The Irish Retribution

Carrie picked up the envelope and turned it over to check the sender’s address. Nothing but Shamrock Hotel. Who the hell had sent me these pictures? Carrie felt joy looking at the two pictures. The woman and a younger version of her father looked like young lovers on a leisurely stroll. They had broad smiles and were looking deeply into each other’s eyes. They were obviously in love. The pictures had an English look about them. Was that Westminster Abbey in the background? The picture evoked the romantic poems she had read about England. It looked idyllic. The woman appeared to be pregnant and happy to have Tully’s arm around her. Carrie involuntarily put her hand across her belly. She realized she was the swell in the woman’s womb. The last picture shocked her. In full color she could clearly see Tully kneeling beside the woman holding her head, a head covered in blood. The side of her face and her neck were crimson with the stain flowing from a head wound. The woman’s shirt was torn and bloody and a horrible wound had almost torn her in two. Carrie shuddered. A deep feeling of doom invaded her. What appeared to be the girl’s entrails were hanging out and Tully’s hands were covered in blood as he tried to push them back into the gaping wound. Only high-powered bullets from army issue were able to cause such wounds. She’d seen similar wounds in Bosnia after snipers hit people. Tully’s clothes were spattered and his face was racked with anguish. Never had she seen his face mirror so much pain. Carrie’s eyes scanned the note, it was short and to the point. Photo one is of your mother in Belfast. Photo two and three are of your father and mother in London after the bastard made her pregnant. Photo four was taken moments before he killed her. Her name was Briony O’Rourke and she was just nineteen years old. My name is Kevin O’Rourke. I’m your uncle and its time you knew the truth. Carrie dropped the photo and note in disbelief as if it scalded her fingers. She couldn’t believe her eyes. He’d done some questionable things in his life but to have killed her mother was beyond comprehension. It had to be a mistake. Her training as a reporter told her the accusation as unproved information and therefore false but she had to know. She had to find out the mystery behind this sudden communication from an uncle she’d never even heard of. Why had he sent her this terrible picture? Her mother’s life was a complete mystery. Tully never spoke about her, even when Carrie questioned him, plagued him for answers; he remained stubbornly silent as if her mother never existed. All he ever told her was that her mother was Irish and had died after Carrie was born. Sometimes she wondered and ached to know more about Briony. Who was her mother? What did she look like? What caused her death? Now it was time to find out the truth but before confronting Tully, she wanted to meet and talk to the man who claimed to be her uncle. She needed answers. For moments she studied the other pictures again. Her throat felt tight, as she looked at the face so much like her own. Finally she had something precious she’d longed for all her life. A picture of her mother. The happiness written all over Tully’s and Briony’s faces caused waves of emotion. She swallowed hard as tears burned to break free. It was the fourth picture that brought pain. She closed her eyes and sank slowly back against the rear of the chair Stephanie was disturbed by the anguish painted on Carries face. “Are you all right?” Carrie opened her eyes and looked at her best friend. “Oh God,” she cried handing the photos to Stephanie. When Stephanie looked at the last picture, her face was a study of revulsion. “Steph, this can’t be true. I don’t believe Dad would do such a thing. I know he’s a bastard but to do this. It can’t be right.” Stephanie, noting Carrie’s chalky face, stood up and quickly walked to the bar. She poured some brandy into a glass. “Take this and steady yourself,” she said and handed Carrie the glass. To see Carrie so upset disturbed her deeply. In all the time they’d been friends, nothing had ever daunted Carrie. But that picture would have shocked anyone. Who could be so cruel? Carrie’s hand shook. The brandy splashed over the glass as she brought it to her lips and sipped it. Slowly the burning liquid calmed her. “Please, Steph, will you call Jason? I have to talk to him.” “You’ve become very fond of my cousin since Bosnia haven’t you?” Carrie nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, but not as you think. After he saved my life, we bonded and formed a strong attachment. He has his girlfriends and I have my boyfriends.” “I’ll ring the hospital. He should have finished his shift by now.” Stephanie went into the other room and rang her cousin. The phone rang for a long time. Stephanie wondered why it would take a hospital receptionist so long to answer. What if it was an emergency? At last she got some response. “Can I speak to Doctor Armatige please? It’s important.” Seconds later Jason answered. “Jason, it’s me Steph. Can you get here now? Carrie’s h