hands, trying to remain calm and appear confident through my fear.. "I'm a forensic photographer, Mr Brightly.. I'm not a journalist.."

He steps around his wife to force me back and I move to maintain a three foot distance from the man.. "I don't give a fuck who you are.."

"Benny, Honey please-- she might be our last chance! Nobody else believes us, maybe she will!" Charlotte clings to her husband's arm as she begins to whimper and in a second he softens to her..

"I just hate to see you get your hopes up again, Lottie.."

"Mr Brightly--" I interject politely.. "I'm not promising anything except to care enough not to give up.. I can't guarantee I will get results, but I will be here to listen to anything the two of you would like to have heard about your daughter.. Even if you just want somebody to talk to, or somebody to pray with.."

Benson turns his skeptic emerald eyes back on me, something new and curious now glinting within his gaze. "You're a good God fearing woman, Miss O'Cléirigh?"

"Oh yes, Sir, I surely am.." I nod..

"That's where Abby went wrong.. She gave up on God.. It led her down that dark path.. She made some mistakes but she was a good girl.. She was a good girl who thought she could trust the wrong people.." He sighs, shifting from dreadful to defeated and Charlotte nods in encouragement.. "You don't know how many times I wished I'd done it all different.. But there was nothing I could do.. Not a damn thing.."

"Mr Brightly, what dark path do you mean?" I tilt my head.. "What people?"

Charlotte offers me her hand.. "Oh, you better come in, Miss O'Cléirigh.. Let us tell you what was really going on with Abigail before she disappeared.."