Page 128 of The Catalyst

“Yup. I was five, playing ball outside with the other kids in the neighborhood. Their parents called them away for dinner, but my mom was still cooking, so I stayed. I was just a kid and wasn’t paying attention to the car that was coming. I was in the middle of the road. My dad pushed me out of the way, and he was hit instead. It was my fault, even though no one else saw it that way.”

My heart seizes at Oliver’s story. No wonder he is the way he is. He’s holding onto the guilt associated with his father’s death, which shouldn’t be on his shoulders.

“My dad died two years ago,” I explain, my chest aching. “Car accident in Waller. He was assisting in an infanticide investigation, or he was supposed to anyway. I became really sick when he left. I couldn’t breathe, had a fever, and was throwing up. He left the police station and was going to meet us at the hospital, but…he never made it.” I take a deep breath to stop myself from breaking down. “Witnesses said he was speeding and driving erratically. He was freaked out because I never got sick, and it impaired his judgment. He shouldn’t have been driving, andthatwas my fault.”

Then…I feel it. Something snaps into place, and I’m not sure what it is until I look into Oliver’s eyes. We carry guilt with us every single day over things that are outside of our control. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel bad about Sophie O’Reilly’s death. There’s a difference between someone who deserves to die and someone who doesn’t. My dad didn’t deserve what happened. Oliver’s dad didn’t deserve to die either, but Sophie did.

Our eyes are locked, but only briefly before the connection becomes too much to handle. I look away before grabbing the door handle. I open it and step out before heading up the back porch.

June 10, 1815

We messed everything up. Every last thing. Nothing will be the same after this. I’ve contemplated writing this entry, wondering how the best way to word it would be because nothing that has occurred seems logical to any of us.

First, an elderly couple wearing rags for clothes came to our camp, screaming about how we were trespassing on their land. This was impossible because we scouted the area to make sure we weren’t stepping on any toes. They demanded that we vacate at once. We were willing to negotiate to keep the peace, but they wouldn’t hear any of it. We offered them food and to share our shelter, but still, they declined vehemently. The man pushed my wife when Aileen tried to offer him a fresh cup of water, and that’s when my patience flew away with the wind. I told them to leave immediately, and if they ever returned, they’d be shot on sight. I grew up dealing with threats, and I won’t be nice about it now. However, the couple was angered and swore vengeance before they left. My only concern was that my wife was so rattled by that man putting his hands on her when she was just trying to be kind. Our group discussed how to deal with the volatile couple, but we were split down the middle. The men wanted to keep with what I threatened, but the women felt we should still try to reason with them. It was better than fighting and bloodshed, they said.

It didn’t matter what we decided because the very next night, the woman returned without her husband and sat at the tree line, waiting for us to approach her, and as I’ve been through our entire journey, I made a move first. I’d rather be injured by her or her companion than anyone else.

She told me we had three days to vacate the premises, or a curse would befall us. One that would strip away at least one parent from each of our children. Every child from this generation and on would grow up without the love of both of their parents. Then, the woman proceeded to slit her own throat in front of me and bled out on the grass.

I figured it was the ramblings of a deranged woman at the end of her rope, but I was wrong. Exactly three days after that, Aileen fell ill, and we couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Ten days later, I became a widow and lost my sweet, dear wife, leaving our son without a mother, just like the crazy woman said.

Everyone is terrified about this supposed curse, and Aichear’s wife is now expecting. Children were never meant to feel like a death sentence, but now our whole world has been shaken to its core. Still, we will protect our home, for our families need something to fall back on during this difficult time. All we can hope is that Aileen’s passing was nothing more than a deadly coincidence.

Pray for us,

Séamus O’Reilly

CHAPTER 50

BETH

Ihaven’t spoken to Casey since the fight, where I told her to come to me if she needed help or if Martin hurt her. I never expected her to actually do it or know where my mom’s house was. I figured she would find me at school or at one of Nigel’s matches, but since she went to my mother’s house, that must mean she’s in real danger.

I know the danger isn’t Martin. He would never hurt her or anyone else, but the question is: What the hell happened?

I don’t know what’s going on or the real reason for the visit. All Aimee said when she called me was that Casey was upset, disheveled, and adamant about talking to me. I would never turn away someone begging for help, but I won’t know what she needs help with until I see her.

I’m not going to give anything away to Nigel until I know how to help or what Casey needs.

As soon as we pull up to my house, I have to beg him to go get some food and coffee for everyone. One, we need space, and two, I’m starving and exhausted.

He finally concedes and leaves, so I hurry to the front door, throwing it open. Aimee meets me immediately and is frantic. It must’ve been so scary for her to have someone pounding on the door when she has no idea that no one is looking for her anymore.

“Calm down and breathe, okay?” I say as I gently press my hands to her arms, and she slowly nods, doing as instructed.

“Who is she?” Aimee presses.

I frown. “She’s your brother’s ex-girlfriend.” Aimee’s eyes snap open wide. “I told her if she ever needed help, I’d help her. Something bad must’ve happened for her to come here.”

“What can I do?” Aimee pleads with her doe eyes, her hands clasped in front of her to show how sincere she is.

“Nigel went to get food. Can you stall him when he gets back? I don’t know how much privacy she needs.”

Her eyes flash with uncertainty, but then they steel with determination. “Absolutely. I’ll guard the door.” She nods along with her words, and my body relaxes.

“Thank you,” I say before dashing down the hall.

Once I enter the living room, the sound of the front door shutting hits me, and I take in Casey pacing the room, chewing on her fingernails.

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