To Call for Hands of Above Ch. 02: Time and Ink of a Ghost

Pronunciation notes:
Cearbhall; key-AHR-voll
Sylwia Gwozdek; SILL-vee-ah/guh-VOHZ-dekk
Brzezicki; burr-zeh-ZEE-key
zjawa; zyah-vah

Snag braced herself for the inevitable, standing as inoffensive as she was capable before her supervisor. Martina, with crow-footed eyes, glared at her, the corners of her mouth tightened in a thin-lipped grimace. She was not happy. But then, she was rarely happy when dealing with Snag.

"Well?" she said, her voice icy, "where are those reports I asked for?"

Dutifully, Snag cast her eyes downwards, her gaze hovering somewhere around Martina's sensible shoes. "I am sorry, Martina, but I left them at my home this morning. I only realised when I walked in a moment ago."

Martina's face tightened even more. "Again? Are you having a laugh? I needed those files today, I specifically asked you for them today. I even said not to forget them. What do I have to do, keep you on surveillance?"

"No, Martina, that will not be necessary. It will not happy again, I promise you."

"You said that last time, and yet here we are again."

Snag didn't respond because she was aware of how true this was. She had been working in the law practice for close to a year now, but she still kept making the same little blunders. But it didn't matter.

"Sometimes," Martina went on, "I wonder if you don't do this on purpose so I'll give you less work. Is that what's going on here?"

"No, Martina. I promise there's nothing of the sort going on. I simply made a mistake."

"Making mistakes is one thing, but the same mistake again and again? Maybe you need to have your head looked at."

"Maybe you're right about that," Snag said, eyes still downcast, injecting a smidgeon of mirth into her tone.

"Oh, don't try to be smart, Snag," Martina snapped at her.

Snag aborted the smile that began to form, returning to her impassive visage. She didn't know why she had tried to make a joke. It had never appeased Martina before. She didn't seem to like jokes. At least, she didn't like jokes from her. But it didn't matter.

"Look at me, girl," Martina commanded.

Frowning internally, Snag lifted her gaze. She was slightly confused. Martina was usually finished by now. By this point, she would sigh angrily and dismiss her. Maybe she was feeling particularly belligerent today. That's fine, Snag thought. She can't go on for much longer now. She would have to run out of steam at some point.

"Do you think I'm playing games with you, Snag?"

"No, Martina."

"Do you think we're playing games?" She gestured with a brusque wave of the hand to the rest of the office, who listened in silent tension.

"No, Martina."

"Do you even know why I'm saying this to you?"

"Because of the case files I forgot to bring for you."

"Because of the case files. Because the online copies of the case files were corrupted by some half-life prick hacking into out websites and fucking around with all our data. Now we have to start all over again with the hard copies. The hard copies that I told you to bring in today, only you mustn't have been paying attention because you don't bloody well have them!"

"Yes, Martina."

"Yes, Martina," she mimicked, a mincing, nasal parody of Snag's voice.

Snag did not respond. Martina did not like her, that much she knew. That much was obvious. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter because she wasn't here. All of the ranting and abuse, she took all of it because the girl that Martina ranted at was only a body. Only a shell that the real Snag inhabited some of the time. The real Snag hid in the back of her mind, aware of all that assailed the body, but unaffected by it. A luminous body observing all around it, objectional, untouchable.

"What is that noise for?" came the stern voice that pulled Snag back into her body. That soft voice that still always seemed able to fill a room. Cearbhall stood in the doorway, his face lined and quietly ferocious.

"Boss!... Cearbhall," Martina said, suddenly hushed.

"Martina. Suppose it would be you. You harrassing the apprentice again?"

"It's hardly harrassment to do your job, is it? You told to 'look after' the girl, I'm just doing what you told me."

The tall man flicked his eyes towards Snag for a split-second, in which she became powerfully aware of how she looked; her plain white blouse, with three buttons popped; a sensible skirt, reaching just above the knees; dark grey leggings, indigo heels; her hair tied and braided on one side; her make-up sparse and modest.

She eyed him as he continued to argue with Martina, never raising his voice, his body rigid. The full head of wavy, grey hair like stainless steel and swept up off his forehead. The strong, hard lines on his face, the hazel eyes that sometimes looked golden in certain lights. The wide shoulders, the long, coarse-haired arms and big, strong hands. He wore a dark navy suit, old-style with wide lapels. Snag knew and remembered. Under the jacket, unbutton the shirt and beneath was a strong chest and a firm stomach, and below, tracing down his body -

"Gwozdek," he said.

She blinked from her daydream and gazed up at her boss, craning her neck upwards.

"Martina is right, we do need those documents, however she chooses to get her point across. I want you to go home and bring the papers back. Understand?"

"...Yes, Mr. O'Connor. Right away."

Cearbhall nodded his head in his normal brusque manner, but his eyes lingered on hers for a moment. Snag noticed that. Then he returned to his private office, shutting the door behind him. Snag stood where she was for a moment. Martina was no longer glaring at her, but down and straight ahead, her scowl meted out on an unfortunate waste paper basket. Not moving her head, she cast Snag a look from the corner of her eye.

"Go on if you're going then." Martina then turned her back on Snag, facing her desk and opening up her laptop. Her back looked like a granite wall, dressed as she was in her grey blazer.

Snag collected her things and left the office.

***

The rest of the day was nothing special. Before anyone noticed (but still none too soon) the outside lights dimmed and it was time to shuffle on home. Just as she rose to leave, Snag's phone rang. With an ingrained motion, she produced the mobile from her purse. 'Mama' emblazoned itself across the flat, compact screen. She braced herself.

"Hello, Mama," she answered, in Polish.

"Sylwia, love, is that you?"

"Yes, Mama, it's me."

"Oh good. I was worried I'd got another wrong number."

"Another wrong- Never mind, how are you, Mama?"

"Me? Oh, I'm good. You're finished work about this time, yes?"

"Yes. Right now, in fact."

"Excellent. I'll be coming over then."

"What?!"

"Yes, yes, it's been such a long while since I've seen you, I want to see how your doing. You're still living in that dreadful apartment down near Sandyford, I take it?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Excellent. I'll see you over there."

"Mama, wait!"

"... For what? Don't you want me to come over?"

"I - uh - I mean, of course I like you to visit, but - uuh, maybe some other time?"

"Some other time? When? And why?"

"Oh, nothing really, I just - have an appointment tonight."

"What sort of appointment?" Snag grimaced minutely. She could almost see the look on her mother's face.

"Nothing major. I'm just meeting a friend."

"A man?"

And there it was. "Yes, Mama, a man."

"Who is he? What is his name?"

"His name is - Connor. You wouldn't know him, Mama. He's just a friend from my law course."

"Just a friend, or-?"

"Yes, Mama, just a friend. We're not going out, we're only meeting up to catch up."

"Will you be drinking?"

"We'll have a few drinks, yes. You know I'm sensible with that sort of thing."

"... I know." A long minute passed in silence. "You know I do worry, don't you, Sylwia."

"Yes, Mama, I know."

"All I ask is that you be careful. You're such a beautiful little thing, it would ruin your poor mother if anything... happened."

"...I know, Mama." Another long minute.

"Well, anyway," Snag's mother picked up, "when exactly is this appointment?"

"Around 7 tonight."

"Ah, perfect. I'm dropping in, anyway, you'll make it with plenty of time. I'll see you soon."

"Eh? So you're still coming over?"

"Of course, treasure. What sort of mother doesn't go to see her daughter every now and then?"

Snag wanted to point out all that was wrong with that sentence, but didn't have the energy for it. She felt quite drained. "Okay, I'll see you soon," she resigned. Her mother said goodbye and hung up the phone. After taking a deep breath, Snag shoved the phone into her bag and sped out of the office, almost tripping over her own feet. If she wanted to get home before her mother did, she would have to hurry. The nearest tram station was a ten-minute walk away, then the tram itself would take twenty minutes. She had no idea how close her mother was to her apartment when she made that call. For all she knew, she could have been standing right in front of the door. That would be just like her. Snag had no choice but to hope she would get there first.

***

Almost leaping off the tram, Snag gave a silent cry of victory upon reaching her apartment and seeing no-one waiting in front of it. But then when she tried to unlock the door, she found it still locked. Dread wallowing inside her, she turned the key again and unlocked it this time. The door had already been open before she got there. She stalked inside and of course she found her there, hanging up laundry on the balcony.

"Welcome home, love."

"How do you do these things?!"

"Hm? Oh! Yeah, do you remember when you bought this place with my help? I decided I'd keep an extra key, just in case of emergency."

"Getting here before me is not an emergency," Snag complained, but pulled out a chair from the small rectangular table.

Having finished putting up the laundry, Snag's mother ducked in through the sliding door and stood, looking quite pleased with herself. "Have you eaten?" she asked her daughter, her supported her face with a half-closed fist, elbow on the table.

"I'm going to eat out later tonight."

"That's hours away. Tiny thing you are, you'll starve," she said, already in the kitchen area.

"I'm not going to starve, Mama, please don't cook me anything," Snag protested half-heartedly, not expecting to have any effect. She didn't. Her mother always took every oppurtunity to feed her. She really wished she didn't.

The apartment was not a big place, just barely enough for one person, living alone. There two main rooms: a single bedroom, and a living area with an adjoining kitchenette. The smell of fried food threatened to overtake the room, if not for the open window adjacent the cooker. The room itself was in danger of tipping over into shabbiness. Snag ignored the pointed glances her mother cast at the unwashed dished in the sink, the clothes left hanging on the back of chairs, the dust in general. In front of her daughter she set down a plate of fried kielbasa sausage and a wholewheat roll, with knife and fork at the side. Snag knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she ate, so she suppressed a sigh and started on the meal.

Snag's filled the kettle with water from the tap, then finally sat down as she left it to boil. "So," she said, "how are things with you?"

"They're fine," Snag replied, focusing on her food.

"Just fine? What about that firm that you've been working in?"

"It's okay. They're looking after me."

"Define 'looking after you'."

"They have one their most experienced people guiding me. She points out where I go wrong and helps me put things right."

"Uh-huh. What about the boss? I hear he's an older fellow. You know how those office codgers are like with the pretty young interns."

Snag grinned to herself. "Mr. O'Connor isn't like that, Mama. He's much too...honourable."

"Hm? Honourable? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. It's sort of like, he would see it as disgraceful to behave in that way."

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Just guessing." Snag felt her mother's eyes on her. She was careful not to give anything away.

At last, Snag's mother sniffed and agreed. "Perhaps you're right."

Glancing up, Snag saw the odd expression on her mother's face, frowning into space. She gulped down a bite of kielbasa and dared to make words come out. "Why don't you tell me if I'm right?"

Her mother spun her head to face Snag. "What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean, weren't you the one to recommend me to Mr. O'Connor. I assumed you knew him previously."

"...I don't know him personally. I never have. He was more of - a friend of a friend."

Snag knew who they were talking about. "Mr. Tornit." Yet another long minute of silence passed. "Who is he? How do you know him, I mean?"

Eyes downcast, Snag's mother fidgeted with the knuckles of her fingers. "Does it really matter? Is it not enough to have his reference? He's a very powerful figure in the legal world, you know. You're almost guaranteed a place in a firm with his name on your resumé. Isn't that enough?"

Snag tried to think of a response. But she was tired, and didn't feel like being here anymore. She felt herself detach from her frame, and drift somewhere around the ceiling. The body that sat in the chair was a zjawa, a phantom. Through its ears, she heard her mother speak. "He was a friend of your father's, you see," she said almost to herself. "That was a long time ago, you see. Before your poor tata passed away. If only you could have met him then, love. You would have adored him, just like me." Through the zjawa's ears, Snag listened, but it did not register any emotion. She was somewhere else and didn't care.

***

Her mother left soon after. The zjawa went through the motions for her, kissing and waving her goodbye. Smiling for her mama. Going through the motions. It then returned to her apartment and sat impassive at the table again, while Snag continued to float about, not yet ready to come back into herself. To slip back into the shell seemed such a chore. Then she remembered Cearbhall and it became easier.

She took a shower first, shedding off her daytime appearance; the skin she had to wear in work, professional, austere. Dried and her daytime uniform abandoned to the wash, she took her time to choose her outfit, her underwear, her hair and makeup. Around an hour later, she walked out of her door wearing a deep maroon blazer, a white blouse and matching knee-length skirt. The nicest clothes she owned. Her hair tied at the side in looping braids, with full red lipstick, dark eyeliner and a subtle perfume. Before she left, she fished a box of birth control pills from her medicine cabinet. She popped one of the pills from the foil pallette inside and gulped it down with a swig of tap water. She spared herself one last look in the mirror, and quite suddenly broke into a wide smile. The time was 7:40. She turned many heads on the tram.

She reached the hotel at 8:01. It was a beautiful hotel, probably the best in Dublin, maybe in all of Ireland. At the front desk, she asked for the reservation under the name "O'Connor", to which she was kindly directed by the young receptionist to the second floor elevators. She thanked, took the key card and ascended to the room. After casting wary glances left and right down the corridor, she unlocked the door, and there he was, sure as anything, waiting for her.

"Did you get my text?" Cearbhall said, as she shut the door behind her.

"Did you text me?"

"Yeah. I noticed you left the office in a hurry earlier. I was worried something was wrong."

"No, I didn't even see it," Snag replied, fishing the mobile from her bag and seeing that, yes, not only were there three texts from 'CEARBHALL' but also a missed call. "Were you really worried that much about me?"

"Of course I was," Cearbhall said, coming over to her. "Though I assume it was nothing."

"No. Nothing. My ma - mother came to visit, that's all."

"Oh? How was she?"

"The same as ever."

"Is that good or bad?"

Snag laughed, then Cearbhall drew closer and she noticed again how he towered over her. His expression was firm as ever, but he had a sheen of tenderness about the eyes. She felt her own face soften, almost involuntarily, and like the most natural thing in the world they kissed, the rough-skinned hands light on her shoulders, her arms draping over his shoulders, past his neck and twining her fingers behind his head. He smelled like autumn rain and fallen leaves on a forest floor.

"I've been looking forward to tonight," he said in a low voice. Snag agreed silently, and they kissed again. Then Cearbhall stood to full height and the moment ended. "So," he announced, going over to the small round table near the window, upon which sat a bottle of champagne and a pair of tall, thin glasses, "our reservation isn't for another half hour. How do you feel about starting the night off early?"

"Hmmm... we might as well. What harm could there be?" Snag replied, finger on her chin and

"My thoughts exactly," Cearbhall said, opening the bottle with a loud *POP*, a small amount of the frothing mixture rising to the cusp of the mouth. He poured for each of them a glass, and handed one to Snag. They clinked glasses, toasted and sipped.

The drink ran cold down Snag's throat and filling her with sweet, sparkling mixture. "Half an hour is a long time," she said, absent-minded.

"Say again?"

"I said half an hour is a long time. To wait, I mean."

"It is, indeed."

"What do you think we should do to pass the time?"

"Haven't the faintest idea."

"Hm. Well, I'm sure we'll think of something."

She unfastened his belt with deft fingers. The metal clasp clinked as she moved it aside and undid his front button and fly. His trousers still on, she dipped her hand inside and rubbed his already expanding penis through the crisp white fabric of his briefs. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. His expression was focused, mouth closed and breathing through his nose. They returned his gaze, then looked back down to concentrate. His penis swelled and grew stiff in the palm of her hand. She could the warmth of it through the fabric. She rubbed up and down the length of it, enclosed by the snug garment and pressed against himself. Her hand dipped lower, to his testicles, in between his legs, his perineum, ever slowly, taking her time.

She thumbed the waistline of his underwear, slipping in and toying with it, stretching it out then releasing. She heard a clink as Cearbhall set down his drink, and she felt his hands on both her shoulders this time. Delicate, but firm. She looked up. His eyes were soft. She acquiesced, gladly. As she slid to her knees, she gently pulled down his briefs. So as not to drop his trousers as well. His cock, released from the fabric and seeming to breathe, dropped from its confinement. Standing to attention, it pointed slightly to the right. Snag tucked the hem of his pants under the base of the shaft and planted a wet kiss on the head.

Keeping her lips on it, she licked the glans, twirling her tongue round it. She shut her eyes, brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. With the other hand, she wrapped the rest of his cock in a loose, gentle fist and started stroking. Still slowly, like she had all the time in the world. At the same time, she took a little more of the head in her mouth. Her hand brushed the tip of her nose with each steady, rhythmic upstroke. She heard him release a breath, felt his muscle loosen, then tense again.

She picked up her pace, going deeper with her mouth. She moved her hand off his shaft and hooked two fingers on his briefs. She shifted them down and tucked them behind his balls, forcing them to jut out from the elastic. She worked them, stroking and cupping them in her palm, squeezing them ever so gently. Just enough to get a kick out of him, a buck that drove a small bit more of his cock's length into her mouth.