Page 172 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

She shakes her head. “No, not like that.” She stares at the goons. “How deep is the hole?”

They look at each other.

“Around six feet.” one mutters.

“Perfect.” She smiles at me.

“Sophia.” Luciano sounds impatient as he looks at his watch. He wants this to be over with. I’ve obviously spoiled enough of his evening.

“Position her at the end of the grave.”

The goons grab me and stand me at the foot of my final resting place in some wood where I’ll almost certainly never be found.

My thoughts immediately drift to the family plot at Rising. I wanted to be buried beside Ace and Pop. Where my boys could join us one day if they wanted to.

I won’t be.

I’ll be here in an unmarked grave. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with guilt that I’m putting them through this. I hope they realize I did this to keep them safe.

Sophia pushes me backward, and I fall into the hole. The wind is knocked out of me when my back collides with its cold, watery base.

It’s then I hear it.

Chopin’sMarche Funebre.

The funeral march.

“Don’t forget your little gift.”

The small wooden musical box lands at my feet, still playing.

“Bury her alive,” she announces.

So, I’m to suffocate under six feet of dirt.

I feel each shovelful of soil as it lands on me. My hands are still tied, so I try to keep my mouth and eyes closed, but it quickly makes its way up my nose. I’m already struggling to breathe.

Tears of self-pity fill my eyes. It’s not the ending I imagined, but then what is? I was never going to die of old age surrounded by family as we reminisced over the ninety-year life I led.

This is the reality of the life I chose to lead—the life I would choose over and over again. The voices fade, and finally, the music box is silenced.

I’m suddenly enveloped by cold. Is it the soil, or is it Death? Has my ex-husband’s right-hand man come to claim me for himself?

More tears. Regret this time. That things with Eoin and me were so flawed. We never stood a chance.

If I could have done just one last thing, I’d have taken a photograph. Because I want one more than anything. I want to have it in the back pocket of my pants where I have all the others.

I can’t believe we never took one.

That we never captured even one snapshot of our fucked-up time together.

The tears flow freely now. No one can see me cry. A sob escapes me—just one. And then I remember that Nate can hear me. I mumble the words, trying to prevent the soil from invading my mouth, at least until I can get them out.

“Tell Roisin I’m sorry about what happened to Eoin and Padraig. That it was just too much to come back from after Ace. Tell her to tell my sons that I love them. That sometimes, we have to make the toughest decisions to do what’s best for our children. She knows that better than most.”

The crushing weight of the earth lies heavy on my chest until my breathing becomes labored. Until the cold takes root in my bones.

Until there is nothing.

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