Shrouded in Blackness Read online

  Owen Doyle, Connor’s younger brother, is a bit rougher. He’s the mirror image of Connor other than he has brown eyes and no scar. Owen wouldn’t walk your grandmother home, but he’d watch her at a distance until she made it there safely. They’re good guys.

  “Hey, Jacky,” Ian calls out. “You like the Incredible Hulk?”

  Jack looks up into my face for reassurance and I offer him a kind smile, letting him know he’s safe.

  “Yes,” Jack whispers.

  Ian walks over to the bathroom door and holds up a grey hoodie with the green man, himself, on the front. Jack perks up and gazes intently at Ian in anticipation of some bribe for pain. Rage bubbles within me again for the trauma this kid has endured.

  “I got you some clothes. I’m gonna set ’em in the bathroom and you can go in alone and put ’em on. We’ll wait out here to see how awesome they look.”

  Ian glides in the bathroom, flipping on the light, and comes back out a few seconds later with nothing in his arms.

  “Kieran?” Jack questions his safety again with just my name.

  “It’s all good, bud. I can’t wait to see the Hulk on you.” He hesitates a moment and then scurries into the bathroom and locks the door. I drop my head in my hands after he leaves, willing the fury I have to calm the fuck down.

  “Kid’s terrified.” Connor points out the obvious.

  “No shit,” I grunt, standing to join them near the door into the therapy room.

  “So that’s why she shanked your ass last night.” Owen nods at my now-seeping bandage.

  “I didn’t know she was tryin’ to get back to her kids. I feel like a fuckin’ prick…more so than usual,” I say as Ian pulls my bandage off and replaces it with a fresh one.

  Ian found me passed out and brought me back here. He called a doctor that rolled in and stitched me up before I crashed in the back room. The blade she got me with was maybe three inches long and didn’t do any real damage other than draining me of a lot of blood. The doctor gave me a transfusion, so all is well.

  Owen and Connor start unloading the ridiculous amount of bags they have with them and I notice a snowsuit for the baby.

  “You’re not lettin’ her take those kids back out on the streets are you?” I ask Ian in disbelief.

  “Don’t know that I got a lot of say in that one, Kieran.”

  “Fuck that shit. I’m not lettin’ her outta here with those kids unless it’s to a house with heat. Over my dead fuckin’ body is she leavin’ on her own.”

  “That can be arranged,” Quinn’s soft voice calls from behind me. Fuck.

  “Where’s Jack?” she asks sternly, cradling the baby to her chest and swinging her legs off the bed.

  “He’s gettin’ dressed in the bathroom,” Ian says gruffly.

  “Thanks,” Quinn responds, nicer than her earlier tone but only by a little bit. “Can you make Ashling a bottle?”

  “Don’t know nothin’ about makin’ bottles, Quinn. I’ll hold her and you can do it. We got every kind of formula and bottle they had. Didn’t know what we were doin’.”

  “I’ll get her dressed quick first. You think you could trim her umbilical cord for me?”

  Ian’s eyes get big at the request, but he nods in agreement, moving into the therapy room to get some medical scissors. Ian comes back in the room with some weird plastic clamp thing and the scissors. I grab the diapers, wipes and a stack of clothes, following behind Ian back to the bed. Connor and Owen are hot on my heels.

  Quinn lays Ashling down on the edge of the bed and unwraps her gently. The baby doesn’t look good. Her skin is ruddy and she seems dehydrated, not that I know shit about babies.

  “She’s not lookin’ good, Quinn,” Ian whispers.

  “Let’s just get her dressed and fed,” Quinn dismisses.

  Quinn tags the wipes and diapers out of my hands and sets about wiping and diapering. She seems to know what she’s doing so I just watch. Once Ashling’s butt is covered, Ian slides over and clamps the plastic thing an inch or so above her belly on the umbilical cord which is easily a foot long and tied off with a shoe string. Ian cuts the excess and hands the remaining bit to Owen who quickly gets rid of it like it’s going to bite him. Pussy.

  Quinn grabs an outfit and hurriedly dresses Ashling in it. It’s an all-in-one outfit for a boy. It’s black with Brogan’s emblazed on the front in Kelly green. The fighters put their boys in them as a sign of respect to Ian and his gym. Just as Quinn finishes the snap under Ashling’s chin the bathroom door opens.

  “Mommy,” Jack calls quietly from the doorway, “I can’t get the button.”

  “Okay, Baby,” Quinn coos before striding over to him to button his jeans. “There you go. You look pretty good with the Hulk on your chest.”

  “I’d say that’s the best the Hulk has ever looked,” Connor compliments.

  “You think?” Jack asks, dumbfounded by Connor.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Cool.” Jack tips the edge of his mouth and a small dimple appears. Quinn runs her thumb over it before standing and coming to collect Ashling. She scoops the baby to her chest and Jack reaches his scrawny arms up to be carried, too. Quinn’s too little to be toting around two kids after giving birth a day ago. She pulls Jack up and sets him on her hip effortlessly.

  “Kitchen?” she asks Ian. Ian lifts his chin for her to follow. The kitchen is in the room next to us, but you have to go through the therapy room to get there. We all follow Ian who grabs five bags of bottle-making shit on his way. When we get in the small kitchen, us guys start unpacking the bags waiting for instructions from Quinn.

  “Says you need to sterilize the nipples in boiling water for two minutes,” Connor reads the side of one of the bottle packages.

  Quinn sets Jack down and starts rummaging for pans before Ian steps in for her. He fills the pan with water and sets it on the stove. Quinn spins around to the table and starts reading the formula package. I’m guessing she breastfed Jack and doesn’t know how to make a bottle. Formula would be expensive for a homeless girl. She was maybe fourteen when she had him by the looks of her. She can’t be over twenty years old.

  After reading for a minute, Quinn’s stomach rumbles something fierce.

  “Hungry?” I ask kindly. She glares her icy blue eyes at me. She thinks I’m fucking with her.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” Ian demands at her side.

  “Yesterday, I think.”

  “Fuck me,” Owen says under his breath and moves quickly to the fridge. He pulls out stuff for turkey sandwiches and makes her one with speed and precision a Subway employee would be jealous of. When Owen puts the plate in front of her she pushes it in front of Jack for him to eat it.

  “I fed him already,” I inform her. She cuts her eyes at me again.

  “He taught me how to eat magical cookies,” Jack beams up at her. Before she can pull a knife on me for feeding her kid weed-filled cookies, which is what Jack made them sound like, I tell her, “I just taught him the proper way to eat an Oreo.”

  Quinn runs her fingers across his dimple again as the pan begins to boil. Ian drops the nipples in the water and we all stand and wait. As us guys are watching nipples boil, Quinn grabs a bottle that has no bottom and sticks a trash bag-looking thing into it. That’s a weird fucking bottle. She scoops some formula into the bag and waits. After the two minutes pass Ian pulls the nipples out laying them on a clean dish towel next to the sink.

  “Put the water back on the stove for me,” Quinn instructs Ian softly. She moves to the sink and fills a measuring cup with water and then adds it to the powder. She shakes the shit out of it once she has the nipple screwed on tight. Moving to the stove, she plops the bottle in the water and stares at it. After a minute she pulls the bottle out, shakes it, and squirts some on her wrist. I guess she’s happy with the temperature because she pulls out a chair and flops into in.

  Quinn lays Ashling down across her chest and traces the nipple across the baby’s lips
. At first nothing happens and I feel panic creeping up my spine. If this baby won’t eat, something is definitely wrong. Quinn tries again and Ashling thrashes her head back and forth a few times before pulling the nipple into her mouth and sucking greedily. The room relaxes.

  Owen picks up his sandwich and holds it in front of Quinn’s mouth. She leans forward, takes a bite and moans a little which makes my dick twitch. I’m an asshole.

  Owen keeps feeding Quinn as she feeds Ashling. It’s a pretty cute sight. All of a sudden, Jack is at my side. I sweep my arm around his shoulders and pull him into me. He’s warm, finally.

  “Can we go watch some more TV, Kieran?” he whispers.

  “You’ll have to ask your momma, bud.”

  “Mommy, can I go watch TV with Kieran?”

  Quinn pins me down with her eyes, trying to figure out my game. Don’t have one, sweetheart.

  “Sure, Baby. We’ll leave once you’re done.”

  “Hey, Jack,” Connor calls from next to me. Jack looks up at him, horrifyingly scared. “I bought us The Avengers to watch. The Hulk is in it. You think I could join you and Kieran with my brother Owen and we could watch it out on the big screen in the gym?”

  Jack looks up at me with his big blue eyes for some guidance.

  “It’s a really good movie, bud. I think you’ll love it,” I encourage.

  “Okay. Cool.”

  Connor just did something amazing for Jack. He took the pressure of being in a small room with unknown men out of the equation. The gym is a huge open space where Jack won’t feel so enclosed, hopefully making him feel safer.

  I pull my hand off Jack’s shoulder to leave the room and Jack threads his hand into my palm. I grip him tightly and head out to the big screen. Connor and Owen follow a distance behind us, talking loudly so Jack knows right where they are. This kid is safe with us and now we’re going to prove it to him.

  Quinn

  As the door closes behind Owen, Ian starts in on me.

  “Whose fuckin’ kids are these?” he growls.

  “Mine,” I say defiantly.

  “Bullshit and you know it.”

  “They’re mine now and that’s all that fuckin’ matters, Ian.”

  “So you’re gonna live on the streets with a newborn and a four year old in the winter?” he asks, disbelieving.

  “Jack’s six. He’s small and malnourished.”

  “No shit. So you’re just gonna keep him in that state, then?”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  I have no clue what I’m doing. I didn’t know how to do the diaper so I just copied the front of the package. I didn’t know how to make a bottle so I read the instructions. I know there’s no book on how to raise kids on the streets, though. I need a plan and quick.

  “Quinn, it’s February in Chicago. This baby doesn’t look good already. How in the hell are you gonna make this work?” Ian scolds in his harsh gravelly voice.

  “I promised Jack I’d keep him safe,” I whisper as Ashling finishes her bottle.

  “You need to burp her now,” Ian instructs me. I know that.

  “I know, Ian,” I admonish him.

  “You can stay here with the kids as long as you need. I’ll keep the guys outta your hair. There aren’t any fights scheduled this week. Just training.”

  Ian’s wrinkly face is a mask of concern and pissed off. He always looks pissed off, so that’s normal. I seem to be the only person that sees him concerned. I know he cares about me and would do anything for me, but even the great Ian Brogan can’t keep me safe. He recognizes I’m about to fight him and says, “You owe these kids warmth. They’ve had a few hours with you and you’ve become their world. Give them a day of normal before you decide to drag them into the back of an alley again.”

  “Okay. But Ian, you have to keep the fighters away from us. No one can know we’re here. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but Jack said his mother died and someone’s lookin’ for him and Ashling.”

  I continue to pat Ashling’s back as Ian’s face goes from perma-scowl to enraged. As you can imagine, the owner of an underground fighting gym has a vicious temper.

  “So you’re tellin’ me there’s someone out there in the streets lookin’ for these kids and you mean to go out there and try to keep them safe and alive on your own? You’re not that fuckin’ stupid. There’s no goddamn way I’m lettin’ you back out there now. I’ll put out some feelers and try to figure out where these kids come from and, until then, your ass stays here. Don’t you dare try to fight me, Quinn, or I’ll tie your ass to the bed,” Ian growls.

  He’s right (that sucks). I can’t pull knives on people with Ashling in my arms or Jack on my back. I should try to get them to a shelter, but I can’t do that now. I may have only had these kids for a few hours, but they feel like mine. Call me crazy or delusional; I’ll take on the title proudly. I have a large amount of money in a safe deposit box that I could use to buy us a little house and live off of. It’s my father’s money really, but he doesn’t need it anymore. Problem is, I have no identification to access it. Also, walking into a bank and retrieving money from Patrick Quinlan’s safe deposit box will raise more red flags than a hooker becoming a nun. I need to stay invisible. That’s the only way to keep me and these kids safe.

  “I’m too wiped to fight with you. I’ll stay the weekend and figure something else out. I can’t be here longer than that. It’s not safe for you or us,” I whisper as I rub sleeping Ashling’s back.

  “I’ll take that for now. Quinn, I can keep you safe. Let me keep you safe, please.”

  Ian reaches his leathery wrinkled fingers to my cheek rubbing with the gentle caress of a loving parent. He’s the only man who’s ever touched me like that in a long time. It warms my soul.

  “Okay,” I acquiesce. He smiles broadly and drops his hand from my face and then scoops Ashling from my arms.

  “I bought you some clothes, soap, hair shit and some toiletries. Why don’t you go hop in the shower and I’ll take Ash to her first action movie.”

  Seeing Ashling cradled against Ian’s broad chest makes me realize she’s really small. I start to worry about her health even more.

  “Ian, do you think she looks smaller than normal?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. She’s probably a little premature. Her breathing’s okay, but she looks a little jaundiced. I’ll have the guys get on the computer and see what we should do. If she needs a doctor I’ve got a guy I can call that’ll keep quiet. Don’t worry. You promised Jack you’d keep him safe, now believe me when I say I’ll keep you safe. Go get a shower.”

  “Okay. Come get me if the kids need me.”

  I stand up and stretch my sore muscles. Being a mom is hard on your body, apparently. I move to the table and rummage around to find all the stuff Ian bought for me. It’s too much. I’ll never be able to carry all of this with me and he knows it. He was planning on keeping me here the moment I walked in with those kids hanging off my body.

  “Thanks Ian…for everything,” I whisper as I leave the room without looking at him. I’m feeling emotionally overwhelmed at this moment.

  I peer into the gym to see Jack jumping around in front of the guys, acting out scenes from the movie. He looks so happy and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. How can I force him to live on the streets with me after offering him this taste of normal? He deserves all of this and more. I’ll clear my head in the shower and then come up with a plan to get my money. If I have that cash I can move us away from Chicago. I could take us across the country and better ensure our safety. It would mean leaving Ian, but he would understand once I explain.

  I’ve never told Ian why I’m homeless or really anything about me. He’s never pushed for the information, either. He’s taken me at my word and left me to my own devices for the most part. Anyone who has come across me in the last eight years could tell with one glance I’m a closed book. You’re not getting anything out of me and if you push you’ll never see me again. I
an respects my silence.

  I move into the bedroom and then the bathroom. I crank up the hot water and let the room fill with steam as I peel my filthy clothes off. As I step into the stream I relish the burn just like I did last night. I can’t remember the last time I had a shower twice in a twenty-four hour period. I’m back in my heaven. I don’t take as much time as I usually would. I can take as many showers as I want while I’m here so I don’t need to cling to every second of cleanliness.

  I pour a huge palm full of milk-and-honey scented shampoo in my hand and lather away. I’ll never be able to go back to the industrial combo again. My lungs inhale the fragrance deeply as it fills the air. I rinse and repeat like I’m in a TV commercial. Bliss.

  I slather my head with matching conditioner and tear up at the realization I’ve not conditioned my hair in eight years. While the conditioner sits on my hair, I scrub my body with a loofa poof and a body wash that matches the fragrance of the hair care products. It smells like a honey farm in here. I scrub and buff every inch of skin and let a few tears finally fall. I’m relieved and terrified all at the same time.

  What if I put the kids at further risk? Shit, I didn’t think about that. I can’t be the reason something bad happens to them. I need to get out of Chicago fast. I’ll stay here the weekend and figure out a way to get into the bank. Ian will help me. I’ll tell him my story and he’ll help me get out of the city.

  I rinse off my hair and body quickly and climb out of the shower. I dry off with the small towels and wrap my hair up in another one. I pull on clean underwear and a new sports bra Ian bought. Black yoga pants and a skin tight, pale blue, long sleeved shirt with some fuzzy socks and I’m good to go. I don’t know where Ian shopped for me, but all the clothes are comfortable and fit me perfectly.