Hill Eerie [Liam]

[Red]

He supposes now, as an afterthought, that sixty-three years is just a tad bit late for a welcome-home party.

Better late than never.

After years of living in the dark, Red is not surprised to fall upon the knowledge that nearly all of his family has died. It’s a truth that nearly every individual must come to accept by their old age, and at almost 83 years old, Red has taken the weight surprisingly well. But not all is nearly as lost as it is out of reach. The true discovery lies when he finds that his destination does not rest anywhere close to home—overseas in the land of the Portuguese. Weeks before, Red had furrowed his brow in thought once he had gained this knowledge. Even as a boy, there had been little that Liam would do that was without some reason behind it (no matter how small that reason may be,) and Red had already summed up a few ideas as to why.

Possibly his ex-wife, possibly his son. Possibly everything that had ever went wrong.

There is little left for him to pack, because Red decides early on that this will not be an extended vacation, and the flight that he books is one that is painfully scheduled, in hopes that he can beat the change before night. When he was just 20, being flown overseas for the first time, Red had been terrified of the thought of a giant metal contraption over water—moreso than he had been of fighting in the war, of killing and being killed. It matters little to him now, and when he finally steps out of his front door, locking it before he leaves home, Red exhales a heavy sigh in preparation for the journey ahead.

In the end, he supposes, the Azores cannot be too different than any other place that he has been.

Besides the fact that it is undeniably beautiful, heavily populated and still a remarkable sight for any pair of wandering eyes. The flight passes quickly for him, entertained by the whispers and murmurs of the other passengers on board. Some speak of vacation, others speak of home. Some are as silent as a woodland night, and somewhere in the back, a baby cries. It is all left behind sooner rather than later. The air outside is fresher than it is at Boston—and as he travels the city, even the waves that crash against the shores and the docks feels different, new. But the life that Liam has created here, whatever life it may or may not be, could not be so perfect as this. His shoes are loud in his ears as he walks alone, shaking his head to the beating of his own wardrums.

One could never escape forever, Red knows this more than anyone else. But it’s a discussion for later, he decides. He books himself as cheap of a hotel as possible in Ponta Delgada while the night is still young, creating as good of a trap for himself as he can to keep himself there.

When the hours pass and it’s time to rise, the journey comes near to an end.

Liam’s residence is just where he had expected it to be—close enough to the ocean to see and experience the waters. After re-checking the address that he had scribbled down onto a slip of paper and deciding that it’s correct, he strides forward much more confidently. And it is, of course, unlocked. The door shuts quietly behind him, and inside, it is quiet. He steps lightly through, rolling his sleeves up just before making the final decision to sit on the couch, breathing a heavy sigh and leaning back in exhaustion.

And that is it, his grand entrance—the big finale to his sixty-three years of presumed death. It takes place in the livingroom of an unknowing cousin, and Red can only hope now that the man who had once been that wobbly-kneed fourteen year old boy would be just as welcoming.

[Liam]

The water pressure in São Miguel was crap, or it could just be a sign that he needed to let go of some of his precious money from the stock market and invest in an actual house rather than this apartment, nearly two miles from the shore.

Liam strides in the living room, pausing mid-step as a familiar scent catches his attention. It brings back a wealth of memories in a powerful rush, of dinner cooked in a huge cauldron above a crackling fire, the clamor of bodies and laughter, the swirl of skirts and the squeak of a cork being pulled from a whiskey bottle. It was like being taken back in time and the shifter sucks in a hasty breath, reaching out to steady himself. "Oh, for the love of all that's holy." Liam rubs at his eyes, blinking to dispel the latest vision of his past come to haunt him. He hadn't known ghosts were capable of overseas travel, and yet here was another one, sitting on his couch, as casual as could be.

"Red, what the hell are you doing here?" He readjusts the towel around his waist, flicking the water off his hands at the apparition. Liam had had just about enough of this nonsense. His ex-wife reappearing on his bed in the middle of the night was one thing, but his elder cousin, dead for more than half a century was quite another. "Don't you have a coffin you should be rotting in right now? Cathedral Cemetery, Baltimore? Ring any bells?" Somewhere in the sprawling grounds of the Catholic church was a headstone marked Harold 'Red' Fitzpatrick, Beloved Son, Fallen Solider. The funeral was foggy in his mind, but that was probably on account of it being the first day his father had allowed him to drink.

Jethro didn't have a grave, so Liam had been a tad quicker in acknowledging her existence in the world of the living. Thankfully, she was out hunting the local fauna. Something about stretching her wings for the first time in a while.

The water droplets stick rather than pass through the man, as they would in the case of a ghost. He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the lanky form, not so different from his own. The Fitzpatrick blood ran strong and even with the gulf of years and experiences between the two of them, it was clear they were related. Unable to think of any other plan of action, Liam pads over to the couch and sets his hand on Red's shoulder, squeezing the strong muscle there. His sharp ears could pick out the thrum of his heart and his cousin's shoulders rose slightly with each breath, the water on his hands darkening his shirt.

Ghosts definitely didn't breath, and even the hallucinations his mind had conjured under the effects of decidedly illegal substances in the sixties didn't blink or smile like this. They didn't possess scents. Besides, the man on the couch wasn't the Red, eighteen with stubble bristling his cheeks, that Liam remembered. It's that, if anything that turns him pale as a sheet. "Christ, you're real." Impossible, but then it seemed like this was the year of people rising from their graves.

The sofa's springs squeak as Liam drops beside him, knees giving out beneath him. Incredulous laughter over takes him, a wide grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He runs his fingers through wet, shaggy hair, staring up at Red in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"What, Korea didn't turn out to be the vacation you thought it'd be, cuz?"

And yet, somewhere in those jungle he must have found the fountain of youth. Either that, or the Fitzpatricks shared a taste for crossroads deals.

[Red]

When Liam finally makes his grand appearance, Red is not surprised in the least that Liam makes it nearly completely naked. The pause in Liam’s carefree gate causes Red to quirk a brow at him in interest, forcing back a smile that tugs at his lips when their eyes finally meet. “I thought I might stop by for a bottle of whiskey and a slightly less morose welcome-home party.” There is clear disbelief in Liam’s tone, perhaps triggered by what Red already knows is another “last-thing-he-needs” situation after the reappearance of his supposedly late wife. But after all, with a history such as Liam’s, the younger man shouldn’t be so surprised that his ghosts have finally come back to haunt him.

Maybe he himself is less of a ghost now, but it still qualifies.

“It rings a few bells,” he agrees with a nod, rubbing worn hands against the stubble of his jawline. The funeral at that old cemetery had been a sad one, not for him, but for the rest that had attended. The old soldier remembers it too clearly—he remembers observing in the distance from the safety of a heavily-leaved tree, watching as the only family that he had ever known had mourned the loss of a soul that still lived and breathed, however barely it might have been. He remembers watching his little cousin that he had fought so hard to protect grieve, and he remembers too clearly the few times that Liam had gone there alone.

Despite being the child of a considerable brood, Liam had been the closest thing to a little brother that Red had, and forcing himself to detach from that had been one of the hardest things he had ever managed.

“Although, I do think that rotting in the ground would be an insult to my winning complexion.” He grins when he says this, following Liam with his eyes as Liam makes his way toward Red. He’s as real as real can be, but he knows as well that Liam would have never thought that. “Of course I am. I’m here, aren’t I?” He is here, finally—half of a century late with a history and a family that his younger cousin had never known about. Proceeding the two wars, Red had gone on and lived a life of what he had tried to convince was full and happy. He had a beautiful wife and good, hardworking kids.

But one disaster after another had ensued. His wife had died of cancer and two of his children had died by his fault.

He had learned in what must have been the hardest way possible that there is no such thing as an “apple pie” life after war, and certainly not after karma had caught up to him in the form of one very angry Witch in the Vietnam war. And Korea certainly hadn’t been a party either.

“I suppose you could say that,” he begins, turning his head to look at Liam thoughtfully. “Neither was Vietnam.” But of course, none of the family had known that Red had fought in Vietnam. “I’ve been around for a long time. I tried to find you.” It’s only half truthful, but Red had tried. And he had also succeeded. Once he had finally found Liam, he had found his little cousin had grown into the very man that Red had hoped that he never would become. It had caused the soldier to wonder if his absence had played any part in it—if he could have shaped his little “brother” into a better man. When he felt the blame fall on him and sink into his chest, Red had backed away before any opportunity to meet Liam again would arise.

Whether it was shame or guilt that made him disappear, he had done his best to not look back.

The second that it all begins to creep into his bones again, Red is quick to change the subject. “Where has your wife gone?” The house is empty besides the two of them, and one third of the party is missing.

[Liam]

"Wakes have a tendency to be awkward without a body." It's been a while, everything these days seems to have been a while, with time passing as it does, slipping from his finger tips, the seasons changing more swiftly than he could keep up with. He was a young man only in looks, and Liam was reminded of his age in every meeting with Jericho, who seemed to think he had forever and then some to build his empire.

Red can still joke, and that has to say something doesn't it? Maybe, the war and most of the twentieth century hadn't stolen his cousin away, not completely. Liam smiles halfheartedly and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding the searching eyes of the old soldier. "Better late than never, I suppose." The bitter, childish part of him says that Red could have done a hell of a lot more good showing up when his enlistment was over, before the funeral, before his father put a crook in the bridge of his nose and told him to get out and stay out.

If he had only been older, he could have gone with him. Back then, Liam might even have been able to delude himself into thinking that he had the guts to do it. Better a quick death, than the slow one at the hands of a crumbling family. The ever pressing expectations of mother and his little siblings, the only defense reckoned between them and glass shards and angry fists.

In the end, Liam had not proven to be much of a defense at all. More like chicken wire, easily twisted, easily snatched down and broken into hundreds of tiny links--all equally useless.

His hand slips from Red's shoulder and Liam steps back, drawing a quick, short breath between his teeth, that it might settle the old ache he didn't know still existed. "That so?" He tightens the knot on the towel and looks around the room, anywhere but in front of him. "Should have looked harder." Once upon a time, Liam might have had something to show for the years, now there is only this. A few battered instrument cases, an ex-wife and a medallion featuring the Saint of second chances, and thieves.

Pointedly ignoring Red's inquiry, of course he would know about Jethro, the creepy bastard only seemed to have only further cultivated his talent of sticking his nose into everyone's beeswax. Liam hooks a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. "Gonna go put on some clothes." He stumbles off, throwing a look over his shoulder just to double check that Red hadn't evaporated into thin air. He comes back wearing a t-shirt declaring Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" decorated in grinning shamrocks and a pair of faded jeans.

"Jethro's out terrorizing the local fauna." Bunny rabbits and squirrels had to get tiring after a while, and Liam was sure his wife was reveling in the opportunity to enjoy new fare. Still twitching and warm. Yum. Heading straight for the kitchen, Liam crouches down to open one of the floor-level cabinets, and slides a false side open, retrieving a mostly full liquor bottle from its shadowy depths."Don't tell her, mo chroí would have me strung out six ways to Sunday if she knew." It was only a small admission, a white lie one kept out of necessity, and for the sake of his own sanity. He fills two glasses with the amber liquid and sits at the small table, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon out the kitchen window.

"So tell me, Red, what have you been up to the last fifty years?"