Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

Katie frowned. “You know, I’m sure this Mol-whatever was counting on him being weakened by six years of, of torture – like, come on, what else would you call it, right? And that would make him weaker so he might not win this battle he’s destined to fight.”

Celeste shook her head. “No, we have to be wrong. I mean, I can’t believe they’d expose him to something he couldn’t overcome, not after what he’s had to go through already. That would be way too cruel. But as far as that evil spirit guy goes, I think you could be right. He… it… had to have found out about Cian’s destiny to fight him, and probably figured he would either die or be too weak to fight. Makes a horrible kind of sense, really.”

Katie nodded, and then grew still, resting her chin on her knees, hands clasped at her ankles.

Sensing her friend’s need to be left alone, Celeste went to her dresser and rummaged around for a nightshirt Katie might not feel too dorky wearing. It was one thing to have cutesy cartoon animals on your own stuff when no one but you and your family would ever see it, but to wear it in front of someone else – even a best friend – or expect that friend to put it on, was so wrong.

At the bottom of the folded pile of pajamas, she found what she was looking for: a plain, light-blue button-down nightshirt that went almost to the floor. She pulled this out, slung it over her shoulder, and opened the next drawer from which she took a pair of pink satin boxers with a matching chemise. She would have given this to Katie had her friend not had an almost violent aversion to pink.

When she turned around, Katie was watching her and yawning. She tossed her the shirt. “We have guest tooth brushes.” Normally, their sleepovers were planned and Katie had her own toiletries with her. “I’ll use the bathroom first while you’re changing and leave the brush on the sink for you.”

“Uh, how many guests have used it?”

“Katie! Don’t be a dweeb! It’s in an unopened package.”

Standing up, Katie stuck her tongue out through smiling lips.

“Dittoes.”

After they had traded places in the bathroom, Celeste got out her wide-tooth comb and sat on the bed to detangle her hair. Because she wore it up most of the time, she ended up with all kinds of snarls by the time she unpinned it at the end of the day. She removed all the clips, dropping them in a dish on her nightstand, and by the time Katie came out of the bathroom, she was working on her first knot. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, reaching her waist, the part she had in her hands halfway up.

“Can I help?”

Celeste handed the comb over and scooted up further so Katie could sit behind her.

“Let me ask you something, Celeste.”

“Sure.”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay.” Katie ran the comb down the length of the strand she’d been working on. “That’s one knot down.” She did something with the comb, a sudden jerk indicating she’d found the next knot. “How do you feel about Cian?”

Celeste went still from within; seconds ticked by before she answered. “I – I really like him, Katie.”

“How much? I mean, anyone with eyes really likes him, too, if you know what I mean.”

“Like you do?”

Katie finished smoothing out the section of hair before answering. “I like him as a friend. I mean, sure, he’s gorgeous and all, and there’s definitely an element of lust going on here, but I don’t think I could date him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too… intense.”

Celeste nodded, knowing exactly what Katie meant. However...

“Doesn’t that bother you, too?” continued Katie.

“No. In fact, it’s part of why I like him.”

“Think you guys will, like, get together or anything?”

Celeste’s Irish skin was a dead giveaway – she knew that even sitting behind her, Katie could see the blush heating her face, because it always reddened her scalp, too.

“I knew it!”

“Katie!”

“Aw, come on – admit it, Celeste, you really, really like him.”

“All right! I admit it! But what if he doesn’t like me the same way? What if he finds some other girl at school and decides to go out with her instead? What if what we have to go through together makes him tired of being around me, or – or gives him more bad memories, and – ”

“Stop that, or I’ll rip this knot out with my teeth!”

Celeste was silent for about a half-second, then burst out laughing. “You’d look like a monkey!” she choked out.

Katie started laughing, too, and because it was late, and because they were absolutely exhausted, and because they were sixteen, they laughed until tears flooded out of their eyes, and Celeste accidentally snorted, making them laugh even harder.

A knock sounded on the door. “Cut it out, you two!” Eileen called.

They stopped for a split second, and then burst once more into uncontrollable guffaws.

“Celeste! I said cut it out!”

Catching her breath, but only by a major effort, Celeste called back, “Sorry, Mom!”

Katie fell backward, perhaps planning to land on the pillow, but hit the wooden headboard, nearly knocking herself out. “Ooowwww!”

“Ohmygosh! Are you okay?”

Katie sat up again, rubbing the back of her head, looked at Celeste, and the laughter started all over again.

Since her mother didn’t come in to yell at them, Celeste figured – between gasps – that she had given up and gone back to bed.

The laughter gave way to giggles, which dwindled into snuffles, and eventually to the deep, slow breathing of innocent sleep.

*******

All the lights were out except the front porch sconces on either side of the door and ambient light visible through the library window.

“Stop worrying,” said the Croghan, following Cian up the steps.

“You keep saying that, but I’m the one who’s in trouble here.” He shoved his key into the lock and opened the door. “Plus, he had to stay up because of me, and I know he won’t be happy about that, either.”

“Stop worrying.”

The man’s imperturbable confidence gave Cian a scowl. Shaking his head he entered the library.

Mr. Geller sat at one of the desks, chin resting on his palm, thrumming his fingers on the wooden surface with the other hand. When Cian had been standing at the doorway for several seconds, Mr. Geller lowered his hand and stood up. “Nine o’clock, MacDara?”

“I know, sir. I’m sorry.”

Croghan stepped around Cian and into the yellow light. “It’s my fault, Joe. Please don’t blame him.”

“Gerald Croghan? What on earth - ?” Mr. Geller came closer, then broke into a smile. “My God, it’s good to see you!”

“You, too. How have things been going? I see you’re taking good care of my house.” The men exchanged a warm handshake.

Cian was outraged. “Uh, you could have told me you knew him,” he chided the Croghan. “I was all worried about getting kicked out, and the whole time you knew it’d be all right?”

“I told you to stop worrying, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you didn’t bother to tell me why.”

“Well, now, had you been listening to my part of the story, you’d have picked up the fact that I’ve known this man for quite a while. I know I mentioned his name at least once.”

Mr. Geller chuckled. “I should have known you’d never stay out like that without a damn good reason, MacDara. What has this wild man been doing?”

“Telling stories.” Cian shrugged, hoping he hadn’t sounded like he was pouting.

“Really? Where? At that student’s house? And what was all that with Mr., um, Mr. Breslin, was it?”

“Old friend of mine, too,” said Croghan.

Joe gave a friendly snort. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

“The owner of the Pittsburgh Pirates.”

“Oh, you’re a piece of work.” Geller grinned. “MacDara, why don’t you get to bed? You’ve been vindicated.”

“Right.” Sigh. As he climbed the stairs, he felt the impact of the day begin to settle into his bones. In a way, he’d relived nearly his entire life in less than twenty-four hours.

By the time he reached the top step, his legs felt heavy. Like they’d been infused with lead. He struggled down the hall to his room. Strong emotions had made him tired before, but never to this extent. As he undressed in the dark, he tried to understand it. No good. Even thinking straight was somehow beyond him. He fell, exhausted, onto the bed, asleep before he could even pull up the covers.

And he dreamed.

The dark, ugly entrance hall of the foster home in the nowhere zone. Through the kitchen door at the end of the hallway, two people lay on the floor, their blood seeping over the acid-green linoleum, into the hall toward him.

He looked away, feeling sick, and there… a thick trickle of blood dripped and splashed down the stairs. Cian looked up. On the top step stood Dr. Lee. Blood poured from the side of his head and ear. One eye hung from its socket.

A movement from behind. Startled, he spun around to find his former foster mother sitting in an electric chair, her teeth bared in fury, hatred blazing from her eyes. Her hands, secured at the wrists by metal bands to the arms of the chair, gripped the ends of the armrests as she strained forward toward him.

“It was you!” she hissed. “They all died because of you! My Bobby Lee, those old people, the doctor, and soon, me! Why did you have to come here?!” The question had been a shriek. She stopped, inhaled a long, noisy breath that made her whole body inflate. On the breath of her exhale, she began to scream the words on the tape.

Cian froze. The diatribe continued for what felt like hours until… the part of his mind that had grown stronger over the past ten months began to fight back against her words, denying that they contained any truth. He could move again.

His hand closed over something that had materialized in it and he looked down. The ash-wood sword. “Be silent!” he bellowed in Gaelic, raising the weapon. “You have no power over me now, vile witch!”

Letitia shut her mouth, shrank back into the chair, eyes wide. Her mouth opened again, but no sound came out; instead, it got bigger and bigger until it engulfed her. The chair had disappeared, and in its place was a gigantic creature with a squat body, arms extended outward in front, a gaping mouth and eyes. From deep within this object, a voice bellowed, “Light the fires and give me your children!” A flame sprang up in the guts of it, and Cian recognized what it was.

Niall had once explained how the Wicker Man was the Celtic version of a much older means of sacrifice, but still represented the original eater of children, Moloch. The abomination before him was one of the sacrificial idols. Misguided by hideous doctrines, parents would place their screaming infants and young children in this atrocity to appease the disgusting appetite of their god.

But Moloch was no mere god. Celesta had told him that much. A major force among the creatures of the Darkness, Moloch in any incarnation represented a powerful spirit-warrior for all that was evil. This same being had sought Cian’s ancestor, pursued him at any cost across Time. At last it caught up with the man’s descendant, a child – him – and cause him as much anguish, torment and misery as he could.

“Am I not clever?” The voice sounded bigger this time. By the fourth word, the idol had grown, changed, towering over Cian. A living thing with flaming eyes, wide nostrils from which curled foul, black smoke, and an unnaturally wide mouth fitted with sharp teeth that looked like steel. “And do you, boy, honestly imagine yourself able to do battle with me?”

Cian couldn’t reply. His voice had fled once more as he stared upward, dread-filled, at this eternal creature. After all, what could he say? He was a mortal, nothing more. No powers of