I was seven. He was fifteen.
He had brought home a stray dog he’d picked up off the side of the road. Named him Shark, of all things.
But Shark clearly had some issues, because he barked at everyone except Sean. He wasn’t good at listening to orders and he freaked out when the clan men came and went from O’Sullivan Manor.
The wretch attacked two of Da’s underbosses before Da finally put his foot down.
“Control that fucking animal,” Da ordered. “Or the next time this happens, you’ll have to put him down yourself.”
Sean put his all into training Shark. Day and night, they were together. Sean poured through books, tried every trick he could find to tame the wildness in his companion.
But three weeks later, the same thing happened.
One of Da’s underbosses walked into the house. Shark went nuts. Came at Oisin with his teeth bared. He snagged the man by the trouser leg and was all set to go for the throat before Sean managed to pull him away.
We all thought Da was kidding when he took the rifle off the wall and handed it to Sean. Everyone knew how much Sean loved that mangy animal.
But Da wasn’t kidding.
And so Sean did what he had no choice but to do.
I’ll never forget the sound of that gunshot in the garden.
It was months before Sean seemed like himself again.
Shark’s still buried in the back yard, in a dirt pit I used to play in when I was a kid.
And the look Sean has in his eye right now? It’s the same look he had back then.
“Sean…”
“That makes eight now,” he says in a low, hollow croak.
“What?”
He looks up. His eyes are dry, his expression stagnant. But I know he’s trying to keep his shit together.
“Eight people I’ve killed,” he explains.
“You… you keep count?” I balk. “Why?”
“I can’t forget their faces,” he whispers. “None of them.”
“You did what you had to do.” I’m spewing out words that I think are the right ones to say. But I have no fucking clue, really. I’m just guessing. “And we don’t even know if you killed Padraig.”
“Her sobs… Christ, did you hear her sobbing?”
Of course.
I can’t forget that sound.
“Sean,” I urge, squeezing his shoulder, trying to get him back into the present, “let’s go home.”
“Yes,” he mumbles. “Da will be waiting for a report.”
That’s not where I was going, but I realize that we’re not gonna get away with avoiding Da when we get back to the mansion.
“I’ll come with you,” I say. “To give him the report, y’know.”