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

by K. Francis Ryan

  After he removed and hung up his coat and kicked off his boots, Julian said, “Come in Jimmy.” The knock on the door landed a millisecond later.

  “Mr. Julian, Oi wouldn’t bother you so late if it wasn’t important.”

  “I know you wouldn’t, Jimmy. Come in, please,” Julian said.

  Jimmy Grogan had grown since Julian’s arrival. He had been known as the village liar and thief, and although some of that reputation still clung to him, he was now being seen as a young man with potential.

  He had come to Julian many times seeking advice on various matters and displayed an agile and capable mind. Julian promised that if Jimmy would apply himself to his studies, there could be a scholarship in it for him to Trinity or University College Dublin if he preferred. Although not wild about school, Jimmy could see that an education was his ticket out of the small village and a life as a farm hand or shopkeeper.

  “Oi stayed to help O’Gavagan clean up so Oi left the pub after you did.”

  Julian sat in one of the rocking chairs and indicated the other to Jimmy, but the boy declined preferring to deliver his message standing.

  “The wind was up so Oi had gone round to the lee of the pub to light me pipe when Oi saw you walk by on the main street.”

  Julian remained silent.

  “You got about forty meters up the street when Oi saw it. Nothing but a shadow at first, but then he moved. You was being followed on your rounds. Oi didn’t think no good could come of this so Oi followed the one that was following you.

  “’e didn’t do anything but hang back and watch. Every time you stopped, ‘e stopped. Every time he stopped, Oi stopped. Oi had to hang back a fair distance and when you came back here to the station, well, the one what was following you just vanished. It’s the truth, Mr. Julian. Oi wouldn’t lie to you, sor.”

  “I know you wouldn’t, Jimmy,” Julian said and looked intently into the peat fire.

  ***

  The next night Julian watched the clock as it ticked off the minutes until he would start his rounds. The time came. Julian opened the station door and was swallowed by the cold, wet night.

  ***

  His rounds completed, he returned to the police station, stripped down and changed into dry clothes. He then sat down before the peat fire and waited for Jimmy Grogan.

  Julian had the same feeling as the previous night, still he could not put a name to the presence.

  Jimmy Grogan came in with a grin on his face. Julian knew from experience what success looked like and Jimmy had that look.

  ***

  Jimmy had monitored the dark figure following Julian on his rounds. From the pub, up the main street, down the village’s few side streets, his surveillance continued up to St. Michael’s and back to the police station.

  Several times the shadow slipped and fell in the mud. Jimmy said, “Mr. Julian, Oi near shit meself with the laughing. The fool might as well have brought a brass band.”

  Once Julian was inside the station, Jimmy reported, the dark figure snaked its way outside of town and was gone.

  Jimmy had no trouble following because of the rain and mud. The figure met with four men standing beside a white truck. As the stalker struck a match to light his cigarette, Jimmy saw the face of Liam McMaster in the match’s flare.

  ***

  “Well then, let’s just go pinch his head off,” Sean Maher said matter-of-factly the next morning.

  “We can’t do that. You see, I wasn’t going to tell you at all, but we are partners and I felt you would be hurt if I didn’t share this information with you. On the other hand, I knew that if I told you, violence would soon follow. You see, we can’t let him know that we know what he is up to,” Julian said.

  “Well at what point can we pinch his head off?”

  “Later. After this has all played out, but even then I don’t know that it would be such a good idea,” Julian offered.

  The frustration was building for Sean. “Oi just want a simple answer; when can we pinch that bastard Liam McMaster’s head off for spying on you and, like the Judas he is, selling you out to our enemies?”

  Julian said, “We know what he is up to and he doesn’t know we know. We are ahead of the game.”

  “We’ll be ahead of the game, son, when Oi’ve delivered a headless Liam McMaster,” Sean Maher said.

  “Not to worry, it will all come soon enough,” Julian said. “It would seem they are interested in when we stay in the village and when we patrol the valley. My guess is they are trying to figure out when it is safe to dig. Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll have a long chat with Mr. McMaster sooner rather than later.”

  “Julian, do you ever worry you could be wrong?” Sean asked.

  ***

  Julian met Ailís and Timothy again at the pub for supper. On walking her home he said to Ailís, “Did you notice Gwyneth and Brendan?” Julian asked. “I thought she was interested in Jimmy Grogan.”

  Ailís cocked her head, smiled and looked up at Julian, “It has been Gwyneth and Brendan from the moment they set eyes on each other. It is refreshing to watch young love. Where have you been that you didn’t notice it before now? You’re the police, you’re supposed to notice things.”

  “Doesn’t it surprise you that I’ve managed to live this long while being delightfully unaware of what is going on around me? I think it is one of my more endearing qualities, don’t you?”

  The doctor laughed and shook her head. “You are such a very odd man.”

  “Thank you. Oi can’t remember being more pleasured by a compliment, but what else should Oi expect from such a lovely creature as your fine self,” he said in passable Irish English. She had suspended for the time being her interrogation of Julian.

  She felt she would sort it all out in due course. Questioning him only caused him to avoid her. She had grown to like having him nearby. They were able to be easy in each other’s company and both liked it that way.

  “Go on with you. I mean it. In some ways, you are stunningly, almost frighteningly aware of things and of other things you are worryingly unaware. What is to become of you I wonder?” Ailís asked.

  “Believe me, that is something I ask myself all the time.” He had become more serious. “How do we ever know; I mean really know? I don’t mean how do we know we have become the person we are meant to be, but how do we know we are even on the right path to becoming that person?”

  “We don’t and we never will,” Ailís said. “I don’t think we were ever meant to know for sure. I think we were designed to keep going through doors, finding our way along life’s various hallways.”

  They had arrived at the doctor’s front door when Julian asked, “What corridor are we in, Ailís? Is there a door you and I are supposed to go through?”

  His question and his stare were piercing. She reached up, touched his cheek, and said, “I don’t know.”

  Julian’s gray eyes arrested Ailís. She held her breath as he gently lifted her chin with his fingertips. His movement was slow and gentle, relaxed and without hesitation.

  His kiss was soft and lingering. Her body went taut for the smallest part of a moment before she leaned into him. His next kiss was hardly a kiss at all. His lips hovered over hers without fully touching and his fingers moved through her hair.

  She made a noise that was a mixture of frustration at being teased and insistence that he give her more. When she kissed him, it was firm and resolute and it lasted for a moment suspended in time for them both.

  She followed easily with a kiss that was firm without being demanding. One moment, two then three and she stepped back from the kiss slightly and her tongue softly, slowly touched his lips. She leaned away from him, touched his cheek again with her fingers and mouthed the words ‘thank you’ as Timothy pounded down the hallway behind her.

  Julian’s eyes were heavy lidded with his desire for her and his pulse continued racing as he stepped back, smiled slowly and turned away into the night leaving her with her arm
around Timothy’s shoulders and a smile on her lips.

  ***

  Julian began his patrol at the end nearest the police station and worked his way slowly to St. Michael’s Church. The pubs emptied quickly and people made for home and turned in for the night even more quickly. The village was dark and still. The dogcarts that took people to their farms no longer echoed back from the valley. There was no moon and the sky was vacant of stars.

  He had given Jimmy Grogan the night off. Julian could not feel the presence of Liam McMaster or anyone else. He was alone in the streets of the village and no one that Julian could detect followed or watched. Everything seemed right, but an indefinable something felt wrong.

  Edmond Brady’s shop was locked as were both of O'Gavagan's pubs. Flynn's General Store and Mulherin's Pub were buttoned up along with the Hacketts’ Apothecary and the livestock feed store. Since the digging had started, people had begun locking their doors and Julian and Sean took it upon themselves to rattle the doorknobs each night without exception.

  He passed the residences of the villagers and admired the staunch simplicity in which they lived. The lights were out at Moira Hagan’s house and Julian rounded her home and saw a short distance up the dusty road that all the lights from St. Michael’s Catholic Church were ablaze.

  Normally the church closed but never locked its doors. Father Fahey always dimmed the lights promptly at 8 P.M. Tonight it was nearing ten thirty and every light in the church shone.

  Julian began to run.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Father Fahey lay on his back near the altar rail on the left side of the church. Julian ran up the center aisle and knelt beside the priest. There was a gash in the old man’s forehead that was bleeding freely. The prone figure opened his eyes and tried to speak, but Julian silenced him with a gesture. The priest raised his left hand and pointed as the first kick caught Julian in the ribs taking the wind out of him. A second kick from the opposite side made sure he didn’t recover from the first.

  Two men on either side of Julian stood him upright. He found his breath and raised his head. A loan figure stood at the altar rail to the right of the altar and motioned for his compatriots to bring Julian forward. In a dragging, stumbling, shambling gate Julian was brought to the waiting figure.

  Clearly, this man was in charge. The malice in the man’s voice and face was plain enough. “Georgie Sullivan wasn’t enough of a warning to you? How about them other bogtrodders we visited with a bit of pain? You should have taken the hint, mate?” The man pulled on a pair of leather gloves.

  “Time for you to join poor dead George, Oi’m afeared.” That was all the man said before his fist landed in Julian’s midsection. Another blow landed in the same place and the man spoke again, “We need to make a suitable example of you so we need to make you look, well, not so pretty. That way those who go to your wake ’ll see no good ’ll come of muckin’ about with us.”

  While his companions held Julian upright and immobile, the leader proceeded to pour punches into Julian in a stomach-ribs combination and sprinkled it with backhands to his face. It all served to keep Julian unfocused and in constant pain.

  Every time he looked like he would pass out, his captors would drop him and he would fall to his hands and knees where he would nearly catch his breath. They stood on Julian’s hands grinding his knuckles under their boots while they launched kicks into his ribs. They grabbed him by the arms and started the process over again.

  In the end, Julian found himself on his hands and knees in a pool of his own blood and vomit. He was taking a far worse beating than George Sullivan had. A hand took him by the jaw and landed another punch below his left cheek. Blood flew from his mouth and face forming an arc to his right. His eyes cleared as his chest heaved for breath.

  With his thoughts scattering, his mind in disarray, his brain jumbled and running in slow motion, he thought of Ailís. “I’ll never kiss you again. I should have done it the first time I saw you,” Julian whispered.

  The three men who were sent to murder Julian took this as a sign of resistance and mockery and they rained relentless punches and kicks onto him as he lay on the stone floor of the church.

  To Julian, time meant nothing. They could have been beating him for five minutes or two hours. Time may have meant nothing, but pain filled Julian’s world to overflowing.

  As his eyes started to roll back in his head he thought of how disappointed Moira would be with him for not being ready, for not being able to sense the danger, for not being good enough. A tear seeped from one eye.

  “I’ll do better next time,” Julian said with a mouth full of his own blood.

  With that the leader took Julian by the chin. “Next time? You’ve got a good sense of humor Oi’ll give you that. There won’t be a next time for you, son.”

  Julian watched as the man pulled his gloves tighter then drew back his arm. The fist rocketed toward Julian’s face and he turned his head a fraction. The knuckles glanced off his cheekbone catching him on the outside of his right eyebrow drawing blood and closing that eye. Each man then landed a solid kick into Julian’s ribs. The leader said, “Finish him.”

  Julian whispered the only word that meant anything to him. “Ailís.”

  The leader knelt beside Julian. The man’s mouth twisted into a venomous snarl. “You don’t give up easy,” the man said, then spat in Julian’s face. The leader drew back his fist and Julian was unable to avoid the blow that opened his right cheek leaving an ugly gash in its wake and covering him in his own blood. “You heard me, finish him!” the leader hissed at his men.

  Julian felt the man on his right side kneel. He was a large man and he took Julian’s chin in his big hand. The man positioned his other hand on the back of Julian’s head. He had no doubt what would come next. With blood dripping from his face and mouth Julian breathed the word again, “Ailís,” and another tear formed at the corner of the only eye from which he could see.

  There was a loud noise at the back of the church as the doors opened followed by a roar from Sean Maher that rattled the choir loft. The three men ran for the side door, but the leader slowed long enough to kick over a table of votive candles.

  Julian could hear Sean’s heavy boots pound up the center aisle, but also became aware that the votive candles had splashed against the old, tinder dry curtains that hung at either side of the nave of St. Michael’s statue. Soon the flames were climbing the drapes.

  As Sean reached the intersection of the center aisle and the altar rail, Julian got to his knees and pointed to Father Fahey and managed to gasp, “Get him to the doctor now.” He added, “Forget them. See to the priest.”

  With murder in his eyes, Sean turned to the unconscious priest, picked him up as if the old man weighed nothing and ran for the doctor’s house.

  Julian slipped and fell in his own blood, stood and launched himself at the drapes as the flames licked at the wood paneled walls of the nave. He found a portion of the curtain that wasn’t burning and pulled hard. His arms hurt from being pinned behind his back, his hands were nearly useless from pain and swelling.

  Every muscle in his stomach and chest cried out and his ribs shrieked for relief. His eyes were nearly swollen shut and rivulet’s of blood flowed from every wound on his face until his shirt was soaked with blood.

  He pulled once – nothing. He pulled again, harder – again nothing. He took a deep breath, gasped in pain and pulled harder still. The heavy velvet drape gave way and fell, pooling at Julian’s feet. He dragged the red curtain into a heap on the marble floor in front of the nave and away from the carpet and began to beat the flames out. Smoke and cinders filled the air as he continued to beat at the curtain.

  As soon as Sean broke through the church doors with Father Fahey in his arms he had raised the alarm with a bellow that woke everyone in the village. By the time he came out of the doctor’s surgery half the village was at the doctor’s front door. The other half was in or on its way to the church at a
run.

  The villagers stood in a loose semicircle around Julian as he continued to beat out the remainder of the cinders from the smoldering drape.

  “Sean, we can’t make him give over. Do something,” Edmond Brady pleaded.

  When Sean knelt next to his friend, Julian was nearly unconscious from the pain. He was breathing in quick, jerking, shallow breaths.

  Sean looked at the face of Julian Blessing, the face he had seen every day for months and he hardly recognized it. Julian, the big man concluded, had taken a thorough going, vicious and very professional beating. This wasn’t to be a murder, this was designed to sow terror by leaving a body so bloody and broken there would be no need for any further messages. “Someone will pay an almighty price for this,” Sean whispered.

  Tears ran down Julian’s cheeks and mingled with his blood. His beating of the curtain had turned to ineffectual flailing with arms grown weary and useless. Julian could, if he squinted, see Sean Maher kneeling beside him. The big man captured both of Julian’s wrists and stilled his arms.

  “You’ve put out the fire, old son. It’s time to go,” Sean Maher said softly.

  “Father Fahey?” Julian mumbled through broken and swollen lips where bubbles of blood formed.

  “He is fine and resting at the doctor’s surgery.”

  “Sean, I feel so very tired and it hurts so bad,” Julian said in short sharp breaths.

  “I know. Let’s have the doctor patch you up. Why, she won’t take but a minute then we’ll go find us a couple of pints of the black stuff.”

  “Please Sean, she mustn’t see me like this; no one should,” Julian pleaded.