Page 24

Seventeen

Anna asks Seamus if she can take the first watch, and he agrees. By now he knows that when she asks something of him, it’s really an order.

One he obeys every time.

Almost.

It’s not that Seamus doesn’t have his own opinions about what to do. He certainly does. But when he disagrees, he willingly defers to Anna. Yes, he lost a brother, but Anna lost her entire family. If it were possible to weigh their individual grief, hers would surely tip the scales.

He was at least able to properly bury his brother, laying him to rest next to their parents in the meager family plot.

According to Anna, nothing lies beside the graves of Arthur and Margaret Matheson.

Just an empty coffin. The different ways in which their brothers died—his from internal injuries, Anna’s completely obliterated—makes it clear they were in different parts of the train when it exploded, and likely never met.

Seamus also knows it doesn’t matter.

Both are gone and never coming back.

Alone in his room, he goes to his suitcase on the bed, untouched since he boarded the Phoenix. He didn’t pack much. Just a shaving kit, a change of clothes for when he’s finally allowed to shed his conductor’s uniform, and his wallet.

Seamus’s hand shakes as he reaches for the wallet. Damn this trembling. It’s gotten worse in the past few hours. So bad he could barely check Judd’s neck for a pulse he knew no longer existed. In that moment, he was certain everyone noticed. Especially Anna, who rarely missed a single detail.

Now his hand positively vibrates as he removes a photograph from his wallet, its edges ragged from a dozen years of similarly tremulous viewings. Seamus looks at the uniformed young man in the picture and his heart clenches.

Sean.

His big brother.

The Callahans were not a happy family. His father drank too much.

His mother spoke too little. Both were quick to use their fists.

As a result, Seamus and his brother grew up in tense silence that lasted until their parents died within a year of each other.

After that, Sean became his north star, guiding him into adulthood through the power of example.

Whatever Sean did, Seamus followed, whether it was joining the high school football team or enlisting in the Army.

Then Sean was killed, and Seamus, having no one to emulate, lost his way.

Until he found Anna.

He didn’t know what to expect when he approached her in the cemetery a little over a year ago. Her aunt had given him Anna’s name but no picture or description. “You’ll know her when you see her” was all he was told.

And he did.

The only person left in the cemetery, Anna was easy to identify. But even if she had been surrounded by dozens of people, Seamus would have known it was her. Loss recognizes loss. He approached her and said, “Your aunt sent me.”

Anna turned to him, giving him a look unlike anything Seamus had seen before.

Instead of grief, her eyes blazed with purpose, as if she sensed exactly who he was and why he was there.

He’s been by her side ever since. Whether that will still be the case when they reach Chicago is unknown.

They haven’t discussed what comes after their plan.

If there is an after.

He slips his brother’s picture back into his wallet, which is returned to the suitcase. Then he stretches, trying to release the tension of a long night that’s not even halfway over. As he moves, something deep in the pocket of his uniform vest knocks against his rib cage.

Seamus reaches into the pocket and removes a small pillbox Reggie Davis never got the chance to find after being spooked by his revolver. For that Seamus is grateful, because it spared him a lot of explaining.

With still-trembling hands, he lifts the box’s lid and peers inside.

Resting on the bottom are several pills, chalky and white.

Seamus counts them. Right now, there are five. Satisfied by the amount, he snaps the box shut and returns it to his pocket.

He knows that earlier in the night, the number of pills had been six.