Celtic Storm

After six and a half hours on her feet, she was ready to sleep for days. It was only Wednesday, so tomorrow she needs to be up at 7:00 AM to be at work at 8:00. School started at 8:30. She was always tired, but she needed to take care of her brother. She opens the top drawer of her desk and puts her tips in the white envelope. It should be $991. Once she made it to ten thousand dollars, she would write an address on the envelope and drop it in the mail. A few days later she would receive a phone call telling her the money was received. This would be the fifth phone call this year. Without her brother’s debt, she could have bought a house instead of renting. She would have a brand-new car instead of the unreliable beater that has her on the bus or on foot most of the time. She may have found a husband, settled down and had a couple of rugrats. But her brother means everything to her so paying off his debt is more important.

After a hot shower, she crawls into bed and hopes for sleep to come quickly. When she stuck her head into Iain’s room earlier, he was not there. She wonders where he is tonight. She prays he is not gambling. At only twenty-nine, she feels as if she has worked a lifetime. Almost since she graduated from college, she has worked two sometimes three jobs to keep a roof over their heads and pay off the gambling debts Iain kept accumulating.

Iain drinks and gambles. He wracks up a mountain of IOUs. Quinn sighs. At least he is not into drugs, but maybe if he was, he would overdose. If he did, then all of this would end. She curses herself at the thought. Guilt blurs her eyes, and she prays again that Iain will come home soon.

As if to answer her prayers, the front door unlocks, and Quinn can hear Iain stumbling around downstairs. Soon she hears a loud crash and a muffled scream. Quinn slips out of her bed and into her slippers. She pads down the stairs and sees Iain laying at the entrance of the living room.

Quinn runs to check on him. She cuddles his head in her arms. His face is swollen. Both eyes are almost closed. She wonders how he could see out of them. His lips are cut and bloody. She is sure his nose is broken. She runs to the kitchen to get ice and wraps it in a tea towel. She hands it to Iain then retrieves the first aid kit from the downstairs bathroom.

Iain winces as she cleans his cuts and does the best to bandage him. She can smell the alcohol on his breath and is sure it is reeking from the vomit on his clothes.

Iain grabs her hands and tears clean his stained cheeks. “I am so sorry. I am so very sorry, Quinn.” He keeps repeating the phrase as he squeezes her hands.

“It’s okay. Iain.” She lets go of his hands and helps him off the floor. “Get some sleep. It will all be better in the morning.”

Iain lets out a small sigh and hugs Quinn. “No, it won’t. I am so sorry.”

Quinn hugs him back and helps him to his room. After tucking him into bed, still fully clothed, she kisses his forehead and wishes him a good night. She crawls back into bed and stares at her phone. It digitally blinks 5:03 AM. Less than two hours of sleep. Quinn decides to stay awake. She makes herself a cup of coffee and snuggles into the living room couch.

At six thirty, a loud knock intrudes Quinn’s nodding. She blinks and focuses, wondering if she is only dreaming. The knock comes again, and she knows she is not.

Quinn quietly creeps to the door and peers out the peep hole. Two large men hover in front of the door. She lets out a slight gasp and ducks down. Who are they and what do they want at this time of the morning?

They knock again and Quinn sinks down to the floor and rests her back against the door. She can feel the reverberation from their knocking. One of the men calls out, “Iain, open this god damned door now!”

Quinn winces. Her hope that they are Jehovah’s witnesses is shattered. She glances at Iain’s closed door down the hall. She knows he cannot hear the knocking. He could not hear if the house exploded. He is dead to the world. She cradles her knees, closes her eyes, and prays they go away. The knocking and demanding continues.

Finally, Quinn unlatches the mail slot and yells out. “What do you want?”

“We need to see fucking Iain, now!” A surly snarl penetrates the mail slot and stings Quinn’s ears.

“He’s not home.” Her voice is shaky.

“The fuck he isn’t. Just send him out and we’ll go away.” One of the men’s fingers peek through the mail slot and brush Quinn’s shoulder. She jumps and quickly scoots away. The fingers angrily wave back and forth in the slot.

“Send him out Quinn and we’ll go away.” She watches as the fingers recede and immediately relatches the mail slot. The fingers bump against it and a man let’s out a low growl. “Just send the god damned bastard out.”

The man's voice was fierce and gruff, and I trembled with fear.

What were they planning to do? Kill Iain and me?

Why?