|
Author’s note: This story is the first in the Through the Fire Trilogy
and is a prequel to the Wood-Chopping 101 series. This trilogy will attempt to
clear up some of those pesky KK inconsistencies, and offers The Cameo’s
version of the Regan and Mangan family histories. By the way, two out of three editors recommend you get a
hanky for this one. Five-year-old Billy Regan laid quietly in his cot at
Angels of Mercy Orphanage, clutching his beloved stuffed horse, Norman, to
his chest. The wee boy squeezed his eyes tightly shut, hoping that he would
be able to block out the noises around him and fall asleep. However, in the
overly crowded elementary ward of the children’s home, that feat was easier
said than done. Although only half of the eighty little ones, ranging in age
from five-years-old to ten, were in the large room with him, silence wasn’t
golden; it was nonexistent. On
this particular night, there were the usual sounds: sniffling, snoring, and
pleas for drinks of water. These noises didn’t bother Billy; they were
typical nighttime occurrences in the orphanage. He had been at Angels of
Mercy for two years, and had always been able to go to sleep despite minor
disturbances. What did bother him
was crying. And in the cot next to
him, a little boy, who had just been dropped off at the children’s home that
very day, was sobbing loudly. Billy
tried to block out the lamentations. As often as tears were shed in the
elementary ward, he had plenty of opportunities to become desensitized to the
noise. Crying was part of childhood, beginning the minute one left the womb
and continuing through the years as toys were taken, lectures were given, and
hearts were broken. However, the
weeping in Angels of Mercy went beyond trivial day-to-day events; these were
the tears of the abandoned, the lonely, the frightened. Boys and girls always cried their first night there.
Even the kids who had been there a long time would sometimes sob, despondent
because they didn’t have homes or families of their own. Billy just tried to
get used to it. But
he never did. Billy
wanted to be strong. When he was upset, he held back his tears, and squared
his freckled jaw as he had seen the men on television do. He accepted the gravity of his situation
with the maturity of a boy triple his age, deciding since he couldn’t change
his circumstances, there was no need to fuss about them. After all, even
though he was only five, he was the
man of the Regan family now, and men needed to be strong. He
often would close his eyes, trying to remember what his own father had looked
like so he could emulate him. Billy
had been only three when his parents died in a car accident, so most of the
details of his father’s appearance and mannerisms came from his imagination.
Billy’s older sister still remembered their parents, and she told him stories
about them often. Every night, he
would look outside at the first star in the sky and wish that Mommy and Daddy
hadn’t gotten in the car that had wrecked two years ago. Billy
hated cars. He
much preferred horses, and often wondered why people rode in dangerous
automobiles instead of on horses like in the old days. Nobody died in car accidents
on the black and white Westerns he watched. He had heard one of the nuns
refer to that period as “the good ol’ days”, and Billy decided those days
must have been so good because people rode on horses instead of in cars.
After all, he had never heard of people dying in a horse crash. The
wee redheaded boy sighed in frustration as another wail came from the cot
beside him. He stuck his fingers in his ears and rolled to the opposite side,
hoping that would block out some of the noise. The creak of someone climbing
onto that bed caused him to roll back over and peek. A
small girl, not much bigger than the child crying, had crawled into bed with
the boy and was doing her best to soothe him. Billy heard her speaking in
gentle tones, but her words failed to stop his weeping. Perhaps
Billy felt sorry for the boy. Perhaps
he was just tired and wanted to go to sleep. Perhaps the mournful cries made
him yearn to release the pain he
kept buried deep inside. For whatever reason, Billy got out of bed and tiptoed
over to the cot beside him. The little girl glared over at him, placing a
protective hand on the smaller child’s stomach. “What
do you want?” she asked in a nasty
tone. When
someone was mean to him, Billy usually lashed back. He had a fierce temper
that matched his fiery hair color. The nuns frequently scolded him about that
character trait, but Billy ignored them. After all, he was an orphan; if
anyone deserved to be temperamental, it was he. However, instead of getting
angry with the girl, he just felt sorrier and sorrier for her. Before
Billy spoke, he remembered to pronounce his words carefully. Sometimes when
he was upset, he couldn’t say certain sounds correctly. “I jus’ wanted to see
if he was okay. I thoughted mebbe I could help.” “How
could you help?” the girl
questioned with an air of authority. “You’re littler than I am, and I can’t
help my brother. If I can’t help
Teddy, how can you?” Billy
stuck out his chubby hand, which held his prized toy. “He can borrow my
horse, if he wants to. Sometimes Norman helps me fall asleep when I’m scared.
Erin maded him for me.” “Made,”
the girl corrected, although this time, her voice was much more polite. “And
I don’t know if some ol’ horse will help or not.” “Norman’s
real soft.” Billy petted the toy, almost as if he thought Teddy could feel
the material as he stroked it. “An’ if you get lonely, you can jus’ whisper
in his ear. Norman likes to hear to me talk. I bet he’d listen to you, too.
He’s not picky.” The
boy sat up a bit and looked inquisitively over at Billy. His cries ceased,
but his eyes were still watery, and one thumb was stuck in his mouth. Encouraged
that he had Teddy’s attention, Billy held out the stuffed animal. “Do you
wanna keep him? Just for tonight, I mean. Norman’s special and I’ll need him
back tomorra.” The
boy nodded, unable to speak with the digit in his mouth. He tentatively took
the velvet horse from Billy and rubbed it against his cheek. Smiling, he snuggled under his covers, his
head on his sister’s shoulder and Norman in his arms.
Four
hours later, the acrid smell of smoke drew Billy from his slumber. Rubbing
his eyes with a freckled hand, he lifted his head and looked around the dimly
lit ward. Not seeing any flames, he settled back on his pillow to go back to
sleep. However, before he could drift off again, the frightened cries of
Sister Mary Margaret echoed through the old building and caused him to raise
upright. “Fire!”
she shrieked, her sensible shoes pattering on the old, cracked linoleum floor
of the hallway outside. Her voice seemed to grower louder then softer, like
she was running through the long corridor to spread the alarm. “Fire! Get the children out of the
building!” Billy’s
sage green eyes darted up, down, and all around the ward. He clutched the
blanket to his chin, listening as the rest of the nuns roused from their beds
and began to scurry frantically through the long hallway. Within minutes, Sister Mary Margaret had
entered Billy’s room. “Wake
up, lambs!” she cried, her tone sterner than usual. “Wake up! We need to get
out of our beds and hurry to the lawn outside! Wake up!” Billy
immediately jumped out of his bed and ran over to his older sister’s cot.
Danielle had had meningitis when she was Billy’s age. Though she survived,
she lost part of her hearing and never fully regained her strength. Because of her partial deafness, Billy
worried she wouldn’t be able to hear Sister Mary Margaret’s command. While
the rest of the children in the ward woke up slowly, Billy shook Danielle’s
shoulder. “Wake up, Danny, wake up!” he yelled, making sure to enunciate his
words clearly so she could understand him. “We gotta go!” The
frail little girl opened her eyes sleepily. “What’s wrong?” “We gotta
go!” he repeated loudly. “The Angels is on fire!” “Angels
can’t burn up, silly. They’d fly away,” Danielle corrected with a yawn, still
unaware of their precarious situation. “Not
God’s angels!” Billy yelled. He reached down and gave her a shake. “The
Angels where we’re sleepin’!” Suddenly,
the stench of smoke billowing through the room found its way to her nostrils.
Danielle bolted upright. Her eyes, identical in color to her brother’s, were
wide with fear. “What’s that smell?” Billy
yanked frantically on his sister’s arm. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell
ya, Danny! The home’s on fire! We gotta go
right now!” Sister
Mary Margaret, from her post at the doorway, began waving her arms madly in
an attempt to hasten the children’s progress.
“Quickly! Quickly! There isn’t much time left, lambs!” Though
he was three years younger than Danielle, Billy took control of the
situation. With little difficulty, he pulled the painfully thin girl out of
her cot. The girl stood rooted to the
spot, her body frozen in fear. “C’mon!”
Billy cried tearfully. “The smoke’s gettin’worser!” “Don’t
worry about your belongings, children!” Sister Mary Margaret croaked through
the smoke. The air quality was growing more polluted by the minute. “Run as fast as you can to the front lawn!
Hurry!” Suddenly
all at once, the children understood the severity of their situation. Chaos
broke loose as forty little ones, all under the age of ten, clambered to the
doorway at precisely the same time. Sister Mary Margaret did her best to
usher them to the hallway in an orderly fashion, but fear hastened their tiny
steps. Several pushed and shoved, afraid they wouldn’t have time to reach
safety. Fearful shrieks echoed throughout the building as the youths fought
to escape. Black
smoke wafted throughout the ward, making those still trapped inside the
building cough as their lungs fought for clean air. The oxygen was quickly
being consumed by the flames lapping the walls of the ancient structure,
leaving nothing but dangerous smoke to inhale. Mustering
all his strength, Billy held on tighter to his sister’s arm and dragged her
across the floor. Thankfully, her feet caught up faster than her instincts,
and she meekly allowed him to lead her. As they neared the doorway, a
terrified scream caused Billy to look back. Teddy
and his sister were huddled together like scared rabbits, neither making any
move to leave the bed. Trembling, they clung to one another as if that would
keep them safe. “There’s
no time, lambs!” the nun shrieked. She took a step toward the children, but
looked back to the hall as the sound of cracking timbers rang nearby. “Hurry!
Hurry! Hurry!” “Follow
us!” Billy ordered Teddy and his sister. “I know the way!” “Godspeed,
little ones,” Sister Mary Margaret called to the fleeing youth as they raced
past her. The
loud crash of a falling beam caused Billy to jump. Even Danielle heard it,
her fear causing her to stumble to a stop. Assuming the new residents were
behind him, Billy took off like a rocket, dragging his sister by the hand. As
the pair raced down the hall, a section of roof collapsed behind them,
crushing all in its path. Breathless,
both from running and the lack of clean air, the Regan children did not stop
until they reached the safety of the Brooklyn streets. Their cherubic faces
blackened with soot, they collapsed onto the front yard of the orphanage,
exhausted and coughing from smoke inhalation. Firemen soon attended to Billy
and Danielle, giving them oxygen and checking for burns. The
area which surrounded the burning building was buzzing with activity.
Firefighters had hooked their long hose to a hydrant and were spraying water
on the flames. Several men had gone inside, searching for anyone needing
help. Around the city, the sirens from police cars, ambulances, and
additional fire trucks reverberated throughout the night. The two dozen
babies and toddlers who had been sleeping in the nursery wards, screamed in
unison. Since the nuns who had carried the littlest residents to safety had
gone back inside the burning building, the two or three women who remained
behind weren’t able to comfort all the cries. The elementary-aged tenants
varied in response: some cried; some whispered; some slept; some stared in
silence, too shocked to do or say anything.
Wide-eyed,
Billy watched as the fire rapidly consumed the huge two-story building.
Though it frightened him to witness his home being destroyed, the curiosity
naturally found in all little boys caused him to observe the flames with
great interest. He almost wanted to cheer as several firemen braved the
smothering heat and smoke to run inside the orphanage. Minutes
later, a large school bus rumbled up the congested street, weaving through
the emergency vehicles that had arrived on the scene. One of the nuns began rousing the sleeping
children and standing them in line. As soon as the bus parked at the curb,
she motioned to those in line to get on board. That bus filled quickly and
then drove away, leaving the nun to begin her task anew in preparation for
the next bus which would be arriving momentarily. Billy
watched, his tiny forehead creased in puzzlement. He poked Danielle on the arm to get her
attention. “Stay here,” he ordered, making sure to say his words as plainly
as he could. He ran over to the nun and tugged on her long, black skirt.
“Sister Mary Katherine,” he cried. “Why did that bus come?” The
nun looked down kindly at the wee boy and placed a gentle hand on his head.
“The buses will be taking all our children to another orphanage. Several
around the state have graciously made room.” “Where
am I goin’?” “I
can’t say for sure,” Sister Mary Katherine answered. “Burlington, Glens
Falls, and Syracuse have all offered to house our elementary-aged
children. Go ahead and get in line,
William, and you shall see where the bus takes you. Pretend it’s a game.” But
Billy refused to move. “What about Erin?” “Erin?”
Sister Mary Katherine repeated quizzically. “Oh! Your oldest sister, Erin.
What about her, child?” “Where
is she?” Billy’s lower lip distended in a pout, and he had to blink back
several tears. Exhausted and frightened, he lapsed into his natural way of
speaking, too weary to worry how he pronounced his words. “Where’s Ehwun?
Where’s my sisser?” The
nun rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Erin Regan. How old is she, William?” “F-five-teen.”
“Do
you mean fifteen?” the nun prodded
gently. “That’s
what I sayed!” Billy retorted, his chin trembling from holding back his
tears. “Ehwun isn’t here, and I’m scahwed!” Sister
Mary Katherine put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be scared,
William. God is with us.” “Is
God wif Ehwun, too?” he whimpered. “Of
course He is.” Billy
frantically looked all around the grass, hoping he would catch a glimpse of
his oldest sister’s dark red curls. The mention of Erin being with God
reminded him of his parents. Everyone said they were with God after they died; did Erin die too? The
unnerving thought increased Billy’s hysteria.
“Is Ehwun okay? I can’t find my sisser! I want Ehwun!” “I’m
sure she’s fine, dear,” the nun answered.
“The teenagers escaped through the back exit which was the fastest way
for them to leave. There wasn’t room for them here on the front lawn with all
the babies and the small children, so Father Xavier is keeping them in the
back alley.” Billy’s
bottom lip quivered. “I want Ehwun. Pwease, can I go find her? I need my
sisser! Pwease?” “Now,
now, William. You be a big boy.” “I
am a big boy!” Billy insisted,
stomping his foot angrily. “I jus’ want my sisser an’ you won’t let me find
her!” “Once
the state finds an orphanage with room to take you and your sisters in
permanently, you’ll be reunited with Erin,” Sister Mary Katherine explained
patiently. The
tears welling in Billy’s large green eyes began their slow descent down his
cheeks. He shook his head stubbornly, placing his freckled hands on his hips.
“No! I wanna find Ehwun now! An’ you can’t stop me!” Quick
as a wink, the lad dashed away before the nun could grab him. He ran as fast
as his short legs would carry him, calling out his sister’s name. “Ehwun!
Ehwun Wegan! Ehwun!” In
spite of the pandemonium around him, Billy’s cries seemed to echo through the
lone sky. The little boy’s desperate pleas for his beloved sister hung
heavily in the air, haunting all who heard them. Suddenly,
Billy felt strong arms wrap around his waist and swing him off the ground.
“Lemme go!” he yelled, kicking his legs and swinging his arms. “I gotta find
Ehwun!” “Whoa
there, little fella.” It was Mr. Olson, one of the custodians at Angels of
Mercy. “You’re heading the wrong way, son. The bus is over this way.” “Put
me down!” Billy squirmed as badly as he could, hoping to wiggle out of Mr.
Olson’s hands. “I hafta find my sisser Ehwun!” “Your
sister’s already on the bus,” the man told him. “She’s waiting for you
there.” Billy
stopped moving. “How do you know?” “I
watched her get on with my own two eyes,” Mr. Olson replied. He set Billy on
the ground. “Go see for yourself.” The
little boy scurried to the big bus, climbing on board as quickly as he could.
Before he could even find a seat, the driver pulled out onto the street to
make room for the next bus. Billy
stumbled down the aisle, calling Erin’s name with each step. Finally, the
young nun who was accompanying the children to Glens Falls spoke up. “Are you
looking for your sister, little boy? Your last name is Regan, isn’t it?” “Uh-huh,”
Billy answered, a fat tear trickling down his freckled cheek. “Where is she?
Where’s Ehwun?” Smiling,
the nun pointed to the very back of the bus. “Last seat, on the right.” With
a cry of relief, Billy ran as quickly as he could without falling to the back
of the bus. He opened his arms, preparing to throw his arms around his eldest
sister. However, when he reached his destination, his eyes narrowed in
disbelief. “Billy?”
Danielle scooted over so her brother could sit down beside her. “Did you find
her, Billy? Did you find Erin?” The
little boy shook his head sadly, realizing the young nun had not known he had two sisters. Wordlessly, he claimed
his seat and clamped his eyes shut for the remainder of the ride to Glens
Falls so no more tears could escape.
Five
minutes after Billy and Danielle’s bus pulled away, footsteps pounded around
the blazing building. Erin, Billy’s oldest sister, pushed an auburn curl out
of her eyes as she searched the grass surrounding the smoldering remains of
Angels of Mercy Orphanage. Though the teenagers had been ordered to stay in
the back alley, she couldn’t wait another second to check on her younger
brother and sister. She had crept stealthily away from the group of fifty
teens, praying Father Xavier didn’t see her. Her pulse surging, she
frantically searched all over the front lawn for any sign of her only living
relatives. Desperation
took priority over secrecy as the minutes quickly passed. Choking back tears,
she ran around to each group of children hoping to find her siblings. “Billy!
Danny!” she hollered as loudly as she could. Though her throat was scratchy
from the smoke she had inhaled, she continued to yell. “Billy! Danny! Where
are you?” Spying
two red heads over by a tall maple tree, Erin raced over to them. However,
two small twin girls turned around to face her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping
moisture from her sooty cheeks. She jogged closer to the building. “Billy!
Danny! Where are you? Billy! Danny!” A
large nun stepped in front of her, causing Erin to skid to a stop. “What are
you doing on this side of the grounds, young lady? I thought Father Xavier
told you to stay in the alley?” “I’m
searching for my brother and sister.” No longer able to hold back her tears,
Erin began sobbing. “I-I have to f-f-find them.” “We’ll
find them,” the nun said, her voice stern. “You go back and wait for your
bus. It should be arriving shortly. There’s an orphanage in Buffalo that has
agreed to house our teenagers.” “You
d-don’t understand,” Erin cried, her green eyes pleading. “M-m-my brother and
s-s-sister… B-billy is only f-five, and D-d-danny is eight. She’s v-v-very
sick…” “Once
we can locate a permanent orphanage for you, you’ll be reunited with your
siblings,” the nun explained impatiently. “Right now, we’re doing the best we
can to find temporary shelter for everyone. Several orphanages around the
state have volunteered to take in children, so I can’t positively tell you
where you or your brother and sister will be taken.” As
the nun turned to walk away, Erin grabbed her sleeve. “H-how will I find
them?” “We’ll
work that out later.” The large nun shook out of Erin’s clutches, heading
toward what was left of the building. Erin followed her, determined to find
some answers. However, she stopped short as two firemen carried a stretcher
past her. A
white sheet covered a small body that had been recovered from the flames. The
men somberly carried the victim across the yard, where a hearse waited at the
curb. Erin followed the firefighters, curious who had perished. Her breath
caught in her throat as she noticed a patch of brown velvet peek out from
under the sheet. She moved closer, fastening her gaze upon the stretcher. Two
men waited beside the funeral home’s car. As they lifted the victim into the
back of the hearse, the movement caused a child’s stiff hand to slip out from
under the sheet. With a mournful gasp, Erin collapsed onto the ground below
and began weeping. The
tiny, charred fingers clutched the stuffed horse she had made for Billy. Erin
buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth as she mourned. Powerful
sobs shook her shoulders as her cries rose above the wailing sirens. Gentle
hands clasped each of her shoulders. She looked up into the kindly eyes of
Father Xavier. “Why aren’t you with the others, child?” he questioned, a
slight Irish lilt to his voice. “T-the
h-h-hearse,” Erin sobbed. “Wh-who’s on it?” The
priest shook his head sadly. “The bodies have not yet been identified.” Erin
gulped back a cry. “B-bodies? Th-th-there’s more th-than one?” “Yes,”
the priest whispered sorrowfully. “We lost several sisters who were making
sure all our little ones escaped. Sadly, we also lost two young children; a
boy and a girl. Their wee bodies were found together, arms clasped around one
another.” Erin
looked up towards the sky, her anguished cry echoing throughout the dark
night. She clutched her red curls in despair, weeping as only bitterly
lamenting souls can. As she mourned, a raindrop fell from Heaven, almost as
if it were kissing her cheek to offer comfort. Her tears continued to fall
until none remained. Even then, her entire body shook, her sorrow outlasting
her teardrops. At that moment, a
gloomy rain began pouring from the clouds above. Since
Erin’s tears were spent, God would cry for her.
One
month later, Billy Regan perched on the wide windowsill on the third floor of
the orphanage in Glens Falls, gazing outside at the street below. There had been
enough room for Billy and Danielle to stay there permanently, and he was
awaiting Erin’s arrival. Although the nuns told him there was no record of an
Erin Doireann Regan in any of their children’s homes, Billy didn’t believe
them. He stubbornly kept his vigil at the window. He didn’t want to miss Erin
when she came for Danielle and him. The
pattering of footsteps behind him didn’t draw Billy’s attention from the view
of the street. “Billy? Can you come
play with me? The other kids don’t like me, since I don’t hear too good.” Billy
merely shook his head. “Not now, Danny. I gotta watch for Erin. She’ll be
here any minute.” Danielle
sighed in resignation. Several days before, she had given up any hope of
seeing their sister ever again. “She’s not comin’, Billy. One of the nuns
said that she prob’ly died in the fire.” “No!”
Billy looked back at Danielle long enough to give her an angry glare, but
then returned his attention to his post.
“Erin said she would always
take care of us, and she always keeps her promises. Always.” “But
what if she can’t come?” Though not
quite as stubborn as her little brother, Danielle could be obstinate as
well. “If Erin was able to come get
us, she woulda done it by now, Billy. She’s not comin’!” “Yes,
she is!” Billy screamed, his fiery temper unleashed. “An’ when she does get here, I’m tellin’ her what
you sayed!” “Go
ahead,” Danielle challenged. “She ain’t comin’ anyway.” The little girl
turned on her heel and stomped away. However, before she left, she turned
back to her brother, concern etched on her delicate features. Tears
welling in his wide green eyes, Billy pressed his nose against the glass of
the windowpane. “She is comin’, I
jus’ know it,” he muttered to himself. “Ehwun will come for us.” But
she never did.
Three
years later, eighteen-year-old Erin Regan Mangan clutched her newborn son,
looking down on him lovingly. She lowered her lips to kiss his wrinkled
forehead. “He’s got his father’s dark hair and eyes,” she whispered
contentedly. “And
his mother’s smile.” Lt. Timothy Mangan, officer in the United States Air
Force, placed a gentle arm around his wife as he sat down on the hospital bed
beside her. “He
can’t smile yet, Tim,” Erin said, a happy smile on her own face. “No,
but he has your lips. I should know; I kiss them often enough.” His dark
onyx-colored eyes twinkled with mirth. “Well, what shall we name him? Timothy
Junior?” Erin
picked up one of her son’s tiny hands. The little fingers instinctively
wrapped around her index finger, gripping it tightly. “Sweetheart, if you
don’t mind, instead of Timothy, could we give him your middle name? You know
how special it is to me.” “Of
course,” her husband murmured, placing a kiss on her soft, auburn curls.
“Name him whatever brings you comfort, my love.” Erin
held the wee baby up to her face, a tear in the corner of her eye. “Welcome
to the world, Daniel William Mangan.”
Fifteen years
later, at the beginning of Black Jacket… William Regan went around to each of
the stalls of the Manor House Stable, making sure that the horses’ water
wasn’t frozen. Though his office was heated, the rest of the huge barn
wasn’t. Earlier that morning, he’d had to break the ice in the water troughs,
and as cold as it was now, it could’ve already refrozen. He
unlatched Jupiter’s stall and pushed the large black gelding out of the way
so he could come inside. “Jupe!” he laughed, as Jupiter’s nose nudged his
shoulder. “I know you’re itching to get out and run, ol’ boy. After I finish
my chores, we’ll go for a ride.” The horse snorted his approval, shaking his
ebony head up and down in what resembled a nod. “Regan?”
he heard a voice call. “Are you here?” “I’ll
be back, buddy,” he murmured to the horse as he exited the stall. Taking long
strides, he hurried to his office which was adjacent to the tack room, and
opened the door. Miss Trask, dressed in a smart pantsuit, a warm tweed
overcoat, and sensible snow boots, was waiting for him. “Hullo
there, Marge,” he greeted cheerfully. “What brings you to the stable on this
chilly morning?” Miss
Trask held up a stack of letters. “I picked up the mail, and there was a
letter for you. “ She selected it from the stack and handed it to the
pleasant-faced groom. “It was sent Priority Mail, so I assumed it was
important. I thought I should bring it to you right away.” Regan
studied the return address on the envelope.
Louise Parker, New York City. “Nobody
I know,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Hey, maybe this Parker
woman is my long lost aunt, writing to tell me she’s giving me enough money
to buy my own stable. Then I won’t have to exercise all these horses, while
the Bob-Whites gallivant all over the world.” “Wouldn’t
that be something?” Miss Trask commented with a smile. Although Regan liked
to complain about all the work he had to do, it was obvious the good-natured
groom was teasing. Nobody was a better friend to the Bob-Whites of the Glen
than Bill Regan. “Best of luck with the letter, Regan. I need to run a few
errands for Mr. Wheeler. I’ll check back in with you later.” “See
ya,” Regan mumbled as he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter
inside. Thankfully, he sat down before he began to read.
The letter fluttered out of the stunned man’s hand and
fell on the wooden-planked floor of his office. Regan’s mouth gaped as he stared at a spot
on the wall in total disbelief. He ran a trembling hand through his thick
copper-colored hair, squeezing the roots as if it would help him process this
bit of shocking news. After
several minutes of subdued silence, Regan picked up the paper and hastily
read it again to make sure he had understood it properly. Having not
graduated high school, he often felt insecure about his intelligence.
However, diploma or no, he possessed common sense, which could not be taught
in even the best of educational institutions.
Having
skimmed the letter’s contents a third time, Regan clutched the paper to his
heart. “She’s alive,” he murmured quietly. “She’s alive.” He
took a deep breath, still unable to come to grips with this bombshell that
had been dropped on him. With great urgency, he reached over to the
old-fashioned black rotary phone on his desk. It took four attempts for him
to dial the correct number, but finally a polite voice answered. “Yes,
may I speak to Louise Parker, please?” he asked courteously. His heart was
thumping so loudly that he could barely hear her reply. He waited on the line
while the secretary transferred his call to Ms. Parker, plugging his other
ear to block any outside noise. “Hello?
Louise Parker speaking.” “Umm…
yes… this is William Regan. I just received your letter about Daniel Mangan.” “Oh,
wow,” the lady gasped softly, as in disbelief. “Please pardon my shock, but I never
expected to hear back from you. You are
Erin’s brother, aren’t you?” Regan swallowed, hoping she couldn’t
hear his loud gulping on the other end of the phone line. “Yes, ma’am, I am,
but I haven’t seen my oldest sister since I was five.” There was only silence on the other
line. Finding the lack of reply unnerving, Regan hesitantly asked, “Hello?
Are you still there, Ms. Parker?” The social worker cleared her throat.
“Yes, Mr. Regan; I’m here. Frankly, I’m still surprised.” “I’m pretty surprised, too,” Regan
stated with a rueful grin. “I have so many questions, and I’m
sure you have several of your own.” “You
bet I do,” was Regan’s blunt response. “When
can you come to my office?” It was obvious that Ms. Parker didn’t want to
waste any time. “I’m quite anxious to
speak with you about your nephew.” “I’m
anxious to speak with you, too,” Regan said. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to sound
impolite, but after being separated from my sister for over seventeen years,
I’d really like to know what happened to her. By any chance could you give me
a few details over the phone?” “I
understand, Mr. Regan, and I am
sorry that we have to go through all these formalities,” Ms. Parker replied.
“Although I wish I could take you at your word regarding your relationship to
Mrs. Mangan, I cannot. Once I’m satisfied you are who you say you are, I’ll
give you all the information I have. And again, I apologize.” “That’s
okay. I guess I wouldn’t want you to give out my life history to some guy who
just called you out of the blue,” Regan responded. “Would tomorrow be too
soon for our meeting? Friday is my day off, and I could be there first thing
in the morning.” “That
will be fine. Let me give you our address.” Regan
hastily grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and scrawled down the
information. To make sure he didn’t
lose it, he stuffed it in the envelope with the letter. “All right, then.
I’ll see you tomorrow.” “It
was a pleasure speaking to you, Mr. Regan. I look forward to our meeting.” Although
the other line had been disconnected, Regan still held the receiver in his hand.
The recorded voice telling him “that if he wished to make a call, he should
hang up and try again” didn’t faze him. He sat there staring until the loud
beeping noise, which informed him the phone was off the hook, jarred him from
his thoughts. “Tomorrow,”
he whispered, his green eyes growing misty with hope. “Tomorrow I’ll find
Erin.”
Though
Regan was wide awake by sunrise, he didn’t begin the trek to the City until
seven, knowing Ms. Parker wouldn’t arrive at her office until after eight.
Even then, he had to wait on a bench in the lobby of the skyscraper where
Child Services was located. He thought he would literally burst with joy as
he finally was led into Ms. Parker’s office. A
middle-aged African American woman sat behind a desk. It was obvious by the
careful way the countless files were arranged on the cramped space that she
was extremely busy rather than messy. “William Regan?” she asked, looking up
at the husky redhead. “Yes,
ma’am,” he replied politely. Ms.
Parker rose from her chair, offering her hand to Regan, which he shook. Once
they were both seated, she opened a file on her desk. “I know you’re curious
why I contacted you, so let’s get started, shall we? What is your full name,
sir?” “William
Aidan Regan.” “Very
good. What were your parents’ names?” Regan
cleared his throat and clasped his freckled hands in his lap. “My father was
Retired Corporal Sean Geoffrey Regan. My mother was Darcy Eileánóir, and her maiden name was
O’Connell.” “Do
you know when they married, Mr. Regan?” “No,
I don’t,” Regan answered with a shrug. “I was only three when they died, so I
don’t remember the date of their wedding anniversary.” “That’s
fine. Do you know your actual date of birth?” Regan
nodded. “Yes, March 18.” Ms.
Parker quirked a dark eyebrow at him.
Hoping to put the man at ease, she commented congenially, “Too bad it
wasn’t a day earlier. With your proud Irish heritage, I’m sure your parents
would’ve been ecstatic if you’d been born on the 17th.” “Erin
told me Mom and Dad had hoped I’d be born on St. Patrick’s Day,” Regan
remembered with a chuckle. “She said Dad attributed the delay to my stubborn
temper. Even then, I did the opposite of what they wanted.” Ms.
Parker smiled at him, and then returned to her file. “Did you have any
siblings, Mr. Regan?” “You
already know about Erin,” Regan answered. “We also had a sister named
Danielle, who was seven years younger than Erin, and three years older than
me.” “Could
I have their full names, as well as the last time you saw them, Mr. Regan?” “Erin
Doireann and Danielle Meara,” he answered. “The last time I saw Erin was when
she tucked me into bed the night our orphanage, Angels of Mercy, burned
down.” “And
Danielle?” Regan
cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I saw Danny a
little over three years ago when I visited her at the institution where she
lived. She’d had meningitis as a child, and lost part of her hearing. Her
health never fully recovered, and by the time she was sixteen, she had to be
hospitalized permanently. After I ran away from the orphanage at Glens Falls,
I got a job at a riding school. I sent a little money to her from every
paycheck until her death three years ago. I don’t like to talk about it much,
I guess.” “I’m
so sorry, Mr. Regan,” Ms. Parker offered, her large brown eyes gazing upon
the young man sympathetically. Regan only nodded in reply. “May I ask why you
never tried to get in touch with Erin, especially after Danielle’s death?” “After
the fire, the nuns did all they could to find Erin. We searched for ten years
but never found her. Erin had been sent to a different orphanage than Danny
and me. The nuns had hoped to reunite us; they like to keep siblings
together, if they can. However, they never found any record of an Erin Regan
being transferred to any of the facilities in New York. Danny and I always
assumed she’d died in the fire.” “They
searched for an ‘Erin Regan’?” Ms.
Parker clarified. “Well,
yeah,” Regan said a bit sarcastically. “That was her name.” “Actually,
sir, it wasn’t.” Regan
leaned forward, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What?” “I
don’t know if you’re aware of your parents’ history, since they died when you
were so young,” Ms. Parker explained. “However, your parents met right before
your father Sean left for Basic Training in the Army. They became lovers, and
your mother Darcy got pregnant. She never told him about the baby, and Sean
went overseas, not knowing he had a child. When he returned six years later,
he tracked Darcy down and learned that they had a daughter, your sister Erin.
They truly fell in love and were married a few months later.” “So?” “So,
Erin’s legal surname was O’Connell, your mother’s maiden name. When your
parents married, they called her
‘Erin Regan’, although the change was never noted officially in the court’s
records. That’s why nobody could find Erin
Regan; she didn’t exist.” The
room began spinning and Regan braced his hand against Ms. Parker’s desk to
steady himself. “Why didn’t she come for me and Danny?” he gasped. “The
night of the fire, Erin saw a body being carried out of the burning
building,” Ms. Parker said. “According to the information we’ve gleaned, your
oldest sister had reason to believe that both you and Danielle had perished
in the flames. Erin was taken to an orphanage in Buffalo, but left as soon as
she turned sixteen. She worked in a little diner to support herself, where
she met Timothy Mangan, a young man serving in the Air Force. They married
right after she turned 17, and settled here in New York City. When she was
18, Erin gave birth to a son, Daniel William. “Six
years ago, Lt. Mangan was traveling by Jeep to a meeting with some government
officials in Korea. The jeep was struck head-on by another vehicle, and all
the officers inside were killed.” “Poor
Erin,” Regan murmured, his chin quivering. “First our parents, then her
husband. Blamed automobiles…” “What
was that, Mr. Regan?” “Nothing,”
Regan answered with a shake of his head. “Ms. Parker, if you need to ask any
more questions, fine. But can we hurry? I really would like to go see my
sister now. She needs me.” Ms.
Parker’s eyes narrowed with concern, her brow furrowed in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Regan. I thought you
knew, which is why I didn’t tell you sooner. Erin passed away eighteen months
ago.” “No!”
Regan protested, his green eyes filling with tears. He inhaled sharply, his
heart physically hurting from the revelation. When he could speak, he
murmured, “I thought I’d found her. I thought we’d be together again. I
thought…” He broke off as a lump filled his throat and made it impossible for
him to speak. “I’m
so sorry, Mr. Regan,” Ms. Parker repeated, reaching out to pat his hand. “I
wish you hadn’t found out this way.” “Me
too,” Regan whispered, loud enough for the social worker to barely hear him.
“All this time, we were so close but never knew the other one was nearby. We
lived only an hour apart... How did… How did she die?” Wishing
she didn’t have to answer that question, Ms. Parker took a deep breath. “She
was murdered.” Regan
buried his face in his hands, his pain growing by the minute. “But you told
me in your letter that she said I was her son’s only hope. How did you find
that out?” “The
police found her diary when they searched her apartment after the murder,”
Ms. Parker told him gently. “In it, she mentioned her brother, Billy. She
said that if you had only survived the fire, she was confident you could’ve
been a good influence on Daniel. It was apparent from her writings in the
diary that she loved you very, very much.” Regan
swallowed the huge lump that had risen in his throat. Tears misting in his
sage green eyes, he merely nodded in response. “Mr.
Regan, if you’d rather discuss this at a later time…” Squaring
his jaw, Regan shook his head. “I’m okay.” Sensing
the young man’s obvious discomfort, Ms. Parker continued. “When the police began searching for
surviving family members, they couldn’t find any record of your death; no
death certificate, no obituary notice, nothing. The police did some research
and discovered the boy who died in the fire at Angels of Mercy was Theodore
Rollins, not William Regan. The authorities tracked you down as far as the
orphanage at Glens Falls, but the nuns there had no idea where you’d run
away. Feeling you wouldn’t be able to
offer any leads anyway, they gave up the search.” “Well,
how did you find me?” Regan
inquired, his brows arched. “When
the police told me about the diary, and that they’d found out you’d
positively survived the fire, I was determined to track you down, for
Daniel’s sake.” The steely glint in Ms. Parker’s eyes told the redheaded
horseman that she was just as tenacious as he. “Determined to find you, I hired a private
investigator, Hank Carpenter,” she continued. “After he traced you to Sleepyside,
I spoke with Judge Armen. He asked that I send the letter, asking if you’d be
willing to help your nephew.” “So,
the police didn’t find me?” Regan queried, hoping he kept his tone casual. “No.
As I said earlier, when it became obvious you couldn’t offer any information,
they dropped the search. With their heavy caseload, they simply didn’t have
the manpower to persevere. Thankfully I was a bit more determined than they
were.” She smiled at the young man across from him. “As an orphan yourself,
you can understand how much your presence will mean to Daniel.” Regan’s
brow creased in confusion. “If my nephew has been orphaned, why is he being
held in a facility for juvenile delinquents? Why isn’t he in an orphanage or
a foster home?” “As
I told you before, Daniel went through a rebellious streak. He was angry
about things at home and got hooked up with a local gang, the Cowhands.
Granted, they aren’t your Bloods and Crips kind of gang, but dangerous
nonetheless. Daniel was arrested a little over two years ago on charges of
petty larceny. Since it was his first offense, he was treated leniently and
released after three months in Juvenile Hall. “A
month after his release, he was stopped by an officer for loitering,” Ms.
Parker continued. “The policeman found his behavior suspicious, and he was
taken to the station and given a drug test. Both marijuana and crack cocaine
were found in his system, although in small amounts. He was given the choice
of going back to the detention center or being admitted to a drug
rehabilitation clinic, and he chose rehab. Daniel spent six weeks getting
clean, and by all accounts from the staff at the clinic, he fully intended on
staying out of trouble and off drugs so he could take care of his mother.” Regan
massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Gangs, burglary, drugs…
How much worse could it get?” Ms.
Parker’s features became pinched, and Regan noticed she purposely ignored his
question. “Judge Armen met with Daniel after he was released from the
rehabilitation center. He spoke a long time with the boy, and felt confident
Daniel had learned his lesson. Your nephew seemed extremely concerned for his
mother, and the judge hoped that would keep him out of trouble.” “Obviously
Judge Armen was mistaken,” Regan mumbled under his breath. “So, how did the
kid end up back in the clink?” “Mr.
Regan, I’ll assure you that although the prosecutor initially wanted to try
Daniel as an adult, Judge Armen refused. He kept the case in Family Court,
and Daniel was tried as a minor and convicted of lesser charges. He’s
currently serving his sentence at a juvenile facility.” “The prosecutor wanted to try him as
an adult?” Regan quirked an eyebrow in speculation. His heart sank as he digested the severity
of his nephew’s situation. “Sounds serious.” Ms.
Parker nodded. “Judge Armen decided that Daniel acted in self-defense.
According to the specifications of the law, the judge couldn’t completely
exonerate your nephew, so he reduced the charges.” Regan’s
ears perked at two words in particular. “Self defense?” he echoed. His lips
set in an angry line. “Just who did this kid have to defend himself against?
If you expect me to believe that this punk had to protect himself from my
sister, then you’ve got another thing coming! Erin Regan was the most loving,
caring person I’ve ever met, and there’s no way she’d ever lay a finger on
her own kid!“ “Mr.
Regan, Daniel had nothing to do with his mother’s death,” Ms. Parker assured
him calmly, surprised he had come to that conclusion. “Quite the contrary, I
assure you. The boy did all he could to save
her life.” “Then
the two incidents weren’t related?” Regan spat out. “Erin was murdered eighteen months ago; this kid was arrested
eighteen months ago… Lady, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but
I’ll go home and eat my saddle if the two things aren’t connected.” The
social worker’s pregnant pause before answering told Regan that they were connected. “So
what did the kid do?” Regan prodded, frustration causing his voice to become louder
with each syllable. Almost as if he had to explain the situation to himself,
he began spouting various possible scenarios. “Assault some thief that had
broken into their house? Have it out with one of his fellow gang members?
Beat up some jerk who made an unwanted pass at his mama? What?” Ms.
Parker inhaled sharply, and then slowly released the air through her mouth,
as if she was preparing to undertake an unpleasant task. “Mr. Regan, I hate
to tell you this, b—” “Just
tell me!” Regan stood and banged his tightly clenched fist on her desk. His
usually pleasant face was red from fury, his features painfully pinched. “For
the love of God, tell me what the kid did!” The
social worker had to stop to clear her throat. Eyes welling with tears, she
looked Regan straight in the eye before she dropped the bomb. “Daniel took Tim Mangan’s pistol and shot
his stepfather.” Credits: First of all, this story celebrates
my SECOND Jixaversary. Wow! I can’t believe I’ve survived the “sophomore
jinx”! Thank you, CathyP, for giving us this home away from home, and for
allowing me to be counted among such a talented bunch of authors. Thank you
to all those who encourage me. I appreciate you all. *hugs* Secondly, a huge thank you to all
those who have helped me with this story. Thanks to my lovely editors, Steph H,
Mal, and Ronda. Your input was greatly appreciated. Thank you also for those
who offered technical advice… Pat, my resident Dan expert, who assured me
that I wouldn’t be lynched for writing this, and Kaye, who helped with the
legal terminology. You all rock!!! Thirdly, this story is dedicated to
Terry (AKA Chromasnake). Without you, this story would never have been
written, and you know why. Thank you, my friend! As stated, this story is an attempt
to fix several KK boo-boos… Regan sending a sister money yet not being in
contact with Dan’s mother since the orphanage, how Dan’s father died, and
especially the mention of the mysterious stepfather in #35. This story also
explains Regan’s aversion to cars. The social worker’s letter to Regan
was based on the information given in Black Jacket. Hank Carpenter has been mentioned
before at The Cameo. Any reader remember where? More details about Dan’s past can
be found in the second story of this trilogy, “Riptide”.
|
