My eyes once were a brilliant shade of gray, so bright that they shined like polished metal. Now, I found myself staring out from a pair of dull gunmetal orbs framed in bloodshot white. The bags claiming asylum under my eyes did me no service, either. Bags belong in the baggage claim, I thought as I dabbed some concealer under my eyes. But nothing could conceal the cost of the last two taxing weeks, and the mental fatigue began hitting me all at once. This sort of exhaustion was not the type that could be fixed by just one decent night’s sleep (besides, the nine-hour nap on the plane didn’t count). I had been on processing overload for the past several days, and the barrage didn’t seem like it would let up. As I adjusted my sweater, a modest off-the-shoulder gray number, I realized that the zipper to my jeans was open. Great. I just crossed about 4,000 nautical miles with my barn door open. As the crow flies, that is. Then with wide eyes thought, shit – I better not see any more crows. Do they even crows in Ireland?
With my luck they’d be the national bird.
I walked out the restroom shuffling on pure zombie autopilot. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and as beat as I was, I smiled at the text from Katie:
KATIE: Top o’ the morning, m’lady! Did you make it?
I considered her unintentional implications of me not making it...
KEIRA: LOL. No - perished in a fiery crash. I’m fish food off coast of Iceland.
KATIE: No wonder their cod so tasty
KEIRA: Don’t think Irish people say Top ‘o Morning anymore
KATIE: BS they always say that
KEIRA: Gotta go thru customs now
KATIE: Better toss that fentanyl I hid in yur make-up kit
KEIRA: Please, BTW, what time is it there? Jet-lagged AF
KATIE: 2 am. quit bitchin. Glad u r ok, Cupcake. Need my beauty sleep
KEIRA: OK thanks for checking in (kiss icon).
I cleared Customs, and then made my way to baggage claim. My phone went off again. It was a number I didn’t recognize. Hedging my bets, I answered the call. “...Hello?”
“Ah, the fair Ms. Morrigan,” a man’s voice rumbled. “Edward Finn here. We spoke a few days ago?”
“You’re handling my grandmother’s estate, right?” I responded, without so much as a “hello” in return.
“Bang on, yes. It was going to be me to meet you at the airport today. But something unexpected made a total haymes of my plans on that score.”
I thought they spoke English here, I thought to myself. “I’m sorry–a what?”
“Ah, sorry. All effed up, if you take my meaning.”
“I do if you mean ‘fucked up’, yeah.”
“Yes, grand. My nephew Seamus, you see. A real dosser, that boyo. He ‘borrowed’ me car last night, on the tear, of course. Got himself fluthered to the gills. Ran into a stone wall near as hard as his own head.”
“That sounds... I’m sorry. I hope he’s all right?” My eyebrows clenched.
“Oh, he’s fine. That hard head, ya know.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m scarlet over letting you down. But not to worry, I’m after sending someone else. Should be there soon, so keep a wide eye,” Edward explained. “He’s a right rugger bugger, but he’ll be looking for you. Told him to make a sign.”
“Okay?” I responded, inflecting a question because I truly had no idea what to say, nor did I have any idea what he had said to me, either.
“Sorry. I have to leg it now. Hope to see you soon,” Edward said. “Slán!”
“What?” I asked.
“Goodbye, that means goodbye,” he said before quickly hanging up.
As quickly as the call had happened, it was over, and I was left staring at my phone feeling awkward and unsettled. Nevertheless, I made my way to baggage claim, looking for my ride. I already had my own bag, a carry-on. It was a ridiculous Pepto Bismol pink monstrosity Katie had foisted on me before I left. An ugly bastard, but it felt like a piece of home. Still, if someone was looking for me, they’d probably start at baggage claim, wouldn’t they? My flight’s luggage was tumbling down Carousel D already. So I kept my eyes peeled for a ‘right rugger bugger’, whatever the fuck that was.
While I scanned folks by the baggage carousel, an unnerving feeling crept up. It felt like a mild anxiety at first, but the feeling kept dialing upward. I sensed that I was being furtively watched. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. My hackles were raised, so to speak. This is silly, I told myself, I’m just creeping myself out.
I turned around quickly, just to prove to myself I was wrong. But I wasn’t. My gaze fixed on a gaunt man in a long black leather coat. He wore a hood pulled over his head and stood perfectly still. He had dark denim jeans, stylishly distressed, and he wore solid black scuffed up combat boots. The hood that he wore shadowed his face, but I was certain he was staring directly at me.
I cautiously took a step back; however, the man’s gaze trailed me. He then smiled at me, slowly, as though he was taking his time. Instantly, it made me shudder. His grin was grim-looking, but it wasn’t his misaligned teeth, or the fact that they were stained yellow. It was a dark and feral grin, too wide, and too...invasive? Perverse? If I wasn’t nervous before, I was sweating bullets now. I stepped away quickly to another section of the baggage carousel. When I looked back, the lurker had vanished.
I tried to shake the heebie-jeebies off. Was he gone? Or keeping out of sight? I hoped this gaunt apparition wasn’t my ride out of here. I turned to study all the other strangers milling around the carousel. Hoping to spot somebody who’d be trying to find me, but with absolutely no luck at all. Whoever that Edward guy sent, he didn’t exactly stand out in a crowd. Where the
