Eden Burning by Deirdre Quiery Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deirdre Quiery
deliberateness in the way the door opened, as though whatever was in there knew that he was only few steps away. What did it want of him? His body filled with fear, terror, energy rippling, zapping, vibrating bubbles shooting from head to toe as his feet were rooted to the ground. The fear wakened him. His heart beat wildly as he opened his eyes in relief. “It’s only a nightmare”. His pulse returned to normal as he comfortingly took in the familiar view of his small bedsit – the table set for breakfast next morning, teacup upside down on the saucer. Chivers marmalade with a small teaspoon on top ofit, a bottle of HP brown sauce and one of Heinz tomato sauce. A white teapot covered with the red tea cosy Molly had knitted for him. Anne knew that he liked to be alone in the morning so she brought his cooked breakfast to his room while the other lodgers ate downstairs in the dining room. As he surveyed the comfort of his breakfast table, he wondered why the fear in his nightmare was worse than any fear experienced when awake. Is it God opening the door for me or the Devil? He wondered was he shaking with awe and terror at the mystery of an unknown God waiting for him, or was it the terror of the unfathomable evil of the Devil? He wasn’t sure.
Now in the taxi he traced the rough outline of Christ’s body on the crucifix of his rosary with his fingers. He prayed, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The same prayer said during nights in his security hut. The Jesus Prayer of the third century Desert Fathers fleeing into the solitude of the Egyptian Desert to find God within. Paddy repeated the Jesus Prayer until he didn’t hear the sound of the taxi changing gears, until all he heard were the words in his head. Then the words were a pulse beating in his heart and there was silence. He kept repeating, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The taxi stopped, Cedric jumped out from the passenger seat, opened the back door where Paddy was sitting, pulled him onto the pavement outside the Black Beetle pub.
“Take him to the lock up.” Cedric said to Peter.
Paddy fell to his knees, his legs buckling under him. This was his last chance to escape, where he was meant to run, not kneel. William opened the driver’s door, walked slowly around the front of the car where the headlights still shone. He handed Cedric a long rectangular box. Cedric caught the wooden box like a rugby ball, its bronze clip closed, and he swung the box at Paddy, hitting him on the neck. Paddy groaned, folding tothe ground, both feet caught by Peter who dragged him, head bumping on the rough pavement past the Black Beetle.
• • •
“Kill me! Please kill me!” Screamed Paddy, his words faintly heard in the semi-darkness of a neighbour’s bedroom. The room smelt strongly of polish. A white net curtain filtered the light from the streetlamp outside, casting moving shadows onto the wall to the left. The neighbour opened her eyes with a start, lying perfectly still, sweeping the room with a glance from left to right to see if anyone was there. The next day The Irish News reported that an unnamed neighbour heard Paddy O’Connor’s plea to be killed at four in the morning. Hearing his cries, the neighbour didn’t call the police, or run out of the house and knock on the door of the lockup garage next door. She sat up in bed, listened carefully to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Kill me. Kill me,” Paddy repeated in a lower voice, weeping. His voice floated into the room, this time as a ghostly shimmer of a sound, which wouldn’t have wakened her if she had been asleep. Reaching over to the bedside table she switched the radio on. Then lay back in bed, breathing deeply. She concentrated on Frank Sinatra singing ‘My Way’. She needn’t have bothered because Paddy never spoke again. Those were his last words.
Paddy was in a place beyond fear, beyond courage – a place of surrender. Inside the garage,
Now in the taxi he traced the rough outline of Christ’s body on the crucifix of his rosary with his fingers. He prayed, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The same prayer said during nights in his security hut. The Jesus Prayer of the third century Desert Fathers fleeing into the solitude of the Egyptian Desert to find God within. Paddy repeated the Jesus Prayer until he didn’t hear the sound of the taxi changing gears, until all he heard were the words in his head. Then the words were a pulse beating in his heart and there was silence. He kept repeating, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The taxi stopped, Cedric jumped out from the passenger seat, opened the back door where Paddy was sitting, pulled him onto the pavement outside the Black Beetle pub.
“Take him to the lock up.” Cedric said to Peter.
Paddy fell to his knees, his legs buckling under him. This was his last chance to escape, where he was meant to run, not kneel. William opened the driver’s door, walked slowly around the front of the car where the headlights still shone. He handed Cedric a long rectangular box. Cedric caught the wooden box like a rugby ball, its bronze clip closed, and he swung the box at Paddy, hitting him on the neck. Paddy groaned, folding tothe ground, both feet caught by Peter who dragged him, head bumping on the rough pavement past the Black Beetle.
• • •
“Kill me! Please kill me!” Screamed Paddy, his words faintly heard in the semi-darkness of a neighbour’s bedroom. The room smelt strongly of polish. A white net curtain filtered the light from the streetlamp outside, casting moving shadows onto the wall to the left. The neighbour opened her eyes with a start, lying perfectly still, sweeping the room with a glance from left to right to see if anyone was there. The next day The Irish News reported that an unnamed neighbour heard Paddy O’Connor’s plea to be killed at four in the morning. Hearing his cries, the neighbour didn’t call the police, or run out of the house and knock on the door of the lockup garage next door. She sat up in bed, listened carefully to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Kill me. Kill me,” Paddy repeated in a lower voice, weeping. His voice floated into the room, this time as a ghostly shimmer of a sound, which wouldn’t have wakened her if she had been asleep. Reaching over to the bedside table she switched the radio on. Then lay back in bed, breathing deeply. She concentrated on Frank Sinatra singing ‘My Way’. She needn’t have bothered because Paddy never spoke again. Those were his last words.
Paddy was in a place beyond fear, beyond courage – a place of surrender. Inside the garage,