Echoes Through the Mist: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 1)

by K. Francis Ryan

  Clutched in one hand was a coin from a time long dead. He rubbed his thumb across the obverse of the coin, turned it over and rubbed the reverse side. It would be his soon. He knew it. There had been a time when he would have said he could feel it, but his feelings had long since been covered over.

  Thought and knowledge were all there was. This time the prize would not elude him. This time the trophy would be his and others would pay a mighty price. He knew it and that thought gave him no joy at all.

  “Enter,” he said a moment before the deferential knock on the door. A servant entered and said, “Sir, your appointment has arrived.”

  The Pale Man nodded and without warmth said, “Show him in.”

  Tom Lynch, a large man of middle years dressed in a barn coat entered and removed his cloth cap out of habit rather than respect.

  “Lynch, your men have yet to find what I want them to find,” the Pale Man said.

  “Beg yur pardon, but me men wouldn’t know if they found it or not. You’ve not told us anything but to dig. It is a funny business and Oi don’t like it,” Big Tom Lynch said.

  “You are not paid to like it. You are paid to do as you are told,” the Pale Man said as he got up from his chair. “If you would rather take on employment that better suits the inquisitive minds of you and your men I suggest you do it – now. Either that or don’t bother me again about what you like and don’t like. That I like it is enough for me and that I pay you is enough for you.”

  “Where’s the map?” Lynch asked barely able to mask his distaste. The Pale Man smiled and in his smile there was no warmth to be found.

  ***

  It was early morning and the fog spun in lazy swirls along the dirt lanes of Cappel Vale. Julian sat on the front step of the police station and thought through the things Moira Hagan had told him.

  “There are things you must come to grips with and you must do so quickly.” Moira’s tone had been serious. “There is something approachin’ you like a locomotive. In order to avoid being smashed flat and taking others with you, you must work on your talents and be strong enough to take on what the future will bring. You are a strong man in many ways, Julian,” she had said. “But the kind of strength this task will take is not the sort you have just yet.”

  Not for the first time, Julian asked, “What task? What talents?” and Moira answered flatly that she had no idea. It wasn’t like her not to know something, especially something like this. It was ominous, that much she knew, but the where or when or what of it was a mystery to her.

  As for his talents, again she said she knew he had them, a few had surfaced already, but she had no idea what they all were. She had said, “You ask questions only you can answer. I can only imagine your fear, frustration, and confusion, but in this area, you must find your own truths in your own way.” Julian was sure that of all the things Moira did not know, his level of confusion and anxiety had to top the list.

  ***

  Moira sat on a bench in her garden watching the same tendrils of fog churn through the village and eddy around the houses. Like Julian, her mood was reflective.

  She had watched her student with care. He had, she knew, worked diligently from the first, even when he didn’t know what he was working on or why. He had made progress and she took a harsh line in measuring his efforts and accomplishments. If his work had been anything less than his best, they would have started over. Half measures, she knew, would not do.

  ***

  The detail on the coin when seen through the jewelers’ loupe was remarkable. To be sure, it wasn’t newly minted, but the detail was nearly perfect. Although it was not exactly round, the coin had been struck hard and the images were clear.

  It had a green-brown patina and some smoothing in its fields. The Roman Emperor Vespasian, radiant in right profile, strong and full of power, stood out in hard relief on the obverse side. On the reverse, Pax stood holding a caduceus and olive branch and resting on a column. The words PAX AVGVSTS C were easily legible in clear, clean letters.

  The Pale Man’s fingers flipped the coin forward and back and forward again. He never tired of looking at this coin. Every detail was familiar to him, every ridge and shadow was known.

  He felt the coin’s weight in his hand and calculated again the exact market value of his treasure; £55.24. Not much really unless one multiplied it by 400,000. That was his estimate of how many coins like the one he held in his hand awaited him, and that was just the face value.

  The real value rested in the story behind the coins and he felt he knew that story better than anyone. He could name his price for the priceless and there were those who would gladly pay.

  He gritted his teeth and his grimace seemed almost like a smile. It might have been had not a certain sheen developed over his eyes. “You will soon be mine,” he said quietly to the coin as the malevolent grimace set itself more firmly on his face.

  In a cold study in a bleak manor house some distance from Cappel Vale, madness waited.

  ***

  Miles away six men in heavy work boots hacked at a circular earthen outcrop as the sunlight faded. A large man in a cloth cap and barn coat stood by and supervised the work. It was night and only a sliver of the moon illuminated the digging.

  “Put your backs into it or we will be here all bloody night, ya eejits,” the large man barked and the pace of digging increased.

  ***

  The darkness of evening settled over Cappel Vale in dark hues like an Irish chain quilt. Julian found himself drawn to St. Michael’s Church. He had essential thoughts to pursue. He had been tacitly accepting the changes he experienced, but now was the time to start making well-reasoned choices.

  He felt he was ready to leave behind the notion that life just happened. Life, he was finding, was a series of conscious decisions. St Michael’s, not for the first time, was the place he chose to sort through his thoughts and his choices.

  He was going there more often lately, always at night when no one was about. Infrequently he would encounter Sister Eugenia or her assistant, a young nun named Sister Gertrude. Sometimes Julian would run into Father Fahey as the old priest dozed in the front pew of the church. Usually though, Julian timed his visits so he could be alone.

  He entered the church and walked quietly to a rear pew. Julian could have been in that position in his pew for five minutes or two hours. Time meant very little in Cappel Vale.

  He was aware of her before he either heard or saw her. He opened his eyes to see the lone figure of Ailís Dwyer move quietly to a pew ten rows in front and to the left of Julian’s. Dr. Dwyer crossed herself as she genuflected then stepped into the pew and sat down. Julian expected to see her bow her head in prayer, but rather she seemed to stare at the tabernacle on the high altar with her chin tilted up and her eyes open.

  Julian closed his eyes to resume his contemplations, but before long he sensed her again. He knew she had turned her focus away from the altar. He opened his eyes to find the doctor staring at him.

  “You’ve been there all along,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.

  “Since before you came in, yes. I didn’t want to startle you so I just went back to what I was doing. There seemed to be plenty of room for both of us here.”

  Her features softened as she smiled. “I suppose there is. You don’t seem like the praying kind,” she commented as she left her pew.

  “Somehow neither do you,” Julian said.

  “You go first,” she said as she slid into his pew. “What are you really doing here?”

  Julian thought a moment then said, “Well, like many complex things, it started out quite simply. It is quiet and there is a pervasive sense of peace here. My hope is that being here will help me find what I’m looking for.”

  The doctor said, “What would a man like you be looking for, I wonder?” she asked with a smile. “You needn’t answer that of course.”

  “A man like me, you said. I’m glad you have a handle on that, because I sure
don’t.” Julian said and smiled easily while the doctor looked embarrassed.

  “Anyway, I don’t mind,” Julian said. “I’ve never discussed it with anyone actually. I guess you could say I come here to think. I wouldn’t characterize it as meditation exactly. That seems too grand a word for what I’m doing. Reflection or daydreaming would be more accurate. It sometimes starts off by my trying to think through a problem, but soon my mind starts to wander and before long I am – well, this is embarrassing really but I’m led to a solution.

  “Suddenly, the situation becomes more clearly defined with hard edges and sharp corners and I can see it all with amazing accuracy. It never lasts long, but occasionally long enough to catch a glimpse of what the solution might be.”

  Julian chuckled softly. “If anyone had told me a few months ago that I would be talking this sort of nonsense I would have called the police and had that person committed for his own safety. It is just that the world changed for me or at least the part of the world I used to occupy did. It happened quickly and I lacked the wits and words to cope with the changes, so I apologize to you for my clumsiness,” Julian said.

  “Enough of me though. How about you? What brings Dr. Dwyer, the woman of science, to church in the dark of night?” He smiled warmly.

  “Clumsiness? If you say so, but you need not apologize for something I never noticed. I will keep a sharp eye out for it in the future though,” the doctor said and she and Julian shared a smile. “As to what I’m doing here, that is a story that might take some time to tell and it isn’t all that interesting.”

  “Sorry. That wasn’t the deal. With the candor at my command, I told you my story. Now it’s your turn. I have all night if you do.”

  “Well, in fact you have not told me your story. You told me a part of a story, so don’t for a moment believe I haven’t noticed your oversight. No matter, I will tell you my story,” she said in the hushed tones reserved for churches. “The reason for my coming here has changed over time, but maybe I should give you some background.”

  “I can’t tell you how refreshing that would be,” Julian said. “No one ever tells me anything here that isn’t either common knowledge or common sense, so something of substance would be marvelous.”

  “It isn’t that they don’t want to tell you, Mr. Blessing, it is just…”

  “It’s that Oi’ve not been long among us,” he finished for her using his improving mock Irish English.

  She laughed at him and with him. “I’ll share with you because I am an outsider too and have spent a long time ‘not being long among us’ as you are now.” Her gaze moved slowly from Julian’s face to the tabernacle. A sadness entered her and after a moment she spoke.

  “I had finished medical school and was doing my residency when I met and married a wonderful man. Now, medical residency is not conducive to relationships of any sort. There simply is no time. You don’t have time for yourself, and any time you make for another is time you have to take from something else. Still, we were happy – blissfully, to use the cliché.

  “He was trying to get his start as an architect, but it was hard in Dublin at the time. The economy was in a poor way and architects were sitting around in abundance. I said we had no time together. That wasn’t altogether true. We did have a little time alone,” she said and smiled.

  “I became pregnant. Pregnancy was the last thing I wanted or needed. I never really pictured my life with a child in it. I was happy, professional, and proud of what I was doing. I thought a child would detract from that.

  “In any case, I worked up to the very end. Early in the pregnancy, my husband, William, talked me out of going to the U.K. for an abortion. I wanted to, but he was persuasive and I loved him so.” She took a deep breath and her chin trembled.

  “Doctor, you needn’t continue. I have stupidly intruded and I don’t want to cause you any distress,” Julian said gently.

  She took a moment and her thoughts were far away. “You didn’t intrude. I have heard other people’s rendition of this story, but have never had the chance to tell it myself.”

  Minutes passed before she continued, “I gave birth to Timothy. I had delivered babies before. After hours of excruciating labor, I would wrap some bright red, squalling, squirming infant in a towel and place it in its mother’s arms.

  “Without exception each mother, sweat soaked and fatigued beyond words, would coo and fawn over their hideous creature and tell me how beautiful little Patrick or Megan was and I would grin and agree, because that is what doctors are expected to do.

  “My labor wasn’t that difficult, but still I was a wreck and weak from the effort. They handed Timothy to me and I beheld perfection for the first time. He was so beautiful it hurt. I thought my heart and my head would explode with the joy and love that was inside me. William felt the same. In some ways more so I think.

  “I stayed home for as long as we could afford it – which wasn’t very long – and then we were suddenly face to face with reality. There were three of us and we were in need of money. Timothy presented unique logistical needs that were hard to meet.

  “My husband gave up looking for a job as an architect and it nearly broke his heart. He was good at his profession and he loved it so much. He went into the building trades as a carpenter - he had done that sort of work on and off while putting himself through university. He would work days and I would work the night shift.

  “The feedings, the getting up during the night, all of it conspired against us. We were both exhausted all the time. We worked extra hours to try to save a little money and we consoled ourselves with the idea that it wouldn’t always be this way.”

  Julian studied the doctor’s profile and listened closely as she spoke. The texture and timbre of her voice, and the way the words fit together – this was a story she had gone over in her mind many, many times before. The church’s subdued candlelight glinted off her chestnut colored hair whenever she slightly moved her head.

  Her jaw was straight and strong as that of any statue. Her nose was delicate and complemented every aspect of her face, as did her pale complexion. Her eyes and her mouth were her most expressive features, but her voice was more a caress, a tender, loving touch rather than just words spoken in the half darkness.

  She continued. “William would often come home from work and find me on the Chesterfield asleep with our son on my chest. By the same token I can’t tell you the number of mornings I came home from work and found him in a chair holding our son in his arms – both sound asleep.”

  “On one occasion I came home and found them like that. I put Timothy in his crib, packed a lunch and woke my husband so he could go to work. I could see the weariness in his eyes. His fatigue was palpable.

  “One day around noon I was getting ready for bed. Getting up and going to bed get all turned around when your schedule is upside down. I answered a knock at our door and found my chief of staff, Dr. Gaddis standing there.

  “He was a stern man with little warmth or charm, but he was a first class physician and he knew how to teach. Still, it wasn’t like him to drop by the apartment of a mere resident. I invited him in, but he didn’t move. His eyes were on mine and I couldn’t look away.

  “It was then that the penny dropped.

  “‘I have something to tell you, Dr. Dwyer. It is your husband. He was killed in an accident at work,’ my chief said. He was a very formal man and referred to my by my title even then.

  “The next thing I knew I was sitting on the chesterfield with Timothy in my arms and Dr. Gaddis sitting beside me. The shadows in the room told me it was late afternoon. I don’t remember sitting down or how Timothy got into my arms or how long I had been there.”

  “‘Mr. Dwyer was working on a roof. He lost his balance and fell off. It wasn’t a great height, but he died instantly. They brought him to the hospital and one of the staff recognized him. Your husband’s superintendent was going to tell you, but I insisted I would be the one,’ my chief said.

/>   “I remember his words so clearly, but little else.

  “He used the telephone and had one of the pediatric nursing sisters sent over to be with Timothy. At first, I wouldn’t give him up, but Dr. Gaddis took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. ‘You have much to do. Phone calls to make, things to arrange.’

  “God I remember that old man’s words and felt his compassion and the softness of his hands. At that moment everything I knew about medicine and life and death and people and thoughts and emotions changed.

  “I realized that this lonely old man, whom I had cursed under my breath hundreds of times for the harshness he had shown us residents, could feel what I felt and still remain clear headed enough to know what had to be done.

  “The nursing sister took Timothy and as I looked into the old man’s eyes and with my heart broken, I sobbed. He folded me into his arms and I cried until I had no more tears left in me and then he whispered, ‘You have work to do.’ I nodded my head and picked up the telephone to start calling our families.

  “Months passed then years and I developed two passions – Timothy and medicine. I wanted to be not just a good doctor, but the sort of doctor Dr. Gaddis showed me it was possible to be. I passed out of my residency and went to work with a large and well-regarded private practice in Dublin.

  “The experience I acquired was invaluable, but it wasn’t the sort of medicine I wanted to practice. I made more than enough money to provide everything Timothy needed. I went to work and came home during normal hours and when not working I would spend every moment with my son.

  “Still, I was not practicing Dr. Gaddis’ kind of medicine. The IPH – sorry, the Institute of Public Health – wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to know my patients. Spending four and a half minutes per patient and having more patients than anyone could handle, wouldn’t do. That much I knew.