Rachel Van Dyken Read Online Free PDF Page B

boys help me out here. Let’s get him home . B oy’s gonna feel this in the morning.”
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    Blaine was awakened by the metallic resonance in his skull as the sledgehammer pounded the wedge into it. If it didn’t hurt so much to think, he would have reminded himself that this was the precise reason he avoided hard liquor.
    He struggled in to a sitting position and cradled his throbbing head in both hands. A wave of nausea swept over him , causing him to lunge forward onto the hard floor and expel the liquid-less remnants from his stomach. Exhausted and weak, he rolled over onto his back and groaned in misery , wishing for death to save him.
    The rap at the door echoed in his head, and he cringed in pain. “Lad, mind ye don’t be hurlin’ on my good rug now!” Mrs. Callahan called from behind the door. “I’ll be holdin’ yer breakfast fer when ye are more sportin’. In the meantime, just get yerself back in that be d, young fool.”
    Movement was impossible, so he lay there on the cold floor suffering from the skull-splitting headache. Blaine smacked his dry tongue against the thick stickiness lining the inside of his mouth. He could die right here on the floor from lack of moisture, and nobody would notice until he didn’t show up for supper.
    Another knock on his door sent him careening into fetal position with a torrent of whispered curses pouring from his mouth.
    “I beg yer pardon, laddie ,” old Mr. Hanigan warned, as he sauntered in without an invitation. Blaine’s eyes felt like sandpaper as he squinted to trace the old man’s steps across the room , and then carefully stepp ed over the curdled puddle of the previous night’s indiscretion. He set a full glass on the bureau, then turned and offered Blaine his hand, pulling him up and guiding him back to sit on his bed.
    “Here, m ’ boy.” Mr. Hanigan placed the glass in Blaine’s hand and helped him guide it to his mouth. “No, no. Don’t look at it, lad . Just close yer eyes and throw it back. Tastes like raw sewage, but ye’ll be thank in’ me later .”
    Blaine did as he was told, though the strange concoction did cause him to gag several times before he was able to gulp down the whole thing. “What is in that?” he g as p ed, trying desperately to smack the taste away while sputtering for a fresh breath.
    “Oh, it’s best if ye don’t know. Feelin ’ better, lad ?”
    Blaine thought about the question for a moment. A weak smile spread across his lips. “ A bit. My stomach feels a lot better. Thank you. ”
    “Aye, lad .” The old Irish man eyed him sympathetically. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to change his mind again . I nstead he took the glass from Blaine’s hand , filled it with water from the pitcher on the bureau and returned it to him.
    As the numbness from the rest of his body slowly dissipate d , Blaine began to notice another violent throbbing in his right cheekbone just below the eye. He reached up tenderly to feel out the situation and found the area around his eye to be sensitive to the touch.
    “Ah, yes. A fine shiner. Ye’ll want a raw steak for that, no doubt. ” Old Mr. Hanigan gestured toward Blaine’s face. “Mrs. Callahan is worried about ye, lad .”
    Blaine lay back against his pillow. “Is she?”
    “Aye. And t he lads think ye got bad news in yer telegram yesterday.”
    “ And w hat do you think?”
    “I think whatever ‘twas , stirred up an old fury ye thought was dead and buried .”
    The young man nodded with downcast eyes. “I guess it was just sleeping.” He reached into the pocket of his pants which hung over the headboard and retrieved the crumpled telegram. Tears threatened to spill over as he turned the telegram over and over in his hands for a moment, smoothing the creases.
    Hesitantly, he offered the paper to the old man who sat on the edge of his bed. He took it reluctantly, scrutinizing Blaine's face as he did so. Turning to the telegram, Mr. Hanigan adjusted his