Monochrome My Madness Read online

  I get that skin crawling feeling, that feeling that you only get when someone’s eyes are on you. I shiver from the cold rain, and the discomforting awareness that I might not be as alone as I thought. I feel goose bumps forming under my clothes - not the good kind either. I wipe my eyes one last time and place a kiss on Cassie’s headstone before I look up and around me. Sure enough, under the large oak tree on the hill stands a man in a suit watching me silently. I have never seen him here before. His black suit is soaking and his wet pants cling around his ankles, I can see that he has long hair and a beard, but I am not close enough to see more. He is watching me I can tell. His presence makes me nervous, he oozes evil, and I walk back to the path and quicken my steps towards the Church on the other side of the cemetery. A woman alone in such a quiet deserted place is not the safest thing in the world. When I am a small distance away, I turn to look at him again, only now he is at Cassie’s headstone, my heart sinks and I know exactly who he is. I turn and walk away, I am not ready to meet him yet I have all day, my sister’s grave is not the place.

  I am too early for the funeral service since my family visit was cut short by Callum’s unexpected call on my sister’s grave. I decide to walk a little further and waste the extra hour having coffee and a warm breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee fills my nostrils as I push the heavy door of the small coffee shop open. The place is bustling with people trying to escape this mornings’ rain and to look for the warmth of some good coffee. I find a seat at the bar counter in front of the window facing the wet street; the wind is blowing the raindrops against it blurring the view of the world outside the cosy little shop. The man next to me is furiously typing on his laptop completely oblivious to the world around him his tie is loosened, and he has spilled coffee on his white dress shirt. A short blonde waitress taps me on the shoulder making me jump. Her makeup is over the top and her shiny glitter eye shadow overpowers everything about her. She scribbles down my order for a strong black coffee and French toast; her fingernails are bitten to the quick and I shudder at how dishevelled she actually looks. When she leaves, I go back to staring at the curtain of water flowing down the shop window and slip away into my thoughts. I have spent most of the night awake wondering what it is that Neil wants from Callum, and I just know he intends to use me to get it. My coffee is slipped in front of me spilling onto the saucer as it sloshes in the cup. The warm brew smells like comfort in a cup and I savour the first sip as it warms me from the inside.

  The man, I saw at my sister's grave, did not ooze the same power and presence that the other O’Reilly men do. He seemed almost lost, like he didn’t belong there, but a sinister evil presence followed him. I saw him talking to Cassie, it is him, and he loved her in some way. He must have felt for her to be visiting her grave in the pouring rain on the day his father is going to be laid to rest. I remember Cassie yelling at him that night, “I will never let it go Callum, you cannot take his place in my heart I don’t love you!” Connor never spoke fondly of Callum in all the years I worked for him; his brothers would mention him occasionally, but it was the lower ranking thugs who would mention him more often. I was never seen as a threat so they were not that careful about discussing business in my company. I can recall them talking about how he had turned things around in Africa and that he was making a fortune there and that he should be the next boss. An opinion not shared by Connor’s other sons, even though Callum was the first born.

  I force down the cardboard that’s meant to be French toast and wash it down with the last of my coffee; it’s almost time for the funeral and I need to walk to the church.

  I leave money for breakfast on the counter as I walk out of the stuffy little shop, the rain seems to have slowed down but the day is still wet and grey. I walk back toward the church mostly watching the ground so that I don’t step in any deep puddles along the way. I zone out from the city sounds around me and disappear into my thoughts again. I need to seduce this man and make him like me so that if he decides to run he takes me with him. If he leaves here without me, I am a dead woman; I am already a walking dead woman. I can’t imagine him being any less ruthless than his father and brothers are, maybe I will irritate him, and he kills me anyway. “Shannon you are going to end up dead no matter what you do, you inherited the mob that was never going to end well for you,” I tell myself out loud. My life is never going to end well, but it will end.

  I walk through the old gates of the church and slink quickly down the side of the building to find a ladies' room so that I can try and make myself look respectable. I am after all here to pay my respects to a man I worked for; I should at least try looking the part.

  I leave my umbrella at the door, the drizzle is falling again now, the bathrooms are empty and I can take a few minutes to straighten out my damp windblown hair. I slide some fresh lip gloss over my lips. My mouth feels dry, and my palms are sweaty. Pull yourself together Shannon. They do not know that you are powerless, well not all of them. Callum does not know you at all; you will make him want you, and you will not fail. You are not ready to die just yet. Not while you still have a chance to live - take it!

  I pick up my umbrella and walk with my chin up and shoulders back into the already full church. I see him first, sitting with the family near the front. He sees me too, our eyes meet for a second before he faces front again. He looks like a train wreck; I am stunned at the state of the eldest O’Reilly at his father’s funeral; he has no respect and obviously the dislike was mutual.

  His long hair looks almost matted and has not seen a brush today or maybe even this week; his beard has grown out but hasn't been groomed. His crinkled wet clothes while expensive and tailored to fit him look like they were taken out of the washing basket and put straight on. Is this really the man I am supposed to trust my life with? He looks like he can barely keep himself alive. Fuck it; I would get the idiot of the family that they all hate. Fuck you dad, I hope you can see what I just inherited from you.

  I am irritated and uncomfortable, I want just to leave, but Neil’s eyes are already on me as I look for a seat among the ordinary folks. I don’t wish to sit near the family, and this has earned me a scowl from Big Brother watching me. He wants me to go and hit on the man at his father’s funeral he must be crazy. I do not understand men at all and the men of this family even less so. In saying that, the woman of this family are not much better, they all have skeletons lining their walk in closets. I have treated every member of this family, delivered all of Connor’s many grandchildren and in turn, I know all of them better than most. I have seen them all, sick, dying, pregnant and everything in between, including every mistress, bastard child and abortion. I slip into a pew that is not full around the middle of the church. Connor’s picture is displayed in the front of the church and even dead he is intimidating. The man commands a room even from beyond this world, he was he scariest person I have ever met, but then his son wielded no power. Now that Neil has the authority he is far worse than his father because he doesn’t have the empathy that his father had. Connor had humanness about him that his son does not. They all sit in a row, Neil, Warrick, Callum and Noel and Harmon - who is only twelve. Their wives and sisters sit with the children in the row behind them and their tears all flow. Puffy eyes and red cheeks they are sad that their father is gone.

  I am Irish, and I couldn’t understand a single word that passed through the mouth of the priest during the funeral service his accent was so thick, to be honest, he sounded drunk. I sat there and pretended to listen and pay respects to the boss, but I was watching Callum the whole time. His body language gave nothing away he sat still, no tears and no sadness just nothing. He looks like a cold, soulless man lost in this ruthless family where I am sure they would eat their own young.

  After the service, we followed like ants the coffin crossing the street to the cemetery in the falling rain; my umbrella shouts inappropriate from the sea of black ones that surround me. I stand in the crowd. Close enough to see Callum without him n
oticing me watch him His green eyes never shed a tear and I am sure if you asked an artist to paint evil those eyes would be what you got. Callum the man is someone to be afraid of, not only is he physically intimidating he lacks any emotion, and that makes his chilling presence even more frightening. That man would not hesitate to kill me; he did not even cry at his father’s funeral; he did not even pretend to cry. He makes it hard for me to swallow; I doubt he will even look in my direction. He would never be into me, and I could never get rid of him like the others before. I am going to die. Fuck it.

  As they lower the coffin into the cold, wet ground and the O’Reilly family start taking turns to pile the earth back in on top of it. I get the first glimpse of anything other than emptiness from him. His shoulders slump, and he turns away from the grave and winds his way into the crowd where I cannot see him anymore.

  The wake has been far more enlightening as far as Callum is concerned; I have watched him sit in the corner, and not one person has said sorry or paid respects to him. His brothers and sisters have ignored him; their children are clearly afraid of him and don’t go near him. He is drowning himself in his expensive whiskey and the cold man I was scared of meeting in unravelling before my eyes, he is drunk. A little dirty and lost, or maybe trapped like me. Callum does not want to be here, he will run, and I need to stop him. I watch him all afternoon; I drink until I have the courage to approach him, wasting time talking to the ladies of the family and feigning interest in their boring lives and disgusting children. Biding my time for the perfect moment when I can see that Callum is too drunk to argue with anything I may say to him, I saw him watching me. I will not be weak; I will get what I need from him, and I will make him respect me while I am at it. We cannot both die, can we?

  I walk over to where he sits, the disdain on his face when I do, is clear, and I know my presence is unwanted. He glares right through me with green eyes that are empty but ruthless. I swallow my fear and try to form words. “Would you like to take me to dinner this evening?” I am not sure why I opened with that line, but either he likes me enough to say yes or this is going to be hard. He looks me up and down, runs a hand over his messy beard and licks his bottom lip while his eyes land on my see-through blouse. “Hmm, maybe.” That’s the reply I get for all my bravery coming over here; I close my slack jaw as his chair scrapes along the floor, and he stands ignoring me completely now. Rejection, failure and the grey grip of my compulsion rip through me. My false bravado wears off the minute I see Callum actually leaves the pub. I wonder if he will return for me or if I have just pissed him off. I switch my drinks to water and wait to see if I am going to die sooner or later.

  I DIDN’T CRY AT MY POP’S funeral today; I tried to, but it’s hard to cry for a man who hated you. It’s also hard to cry for a guy who is dead only because you ordered his murder. Yes, that container and the sheiks were all part of my plan. They are my allies, and they will be helping me get control of this family, of the whole business and then we will be relocating it to other parts of the world. I had my father murdered. This is not revenge or anger. This is only taking back what was always mine. This is about putting my demons to rest. This is the only way to fix what is broken in me.

  My pop is out of the way, that only leaves my four brothers standing in my way now. My sisters can rot in hell too, and they will. The youngest two boys won’t be an issue they are too young and too stupid to fight me. I have just to bide my time as the plan falls carefully into place, I know I will have to be in this shitty fucking place for a few years to pull this off seamlessly without being killed. Neil needs me here and has already threatened to kill me if I try to leave. I may have been shunned to Africa, but I control a colossal portion of the family business, and they need me to continue to turn a profit. I am irreplaceable right now that is exactly what I need to be.

  The noise in here is killing me, I try drowning it out with more whiskey the liquid gold burning my throat on the way down. It does nothing to dull the insanity going on around me; I don’t want to celebrate with these people I don’t wish to celebrate at all. I just want to go home, but I won’t be going home for a long time yet. The air fills with the smell of smoke and beer and sweaty drunks; my skin crawls simply from the way it clings to me and I feel the suffocation of it all is clawing at my chest. I feel my own madness gaining strength.

  There is one thing distracting me; I saw her earlier today at Cassie’s grave then again in the church. Red hair, green eyes that could pierce my soul and the face of a ghost. Looking at Shannon is like looking back in time before my life was as complicated as it is now. When I felt love burn in my veins and when I was not filled with madness. She looks just like the Cassie, who fell to her death when I pushed her. Her broken heart didn’t kill her. I did! My jealous rage after finding out she was going to have Rowan’s child even when he was leaving is what killed her. I killed her - the monster beneath the surface killed the love of my life. The madness with jealousy and drugs could not be stopped. I became my own worst enemy.

  Shannon is just as stunning as her sister was her fire red hair and fair skin that flushes pink when she catches me staring. I can tell just by looking at her that she is trouble; that woman will only get me in trouble, and I cannot have trouble right now. I need a clear head and nothing distracting me from the plan at hand. The dick in my pants, however, says that the ghost across the room is exactly what I want right now and what I need can wait. She is fucking with my mind, and I haven’t even spoken to her. The way her hips sway when she walks and the defined muscles in her calves stretch with every step, I can already imagine those legs wrapped around me. More whiskey burns down my throat when I see her walking towards me, I need to put my boss face on. This woman cannot derail me now. She can never see the monster lurking beneath the grey appearance; I will break her. I am not medicated and around my family I am a deadly mix of things right now, adding a woman to the volatile cocktail will cause a reaction that I will never be able to stop.

  I scowl at her boldness as she sits down at my table - all smiles and sex appeal. Fucking hell, she is a ghost I cannot stop myself from seeing not her, but her sister in front of me, and it has me feeling things. I am trying not to feel, dammit, I need to get up and leave. My staring is making her uncomfortable I can see a shift in the way she sits on the edge of the chair and the slight blush on her cheeks. I down the rest of my drink to try distract myself from the fact that those lovely pink lips just asked me if I would take her to dinner. I might, but I cannot decide with her sitting all sexy as hell in front of me. I need to leave; this party was over for me before it even began. I may come back and fetch the beautiful lady later, but for now I need to breathe.

  The rain still spills from the grey sky outside only now it’s late afternoon and the light, that was filtering through the clouds, is dull, and the air is cold. I start to walk along the wet sidewalk in the general direction of my flat; a walk may just clear my head of the green eyes haunting it right now. I don’t get far from the pub when I walk by a barber shop that is still open, but empty inside. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I walk in and sit down. It is time to change, time to make my way to the top. I ask the old man with the grey beard and white hair to cut my hair and trim my beard. He looks at me wondering if I am certain, he even asks me if I am sure. I think he is afraid that I may come back and kill him when I sober up. He knows who I am, he no doubt knows my family, I can see it in his old weary eyes.

  For the first time since I left for Africa years ago I have short hair, a neat gentlemanly cut making me look distinguished and definitely in my forties. The old man expertly trims my beard before he brushes the hair away from my neck. His old eyes finding mine in the mirror to question my satisfaction. I feel as if I am looking at a stranger in the mirror, but I am ready for this new life now. I tip the old man generously I see his tired old eyes bug out a little, and he says a soft “Thank you.” As I push the door open and step out into the streets that I need to make my
new home. I feel the grey all around me the shady place in between black and white, where right and wrong blur into each other.

  As the whiskey slowly wears itself out of my system, I feel the craving for sugar start to take over in its place. I have a dependency on sweet things, an addiction I have used to replace a much worse one. I remove a chocolate bar from my jacket pocket and savour the sweetness as I walk the rest of the way home, trying to convince myself of reasons not to go and take Shannon for dinner. I have a hard time because the thing is - I want to take her for dinner, but not her, the ghost of her sister and that’s wrong. I am wrong because I want, no I need more than just dinner from her. I will destroy her. The years of guilt will make me kill her. I am a fucking monster; I will break her, shatter her and I will enjoy it.