The Mighty Quinns: Ryan. Kate Hoffmann

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       Prologue

      THE WIND HOWLED outside the house on Gordon Road, shaking the windows. The dream had Ryan Quinn in its grip, and though he wanted to wake up, he felt as if the darkness had swallowed him whole.

      In the dream, a knock sounded at the bedroom door, so loud that it shook the floor. He slowly crossed the room, the floor icy cold against his bare feet. He stopped short as the knob began to turn, the terror welling up inside of him. The door swung open and a huge figure filled the space.

      Ryan’s breath came in shallow gasps as the fear overwhelmed him. He looked up from the man’s boots to his cold weather gear. The hood of the man’s jacket was pulled low over his face and Ryan watched as he brushed the hood back.

      A scream tore from Ryan’s throat and he bolted up in his bed, his heart slamming against his chest. His twin brother, Rogan, pushed up from his pillow on the bed next to him, rubbing his eyes. “Jaysus, Ryan, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

      Ryan swallowed hard, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

      Rogan shook his head. “What was it this time?”

      Since their father’s death a year ago, Ryan had had trouble sleeping. He’d been plagued with vague, unsettling dreams, dreams that reflected the grief and fear that existed in the Quinn house. But this was a new one, more vivid and frightening.

      Ryan shivered, his body trembling uncontrollably. “It—it was Dad.”

      Rogan crawled out of his bed and sat down on the edge of Ryan’s mattress. “Really. You saw him in your dream?”

      Ryan nodded, swallowing back the fear. Tears filled his eyes and he brushed one off his cheek. “He was frozen. His face was made of ice and his eyes were black holes. And there was snow in his hair and beard.”

      “Did he say anything?”

      “No. But he smiled at me.”

      “It was just a dream,” Rogan said.

      Ryan turned to him. “Some nights, before I go to sleep, I imagine that he’s still alive. I imagine that he walked off the mountain and is living somewhere in Nepal or Tibet. That he’s safe.”

      “He isn’t,” Rogan said. “Mum says that he’s dead and we need to accept that. But...sometimes I wish he was alive, too.”

      “Do you think they’ll ever find him?”

      “Mal says that even if they do, they could never bring him home. It would be impossible.”

      “I wish I could see him just once more. Just so I could remember him.”

      “What would you say to him?” Rogan asked.

      Ryan had to consider his answer. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with his father, but there was a tiny part of him that was. Max Quinn had promised to always come back, but he’d broken his promise, turning Ryan’s world upside down.

      Their lives had changed overnight. Money was suddenly in very short supply, and the worry over the family finances was deeply etched in their mother’s face. They’d had to leave their little house in Rotorua, leave their friends and school and come to live in Raglan with their mother’s parents.

      Lydie Quinn had been sad for nearly a year, staying in her room and not coming out, even for Ryan and his three siblings. Ryan had been afraid for such a long time, and he wasn’t sure how to help his mother. But he’d found odd jobs and made a few dollars here and there, each week handing over the money to his grandmother for groceries.

      And though his siblings still worshipped the man who had been their father, Ryan was the only one who also saw that he’d had flaws. He’d left his family with nothing. He’d thought he was invincible—and he’d been wrong.

      Rogan pulled the blanket up and crawled into the bed. Ryan moved over to make room. “Mum wants to drive to Rotorua tomorrow so we can go to the cemetery. It’s been a year. They put up a monument and she wants us to see it.”

      “Is it going to be sad? I don’t want to watch her cry anymore.”

      “I expect it will be,” Rogan said. “But best to keep our chins up and carry on.”

      Ryan flopped back on the pillow, his gaze fixed on the shadows that danced on the ceiling. “I want him to come home.”

      “I know,” Rogan said, lying down beside him. “Someday, maybe we can go look for him. We could bring him home and put him in the cemetery.”

      Ryan shook his head, the thought of seeing his father frozen in time more frightening than the nightmare. “I don’t want to remember him that way. I want to remember him like he was when he was alive.” Before he’d broken his promise and died.

      “Maybe you’re right,” Rogan said.

      “But I do want to climb mountains someday,” he said. “Just like Dad. I want to see all the things that he saw.”

      “We will,” Rogan said.

      Ryan closed his eyes and tried to picture his father alive and happy. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of the man in the dream kept nagging at his brain. How could this have happened to Max Quinn? He’d always told his children that he would keep himself safe, that they had nothing to fear.

      Had he forgotten his promise? Or maybe promises didn’t mean anything to grown-ups. Well, it would mean something to him. Ryan made a silent vow—he would never break a promise, ever.

      “Go to sleep,” Rogan said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” Rogan put his arm around his brother, and Ryan clutched him tightly.

      “Promise me that you’ll never die,” Ryan whispered.

      “I won’t. I promise. Now you promise, too.”

      “I won’t die. Not until I’m an old man. I promise.”