The Horror
It was the serenity I had loved; the silence. That is except for some branches gently shaking in the wind. It was only a short distance from the house and used to be a secret refuge. But now the thought of going there would terrify me. I needed noise to drown out my thoughts. The shame and guilt for what I had done. My parents had never intended to raise a monster but that is what had happened.
There was simply nowhere else to go. My parents were anxious for me to spend some time outside perhaps so they could escape my foul mood. As if theirs was any better; they barely spoke to me or anyone else any more. Now the sound of women crying out for their loved ones from the rubble, images of the missing limbs and faces covered in blood permeated my mind. Surely there are things that can never be forgiven and I must have crossed that point just about an hour ago.
It was never supposed to be like this. All I wanted was revenge against my sister’s murderer. Surely after what he had done to her, it was what any decent brother would have done. But with a crippling condition since birth called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita revenge was to be had by an invisible hand. The condition caused by multiple joint contractures left me wheelchair bound with only limited use of my hands. It was a friend from college who first put me in contact with a faction of the IRA that rejected peace. Blinded by hatred I cared little for the consequences of the alliance I had entered into.
It was only when I tasted my revenge that my thoughts turned to the North. The Good Friday Agreement had been signed in May which promised a historic lasting peace in Northern Ireland. Both sides had grown weary of a bloody but low level conflict that had led to the deaths of over three thousand people over twenty years. On the one side you had moderate nationalists, Republicans including the IRA and the Irish Government; on the other unionists, loyalists including terrorist organisations such as the UVF and the British Government.
There were minorities on both sides which opposed the peace deal. But its most deadly opponents were dissidents from the IRA. To them there could never be a peace deal while Ireland remained divided into two different artificial state-lets and British soldiers remained on the island of Ireland. They saw their comrades as sell outs who had betrayed their country. The struggle had already lasted centuries; there was no end in sight for them.
These were the people I had become indebted too and I had become an instrument of their destruction. I had never really thought about it before but planting a bomb and then scurrying away really was a cowardly act. At least television would give me some indication of my heinous crime; I deserved to be punished.
It was now approaching dinner time so I turned the wheelchair back on and began trundling the short journey home. The skies were slowly turning grey as I drove horizontal to the front door and knocked on it three times. My father struggling to smile opened the door and welcomed me in telling me the dinner was ready.
My mother was already sitting at the table ready to help feed me. Their lives had been shaken to the core by Karen’s death but recently I could feel they were trying to move forward with their lives. The Gardai had told them that the case had been effectively closed as the primary suspect was himself dead. They were sure he was the perpetrator and to try to take at least some solace from what had happened even if it was not ideal.
It was a typical setting for an Irish dinner with beans, potatoes and pork to eat with the television in the corner of the kitchen. My father went to turn on the news as he always did. It would only be seconds now till their questions would start.
“Alan, wasn’t that the hotel you were at?”
“Did you notice anything odd?”
Or maybe they will tell me how lucky I was, that it could have happened to me. Probably best to act surprised I surmised and that I was so thankful nothing so awful had happened to me when I stayed there. Fortunately I had learned I was a good liar.. Not the kind that would let something slip easily.
The Angeles snapped me back from my thoughts. It lasted the customary sixty seconds and then the news headlines were read out. I was surprised when it wasn’t the first item mentioned but shocked when there no mention of it whatsoever. Perhaps the news still had to filter through. Then at the end there was a brief mention of the British Prime Minister Tony Blair visiting the North for peace negotiations. The attack had demonstrably failed.
A million different thoughts started to run through my mind. Perhaps there was a cover up to stop panic breaking out or maybe the bomb had failed to detonate. Either way things were not good and I could feel a heavy weight on my shoulders..
Perhaps sensing my unease my father asked me if I was alright. I struggled to reassuringly smile and nod that I was fine.
The news continued till the end without any mention of an attack as I slowly ate my way through the dinner. Once I was finished I went to check my mobile swinging my arm onto the coffee table where I had left it hours earlier but there were no messages or phone calls. What did this all mean? Or maybe, just maybe..
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