Page 20 of The Irish Redemption

It was a bold statement telling Cormac that I didn’t care whether he killed me after this or not, because I do care. I don’t want to die. My life might not be perfect, or even satisfactory at this rate, but it’s still my life.

I’m instantly reminded of just exactly how shitty it is when I open the disconnected fire door at the back of the Sunrise Motel and ease myself inside. Glancing behind me, I catch sight of Cormac’s car parked just at the mouth of the alley where he and Hank sit waiting for me. This is the last thing I need to do for them.

Then I will be free. Or dead.

The candy bar and water Cormac provided have significantly calmed the churning tightness in my gut. It never crossed my mind that I was feeling so nauseous because of hunger, and in any other situation, I would be embarrassed that I fainted. Here, though, there isn’t time to be embarrassed.

Inside the motel, the familiar stench of stale piss and old smoke clogs my nose as I walk down the corridor toward the maintenance stairs at the back of the building. From there, it should be pretty easy to get upto the room cordoned off by crime scene tape. I just hope that Cormac will find the answers he’s looking for.

The motel is silent, with most guests likely keeping to their rooms while the cops roam the place. I can’t imagine how pissed off Gerald must be at having the police walking his halls, knocking on his doors and scaring off all the sleazy clientele he’s spent so long building up. That man offers a space for people to do whatever the hell they want, and nothing burns his reputation faster than a heavy police presence.

I focus on him as a distraction from my trembling fingers and racing heart as I climb the stairs two at a time. I know this place like the back of my hand, so sneaking in was never going to be the problem. It’s sneaking out that will be hard since the maintenance door at the top of the stairwell only opens one way. I complained to Gerald about it a few times, but in his opinion, it was necessary to stop people from sneaking past the cameras when they wanted to leave without paying.

I just hope I remember exactly where the cameras are to avoid them on my way out.

Reaching the top floor, I slowly open the door and peer through the crack. The corridor is empty. With my heart in my mouth, I step through and ease the door shut behind me. Metal creaks and wood clunks, sending a flash of fear crawling over my shoulders and arms. Luckily, no one is around to hear it, and I force myself to breathe slowly.

“Just pretend you’re cleaning,” I say to myself and then instantly regret it when my voice echoes too loudly in the silence around me. While walking toward the door sealed off with bright yellow tape, I pull my phone from my pocket and briefly mourn the cracked screen. When Cormac gave my phone back to me, he apologized and said the screen broke when it fell from my hand the night they kidnapped me. If we were on better terms, I’d demand that he pay for the repairs, but I can’t get a read on him.

One moment, he’s the scariest fucker I’ve ever seen and the next, he’s feeding me chocolate and telling me all the secret good his family does for this city.

Maybe he’s just one hell of a bullshitter to get what he wants.

Once outside the door, I dial the number Cormac gave me. It rings thrice, and each time my heart gives a more powerful beat in anticipation. Then Cormac’s face fills the screen. The dark shadows in the car make the angular structure of his face all the more intimidating against the light from the call, but his eyes sparkle in an oddly distracting way.

“You get in okay?” Cormac demands. He doesn’t sound as intimidating through the phone. I nod and turn the camera so he can see the door.

“You ready?” I ask softly, sinking my teeth into the inside of my cheek. My hands won’t stop trembling, and the more I will them to calm, the worse it gets. In the end, I have to grip the phone with both hands.

“Ready,” comes Cormac’s reply.

I don’t move.

Suddenly, I’m rooted to the floor and the prospect of going back into that room is terrifying. Logically, I know the body isn’t in there anymore, but there’s a scared voice in the back of my mind that wonders if it is.

Or what if there is something worse?

“Evelyn?” Cormac’s confusion is audible.

“Sorry,” I gasp. “I just…” I can’t find the words because I know he won’t care about my emotional turmoil. I know this because he’s made it painfully clear how important his brother was to him and how he will go to any lengths to get answers. None of that compares to what I might be feeling.

“I just need a sec,” is all I can manage, and I point the phone at the floor as the knots in my gut tighten.

I'd better have abs of steel after this shit is over.

“Take your time,” Cormac replies.

“We don’t have time,” comes a quieter voice, likely Hank.

Silence falls while I stare at the door, mapping out the letters of the DO NOT CROSS words decorating the tape. I force myself to breathe in as I read each word and then breathe out at the end of each sentence, and it works to an extent.

“Alright,” I say, and heat warms the back of my neck when my voice cracks. “I’m ready.”

“At your own pace,” Cormac replies, which is oddly understanding for a man who had a gun to my face about twelve hours ago.

Balancing the phone in one hand, I quickly rip the tape from the door and rush inside before my fear locks me in place again. Immediately, I gag as the coppery stink of old blood hits me like a slap in the face. Pressing the back of my wrist to my nose, I close the door and flick on the light.

“Show me,” Cormac demands. “Show me the room.”

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