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And me… I glanced up into the fractured mirror, staring at myself, dressed in a blood-covered suit, looking just like…Father.
And the longer I stared, the longer I started to see those strings, over me, and those strings turned into a web. I thought I’d escaped. I thought I’d become a better person. I thought it was Chicago that brought out the worst in me…But this time…I chose to let people die. I chose to wear the suit. I chose the go after Elroy. I chose family.
I chose family because I could never not choose family.
Ringggg.
Pulling out my phone, I saw his name on the screen. Hesitating for a moment before answering, I put the phone to my ear but couldn’t speak.
“Ask me,” his deep voice said on the other line.
“Is this all a game to you?”
“That isn’t the question you want to ask.”
“Fine. Did you plan this?” I asked him in Irish so Gabby wouldn’t hear.
“Yes. Do you really think I left my city, my home, to chase after a pair of senseless, undisciplined, wannabe Whiteys? If I wanted them dead, they could have been dead in a second. I could have had them all packed, shipped, and delivered to Chicago to let Ivy have her revenge there. If I wanted Boston to be torn to pieces, it could be done overnight with or without me here. This is a fucking game, Wyatt. It’s called the survival game and there are no rules. There are no take backs or time-outs. You do whatever you need to do to win by the widest margin.”
“All of it? Ivy—”
“Between my wife and me…the only one with a secret was Ivy.” Her pregnancy…he didn’t plan for that. Which meant Ivy still went along because she wanted him to win.
“I told her the truth.” He went on. “I told her everything and because she understood the importance of having all of us united, she took the bullets for the both of us. She hid the truth for the both of us. Family united cannot die. We survive because we all understand the game, and now you do too. Bring Elroy. We leave in the morning.”
With that he hung up.
And so there was the truth. His truth and mine. We were both monsters. He was the Ceann na Conairte because he was much more monstrous than me but that didn’t absolve me of anything.
I was born Wyatt Sedric Callahan.
Medical school didn’t change that.
Boston didn’t change that.
Nothing could change that.
EPILOGUE
“I'm asking, what's your vice and what brand of trouble does it lead to?”
~ Neal Stephenson
IVY
“A new dawn has risen over Boston, but sadly the dark cloud that hung over the city still lingers as many residents in Southie awoke to find the head of Cillian Finnegan, the dealer behind the infamous drug commonly known as the Cocktail, hanging over Old Northern Avenue Bridge. The BPD currently have no leads as to who committed this heinous act nor how the perpetrator was able to get into the coroner’s office undetected. We reached out to the mayor for comments only to be told that the mayor Toma Takahashi has resigned and can no longer be reached for comments. Leaving many of us wondering what now? Are we safe or not?”
“Safe…for now,” I whispered to myself as I lay on the bed inside the jet. My slinged arm was resting on my stomach as I looked up at the ceiling.
I heard the door open but didn’t move.
“You still asleep?”
“Nope,” I whispered, feeling the shift on the bed.
He lay down next to me, groaning. “Walking was a bad idea.”
I giggled, titling my head to the side to look at him, but he just kept his eyes closed. “Did he get on the plane?”
