Free The Seeker A Novel (R. B. Chesterton) by R. B. Chesterton Page A

forward, as if to corner me. “Stay away from Joe. That’s what I want to tell you.”
    All bluff and no action. I bent down for my packages. The blow to the back of my neck was unexpected, and painful. Only the thickness of my coat collar saved me from serious injury.
    I forced myself upright and punched her hard in the face. There was a crack and blood blossomed on her face. Her squawk sounded like a mortally wounded seagull. I stood and watched as she sank to the sidewalk. Someone started screaming, and people ran out of shops and then stopped, unsure what to do.
    “Press charges,” I told Karla, “and I’ll make it a point to find you.” I picked up my packages and headed back toward the inn.
    “You think you know Joe.” Her voice was blubbery from blood, snot, and tears. “Ask him about Mischa. Just ask him.”

11
    By the time I reached the inn, I’d stopped shaking. I’d exploded in violence—like one of my hopped-up relatives. I’d crawled away from the oxy trade, the guns, the beatings, but I hadn’t left it behind me. It was part of my DNA. Aggression and addiction, a few birth defects and mental instability, these were the hallmarks of the Cahill clan. There wasn’t a substance invented that a Cahill couldn’t grow dependent on, except maybe money. No matter how much of it a Cahill earned, it never stayed around.
    Through the long years of my education, I’d worked in fast food, clerked in hardware stores, and nannied for families who could afford the luxury. I’d sold myself cheap to survive. I’d changed my hair, my clothes, my diction. I’d beaten back the dark superstitions, the fantastical visions that had plagued me as a child. Granny Siobhan told me that educated people knew such things weren’t real and that if I ignored them, they would go away. Midnight fancies were buried along with my past.
    I’d worked hard to reinvent myself, but scratch the surface and the Cahill violence leaked out. My thoughts were black, and my self-loathing grew as I bypassed the inn and went down the path through the woods to my cabin. I saw the note pinned to the door before I got there.
    We need to talk. Joe.
    Simple as that. I hadn’t heard from him in a week and now he wanted to talk. Another wave of anxiety and anger passed through my limbs, but I contained it. It had taken years to gain the composure necessary to navigate the pettiness of academia without physically assaulting someone. A temper could be a fatal flaw in that environment. And now I’d had a brawl on a public street. Because of Joe.
    Maybe not because of him. It wasn’t fair to attribute Karla’s crazy behavior to Joe. It also wasn’t fair that she had accosted and ambushed me. Still, I knew I’d likely have plenty of time to rue my hasty action.
    But not as much time as I thought. The knock on my door a few minutes later was official and demanding. When I looked out the window, I saw a uniformed officer with Dorothea at his heels. Curiosity was clearly killing her.
    “Miss Cahill?” the officer asked when I opened the door.
    “Yes.”
    “Please come with me. You’re wanted for questioning in an assault charge.”
    This development wasn’t unexpected, but I still felt as if I’d been gut-kicked by a mule. “Let me get my purse.”
    I put on my coat and preceded the officer onto the porch.
    “What’s this all about?” Dorothea asked.
    The officer ignored her, so I answered. “I was in an argument with Joe’s ex-girlfriend. Could you call him?”
    “You bet.” She hurried back to the inn, and I followed the officer to his car.
    Just as I ducked my head to get into the patrol car’s back seat, a slender figure appeared in the shadow of the trees not fifty yards away. She wore a puffy red coat with a hood and black pants. Her size, the slenderness of her legs, told me it was a female.
    “Who is that?” I asked.
    “Where?” The officer turned toward the trees, but the figure had vanished.
    “It was a child. Over by