"Hey, there on the bridge,

Where've you been?

What's your name?

You, there on wall,

Where will got to,

Once you fall?"

Connor caught the bullet casing dramatically and crossed himself with it clutched in his gloved hand. He listened in the sudden quiet at the sound of the nightclub above him. The lady above was singing sweetly, oblivious to the violence just below her feet. Murphy would be done by now, and it would soon be time to meet him back up in the club. Connor looked at the corpse at his feet and wondered for a moment what his life had been like. He kneeled down and began his prayer. "Shepherds we shall be, for thee, my lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from they hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out they command. So we shall flow a river forth to thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be."

"You, lost at sea,

Do you need me?

Do you need directions?

Hey, put down the gun.

What are you thinking?

You were someone's son."

"In nomini Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." Murphy closed the dead man's eyes. He'd have to meet Connor soon. Still, in the moment that he could spare before leaving, he looked down at the man before him. "What drove ya?" he muttered quietly. "Did ya have good intentions that went wrong?" Every now and again, questions like that would plague his mind, but he successfully pushed them aside to make room for more important things. Things like beer and cigarettes…and New Years Eve.

"The taste of tears

The sting of pain

The smell of fear

The sounds of crying, oh."

The music became louder when Connor came up from the basement. He discretely stowed his gun in the hostler under his jacket and then sat down at the bar to wait. New York Town Square was on the news on a little TV in the corner of the ceiling. For some reason, Connor never really understood all the celebration on New Years. It seemed a bit superfluous.

"What can I get ya, mister?" the lady behind the bar caught his attention mostly because of her very revealing shirt. It might as well have been a bra. Another thing Connor didn't quite understand was how women could dress like that and not catch a cold.

"Shot o' whiskey," he said, boredly. He scanned the room for any sign of his brother.

"A long, long time ago

I fell to this place

From another dimension.

And thrust amongst the bees

And the way they behave

It borders on dementia."

Murphy lit a cigarette as he walked, pulling his coat around him in the same motion that he put his lighter back in his pocket. He never used the buttons on his jacket. Once he had tried, but they were just too big to fit through the hole. "What's the fuckin' point," he had commented.

He found his way to the nightclub easy enough and heard the music before he'd opened the door. 'Why's such a sad song playin' on New Years eve?' he wondered, passing the bouncer without a second glance. The room was crowded, but mostly everyone was just standing and watching the girl on stage as she sang. The first thing Murphy noticed was how short her dress was. Don't blame him, he's a guy.

Working his way to the stage, he glanced around to look for his brother, just so he could say he'd looked without lying once Connor got pissed at him.

"Now, through all these years

I can barely take it

I don't think I can make it.

Take me away from here

I wanna go home

I'm so sick and tired of the

Taste of tears,

The sting of pain

The smell of fear

The sounds of crying, oh."

Growing impatient, Connor once more scanned the crowd for his brother. Trust Murph to wander off when he's supposed to be some where else. His eyes wandered to the stage and fell on to the singer. Again with the tiny clothes. He sighed tiredly, but continued to watch her. She definitely did not belong in such a short dress. Her face was so young and she seemed so small. 'Jesus, how old is she?' he thought to himself.

He downed his shot quickly and relished in the burn of the whiskey in his throat. That only lasted a few seconds, though, so his eyes went back to looking for Murphy. He found him almost immediately, near the stage, watching the singer. "Of all the—" Connor made a mental note to say something very nasty to his brother once he caught him.

"As you're standing on the edge of your life

What do you remember?

Was it all you wanted?

I'm trying to understand the feather wings

I wish I could protect you here.

No, please don't cry, now smile

As you're standing on the edge of your life.

Your troubles are over

Mine are just beginning.
I'm trying to understand the feathery wings

To take me away from here,

It's me you leave behind."

Now Murphy can be called shallow because—well, for the most part he is. In this case, however, he mostly enthralled by the sound of this girl's voice. It was unbelievable. She only seemed to be about sixteen years old. The only thing Murphy would have complained about was that the song was so depressing.

He caught her eye for a moment and she smiled at him when the song went instrumental. Why had she smiled at him out of all the people in the crowd? Maybe it was his dashing good looks. Then he felt a sharp smack to the back of his head.

"Oh, if only I could have been there

I'd be a hand for the sinking.

If only I could have been there,

I'd be a prayer for the dying.

See the pain etched in my face, oh

I'm so sick and tired."

"What the fuck was that fer?" Murphy spun around and came face to smirk with Connor.

"Serves ya, fuckin' right, ya bastard." Connor dodged a sock aimed at his head. "Calm down, yer gonna start a brawl."

"Ah, but why not? It's New Years." Murphy looked back up at the girl on stage and smiled. "Ya know, I think I'm in love."

"She's too young fer ya," Connor commented.

"Nah, her voice. That voice is beautiful."

Connor mocked a surprised gasp. "Murphy, yer scarin' me. Yer actually thinkin' o' somethin' other than fine legs."

"Don't even fuckin' start, alright?"

"Of the taste of tears

The sting of pain

The smell of fear

The sound of crying, oh.

As you're standing at the edge of your life

What do you remember?

Was it all you wanted?

I'm trying to understand the feathery wings.

Wish I could protect you here.

No, please don't cry, now smile."

"How did he die?" Connor asked quietly, so that the people around them didn't hear.

"Easily enough. I still don' understand why we have ta work on New Years Eve. It sucks!" No matter the tone of his voice, Connor could still tell that he was preoccupied with listening to the hauntingly lovely voice on stage. "What about yers?"

"Well, I might wake up with a black eye, but other than that…" Murphy didn't seem to mind at all. "Maybe I should leave ya ta yer distractions."

Murphy grabbed Connor just as he turned around and put him in a headlock. Connor let out an indignant squawk that caught the attention of a few people in the crowd. "Don' worry," Murphy said to reassure them. "Just me brother."

"As you're standing at the edge of your life.

Your troubles are over,

Mine are just beginning.

I'm trying to understand the feathery wings

To take me away from here

It's me you leave

You've gone from here, don't leave from here,

Don't leave me here, I hate it here.

You're gone from here, don't leave me here,

I need you hear,

I need to see you smile…"

Both brothers lay side by side on the ground where they'd been tossed out of the club. Murphy lit another cigarette and Connor had him share it. "Ya owe me," he said, "Ya got me thrown out."

"I didn't." Murphy tried to sound offended. "It was yer skinny arse that started it."

"Well ya sure as hell finished it."

Connor handed him the cigarette back and they both fell silent, looking at the sky—at the stars they couldn't see. "At least I got ta hear the song."

"From the angel's mouth," Murphy mused. He turned his head awkwardly and stared at his brother, very happy to be alive. "Happy New Year, Conn."

"Happy New Year, Murph…ya little bastard."

Disclaimer: Don't own nothing! I own the singer lady but that's about it. The movie, as you know, is Troy Duffy's. The song, "Feathery Wings," is by Voltaire (a genius, might I add!)

Nicholas: Happy New Year!