LITMIR.BIZ

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charge immediately slowed to a stumble, making him an easy target. But as he scurried up onto the flat, stone shelf, Macken found it empty. Hardly believing it could end so painlessly, he stepped carefully to the edge of the platform and jerked free the Irish flag.

      Another shower of stones fell around him. Macken wobbled on the edge. He realised that his attackers had merely retreated to a higher cairn of missiles.

      Macken’s balance shifted again. He tried to plant his feet more firmly but still he gradually pitched forward. His stomach lurched and it seemed like the stone floor was rising to meet him. He fell onto his hands and knees, baton in one hand and flag in the other. The heather on either side of the Long Rock seemed to be falling away.

      His brain could not process the information being registered by his senses. It was as if the ground was moving, and he was tipping further and further backwards. He saw the stone-throwers pointing, mouths agape. He blinked and their gawping faces were further away. It’s as if I’m the one moving, he thought, not them.

      Macken felt another lurch beneath him and was suddenly lying flat, his cheek against the cold stone, with the hillside moving past. He finally understood that the great granite platform, the Long Rock itself, had tipped and begun to slide down the steep slope.

      He heard a faint whimpering from his throat, as if the sound was coming from some other frightened animal. His heart and stomach plummeted far below. His legs and arms shook. His clenched fists pressed into the stone, unable to grip, as the world rushed by faster and faster. Macken rode the Long Rock, crashing and bouncing through the heather, gouging and scraping towards the marchers below – the green, white and orange flag in his fist billowing behind like the tail of a kite.

      *

       Darkness came down on him. Pouring in thick like tar.

      Each time , before the yellow light vanished, the child resolved to keep watching. To bring her back. To keep her flame living with the intensity of his gaze.

       But every time was the same. His eyelids closed. The moment of trial had come and gone. He was alone again, in darkness.

      Each time , the fading glow inside his eyelids taunted him with her echo. His loss.

      Then that echo died too. The inner glow extinguished. Leaving him sinking through black water. Every time the same. Night , with no promise of morning.

Monday

      CHAPTER 2

      Macken was up before the top brass the next day.

      ‘John Oliver Macken. Sergeant. Third Class,’ the county inspector murmured as he read the report. ‘Stand easy. We’ve been concerned about you.’

      It was not the eruption Macken had expected.

      ‘Yes, sir. I don’t know that I’m the man for the job any more.’

      ‘Hardly surprising, Macken. You tore a hole in the Longrock Road that’ll take some mending.’

      The CI shook his head as if at some private joke. ‘They say you came downhill like an express train. Flying your green, white and gold!’

      Macken had been bucked off the Long Rock into a thick clump of heather. He’d felt the thud as the boulder ripped a great gash in the road below. It had seemed an age before he’d had the courage to look. The Long Rock had scored a bullseye on Big Jim Courtney’s Lambeg, a giant, jagged, grey shard sticking up from a wide crater. The marchers had scattered in time, but the drum had gone to glory.

      ‘According to the Worshipful Master, you had them in some kind of mass hypnosis.’

      The CI glared at Macken, his jaw tightly clenched. ‘A single act of God could have wiped them all out. A single act of Jolly Macken, that is.’

      The officer’s control cracked. Macken braced himself for the outburst. But when it came, it was a roar of laughter not anger.

      ‘Ah, Macken, that would have been… terrible. We were very lucky. We’ll not be hearing from that particular Lambeg again.’

      ‘No, sir.’ Macken tried again to spit out what was on his mind. ‘But I’m not the same man. I find myself having doubts. About taking sides, sir.’

      There, he thought. I’ve finally said it. Now it would come hot and heavy, with a boot up his arse on his way out of the force.

      But still it didn’t.

      ‘I wouldn’t expect the son of the renowned Declan Macken to be knocked back so easily. Your father was all action. A war hero. But heroes see things in black and white. You think more. And no harm in that.’

      No escaping family, thought Macken. I’m following my father’s illustrious footsteps as usual.

      ‘But there’s no difficulty knowing what side we’re on, Macken. The side of order. And order comes from the law.

      ‘We all want a quiet life and the price we pay is sometimes tolerating a bit of showing off. Provided it stays within limits, we let it pass. And pass it does, and we all get back to normal. What we cannot tolerate is any challenge that could spark off something bigger. You see?’

      ‘Sir.’

      ‘Our job is to get everyone through these moments of madness. Then we all go back to normal. We steer people through, with a word, or when necessary, a crack on the head. For their own good.’

      ‘Yes, sir. It’s just that sometimes we seem to favour those not entirely deserving of our support.’

      ‘I think you can guess, Macken, how supportive I feel personally towards the likes of the Kilmurray Loyal Orange Lodge…’

      The CI pronounced the word ‘Loyal’ as though, in this case, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

      ‘But that’s the world we live in. And they won’t be your concern in future. It’s time you had a change.’

      ‘That’s just it, sir…’

      The CI cut him off: ‘We’re agreed then. Too awkward to keep you here. They’re out for your blood. You’ll fill a vacancy in Blackwatertown.’

      Macken frowned.

      ‘Nasty accident with the young lad you’re replacing,’ nodded the CI, more sombre now. ‘His weapon discharged while he was cleaning it, apparently. Shot himself in the head. Died instantly, I suppose. Small consolation to his family.’

      Macken understood the subtext. Talk of suicide was always to be avoided if possible.

      ‘This has just happened, has it, sir?’

      ‘Yes, good timing for us.’ The CI paused. ‘Sorry. What I mean is that he was of the same faith as yourself, so it gives us a reason to transfer you to fill the gap, without seeming to give in to outside pressure.’

      Macken felt deflated. They wouldn’t let him resign with good grace now.

      ‘You’ll be replacing Constable Daniel McMahon with immediate effect.’

      Macken staggered backwards, as though punched in the chest.

      ‘ Constable Daniel McMahon? ’

      ‘I’m afraid so,’ the CI shrugged, misunderstanding the reason for Macken’s shock. ‘He was a constable, and that’s what you’ll be too. I have to be seen to punish you.’

      Macken couldn’t breathe. Not Danny. Even as he reeled from shock and grief, Macken could sense the guilt growing inside him.

      ‘Don’t see it as a step down,’ the CI went on. ‘More of a new start with a clean slate. A man of your calibre will soon climb the ladder again.’

      Macken opened his mouth

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