Chapter sixty-six

Abbey sat alone in the cold, damp room.  The dim light reflected off the unpainted concrete block walls.  The only items in the room were a metal table with two chairs on each side where Abbey sat and a TV/VCR combo mounted to the wall.   

Abbey buried her face in her hands.  She really couldn’t understand why she was here.  How could throwing up in the street be littering?  It made no sense.

Abbey jumped as the door slammed open.  A tall balding man in a military uniform coldly strode into the room carrying a large file in his hand.  He was intimidating.  Not Sloan and Robert intimidating but intimidating none the less.  Abbey could just make out the name Cmd. Brown engraved on the nameplate pinned to his uniform.  He dropped the file on the table and sat down in the empty chair.

“Why am I here?” Abbey asked timidly.

Commander Brown opened the file, scanning the documents inside.  “You were littering, Miss…”  His trailing voice searched for her name.  His British accent was unmistakable.

“Mrs.,” Abbey volunteered.  “Mrs. Abigail O’Riley.  When is vomiting considered littering?”

“Where is your passport, Mrs. O’Riley?”

“In my hotel.  I didn’t realize I had to carry it with me.  My husband’s mother just died and…”

“Your husband?”

“Yes.  My husband Sloan.”

Commander Brown chuckled.  “Do you realize what your husband is?” 

“He’s a world renowned artist.  He’s an investor.  He’s a businessman and a philanthropist…”

Abbey was cut off abruptly as Commander Brown stood, kicking his chair out from under him.  He crossed the small room to the TV to get the remote tucked beside it.  He returned to his chair and clicked the TV on.

A video of a marketplace appeared on the screen.  People darted from one store to another.  Others talked in the streets while vendors sold their wares from carts.  By the surroundings Abbey guessed it was London.  A time stamp in the bottom corner of the screen said it was 1996.

The peace of the marketplace was torn apart by a ball of fire.  There was screaming – horrified, pain filled screaming.  Abbey pressed her hand to her mouth as she felt the acid burning in her stomach.  Commander Brown clicked the pause button freezing the carnage in the screen.

“Why would you show me that?” Abbey whimpered.

“Do you know who is responsible for that?” Commander Brown demanded.  Abbey shook her head.

“Your husband,” Commander Brown snarled.

“No.”  Abbey shook her head vehemently.  “He wouldn’t do that.  Not Sloan.”

The Commander reached into the file.  He slapped several pieces of paper on the table in front of Abbey.  There were photos, newspapers articles, reports.  Abbey studied a photo carefully.  Sloan, in his late teens, stared back at her.

Commander Brown tapped the photo viciously.  “Sloan O’Riley is an IRA terrorist.  And a murderer.”

Abbey closed her eyes.  It was too much.  Her gentle, loving husband – a terrorist?  No, it just couldn’t be.

“I thought your war was over,” Abbey murmured.

“Sloan O’Riley is a deadly fugitive.”

Abbey looked up at him weakly.  “You didn’t arrest me for littering.  You arrested me to lure Sloan so you could arrest him.”

Commander Brown slammed his fists violently on the metal table.  Abbey screamed, startled.  She whimpered as Commander Brown leaned over the table until his nose nearly touched hers.

“Get ready for a long stay, Missy,” Commander Brown spat.  “The coward ran after the bombing in London to save his skin.  He isn’t going to stick around for you.”

And in another note I wanted to share another picture with you…

This is a printed rough draft of Black Irish in its entirety.  I am halfway through the first edit and going to do a second edit.  Soon it will be a published book!



About triciaandersen

I am the author and illustrator of the children's book "The Peculiar Princess". I am also the author of two adult fantasy romance novels, "The Sorceress of Savon" and "The Woodcutter King of Muladin". Along with being an author I am married to a wonderful guy and have three beautiful children. I coach youth track and field, sew and chase my children around to their various activities.

Posted on July 18, 2012, in author, books, fiction, novel, romance, story, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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