Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

and held out his hand. After casting a glance at Nora, Eamon clenched his jaw and shook Mick’s hand, then let it go as if it had burned him. Without looking at her, he said, “Come on, Nora.” She slid off the bed, head down, tears dripping off her chin.

Chapter Three
    Almost a year passed without incident. Nora kept her promise to Eamon and took religion more seriously. She went to Mass several times a week with her mother, and Eamon joined them as often as he could. When her mother was too drunk to leave the house, Nora went alone. She found a strange comfort in the ritual of it all—the prayers, the kneeling and the rising. Whatever was happening in her own life, the church remained unchanged. Her prayers became more fervent and sincere.
    Then the phone rang.
    It was close to midnight, but there was no sign of Eamon. She rarely saw him anymore. He kept to his room or sat quietly with their mother in the sitting room, staring blankly at the television. Once she’d made the mistake of asking him when he thought they could leave. His only response had been to shake his head sadly and leave the room. She hadn’t asked again.
    The Troubles continued to rage around her. The Ulster Volunteer Force and Ulster Defense Association continued their campaigns of terror against the Catholics while the police force looked the other way. The Provos responded accordingly. She tried not to think of what Eamon had seen—or done—to cause that vacant look in his eyes. Tried not to panic every time the phone rang or there was a knock on the door. She turned off the television whenever there was news of a bombing, not wanting to know if Eamon had been involved. Then she would turn it back on, unable to resist.
    Mrs. O’Reilly had gone to bed with her bottle hours ago, and Nora was up finishing a paper due the next morning. When the phone rang, her pen skidded across the paper, leaving an ugly black scar. She stared at the receiver hanging on the wall, then forced herself out of her chair.
    “Hello?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
    “Nora, it’s Paddy Sullivan.” She relaxed. Paddy came over loads now that he and Eamon were working together. He kept trying to be her friend, to make jokes and ask about her school, as though he hadn’t kidnapped her the year before. She ignored him as much as she could. It wasn’t unusual for him to ring their place, looking for Eamon.
    “Eamon’s not here.”
    “I know. He’s at the Mater. You need to come.”
    She stopped breathing. “The hospital? What’s happened to him?”
    “Just get your ma and get over here.” He hung up.
    She stood staring at the phone in her hands for a long moment, unable to block out thoughts of revenge beatings and assassinations, of blown-out knees and bullets in foreheads. Her hand flew automatically to the rosary nestled in her pocket and convulsed around the beads. Then she slammed down the receiver and sprinted up the stairs.
    “Ma! Ma!” She burst into her mother’s room, but she was already asleep—or passed out, judging by the smell. Nora shook her a few times, but her mother only grunted and rolled over. “Ma, get up, it’s Eamon. He’s in hospital!” The only response she got was a deep sigh.
    Too anxious to wait, Nora ran back down the stairs and rang for a taxi. She found money in her mother’s purse and went outside to wait. The street was empty, and the lamp closest to their house was flickering. Normally she’d not dare to be alone on the street at this time of night, but all her fear was directed toward Eamon.
    “Come on . . . ,” she whispered, stamping her feet to keep warm. If she could just get to him, he’d be all right, whatever had happened. The seconds seemed as long as hours as she stared fixedly down the road. Finally the taxi’s lights turned the corner, and she waved to hail him. “The Mater,” she said as soon as she got in the backseat. The driver gave her a dark look but didn’t say anything.