“Will y’come wi’ me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. His expression was tortured, a glimmer of fear behind his eyes that made my heart ache. It made him seem younger somehow, like I was seeing the reflection of that terrified young boy that John-Francis once was.
I nodded. “‘Course I will, if y’want me ta.”
John-Francis closed the distance between us, wrapping me up in a hug. I squeezed him back, a chasm of pain opening up inside me. Jaysus, what if this was the last time he held me like this? I sunk my teeth into my tongue. No, right now this wasn’t about me or John-Francis, it was about Declan.
“Thank ya,” John-Francis murmured softly.
I pulled back and kissed him. “Don’t be a dafty. C’mon now, let’s get goin’ an’ find that lad o’ yas.”
John-Francis and I barrelled into the van and were out on the road in minutes. Using his phone to navigate to the pin Seamus’s mate had given us, we pulled up outside a wee quaint country cottage no more than ten minutes later.
John-Francis killed the engine, and we both sat in silence, staring at the house. It was dark inside, no signs of life. Was this this place?
“Ready, now?” I asked, reaching across to squeeze John-Francis’s knee. Without looking back at me, he placed his hand on top of mine.
I heard him suck in a breath. “Aye, let’s go.”
We hopped out, taking care not to slam the doors and alert Declan of our arrival. John-Francis led the way, holding his ear to the door briefly before trying the handle. It opened, creaking and cracking as the sticky paint came free from the frame.
We inched inside the house, and it was immediately obvious that we had the right place. It was completely trashed – sofa turned over, mirror smashed, television on the floor… and bottles of booze everywhere. Broken glass crunched under our feet, and I pushed the door closed behind us, holding back as John-Francis crept around the wee house, checking each room.
“Nothin’ down here,” he whispered, eyes drifting to the staircase. “C’mon.”
We took our time climbing up the stairs, step by step. Just as I was beginning to wonder if Declan was even here, John-Francis pushed inside Tess’s bedroom. It was dark, the curtains drawn, and absolutely stank of booze, sweat, and stale air.
“Dec?” John-Francis called out. “Declan? Y’alright, fella?”
As he moved further into the room, I glanced around. Unlike the rest of the house, this room hadn’t been touched. If it wasn’t for the rank stench and thedark shape laying in the bed, I wouldn’t have suspected anyone had been in here. It was like a shrine to Tess, all of her belongings exactly as she’d left them.
My attention snapped back to the bed as I watched John-Francis kneel down beside it, attempting to shake his friend awake. Declan was comatose, completely dead to the world.
“Jaysus, how much has he had y’reckon?” I asked. “He’s still breathin’, aye?”
John-Francis leant in, holding still for a second before backing away with a nod. “Aye, still breathin’ but I’d not like to guess what he’s done t’ get himself in such a state, now.” He jostled him again, rougher this time. “Declan! C’mon!”
I could tell he was getting panicked and I stepped in, touching his shoulder.
“S’alright,” I soothed. “Let’s get him up, aye?”
John-Francis and I worked together to heave Declan upright and thankfully that seemed to be enough to rouse him to consciousness. He was still out of it, not making much sense, and when John-Francis attempted to get him on his feet, he was met with explosive aggression.
Declan may have been barely conscious, but he fought against our hold like his life depended on it. An errant elbow caught my face and I yelled out, blinding pain splintering my concentration and I was forced to release Declan.
“Gerroff me!”Declan snarled, shoving John-Francis away roughly. “Leave me the feck alone!”
“Y’know I can’t do that!” John-Francis snapped. I’d never seen him so on edge. When Declan pushed him away a second time, he was forced to back off and let his friend fall back down onto the bed. His gaze jumped to me. “Y’alright, now?”
“Aye,” I muttered, dabbing the back of my hand to my mouth. I could taste blood, but it appeared the damage was superficial.
“Declan, c’mon,” John-Francis sighed. There was pain behind his voice. “I can’t just leave ya here. Come wi’ me, like. We’ll get ya cleaned up an’—”
“No. I’m stayin’. Feck off.” Came the clipped reply, muffled by the bedsheets.
“Dec—”
“I saidfeck off,John-Francis!” Declan roared, lashing out blindly. “Leave me be.”
John-Francis sat motionless beside his mate on the bed for a long moment until his shoulders sagged and he reluctantly got to his feet.
