light.”
“We need to go now, Pa! She may still be close!” I cried out.
Pa raised a weary hand and pointed at the window. “It’s raining. We’re not going outside and traipsing across creation in the middle of the night while it’s raining. Your brother shouldn’t even be out of his bed. Both of you, return to your rooms.”
They were too sleepy to wonder what on earth had propelled their sickly boy from his bed—looking back, perhaps they thought they were dreaming.
I was willing to brave the weather; I am certain Bram was, too. I attempted to argue, but Pa was snoring a moment later, oblivious to my words.
Ma pointed towards their bedroom door and mouthed, You heard your father. To bed with both of you.
At my side, Bram said nothing. He tugged at my hand and simply nodded.
Neither Bram nor I slept; we did not even take the time to change into our nightclothes. We spent the remainder of the night sitting upon his bed in silence. At dawn, the two of us were standing at the door to our parents’ bedroom, unwilling to risk Pa slipping out without us in tow. He rose with a grunt, told us to wait for him in the kitchen, and went about his morning routine.
When he appeared in the kitchen, there was a scowl on his face. “Dirt inside her bed, you say? I found nothing of the sort. Her bed is filled with hay, same as yours.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell Pa that you somehow removed the soil yesterday when you left, but before I could speak, he started towards the door.
“Take me to this place in the tower; show me what you found.”
When I saw the look in Bram’s eye, my stomach sank, for a realization came to me, same as him—you removed the dirt without anyone the wiser, the tower room would also be cleared.
I considered telling Pa it was all a lie or possibly a dream that felt too real, but one that we now knew to be false, but I could not bring myself to do it. I needed to see for myself. I rose from my chair, donned my coat, and walked out the door towards the fields of Artane, towards the castle. For the first minute or so, I was not even certain that Pa and Bram followed me. I was unwilling to turn, and so determined to see this through I would have gone it alone. They had followed me, though, and together the three of us crossed the muddy fields to the tower rising from the edge of the forest.
Pa was nearly out of breath by the time we reached the top of the stairs; but it was Bram’s condition that concerned him. That worry seemed to overshadow all else; he did not comment on the dilapidated state of the structure or the possible risk involved in climbing to the top. When Pa pushed open the heavy door, emptiness screamed out at us.
We found nothing inside.
The tower room was empty.
Not even our own footprints littered the dusty floor, the space appearing as if it had been empty for hundreds of years, and smelling just as deserted.
How did you do it?
How did you hide everything?
So many questions, and now you are gone. You have been gone for so long.
I imagine you are wondering about Bram.
You left him in such a state.
You left us both in such a state.
That was a long time ago. Somehow, Ma and Pa seemed to forget all that, and despite their conventional ways, allowed me to travel to Europe without them. I recently returned to Dublin from Paris.
Oh, Paris, what a beautiful city; I wish I had been able to stay. I spent my days at the Louvre and my nights along the banks of the Seine. There were restaurants and shops offering the most extravagant of things—none of which I could afford, mind you, but a girl can look. I was there to collect an award, the Young Artist’s Award for Painting from Life. You always