Overcomer - The Journey, Judy Colella [book reader for pc txt] 📗

put a brave face on things, but I could see her heart was breaking. She had accepted that her son was being taken from her for a worthy cause, but that didn’t make losing him any easier. And despite being allowed to travel with him for a good while yet, she knew the day would come when they would have to part, never to meet again.

“Katie, child, are you needing a tissue?”

“This is awful! That poor woman! Poor Cian!”

Eileen jumped up and grabbed a box of Kleenex from a small table against the wall, brought it back, and offered the whole box to Katie.

Croghan waited, having dealt with the entire range of human emotion throughout the millennia. Impatience would be of no help in the situation.

When Katie had blown her nose a few times, taken a deep, shaky breath, and sat back with a sigh, he continued. “I agree – it was an emotional time, and I don’t think I have ever felt any worse than I did right then. But there was something much bigger at stake, and I had no choice. And so it was that Cian Son of Dara, his mother and father, Niall and I, entered the Door that led directly from that time into the pathways leading to the Hub of Time.”

SEVENTEEN

 

Cian sat forward. “I – I had forgotten so much,” he murmured, staring into the flames. “The worst of it is that I can never go back, even though everything in me longs for it, for my beloved mother, my father who was so strong and good... and the clean, pure air of Tír Conaill... god!” He slammed a fist on the arm of the chair, jaw clenched. Control, Cian. Anger changes nothing. A sigh. He turned is gaze from the hearth and looked at the others. “I’m sorry. It’s not your problem.”

“Oh, you are not apologizing!” said Katie, sniffling again. “If I were you, I would be strangling this man right about now!” She turned to shoot a fiery glare at the Croghan.

“I agree, but there’s absolutely nothing I could have done about it then, or now.” The harper shrugged.

“Couldn’t you bring him back there, to his own time?” Celeste had tears in her eyes now, too.

“Sadly, no. He no longer has a place there. You can’t double up on your own timeline, you see.” The Croghan looked away toward the other side of the room for a moment. “I did send his parents back, however. I brought them to almost the exact moment after they had left.”

“And how did they manage, now that their only child was gone forever?” This was from Eileen, whose voice had taken on an edge Cian recognized as wrath.

“It seems this is what you do best,” Donal added. “Go to the homes of people who’ve been ‘chosen’ for your ‘greater purpose’ and destroy the family. That’s what you’re going to do to us, isn’t it.”

“No. And please get this straight – it isn’t my great purpose, Donal. I simply carry out my orders. Celeste does not have to travel the way Cian did. She will remain the same age and when she returns, it will be as though she’d never left.”

      “Returns from where?” asked Katie, frowning.

      “The Hub, Katie. The Hub.”

 

********

 

 

Georgia – One Year Earlier

 

A stack of popular magazines had been placed off to one side of the desk – widely read movie, television, popular icon magazines, and a few gossip rags. Felicity had told Cian to take his time, to look through each carefully, and pay special attention to all the famous men, young, old, and in between.

They had stopped at a restaurant after all, a small local one where they’d ordered him a bowl of tomato soup, buttered toast and a glass of water. Making sure he ate slowly, they continued to assure him that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him or make him go back to his foster mother. By the time they’d gotten to the office, he was looking better, having recovered enough strength to remain steady on his feet. Now, hoping her experiment would work, Felicity was confident he’d be able to concentrate.

“These guys,” said Felicity, “are considered the most handsome men in the world. They are popular, well-known individuals who everyone – or most everyone – holds up as standards for male attractiveness. Keep that in mind while you’re looking through the magazines, and pay close attention to their features, okay?”

Cian nodded, but frowned.

Guessing why, Felicity smiled. “I’m not asking you to do this to make you feel worse about your looks. In fact, I’m attempting to do the opposite. Will you trust me on this?”

“Ye-yes, m-m-ma-am.” Taking the first magazine off the stack, he placed it before him on the desk and opened it.

“Now remember – don’t bother reading any of the captions or articles. Look at the pictures and nothing else, please.”

Nodding, he stared down at the glossy page.

A half hour or so later, Felicity looked up from her work to see how he was doing and caught him stifling a yawn. Suspecting that this was getting boring for him, she thought perhaps it was time to test out her theory. “Cian?”

He looked up, then away.

“Stop that, please. Look at me.”

He complied, but his eyes kept shifting away.

“Well, that’s better. Thank you. Now I want you to do something that will take a great deal of courage. You have to come with me, because there’s something you must see.” She stood, beckoning him to follow her, and led him out into the corridor.

He said nothing, and she wondered if it was because of the extreme stutter.

After going along a few hallways, Felicity led him into the men’s executive washroom – she’d already arranged for it to be empty. As soon as they entered, they were in a well-appointed antechamber with leather chairs, a long wooden table, and over this, a huge mirror. She took the boy’s arm, expecting him to bolt as soon as he realized he was looking at his reflection. She was partly correct.

As soon as Cian saw the mirror, he shut his eyes and flinched backwards, but didn’t run.

“No, Cian! Remember those photographs you’ve been looking at, and face yourself in the mirror.”

She pulled him closer to the glass with gentle tugs, and when they stopped…

 

*******

 

…Cian opened his eyes, wincing, expecting the worst, heartbeat hastened by fear.

The face looking back at him bore no resemblance to the one he’d been imagining for the last six years, the one Letitia had defined and made his. Not at all. Arranged in a way not too dissimilar to those he’d been looking at in the magazines, this face had no acne like Buddy had, but a smooth, perfect complexion. These eyes weren’t gummy and vague like Retta’s, but were clear, alert, a medium shade of grey, and spaced wide enough apart to make him look... honest? Pleasant? Innocent? He didn’t know. He kept looking.

His nose – not too long, too short, too narrow or too wide. It was… there, symmetrical, adding somehow to an overall agreeable appearance. His lips were full, unlike Letitia’s. Hers made him think of painted matchsticks. He had a firm chin, a well-defined jaw line, ears that didn’t stick out at the sides like Buddy’s...

Puzzled, astonished, he turned to face Felicity and whispered his shock. “I-I’m n-not hideous!”

“No, Cian. You’re not hideous even a little bit.” She smiled. “You see? It’s okay to look at people. In fact, I think you’ll find they enjoy looking at you.”

He nodded, almost speechless. All this time – all this time! “Wh-why did sh-sh-she do this to m-m-me?”

“I don’t know.” She took him by the arm again and led him back to the door. “We’re going to bring you to someone who can probably answer all the questions you must have, including the one you just asked. In time and with his help, you’ll also be able to get rid of that stutter, which I somehow doubt you've had your whole life. Am I correct?”

He nodded, overwhelmed. Her kindness, discovering he was decent-looking, made him think he might find a measure of confidence, peace, freedom, and the acceptance of others. One day.

As they neared Felicity’s office, Mr. Bell approached them from the other end of the corridor. He acknowledged Cian with a bright smile. “How’d we do?”

“It worked – he knows he’s not grotesque or ugly.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Bell raised an eyebrow at the boy.

Cian nodded. Look at him. Stop hiding. He was nearly as tall as Mr. Bell, and found satisfaction in the direct stare. Liberation. No more fear of negative reactions.

Mr. Bell clapped the boy on the shoulder, grinning. “That’s the best news I’ve heard today!”

Cian didn’t know what to make of that, how to respond, so he smiled back, the first shared smile in six years. How wonderful it felt!

Felicity gulped; curious, he turned to find her face turning pink. Retta had looked at him the same way that day two years before, the day he’d been beaten so badly for looking at her that he’d ended up in the hospital. What was that? What did that mean?

Mr. Bell cleared his throat, recapturing Cian’s attention. “Tell you what – why don’t you return to Miss Markwood’s office and look at some more magazines. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty, but I don’t know, some of those women in there are pretty easy on the eyes, eh?”

Cian’s blush broke eye contact for a reason that had nothing to do with his looks.

“Miss Markwood, while he’s doing that, I need you for a few minutes. Cian, we’ll see you a little later, okay?”

      Nodding, he entered the office, went back to the desk, and sat down, embarrassed. His back to them, he opened another magazine. This was the oddest day he remembered having, maybe ever. And maybe the best.

 

*******

 

“What is it?” Felicity asked as they headed back to Josiah’s office at the other end of the corridor.

“I listened to about thirty seconds of that tape. That’s all I could take.”

“Why? What was on it that was so bad?”

They had reached his door and he ushered her inside, waved toward the chair facing his desk, and turned the tape player to face her. “Listen for yourself.” He shut his door, came back to the desk, and pushed the “Play” button.

He waited, watching as Felicity withstood a minute and a half before she jabbed “Stop” with a trembling finger. “Oh my loving God,” she breathed. “What in the hell was that?”

“His foster mother, I believe.”

“Oh, Lordy, Josiah, I think I’m going to be sick.” She wasn’t exaggerating; her skin had gone dead white and waxy-looking, and tiny beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead. “That poor, poor child,” she moaned, clutching her stomach as she doubled over.

He rushed to her side and knelt beside her chair. “You want the trash can?” he offered, feeling helpless. He hadn’t expected a reaction like this.

She shook her head, closing her eyes. “I’ll be all right – gi – give me a minute, please.” She sat back, took slow, deep breaths, and little by little the color returned to her face. A minute or two later, unshed tears brightening