Orchid Child by Victoria Costello Book Excerpt

Book Excerpt – ORCHID CHILD by Victoria Costello

Chapter 3

Teague is retracing his steps through Old Town Square when he catches the sounds blowing past him in the breeze. Words, parts of sentences. Voices without people. Of course, that’s not so strange for him but he’s never heard these voices before, and, as far as he can tell, they not talking to him or about him. Which is kind of a relief.

Traitor . . .
I’m the same as you.

On your knees . . .

He stops next to the statue in the center of the square and does a 360- degree turn. The old lunatic asylum is straight ahead. Main Street runs parallel to his right. St. Brendan’s is to the left. Maybe that’s where the voices are coming from. Except the church steps are empty and the doors are closed.

You’ve got the wrong man.
Then give me his name.
When he walks back to the rock wall surrounding the church, more words join up to make whole

sentences.

Not my boy. Leave him be.
Nooooooo. Mother of God, tell me it’s not so!
He’s pretty sure these voices belong to dead people. Maybe they’re talking to each other. Nah, it’s

more like they’re trying to get somebody’s attention.

Do you have anything I can feed my wee ones? Off to the workhouse with you.
Take them, please, I won’t make it there. Mam!

A lady carrying a shopping bag in each hand walks by and gives him a friendly smile. Oblivious. Did she really not hear that?

Teague leans against the rock wall and pops a fresh stick of gum in his mouth. Maybe people around here are sick of hearing these voices—the way he feels about Ivan and Larry—so they ignore them, which pisses off the dead people and they talk louder, and to strangers. He gets ten paces away from the wall and the chatter dies down. He backs up and touches a rock and it’s like his finger is stuck in an electric outlet. So many voices he can’t tell them apart.

He backs off from the wall and makes for Main Street. A block away, the voices fade back into the wind and his breathing slows down until it’s normal again. The sidewalk is packed with shoppers, kids out in packs, deliverymen double-parked. He could be walking down Main Street in Rivervale, except for how old everything is here. His stomach has started making hungry noises. Maybe he’ll his skip three o’clock group. “Don’t worry, Ryan will help you fit in,” Kate said this morning when he complained about having to go. She can be so clueless. He spots a juice bar and buys a banana smoothie. He’s slurping it, checking out a video store window, when he remembers what Ryan said about souls hanging around the ruins of houses. Maybe it’s the same with the rock wall. Then, it’s like his thought turned on a switch. The voices start up again. He’s curious, so he doesn’t try to shut them down. He takes a deep breath and catches glimpses of old timey people and connects them to the voices he’s hearing.

Run, lads, run.
I’m hit. Leave me. Go!
Whoa, there’s some seriously bad stuff going on in the square . . . A column of British soldiers

busting down the doors of St. Brendan’s . . . they drag out a bunch of rebels, line them up against the rock wall, and shoot point blank. Now they’re setting fire to the houses and stores . . . Holy shit. People are running into the street and getting shot at.

It feels like he’s there with them. Or they’re here. He can’t tell the difference. Teague holds his breath and the pictures freeze. Leaving him stuck in some kind of void where it’s dark with no sound except the blood swishing through his veins, his heart pounding, echoing off his skull. Come on brain. Wake up! He hits his forehead with the palm of his hand. Nothing. He does it again. Ow, damn it. Once more, harder, and finally, some light and sound seep in. Hand-held video cameras, Xbox, E.T. on a bike; the video store window display slowly comes back into focus. A bus pulls up behind him. He whips around, dizzy, and makes out a woman in a headscarf staring at him. He goes into the video store to get away from her and think.

Some quick laps around the store’s two aisles calm him down. He’s got the four-disc boxed set of Lord of the Rings in his hands when he gets an idea. What if the rocks in the wall held on to the voices and pictures of what happened here the same way silicon chips store data? Silicon comes from quartz crystals and, duh, quartz is a rock. His arms and legs vibrate. The voices stayed around all this time, waiting for someone to tune in at the right frequency. Someone like him. But why?

Teague returns the boxed set to the rack and heads back to the square where two old men are playing chess at a stone table. He sits on a bench across from them and waits for his thoughts to settle down. The pair have finished one game and started another before an answer jells in his head. The ones who died in the massacre won’t leave the square because they want witnesses to what happened to them here. Even now. It could be a quantum thing. Like, unless people pay attention, they never existed, and their suffering was for nothing.

Or maybe he’s just thinking crazy shit. He’s still sorting it out when St. Brendan’s bell peals three times. Damn. He’s late for group.

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