Nevermore: The War (Part: 4)

Jack never intended to get drunk, just as he had never intended to become a drunk. He sits in the bar of Mc Finn's pub. Nearly everyone has left him. Even his brothers have gone home. Jason is fast asleep under a table. Kerrigan sits patiently beside him nursing a glass of sherry. She does not particularly care for sherry; however, one of the men had bought it for her earlier. She longs for real liquor, or, at the very least, something slightly more delectable.

Dermott Mc Finn comes out from behind the bar. Dermott is just below average height, however, next to Jack, he looks like a child except for his closely trimmed goatee. His green eyes glitter in the flickering candle light. They are wide like those of a child. His eyebrows are thin and neat and his lips are delicate and, although not large, full. He has faint freckles on his cheeks, despite the fact that he is not a child. He is not fat, but he has wide shoulders for a man his height and powerful, though not overly muscular, arms. His hands are on the small side. His fingers, however, are long and thin with clean, even nails. His face is heart-shaped and almost effeminate. He has a certain gentlemanly grace about him when he moves. Despite his impoverished upbringing, Dermott has the manners of a gentleman most of the time, although when things get rowdy something snaps in him and he becomes akin to a wild animal, prone to attacking anyone or anything that he perceives as possibly posing a threat.

Dermott walks around blowing out the candles. His small brown and black striped cat brushes up against Jack's leg before jumping onto the bar, realizing that, as it grows darker, the night draws to an end. Jack scratches behind the little cat's ear, and she purrs gently. He cannot help wishing the same were true of his ex-wife. Jack tries to remember how he got there. They had been at the hospital and had fetched Jason's things. Then Kerrigan brought him and Jason to a proper dinner in an upscale restaurant. Jack had botched ordering horribly, so Kerrigan, the eternal diplomat, had explained to the waiter that Jack had intended to order coffee with cream, not coffee with a crime, a glass of red wine, not purple vines, and red meat with a little blood, not a singing girl named Vianne. Jack had always had trouble with French. Perhaps, he thinks, it may have always been the fact that he could not bear the thought of putting his nose high enough in the air to learn. Maybe he just had trouble with languages that had stable rules of pronunciation, then again, why did he have so much difficulty with Banshee, and after all, it was supposed to be close to Irish Gaelic.

After dinner, they had wandered into McFinn's where Dermott had taken one look at Jason and told Jack that soon enough he'd have trouble telling them apart, sure enough. Jack had intended to announce the birth of John, but his friends will drink for anything. When he told them that John was born, they each bought him a round in celebration. When he told them that John was also terribly ill and might die, they each bought him a round to console him. Then, one by one, they left. Everyone except for Kerrigan had gone away. She always was incredibly faithful to her friends.

Dermott was more than another barman to Jack. Dermott had gone to school with Jack's brothers. Kerrigan had loaned him the money to buy the land on which his bar was now located. None of the banks had taken him seriously. He built the public house from the ground up, and Jack's brothers helped. Even Jack lent a hand occasionally. Jack remembers thatching the second floor roof, badly cutting his hand with the scythe while trimming the edge, falling off and, despite efforts to catch him, falling through the sack his brothers were carrying and smashing into the cobblestone twenty-five feet below where he had been sitting a moment earlier.

He remembers waking up face down in the house next-door with an unbearable headache, the daughters of the couple living there attending to his head injury. Dermott Mc Finn stuck to the shadows then, as now, clutching his brown ivy cap in his hands and apologizing profusely for the burden, meanwhile, the lady of the house was saying to him that it was no trouble at all while she supervised her daughters' treatment of Jack's head. He had sustained a broken leg and a severe concussion as well as the cut to his hand. His head was bandaged and his leg was set and wrapped in plaster. He had cut his hand deeply, but they could not afford a surgeon, so the woman called her sons to help the twins, Shane, and Dermott to hold Jack down while she heated up a fire poker to cauterize the laceration to his hand. He was lucky to survive.

It was just his luck that he also sustained injury to his back, which nobody noticed or treated. He was stuck in bed for the two weeks, and it rained for most of that time, meaning that the thatching was no good and needed mending as soon as the weather dried out. In addition, the entire second floor needed to be gutted and redone because the first layer of thatching had not been enough to keep the water out, to no one's surprise. For another month, after Jack's head had healed, he watched his brothers and Dermott fix the second floor. Then they cracked open the plaster that held Jack's leg. After a week he could walk normally, and, his brothers and Dermott having entirely no experience in the matter, Jack went back up to thatch the roof again. It was on that roof that he met Kerrigan again in Hell. She climbed up the other side in a green bustle skirt and silk corset, hand-embroidered with knot work, to lend a hand. She asked him if his leg was all right and sang a song while she helped him. He glanced at her hands and realized that they were the small, graceful, lily-white hands of a queen, not a laborer. They were not suited to thatching, yet she weaved the straw together beautifully, even tighter than he himself could, and laid it in harder and faster than he could ever hope to and all of this in an expensive bustle skirt and corset.

She came back the next day while Jack was getting ready to hammer the signpost and the twins were fighting over which straight was straightest. She painted the sign herself and helped with the shutters and door. She grew to be a close friend of Jack's over the years, however, Dermott held a special place in Jack's heart as the first non-family member to treat him kindly in Hell. Now Dermott sits with his apron in his lap. The glasses, save for Jack's, have all been washed. He has washed the plates, bowls, and silver as well. His wife's apron hangs on the peg ready for her to wash and set out to dry the next morning. He has swept the floor and snuffed the candles, save for one inside the bar. He opens the door to a gentle evening breeze and snuffs the light in the lantern by the door. He has washed the tables and polished the taps, which he only does once a week. He has dusted the shelves and arranged the bottles to his liking. He opens a trap door below the bar and descends a small ladder into a low room that he and Jack had dug with spades. He takes up a case of gin and puts it in the small back room behind the bar. He closes the trap door and puts the rug back over it.

"Jack, I need to close up."

"What time is it, Dermott?"

"Two thirty. An hour and a half hour past normal closing."

"Christ, Dermott! Why did ye not kick me out earlier?" asks Jack mentally calculating his bar tab and putting the coins on the counter.

"Because I would have been here just as late, yet more alone. What's wrong, Jack? You've been drinking whisky after whisky all night and hardly speaking to anyone. That's not like you, Jack."

"I'm fine, Dermott."

"Jack, I'm sorry to hear about your son. I really hope for your sake he makes it."

"Why for my sake?"

"Jack, you went through eight bottles of whisky without ending up visibly drunk. I'm a publican by trade. I can tell you from professional experience that that is not normal. Are you going to be all right, or do you need to stay here the night?"

"I've got a carriage. I can drive. I swear."

"I'm uneasy about that, Jack. I'd rather you get a driver."

"A driver? At four thirty in the morning?"

"Hmm...I'd not want to be asking me wife."

"I'll do it," chimes in Kerrigan. Jack, fetch the foot stove from the coach. Dermott, we need a few glowing coals from the fire. Jack, once it is filled, I will carry it, you carry Jason. Wrap him in your coat. Ride his horse."

"How will you get home?"

"My horse is at your house, Jack. I'd need him at any rate."

"I forgot about Pyro. My god, his sons must be freezing."

Kerrigan had given Jack's carriage horses to him. She had bred her horse with two mares and the pair made excellent carriage horses for Jack. She had given them to him the day it was announced that he was to be a Senator. They had fire in their eyes, but they were truly gentile. Jack stands up too fast and has to clutch his head for a moment while the room spins. Kerrigan runs outside and fetches the foot stove. She kneels on the hearth in her fancy gown and picks out five or six coals with the fire tongs, placing them one by one into the metal device and closing the door. Jack wraps Jason up in his coat and brings the sleeping boy out to the coach. Jack puts a blanket he keeps in his coach over Jason and puts his coat back on. He awakens Jason's horse, Spook, who is the son of his horse Spectre.

At first, Spook does not like the idea of Jack riding him. Jack's legs are too long for the stirrups, and he weighs far more than Jason does. Spook throws Jack off at first, however, upon closer examination, he realizes that Jack was the first human he knew when he was born and that Jack's long, thin fingers pulled him into the world. He nudges the back of Jack's head; however, Jack lies passed out on the pavement. Spook stomps impatiently. Kerrigan runs over and tries to wake Jack. She rolls him over and shakes him gently. She shouts for Dermott. Dermott comes out with blankets, but it is no use. Kerrigan sits on the ground next to Jack and holds him like a child. After a few minutes, he wakes up in her arms sitting on the cold cobblestone street. Spook licks the side of his face affectionately. He slowly gets up onto the horse and bids Dermott good night.

Kerrigan climbs up onto the driver's seat of the coach and cracks the whip into the air. Blaze and Inferno whiney then leap into action. Spook struggles to keep up with such an unfamiliar rider. Jack can barely hold on. In half an hour or so they arrive at Jack's house. Kerrigan helps Jack carry Jason inside and put him to bed. She then saddles her own horse Pyro and decides to head home. Jack will not let her leave so late alone. He does not want any harm to come to her, so he wakes his own horse Spectre and saddles him just to ensure that Kerrigan makes it home. Sure enough, halfway to her house, the chill begins to bother Kerrigan. She stops for a moment. Jack wraps his coat over her small shoulders. She kisses him on the cheek and warns him not to tell Morietur that she had done so. Jack helps Kerrigan off her horse, and the coach boy takes her horse into the stable. He knocks the heavy doorknocker on the front door and Morietur answers personally.

"My dear wife, how kind of you to return home to me, your husband," he says, flashing his blue eyes, which are far icier than even Jack's is, towards Kerrigan.

"I'm sorry, husband dear. His son is home with him, and I promised that I would help."

"Mister Shepherd, do come in for a glass of brandy."

"One glass an' 'tis all. I need to get back to me son. Nobody's home wi' him."

Jack takes his coat back from Kerrigan, and Morietur wraps a thick black blanket over his wife's shoulders. Morietur sits with his arms around her on the love seat, and Jack sits in an armchair in their sitting room. Upon hearing that Jack's son was born, Morietur insists on a second bottle of brandy. Jack can tell that it is time that he should leave. He can tell that Morietur had probably drank more than he himself had that evening, so Jack excuses himself, bidding Kerrigan and Morietur good night and thanking them for the brandy and the chance to warm up. He hopes, as he rides away that the thump he heard was merely a door closing, although he knows it was not.

Jack races home as fast as he can, careful not to make any noise sneaking up to his third floor room. He starts a small fire in the grate in his bedroom and adds a couple of logs to the one in Jason's room before pulling out a pen and paper in his office. He dusts off his desk. It has not been used since Jack lost custody of his son. Jack lights a green candle with a green flame. He dips his pen into emerald ink and begins a letter on the parchment:

"Dear Sister,

"I am writing to inform you of several events which have changed my life greatly. I realize that you already know about my recent divorce, and I am terribly sorry that I did not tell you myself, however, as you know, gentle sister, I am entirely incapable of handling disappointment properly. When last I spoke with you, you expressed a deep desire to see my son Jason. Do you still have that desire, or have you seen him since, unknown to me? He is currently in my care pending Maire's release from the hospital.

"Actually, sister, Maire has given birth to our second son. He arrived six weeks early and is now in intensive care. If you know of any way to ameliorate his condition, it would be greatly appreciated. His name is John Shepherd. At least his name is not Peggy. I could never forgive myself if I had a son named Peggy. Maire does not know the severity of his condition.

As for my own condition, dear sister, I cannot lie to you: the truth is grim. I remember none of the past three months. That is how long it has been since I lost the custody of my dear boy Jason. At the moment, though, he is staying here until Maire is out of the hospital and moves back into the Vampire District, which is a safer place for our sons with the persistent threat of war. Jason's presence will hopefully pull me out of the black humor that has pervaded me for much of the latter half of this year.

"It is winter, darling sister, and I find myself growing ever more pensive and reminiscent of the events that brought me to this place. I had been heading Shane's way, to the house where we grew up, when I stumbled into a bar. My third wife had sent me away on a cold night, and, come closing, I implored the publican, an old acquaintance of mine, to let me stay the night. He said that he could not, sister, and I left for the cold. I fell into the boreen and, unable to leave it, passed out there and died.

"At least now, my sister, I have my close friend Kerrigan to ensure that I don't end up frozen. My colleague, Kerrigan Sheehan, who informed me of the time I had lost, is a darling woman, gentle sister, although she is set in her ways and is not entirely trusting. This comes from a particular behavior of her husband's, I presume, as I do know that he uses some great manner of physical force to press his will on her. She has not broken yet, although she is far older than I am, but I fear that one day she will, and the consequences will be devastating for us all. I do not know why I believe this, however, something tells me that when Kerrigan goes, so goes Hell.

"I wish, sister, that I had happier news to send you, as I realize you must be entirely depressed to read of all of the melancholy events that have befallen me since I saw you last, however I must grimly say that I have nothing more jovial or jocular to report to you at this time. I do hope you have been well yourself, and I hope to see you again soon. Slán go fóill.

"Your Loving Brother,

"Jack."

Jack heats up green sealing wax over his candle and smudges it onto the folded letter, branding it with a ring he wears on his right pinkie. He slides his letter to his sister into an envelope, addresses it to her, seals it again with wax, and begins another letter in the very same emerald ink to his brother Shane.

"Dear Brother,

"Although we last crossed paths earlier this week, I am writing to inform you of two significant events in my life since our last meeting, and I am also writing to apologize for the fact that you saw me when I was not there. I have, as you well know, not dealt well with my recent divorce, and I wish I had not caused everyone around me to suffer. I hope we may meet again soon, though I fear the impending war may prohibit it, as I am a Vampire, and you a Werewolf.

"Maire delivered our second son since you last saw me, and he is in intensive care, though she knows nothing of his condition. He arrived six weeks early. Also due to the impending war, Maire is moving back to her home in the Vampire District from her home in the Banshee Quarter. Jason is staying with me until the move is complete. This means that I may get to see my sons more often, which I believe may do wonders for the black and melancholy mood that has pervaded me for the latter half of this year.

"Due to Maire's hospitalization following the birth of John, Jason is staying with me for the next little while. As you well know, he is the spitting image of his old man, much to his mother's dismay. I have a new uniform, and I hope that I can enjoy the company of my son without having to use it. You should see it, dear brother, for it is a work of perfection in the art of stiff green wool and gold insignia. I feel safe confessing to you, my brother, that I am terrified of the possibility of war splitting our family. I, as a Senatorial General, cannot abandon my people to side with my brother, but know that you are always welcome here, and I will give you immediate amnesty and political asylum.

"I cannot hope to see you soon enough, dear brother, when I am all there, and not merely a shadow of my former self, however, until we meet again, I leave you with this. Go bhfága Dia do shláinte agat.

"Your Loving Brother,

"Jack."

Jack seals the letter and envelope and addresses it just as he had his other letter. Satisfied with a night's work, he blows out the candle, stumbles downstairs, puts the letters in the box at the door for the postman to pick up, locks the door, and returns to the second floor to check on Jason. Seeing that his son is sleeping soundly, Jack returns to the bright, cheerful fire in his bedroom. He crawls into bed and closes the curtains, this time careful to wear pajamas, lest his son awaken him in the morning and lest he should freeze.