A Life for a Life
Chapter Twenty-Six
"What's happening, then, Mummy?"
Grainne heard her daughter's voice as soon as she's announced her arrival by slamming the front door. She turned round, and Aoibheann gasped when she saw tears in her mother's eyes.
"It's bad news, I'm afraid." Grainne said dully, as Caolan came down from his bedroom to see what was going on.
"Is it about Miceál?" he asked. Grainne nodded, and then sighed.
"There's not nice way to put it. You're old enough now, anyway, I suppose …"
"What, Ma?" Aoibheann asked, her throat tight with anxiety.
"He got life."
There was a long, sad pause, during which Grainne's words reverberated around the room.
"But," Aoibheann began.
"His age," Caolan finished off what was more of a though spoken aloud. Both children looked up at their mother, who sighed again and explained.
"Because he's a minor he's been ordered to be detained at the Secretary of State's pleasure. That's basically he stays in jail until the Secretary of State decides to let him out. He said so himself Miceál will serve at least a life sentence before he even thinks about it."
"But there'll be another one soon, won't there?" Caolan asked hopefully. Grainne smiled thinly.
"They'll all say the same." she said softly.
The three of them stood in the dark hall for a while, watching each other in sad silence. Eventually Grainne forced herself to smile again, and echoed Diarmuid, who was joining Miceál in a life sentence.
"It's better than him being dead, hey? We still have him. We'll see him soon."
*
Meanwhile, on the same day, Miceál sat with his back against the wall, on his bed, watching the distorted light that was filtering in from the barred window in the top middle of the wall behind him. He was tired, but he didn't feel much like sleeping.
In the corridor outside, he could hear the slow footsteps as the prison officers walked slowly up and down the corridors, checking in on them each in turn, making sure that there was no trouble.
"What are you expecting me to do?" Miceál muttered after he was checked on yet again. "Crawl between the bars in the windows?"
Suddenly the cell went a little darker as the main corridor light went out. Miceál sat alone in the darkness, his mind still chewing over the events of the day that had got him sent to this cell in the first place. Did he regret it? Miceál searched his brain for the little voice that would tell him the honest answer, tell him what was right, but that voice hadn't spoken to him in a while. That little voice had a very distorted idea of what was right and what was wrong. Miceál wasn't disturbed by the answer he got.
Do I regret it? No.
Miceál gazed back down at the blanket on the bed. He didn't regret it. It's not like those men were innocent. They were the ones responsible for his father dying, after all. But then, there was a chain of events that led to that, and then a chain of evens that led to those events …
It never ended. Miceál realised that as he lay down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. Sure, the ones who had murdered his father and his father's lifelong best friend had died for their crimes all those years ago, but someone had to die for Miceál's crime now. That was the way this country worked, which was another think Miceál realised. If it wasn't he who was going to be killed, it would be someone else, and then there would be someone else seeking revenge for that and …
Again, it never ended. Miceál sighed and rolled over onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. He guessed it was over now. For him, anyway. There wasn't a hope of him getting out of prison until he was at least – what was it they had told him? Forty-one. That was it. No hope until he'd served twenty-five years.
Miceál wondered if it would ever actually end, if the chain of events would ever stop, if this "life for a life" system would ever be given up on. He tried to trace everything back through what he knew from the history of his country, but something had always been influenced by something else before it. Miceál realised that no one would ever really understand for real. The answer to it all lay buried hundreds of years in the past, and because of this simple fact, it denied them the chance to understand.
Miceál sighed again, rolled over, and with these thoughts echoing in his mind, he eventually fell asleep.
Grainne heard her daughter's voice as soon as she's announced her arrival by slamming the front door. She turned round, and Aoibheann gasped when she saw tears in her mother's eyes.
"It's bad news, I'm afraid." Grainne said dully, as Caolan came down from his bedroom to see what was going on.
"Is it about Miceál?" he asked. Grainne nodded, and then sighed.
"There's not nice way to put it. You're old enough now, anyway, I suppose …"
"What, Ma?" Aoibheann asked, her throat tight with anxiety.
"He got life."
There was a long, sad pause, during which Grainne's words reverberated around the room.
"But," Aoibheann began.
"His age," Caolan finished off what was more of a though spoken aloud. Both children looked up at their mother, who sighed again and explained.
"Because he's a minor he's been ordered to be detained at the Secretary of State's pleasure. That's basically he stays in jail until the Secretary of State decides to let him out. He said so himself Miceál will serve at least a life sentence before he even thinks about it."
"But there'll be another one soon, won't there?" Caolan asked hopefully. Grainne smiled thinly.
"They'll all say the same." she said softly.
The three of them stood in the dark hall for a while, watching each other in sad silence. Eventually Grainne forced herself to smile again, and echoed Diarmuid, who was joining Miceál in a life sentence.
"It's better than him being dead, hey? We still have him. We'll see him soon."
*
Meanwhile, on the same day, Miceál sat with his back against the wall, on his bed, watching the distorted light that was filtering in from the barred window in the top middle of the wall behind him. He was tired, but he didn't feel much like sleeping.
In the corridor outside, he could hear the slow footsteps as the prison officers walked slowly up and down the corridors, checking in on them each in turn, making sure that there was no trouble.
"What are you expecting me to do?" Miceál muttered after he was checked on yet again. "Crawl between the bars in the windows?"
Suddenly the cell went a little darker as the main corridor light went out. Miceál sat alone in the darkness, his mind still chewing over the events of the day that had got him sent to this cell in the first place. Did he regret it? Miceál searched his brain for the little voice that would tell him the honest answer, tell him what was right, but that voice hadn't spoken to him in a while. That little voice had a very distorted idea of what was right and what was wrong. Miceál wasn't disturbed by the answer he got.
Do I regret it? No.
Miceál gazed back down at the blanket on the bed. He didn't regret it. It's not like those men were innocent. They were the ones responsible for his father dying, after all. But then, there was a chain of events that led to that, and then a chain of evens that led to those events …
It never ended. Miceál realised that as he lay down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. Sure, the ones who had murdered his father and his father's lifelong best friend had died for their crimes all those years ago, but someone had to die for Miceál's crime now. That was the way this country worked, which was another think Miceál realised. If it wasn't he who was going to be killed, it would be someone else, and then there would be someone else seeking revenge for that and …
Again, it never ended. Miceál sighed and rolled over onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. He guessed it was over now. For him, anyway. There wasn't a hope of him getting out of prison until he was at least – what was it they had told him? Forty-one. That was it. No hope until he'd served twenty-five years.
Miceál wondered if it would ever actually end, if the chain of events would ever stop, if this "life for a life" system would ever be given up on. He tried to trace everything back through what he knew from the history of his country, but something had always been influenced by something else before it. Miceál realised that no one would ever really understand for real. The answer to it all lay buried hundreds of years in the past, and because of this simple fact, it denied them the chance to understand.
Miceál sighed again, rolled over, and with these thoughts echoing in his mind, he eventually fell asleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
Well, that's it, the end of the story! Hope you enjoyed it, because it was great fun to write. I'm not sure when another story will be posted up, as I'm currently working on about three, and I'm not sure which one will be finished to be posted up. It'll be a surprise.Just a shoutout to Róisín (neverendingnights), who, as always, was a loyal reader and reviewer, so yay for Sheen! Go and read her stuff - it rocks.
Hope you enjoyed reading!
xx Fionnuala xx