Cliffs of Angels

Orla kicked open the front door of her small flat. Just managing to fit through the doorway, her arms were occupied by two large wicker baskets piled high with treats she’d picked out from the weekend market. With audible effort she set them on the floor in her cupboard sized kitchen, standing up to lean against the edge of the sink and find her breath. She was turning 38 this year and it had been a few years since she’d been able to explain the pains in her knees and the aches in her back as nothing more than random muscle soreness. The hard truth was she was getting old. Faster and more suddenly than she had expected, and she couldn’t stop thinking that her life was closer to being over before it had already begun. There were so many things she wanted to do, so many experiences she wanted to have. That was why she had left everything she’d ever known and moved from her comfortable life in Virginia to this dingy apartment in Achill, Ireland. It wasn’t too bad though, she thought, looking around the room and making note of the things that needed tidying. Suddenly her gaze fell on the small wooden table next to the overstuffed reading chair in the corner of the room where a single red rose and small white envelope were waiting. Her stomach did a little flip flop, and her heart skipped a few beats as she snatched up the little envelope. She knew who it was from, there was only one other person with a key to her flat.

 Pátriac had been the first person she’d met when she arrived in Achill four months ago, besides the rental lady who had given her the keys to her flat. He had been so kind and warm, asking her about life back home and offering to show her around. They’d spent her first few weeks in Ireland together, laughing over a meal, strolling through the markets, and sharing a glass of wine late into the evenings. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall head over heals in love with the Irishman. He made her feel young and beautiful, something she hadn’t felt back in Virginia.

Ripping open the little envelope she read the handwritten note scrawled inside.

Hint #1: Find me where you keep your most loved possessions.

It was just like Pátriac to come up with something like this. He was always leaving her little love notes and gifts whenever she deserved it, which he said was most of the time. There was only one place the note could mean. She kept a shoe box filled with the things that meant most to her; letters from friends from Virginia, an old picture of her mother as a young girl, an expensive set of pearl earrings she’d inherited and only wore on special occasions. Orla ran to the bedroom, eagerly opening the wardrobe. Inside, shoved to the very back of the wardrobe was her shoe box of treasures, another red rose and envelope were perched on top. She opened the second envelope.

Hint #2: Come in your best dress and meet me at the hollow tree.

Meet me at the hollow tree… The hollow tree by the cliffs. There was a secret spot that Pátriac had been promising to show her along the Cliffs of Croaghaun, the cliffs that bordered the little town. He had discovered the spot as a young boy and claimed to be the only one who knew of its existence. He had told her that from his spot on the cliff you could see where earth and heaven collided and hear the angel sing. Orla had begged him to show her, but until now, he had kept it to himself. Could he mean to show it to her today? Orla looked around the wardrobe and pulled out the only party dress she owned. It wasn’t exquisite, but it was a pretty cornflower blue that looked beautiful against her white lily skin and brought out the blue of her eyes. Pátriac had seen her wear it once and told her she looked like a Hollywood star. Orla put on the dress, accenting it with her mother’s pearl earrings and a layer of the only lipstick she owned. She reached back into the wardrobe to grab a pair of small white pumps, accidently knocking over the box of undergarments in the process. A large amount of cash spilled out into the bottom of the wardrobe. It was her entire life savings. When she had arrived, she had intended on putting the money in the local bank, but thankfully Pátriac had been there to save the day once again. He’d told her stories of the local town folk being taken advantage of and scammed of their savings. Instead, he had suggested she hide her money in a safe place in her home, away from the greedy hands of bankers. He was so thoughtful; he’d even helped her pick the undergarment box as the safest place. Who would go looking though a lady’s stockings he’d laughed. Orla quickly straightened up the wardrobe, taking one last look around before heading towards the hollowed-out tree on the edge of town.           

Pátriac was waiting for her at the top of the hill, just where she knew he’d be, leaning back against the old hollowed out tree. Dressed in his Sunday best, he’d picked out the handsome red tie she’d traveled all the way to Dublin and bought him for his birthday a month ago, it stood out smartly against his navy-blue suit. Catching sight of her, he straightened, his mouth spreading into the familiar crooked grin he made every time he saw her. Bouncing up to him, she noticed the single red rose and envelope clutched in his hands.

Offering them to her, Orla couldn’t stop the wide toothy smile or the butterflies knocking around in the pit of her stomach. If Pátriac was ready to show her his special place, he must be really serious about her. She’d never had anyone who wanted to be with her seriously before. Pátriac kissed her on the forehead, waiting patiently as she excitedly ripped open the last envelope. Inside was a short poem and a folded scrap of fabric.

To walk in love, is to blindly follow,

 Trusting your heart knows the way.

Join me where the Irish angels sing,

 I share with you this day. 

An excited shiver ran down Orla’s spine, as she smiled even wider. She turned around, giggling as he placed the bit of fabric over her eyes and gently knotted it behind her head. It fit snuggly, but not uncomfortably and although she couldn’t see, she could make out shadow as Pátriac waved his hand in front of her and asked how many fingers he was holding up. When he was finally convinced of her blindness, he took both her small hands in his larger callused ones and began to lead her through the thick grass towards the cliffs. She could feel the little rocks and pebbles beneath her shoes and feel the slight wind across her face. There was something else too. A high songlike voice above the rest. The Angels. Orla gasped, her mouth dropping open. This must be the angel song Pátriac had told her about. They came to a stop and Orla felt Pátriac walk behind her positioning her towards the sound of the angels.   

“Orla Rose”, Pátriac breathed coming up behind her and pulling her into him. Orla could feel his warm breath on her neck as he planted gentle kisses along the edge of her ear. “Are you ready my angel?” he said his voice getting farther away. “Yes,” she whispered, moving her hands up to her face ready to pull her blindfold free.

“Sing for me.”

And then his shoe connected with her spine. Before she understood what was happening, before she could even register the pain, she was falling. Plummeting towards the jagged rocks below, her cornflower blue dress whipping violently up around her like a plastic bag, exposing her white undergarments and stockings beneath. She could hear the angels calling loudly around her as she tore at the scrap of old fabric Pátriac had tied around her head, her nails leaving angry red gouges as she ripped it from her face, freeing her eyes. She flailed her arms, searching wildly for a lifeline, desperate she was to cling to an existence that was mere moments from ending. Her usually tidy brown curls were a mess of muddy tangles, strangling and blinding her, catching in her eyes and open mouth that was frozen in a silent scream. The angels were screeching now.

May the angels save me she thought, and then everything went black.