Chapter 18: Frost and Stone

"His life isn't mine to take," Siobhan said.

"... and your father isn't even going to remember you," the grey man squeaked as he looked up at her.

"That isn't his fault, is it?" she said.

"Your mother hates you and fears you," the little man shouted from under the stone crushing him to the ground. Siobhan bent over and picked up the stone.

"She named me Siobhan."

The grey man vanished.

"You're a witch," Riordan said.

"You're a rapist," Siobhan said, "it isn't illegal to be a witch."

A police car pulled up.

"We got a call about a giant naked man running around." the officer said. "Would you be able to tell me about that?"

"This man needs to face his crimes," Siobhan said, pointing at Mr. Riordan. "He tried to rape me yesterday."

"You Jezebel," Mr. Riordan yelled at her, "God has forgiven me."

"Yes," Siobhan said, "she has, but that is the beginning, not the end of making it right."

Mr. Riordan kept yelling at her, so the officers told him to stop. Then he yelled at the officers. They were putting him in the car as she went back through the shortcut.

The morning warmed the pavement and melted the ice as Siobhan walked toward the hospital. A million scenarios ran through her head as she walked. Her mother was dead after all, her father broken. Or maybe they would know somehow that she had saved them and they would never bother her again. She'd figure out how to fix her dad's memory and everything would be perfect.

She walked in the light and knew that none of it was true. She couldn't fix her dad. In just a second of carelessness, she'd shattered that relationship. It was gone. It wasn't his fault. She would just have to start over.

Her mother was harder, full of more hard edges. Her mother who hates witches, but named her daughter after a witch. She thought for a moment of curses, but pushed it away. She didn't have the right. They would work it out, maybe, probably even. She would have to see. They had time.

She reached the hospital and observed the people going in and out the doors. They wove dances in the light and energy. Some receiving, some giving. She heaved a sighed and walked across the road and through the main doors.

"Hi," she said, "my mother came in yesterday with a bleeding foot. They admitted her. Her name is Marion O'Hullan."

The woman directed her to a room where her mother sat white between white sheets.

"Hello," Siobhan said.

"Hello," her mother said.

"How's the foot?"

"Stopped bleeding."

Siobhan looked at her mother, then went over and hugged her.

"I am glad you're OK," she said, "really."

"Your father's lost his memory," her mother said. "They brought him in and he barely recognized me. He can't remember much after you were born. They say it is a bump on the head."

"The bump on the head didn't help," Siobhan said.

"Like your aunt then?"

Siobhan shrugged.

"You know, when we lived in Ireland your Grandmother was deathly afraid of spiders. One day Siobhan told her they were cute little pets. Grandmother wouldn't hear of killing spiders after that. She was still afraid, but she couldn't bear to think of hurting them, they were so cute."

They sat in silence for a while.

Her father walked in with a bandage around his head.

"You must be the daughter Marion told me about, Siobhan."

"That's right, Dad."

"It's funny, I can't remember you at all."

"It's Ok, we'll make more memories."

He nodded and sat beside her mom. He wasn't bent over from shame anymore. He sat straight and at ease. Maybe I did him a favour, maybe I really was the cause of his shame all those years.

"Siobhan," her dad said, "I remember you were there last night and helped me. I didn't know who you were then. I want to tell you that I'm proud of you. I want you to know that my first memory of you is being grateful that you were there."

"Thanks, Dad." Siobhan left her parents together while she sat in the hall and wept silently. She'd hoped that winning would erase all the pain. It didn't. She sighed and pushed the tears from her face with her hands. A nurse handed her a tissue.

"It's always hard when they can't remember," she said, "families are caught between hoping for the memories to come back, and hoping the bad ones stay forgotten. Whatever comes back, comes back." she said.

Siobhan went back out to the main desk.

"I'm looking for a friend who came in last night?" she said. "His name is Pwyll Jones."

"Sorry," the woman said, "he's no longer with us."