Under The Willow Tree

By Ger Conlan

Blaine Hanley is jobless, broke and down on her luck when she is unceremoniously dumped off at her aunt Dee’s Irish village farm, by her imposing mother, Iris. Aunty Dee is convalescing and Blaine has to care for the farm’s occupants, which proves to be anything but ordinary especially with the brooding but gorgeous gypsy farm hand, Jay, whose own mysterious past keeps village tongues wagging. When ghostly voices draw her to an ancient Willow tree, the shocking discovery she makes there will change her and the quiet village irrevocably.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ger Conlan
• Release date: Jul 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991765638

Book preview

Under the Willow Tree

by

Ger Conlan

Cover art by Ivy Howard

Photos by Canvas

Copyright 2014 Ger Conlan

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

cover art by Ivy Howard

To my Crow, you have me body and soul.

Chapter 1

We’re a national disgrace! Iris whined as she pulled the trendy red compact brusquely into the side of the road opposite Dee’s cottage.

Literally, a national disgrace she repeated, her voice an octave higher.

The hand brake was engaged with a force that not only reflected my mother’s malcontent but also tested the automotive durability of that particular part.

There isn’t a person in Ireland who won’t be talking about her.

The diatribe, which, by the way had started at Dublin Airport exactly ninety minutes earlier (and yes I was counting), was not over despite us reaching my destination. The woman exaggerated at the best of times and was to drama what Shakespeare was to theater. That thought immediately made me feel guilty and whenever I feel guilty I see myself writing punishment lines on a blackboard, a vestige of a strict boarding school upbringing which had dished out punishment liberally in the form of lines. I will not tell my mother she overreacts. I will not tell my mother she overreacts. Lowering the window, I gazed across at the inviting cream colored bungalow with its deep brown tiled roof, quaint latticed windows and mahogany door. Mounds of flowers and plants brimmed over wooden flower boxes sitting on each windowsill.

How could she do such a thing? And in public?????

The peaceful country setting was idyllic if you didn’t count the emotional storm going down in the car. My mother’s sister, Dee had been arrested two days earlier -something to do with public misbehavior- Iris was being sketchy with the details, to say the least. So far all I could decipher was that something happened in front of a national monument in Dublin. The general consensus was that Dee had succumbed to a very bad mental episode involving loss of clothing and theatrics, which all sounded farfetched because if anyone was a rock of sense it was Dee, unlike her sister beside me. Still I kept those thoughts to myself.

We’ll never live down a scandal of this kind, Iris continued.

I just closed my eyes, mentally erased the chalked lines and inhaled the sweet smell of freshly cut grass hanging in the air. Memories transported me back to the warm bucolic days of happy care-free summers with no ultra-strict parent to watch over me, no school to go to or homework to do – only long lazy days of fun. Cherrymount Cottage had meant pure freedom to me and Aunt Dee was the sole reason holidays here felt like magic.

I’m sure people will forget what happened as soon as the next news story erupts, I offered consolingly but stopped as Iris’ brown eyes began to bulge in disbelief.

She redressed the designer scarf draped around her neck while waiting for me to come to my senses. Her blond hair was styled in a nice pixie cut which was ironic given she had the build of the quintessential Viking. Expensive clothes worked to compliment her six foot one frame and rotund shape so she appeared feminine and powerful. We were opposites in terms of...well, everything. I wore casual cheapies, was all of five two with long black hair, pale skin, blue eyes and weighed ninety five pounds soaking wet. For the millionth time in my life I guessed I must take after my father.

It was all caught on tape and put on the News! Iris balked. We’re the laughing stock of the bloody country. What’s more, Mavis Keane, the nearest thing to Irish Royalty, phoned me to say whoever filmed her shenanigans put it on Your Tube and now they say it’s a virus.

You mean it’s gone viral I corrected calmly. Anyway, it won’t last long on You Tube – they quickly remove stuff like that.

She shook her head crossly while shooing me out with an impatient flutter of her hand, I’ll be spending the rest of my life trying to explain to the world and its mother what she did. It’s bad enough already trying to explain about you failing at everything, but now Hurr! God Almighty what did I do to deserve you people!!

Ignoring that insult, I undid my safety belt, turned to my mother and said consolingly Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.

That said I hadn’t seen the video. All of this went down as I was making my way back from Boston, but I was optimistic that it was nothing to get so worked up over. Her red painted finger nails tapped loudly on the steering wheel denoting not only her disagreement with me but that the discussion was over. Time for me to leave! No goodbyes or hugs would be exchanged. Iris was not the type to welcome physical contact, even if she needed CPR.

Thanks I croaked then got out, closed the door and extracted my bulging suitcase from the trunk.

The blond head leaned out the window. Blaine Hanley, my name held the usual quantity of exasperation, try not to make a mess of this. I’ve bloody well enough on my plate as it is.

I wheeled my suitcase to the driver side door, given that I know nothing about farming…. I exclaimed for the umpteenth time, chances are things may go wrong!

They had bloody well better not! You’re only shovelling muck after all.

….Dee will be back home really soon anyway. Right? I tried not to gulp. Iris looked at me like I just sprouted another head.Right? I repeated just in case she hadn’t heard the first note of panic.

Thick as a plank- you haven’t a bloody clue! she scoffed.

In one way she was right. I was caught up in the upheaval of having to quit my beloved Boston and probably wasn’t up to speed on the goings on of Dee’s life. In fact my current situation could be compared to a game of Snakes & Ladders and I had just landed at the bottom of the largest snake. Having to work on Dee’s farm ranked up there for bad ideas like getting a tattoo of your boyfriend’s name, especially when that boyfriend turned out to be a two-timing bastard. My hand automatically reached to the inky swirls that were now an embarrassment.

Where’s Dee now? I wondered aloud.

Iris’ lips pressed tightly together as if to hold back what she wanted to say, but her explosive nature won over.

Locked-up in a holding cell at St-Camilla’s but don’t you dare think of going there!! And take your hand off your arse. You look bloody ridiculous!!!

Iris drove off speeding down the deserted rural road as if trying to escape being seen in a shameful place. Dee was in a psychiatric hospital? That didn’t make any sense. Dee was rock solid, no nonsense, salt-of-the-earth type. How had she ended up in a psych ward? With a thousand questions racing through my mind, I picked up the now dusty luggage which contained my life’s possessions, crossed the road and pulled it onto the short paved driveway which leads onto a narrow garden path. As I walked along a sudden sensation of something creeping slowly around my shoulders made my eyes dart to the left but nobody was there.

"Awaken."

I jolted backwards. My head jerked in all directions looking for whoever spoke, but there wasn’t a soul around. Whatever it was, it had Goosebumps spreading across my body. Putting it down to serious jet lag, Iris-related stress and boyfriend-dumped-me syndrome, I turned instead to the exquisite flowers splashing vibrant colors onto the landscape.

Everything flora seemed to flourish unnaturally so, as if tended to by some unseen expert gardener. I intended on providing no care whatsoever to ensure its continued success. A blue-winged butterfly landed gently on my hand for a fleeting moment before taking flight again. An orange Marigold became its next port of call and I couldn’t help but smile at the beauty around me. The place still held a fairy tale appeal with its enchanting, and cozy feel to it. A twinge of regret at how things ended between myself and Dee passed through my heart, but I didn’t dwell on it, instead I headed towards the side of the house because anybody who has ever been to Cherrymount Cottage knows the real way in is through the kitchen door at the back.

I had just placed my hand on the handle of the back door when that weird presence came over me again. "Unite....." the ghostly wind whispered. I stopped and took in my surroundings but saw only high coniferous hedges flanked the rich green fields surrounding the quaint rural cottage. A low white post fence formed a haphazard looking barrier to the fields’ occupants – about six black and white cows. The sun had turned up the thermostat providing warmth that would make most of the population beach-bound, but it felt cooler to me compared to the Boston heat. On the return journey, the captain of the plane announced higher than normal temperatures in Ireland, which was not bad for early June. I was happy to hear that because psychologically, I wasn’t ready for endless rain.

Something in the distance caught my eye. A sloped field, one beyond what was directly in front of the cottage triggering a memory. Of course!!!! How could I have forgotten Cherrymount hill, … and that hedge....no not a hedge.... it was a tree...a tree…yes..a tree I used to spend hours playing on alone up there.!!!! It had been endless fun...…God I loved that place. A powerful urge to suddenly go there made me abandon my suitcase and climb over the white post fence.

Whatever that presence was, it seemed to feel happier now. Having dodged some rather large and malodorous cow pats, I reached the far end of the field disturbing all six cows huddled together under the coniferous canopy. They stood up lazily then reluctantly moved away as I approached the tall brown steel gate leading to the second field - Cherrymount Hill. Once I climbed onto that bottom rung and got an unobstructed view, a wide smile broke across my face at the sight of long grass speckled with thousands of wild flowers. Inhaling deeply, I let the intoxicating scent of cow-slips, butter-cups, clover and lavender flow through me, triggering an instantaneous peaceful feeling. A deep yearning for the joy I had once known fifteen years earlier had me climbing eagerly onto the second bar of the gate when the whispering wind spoke, "Claim it." I was scared beyond all reason but couldn’t stop myself.

You made it back to us child! The voice not only made me jump with the fight but immediately halted my clamber.

I whipped around to find a stooped, elderly man holding grains in a small tin bucket. He was dressed in a shabby black jacket with a black pant tucked inside worn wellies. Deep creases were chiselled into a kind face with warm blue eyes. A grey woollen cap sat at an angle on his head giving him a somewhat impish look, almost as if he was permanently mischievous. I climbed off the gate feeling like I was just caught trespassing.

I knew we’d be seenya ‘round heyah agin someday he said with a strong local lilt.

Severely misshapen arthritic hands extended out toward me. I responded in kind until our hands touched.

Told Dee many’s a time too, he continued. Arrah faith ‘n she never beleevt me.

I bit my bottom lip in guilt at the mention of my estrangement from Dee but quickly erased it from my mind. No more going down that particular emotional avenue.

Patsy? I asked surprised that the name came to mind. Yet I knew the second I said his name that it was him.

Ya remembur me gersha!

For reasons beyond my comprehension my throat tightened and my eyes brimmed up.

I do! Yes.

Patsy was a settled traveller in his late seventies, at the very least. His family lived on Dee’s land in an ancient cottage down the road. From what I remembered, he would go off for undetermined periods at a time. Where he went or what he did, I never knew. His wife Beth was a kind but strict woman, who had kept her three children in check. She loved them deeply but fought to keep them cleaner, more sharply dressed and better behaved than the other local kids as a way to keep the prejudice against them to a minimum.

Travellers certainly did not have it easy, settled or otherwise. Intolerance and injustice was still rampant toward them and their secretive traditions. The centuries old way of life where freedom to choose random fields as temporary halting sites, amongst other things, was now illegal. I had read somewhere that the State mandated halting sites they were forced to live in, were, for the most part woefully inadequate. Besides overcrowding, refuse and waste disposal issues, people in general didn’t want traveller sites near their homes. Confrontations occurred regularly and while the older members kept to a semi-nomadic lifestyle many young travellers settled. Because of this, the old ways and culture were slowly being killed off.

’N look ah ya! he continued. Blossomin inta a lovely gersha. Same luvly black locks ‘n blue eyes andja never lost tha dimples…….the gassun is gone from ya tha’s for shure. Dee’ll be happy ta see tha’ luvly smile of yours. Have ya been tah see her yet?

I bit my lip again. Ahm…..I just flew in this morning...Iris….brought me here from the airport.

’N faith ya must be half dead afteh such a long journey. Go on ‘n get some sleep child. Ya have all tha time in tha world afore ya.

Being an insomniac, sleep and I had a strange relationship. I had to follow a strict routine just to ensure I got two to three hours a day or night. As if reading my thoughts he said ya were too wee ta rememba, but I held ya in me arms manys a night ‘n sang ya ta sleep. Dee’d give ouhto meh ‘n say I spoiled ya too much, arrah I’d say, wha’else are songs for.

I remember now I gasped recalling the gentle rocking of the chair and soft melodies sung in a different language. I loved those songs……but sometimes you were away and then I couldn’t sleep. One time I didn’t see you for the whole summer and missed you terribly. For some reason I immediately regretted saying this as it seemed to have hurt him. I can’t even really explain why it came out, but I cringed inwardly as a sad look crossed his face. His mind seemed to have gone back to a different place and time but after a moment he nodded silently then spoke softly. Ya’re righ child. I wasn’t always ‘round – more’s tha pity.

I was just about to pour out a litany of apologies when the impish smile returned, well I’m nevur far off deese days, so if you’re needin anythin let me know. Now he said patting a jacket pocket absent-mindedly, let’s getja settl’d in.

Patsy escorted me back to the kitchen door, opened it and placed my discarded bag on the floor then left with a make yourself at home child.

***

Guest list

Big Sally

Benny and the Hens

Mat and Nat

Gen

Brennus

Nula and the girls

There’s really nothing complicated to do just look after their needs. Remember Nula is pregnant (that’s Brennus’ doing) so you’ll need help with that. As a show of solidarity to Nula, the girls are very upset with him since the incident so make sure they don’t cross each other. Watch out for Brennus, he’s been grumpy lately but he’ll be fine once he gets his goodies on Saturday the 20th. Mat and Nat are a couple so try to be understanding. Gen is like a ghost, appears out of nowhere, only to disappear as quickly – leave him off; he’s temperamental but harmless. Benny and the Hens are a blessing –they never cease to entertain.

Everything on this farm grows from love, be sure to add your own, water as needed and it will be returned to you.

Love

Dee

A guest list! Pregnancy, goodies! Who was Dee talking about? What is this place? A hotel! Feeling confused I discarded the note on the aging coffee table. Poor Aunty Dee, she must not have been well to write this baloney. I’d have to check with Patsy maybe he knew more than Iris. If Dee’s faculties were affected, it certainly didn’t show inside the pristine cottage. The place had hardly changed over the years. The oversized armchair still sat next to the old stone fireplace although its dark brown leather had faded, creased and cracked with age. The matching love seat which sat to the right was in similar condition. Even the elaborately patterned rug covering the dark wooden floor had fallen victim to the march of time. Years of fireside evenings had caused small scorch spots to form near the fringed edges and I guessed the coffee table legs were hiding more of those as it was positioned at an angle which didn’t fit with the symmetry of the surrounding objects. The grey surface of the granite hearth was blackened in the center, a testimony to its frequent use. When that fire was lit, I remembered how the room seemed to glow, creating feelings of warmth, security, and more than anything…happiness because I was with Dee.

Can’t do this, I mouthed as a rush of heated panic swept over me.

The words chalked themselves on the blackboard ‘I must not run away. I must not run away’. But I really did want to run away. The voice of reason asked - but where to? Not to Iris’ that’s for sure and Alex’s place would be fine for a week or two but anything longer would just be an intrusion on his couple-hood. The truth of the matter was choices were a luxury I no longer had. With what measly amount of money was sitting in my bank account, I was going to have to tough this out until I could find a regular job and get back on my feet. The room continued to swaddle me in Dee’s loving presence. Her phantom embrace stung my heart and the pain of separation from her love resurfaced again.

Nope!! I said with finality, I cannot be here, no matter how broke I am!!

With a shaky hand I quickly fumbled in my handbag, found the mobile phone and pressed one to speed dial my anchor in life and the one person who would take me away from this monumental mistake. My Puma pump tapped in rhythmic impatience while the dial tone rang...then rang some more before going to voice mail. Although I was disappointed with having to leave a message I couldn’t help but smile as the recording played.

Hello. It’s the vicar – leave a message if you’re not sexually frustrated

Alex, Iris has dragged me to Dee’s… can you come pick me up…fast …please....I’m....agggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

The phone crashed on the floor but I did not see the extent of the damage; my eyes were riveted on the hooded figure standing across the room. He had emerged from somewhere within the cottage. The tall broad stature appeared menacing as most of his face and head were obscured by the hood of his cotton sweater. Feeling immediately threatened I grabbed an empty vase from the sideboard wishing it was my bottle of mace, but that was in my apartment – far, far away.

Who are you?????!!!! I cried, my voice trembling with fear. Adrenalin had my breaths coming in short gasps as I imagined him attacking at any second. What do you want???

He removed his hood revealing fetching green eyes, which were wide open in surprise, a smooth tanned face was framed with glistening neck-length, wavy black hair. Eyeing me warily, he raised a hand motioning to the tote bag in his hand.

Ahm...just this?

His deep voice was gentle, smooth even and he was making no move to come closer. I began to feel a tad braver.

What are you doing here? I demanded croakily.

His eyebrows met in confusion.

Ahm...again…for this.

He motioned to the object in his hand.

What is it?

I believe ‘tis called a bag.

The accent was distinctly local with its soft lilt and slight elongation of certain syllables, so bag sounded as baag.

Well I can see that, but what are you doing with it?

ahm…holding it?

I gritted my teeth in frustration then stopped as I was behaving like Iris, what’s in it?

A quick smile crossed his face, me schtuff.

You mean Dee’s things.

Sure wha’would I want with Dee’s things? She’s a woman!!! This is my schtuff.

I’m sure it is I scoffed accusingly.

A look of disdain crossed his face as a deep frown furrowed his brows.

Arrah think whatever you want

Just drop it and get out of here or I’ll call the police.

The police? he jeered, you’re not local are ya?

Before I could answer he wagged a finger. Wouldja be Dee’s niece now?

I huffed indignantly at him recognizing me. That’s none of your business. After a moment’s consideration I asked quizzically how do you know that?

Worked here for years – seen the photas. He paused momentarily before adding and you’d better put down that vase – its Dee’s favorite. My gift to her; she’d be really mad if it broke.

I could feel my face turn beet red as a sense of foolishness crept through me. I must not falsely accuse people. I must not falsely accuse people. I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, right then I conceded replacing the vase carefully well....I didn’t.... know.

Before I could say another word he walked silently out the kitchen door. I whipped around to the window watching as he disappeared through an arched hedge at the right of the house. His hands were empty. Curiosity got the better of me and I rushed over to view the bag’s contents. All clothes, men’s clothes at that. There were a couple of shirts, jumpers, socks and boxers, but nothing belonging to Dee. Feeling terribly stupid for overreacting, I closed over the zip, looked across at the guest list on the coffee table and sighed deeply. Damn it Dee, why couldn’t you just be here?

I gathered up the pieces of my mobile phone feeling all contact with the outside world had just been lost. The only numbers I could remember was Alex and my legal aid lawyer. The former I called several times a day and the latter was ingrained for survival purposes. I would have to call them both later with Dee’s land line number. Iris’ warning to not mess things up bellowed through my mind. This was not a good start.

My suitcase was unpacked in no time. What little personal effects I had were placed in the rosewood dresser in one of the two spare rooms. I would have asked my friend and room-mate Bernice to post a few boxes of my stuff from our diminutive Fenway apartment but the restraining order prevented me from contacting her. Looks like I would just have to kiss my worldly possessions goodbye because Uncle Sam wouldn’t be allowing me back into his U.S. of A for a while and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again anyway. No! That wasn’t true. I’d take back the best three years of my life in a heartbeat - excluding the last two months of course which were craptastic.

Donning a pair of jeans, a tee-shirt and my favourite hooded Gap sweater I went on a mission of peace to re-introduce myself to the wrongly accused – sort of start anew. I treaded carefully around muddy puddles while passing though the arched hedge to the right of the cottage and found myself in the main cobblestone yard. It was reorganized a little differently now, more open for one and the resident bull had been placed further off in an adjacent field. He stood stoically looking out at the surrounding greenery, appearing exactly like the bull from my childhood, regal almost, if that was possible. Still that would make him old...quite old. How long did bulls live anyway?

With bovine longevity on my mind, I made my way along passing several hens clucking their protests at my presence before scattering away to another area. The high red roof of the barn held no more than thirty bales of hay, significantly fewer than I remembered, but then again it was normal for this time of year. The grass swaying in the surrounding meadows would be cut in late July to make hundreds of bails to store as fodder for the winter and the barn would be filled to capacity once again perpetuating the continuous cycle of nature.

Right beside the barn stood the milking shed; there was no door only a wide opening at opposite ends. A dog sat attentively at the entrance offering me a disinterested glance as I walked past. Three concrete stalls on either side of a large walkway stood exactly as they had been. In a time when there was no such thing as video games and twenty-four hour cartoon channels vivid imaginations sent myself and five of the local kids – my brothers and sisters in a way – on trips to the Wild West where cowboys and Indians battled it out. Various roles were strategically doled out and tactical positions were assumed on sturdy steeds even if they were really only the walls sectioning the stalls for the cows. We all died a bloody but glorious death for our respective causes. Good, innocent times.

My reverie was interrupted at the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite end of the shed. A dog - the clone of the one sitting to my left – sat alertly and was quickly followed by the wrongly accused. Seeing me, the man stopped suddenly in his tracks, his eyes wary. He appeared to be waiting, evaluating if more accusations would be hurled at him.

Hi...it’s me again..... I chirped as a sort of peace offering.

He didn’t acknowledge me, but slowly pushed the wheel barrow forward, stopped at the first stall, spiked some hay with a pitchfork and began filling the trough in preparation for the next milking.

Have you worked here long? I asked with a big smile plastered on my face. I was going for sensible-young-woman not vase-wielding Harpy lunatic. I was a normal person. Well, normal on the outside at least, inside I was a confused, jobless, jilted girl who had just, reluctantly, changed continents. But nobody needed to see that.

He stopped, leaned both hands on the pitch fork and stared at me for a long, uncomfortable time. Obviously he was never told it was rude to stare. His lips were set in a thin line, his frown deep. Even though he was angry he was also undeniably handsome. Through the black t-shirt, his broad shoulders and bulging muscles were distracting to say the least - must be all the farm work. I wondered if I would develop biceps too. Not like those women body-builders, but just unsightly developed muscles. He uttered only one word - Why?

Why, what? I asked momentarily losing my train of thought.

He rolled his striking eyes impatiently and I felt maybe Iris was justified in being so cross with me. I must not aggravate people. I must not aggravate people. Moving the pitchfork to one hand, he leaned heavily on it and asked, why do you want to know how long I’ve worked here?

It sounded like he was trying to enlighten someone particularly slow. I would have explained that my questions were a warped way of apologizing for behaving so rudely earlier, but in light of his standoffish attitude the apology never came. My name is Blaine, I smiled while offering to shake hands. I’m here to help out for a while until Aunty Dee is better.

He gaped at the expertly applied sky blue gel varnish – a going away gift from Happy Hahn’s nail salon -but did not take my hand. Instead his head shook in dismay before he went back to spearing hay. I glared at him feeling indignant and embarrassed. He was making such a big deal out of nothing. Walking away would be my usual reaction in a conflict situation but in light of my recent experience with Boston’s judicial system a sense of maturity had emerged. Much, I had learned, could be achieved through dialogue. Look, I’m really sorry I was so rude earlier but I was quite scared...and when I feel ...

Go home young wan.... he interrupted gruffly ya’ve no desire to be here and we’ve no need of yer kind. His words stung.

My kind? The sense of maturity was quickly dwindling to a cow pat level. I repeated incredulously, my kind??

Ye didn’t come here willingly. ‘Tis not yer place.

Not my place? I parroted unable to construct a complete phrase. My inner voice was yelling for me to run away –now! But I had to try and explain ….Dee’s my aunt…and …and…..that’s family… that’s blood….

He moved forward to fill another trough.Blood ya say? Before I could answer he continued must be the watery kind at the rate she sees ya.

My mouth opened and closed in shock but I managed to blurt well....it still prioritizes employees.

He walked away as suddenly as he appeared and I was once again left feeling gobsmacked and terrible for having over-reacted. This was not the way I normally behaved. The man just pressed all the wrong buttons, buttons I didn’t even know I had! Avoiding him was a must from here on out or I might end up incarcerated again.

There was no sign of Patsy for the rest of the day and into the evening, so after eating a quick sandwich for supper I wandered down into the yard. The place was deserted. No hens clucked noisily about and the cows must have been hiding out. Only the massive bull stood stoically in his enclosed field. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to get a closer look. Could it be the same animal from years ago? I didn’t remember any distinguishing features on the other bull, so this was a complete waste of time, but it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Noticing a door open on the far right of the barn building, I made my way over, curious to discover all the nooks and crannies of the place. Peering around the thick wooden door, I found myself in a sparse but neatly arranged bedroom. The small bed sat directly under a low narrow window, a wooden stool served as a night stand complete with an aging lamp and tattered books. On an iron railing to my right hung clean, neatly pressed clothes while to my left was a tiled alcove that housed a washroom and shower. Dogs barked not too far off, followed by a sharp whistle. I dashed out, ran around the side of the building