If they’re really gone, then I have no one. And that scares me more than anything else.
Chapter19
Cillian
FOUR YEARS AGO
It’s not the first morgue I’ve walked into, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last, but when I see her sitting on a hard metal seat in the waiting room, a polystyrene cup of coffee cradled in her hands, I’m very glad I came to this one.
‘I’m here for her,’ I inform the receptionist, nodding towards where Niamh is sitting alone.
‘Miss Whyte?’ she asks, smiling sympathetically when I nod. ‘If you can just wait a moment.’
My fingers curl into my palms, the nails biting into my flesh as I take long, steady breaths and fight to control my anger at being told what to do. The one place I don’t want to lose it is within the human legal system. Slow and pathetic as it is.
‘Thank you,’ I say, not moving a muscle as the receptionist eyes me warily and slides the glass window closed before she goes over to speak to Niamh. Niamh jumps when the woman speaks to her, then stands up and stares at me.
When our eyes meet, I know I did the right thing coming. I know her parents weren’t keen on her being friendly with Rose. I’d considered going round to speak to them, do my best responsible-older-brother act to persuade them that Rose posed no risk to their daughter and that a friendship with her could potentially unlock doors for Niamh, but every time I was about to do so, something happened to distract me and now eight weeks have passed and I never will.
Niamh’s eyes never leave mine as she nods, and I’m buzzed through the security door.
‘Niamh,’ I breathe, memories of when my own parents died stirring for the first time in years.
‘You didn’t need to come,’ she whispers, tears welling in her eyes. ‘How did you?—?’
‘Sean,’ I say. Sean alerted me to the fact that she was sneaking out of the hotel room to meet with the police, and after Aiden had verified the accident, I decided to come and see what the situation was first-hand.
‘Of course,’ she murmurs, looking down at the ground.
‘I’m so sorry, Niamh.’
She nods at me, and we turn as two police officers approach.
‘Miss Whyte and…?’
‘Cillian Hunter,’ I say.
The woman nods while her colleague stares at me, fascinated. The police have never, will never, have anything concrete to charge me with. Evidence has a habit of disappearing or eyewitnesses simply forget or recall widely different versions of events involving Kinfolk. That is, if anyone even sees anything in the first place.
We’re ushered through to a small office and I catch Niamh’s eye to make sure she’s okay with me listening in. I might feel as though I’ve known her forever, but we’ve only met once, and I want her to feel comfortable with my presence. In the claustrophobic room, they go through the explanation of how Niamh will need to conduct the formal identification. Her whole body tenses. She’s tough but I can see through her bravado to the broken-hearted soul inside. I’m usually the one causing pain to others, so I’m not sure why I want to be the one to soothe hers now. And yet I find myself reaching for her hand. Her fingers slip into mine with a familiar ease, and when she glances at me, her lips slightly parted, my chest fills with an emotion I can barely contain.
* * *
Despite the mortuary assistant insisting only next of kin are allowed into the morgue, I stand my ground. No way am I letting her go in alone. Following my own parents’ passing, I know more about the process anyway. We follow him to a room lit by cold blue lights, which reeks of antiseptic-covered death. Niamh rubs her arms, and I move closer, wishing I’d had someone to comfort me when I lost my father. She leans back against me, and I don’t resist the urge to wrap my arms around her.
Niamh stares at the two covered bodies laid out on trolleys, her body suddenly leaning more heavily against mine as the tech pulls the sheet down until she can see her mother’s face. For a moment, I think I recognise her, but I’m certain we’ve never met. Slowly, Niamh reaches towards her, then stops.
‘Yes, that’s her.’ Her voice is barely above a whisper. ‘Can I touch her?’
‘Carefully,’ the tech answers, ‘but please don’t move the sheet.’
I allow Niamh to step away from me so she can trail her fingers down her mother’s cheek ever so gently a couple of times. Then she swallows and nods, and the tech re-covers her mother’s face. I put my arm around her shoulders as she turns to identify her father.
Tomorrow, I’ll ask Aiden to hack into the police records and find out exactly what happened. I’ll also make sure to check any available traffic-cam footage myself. They’ll put out an appeal for dashcam footage, though it may take a few weeks to get much response, if any. Theirs was a common car, and there’s probably no reason for anyone to have noticed it. The road is a quiet one, rarely with more than one vehicle on it at a time, but not so quiet that any at all are noticeable.
‘You can confirm the identities of David and Rhiannon Whyte?’ the tech asks. Something shifts in the air, and I look around, expecting to see some sign of the Kinfolk, but there’s nothing. Odd. Perhaps just the presence of so much death is triggering parts of my brain. Maybe even for humans, naming the dead can have a special significance.
In the end, Niamh doesn’t say anything, just nods her confirmation.
