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

by K. Francis Ryan

  “He seemed to handle that well. A bit rough, but ‘tis understandable. I don’t think he’ll need our help, do you?” Moira said.

  “You have done a good job. I feel he will handle the next challenge fine without us,” Bridget answered.

  ***

  Although it was nearly closing time, O’Gavagan’s was still crowded with patrons speculating on the cry the banshee had made. They had all heard the scream, but had decided to have another jar before going out to investigate.

  Julian and Sean bellied up to the bar and in uncharacteristically loud voices ordered pints.

  “O'Gavagan, old son,” Sean called out. The barman eased over to stand in front of his patrons.

  “Big Mike O'Gavagan, it is filled with awe and respect, that much that I have for you, that Oi’m about to impart a tale. This regards me friend and companion, Julian Blessing, and the justice of Almighty God.”

  “Go on, Sean Maher, Oi’m listening. But do not keep this between us. We all of us want to hear your tale.”

  “Sean,” Julian interrupted, “There is no need to...”

  “Tisk, tisk, tisk; Oi’ll have none of your false modesty, ya beautiful and courageous, and should I say saintly, man?” Sean winked at the barman.

  Julian resigned himself and looked deeply into his glass. The room had become as still as a church in Lent.

  Sean began to speak. He turned and ran an eye over all of his listeners as any good storyteller would. “You know your fine selves what a most terrible beating our Mr. Julian took at the hands of burly toughs, three or mayhaps four, times his size who had trampled our priest in his own church and who desecrated St. Michael’s.”

  “’Tis true. Oi know this,” Mike O’Gavagan said and a grumbled assent went round the room.

  “Well, this very night the same Mr. Julian, who up to a few weeks ago was a pathetic ruin of a once great man, due to the said beating he received and the severity of his wounds, prevailed against evil. Anyway, through the craftiness born of a long and expensive education, he laid a clever trap for his tormentors knowing that they would come back to finish the job they started.

  “Now Oi would like to say Oi put paid to their evil intentions by me, fortuitous…?” he asked Julian, who nodded that was the correct word.

  “…Their evil intentions by me fortuitous arrival at the police station this very night. Where’pon, Oi frightened them away. This Oi would state before God – had Oi got hold of them who commit crimes in churches and mistreat me friends, Oi would be having murther in me heart, surely Oi would. Oi would say all this, but being a modest man Oi will refrain.”

  Julian blew ale out of his nose and called for a bar towel. Sean looked down upon his friend and sniffed a miffed sniff.

  “Anyway, Oi would like to say such is true, but alas ’tisn’t. Our very own Mr. Julian it was and he alone confronted his assailants this very night and like a man, he laid them low.

  “Boom, boom!” Sean said as he brought his knee up to groin height fast and hard. “Mr. Julian bollocked two of the henchmen mightily.”

  A collective gasp went up around the room as, involuntarily, men moved to protect their privates and exhibited suitably pained expressions.

  “That left only the ringleader who knocked down Father Fahey and administered the monstrous beating to poor Mr. Julian. Aye, and who killt entirely our Georgie Sullivan and who beat the others, too he did. And wasn’t it Mr. Julian who subdued the culprit in a flash?” Sean drank deeply from his beer.

  The room was thick with a stunned silence as it awaited the next installment. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “Why, it was the work of a moment and Mr. Julian fully paralyzed the ringleader so that he was on the ground and could not move for the fear and pain that was on him.

  “’Tis then that Oi arrived upon the scene with young Jimmy Grogan. We turned up to assist Mr. Julian, but our assistance would not be needed this night, except for a very minor role Oi meself played, as you will hear. It ’twas that friend Blessing, for he is a friend and a kinsman to us all.” A noisy concurrence went up around the room. Sean looked to Julian. “Where was Oi?”

  Julian rolled his eyes and whispered, “’twas that friend Blessing…”

  “Ach, aye. ’Twas that friend Blessing destroyed the evil ones altogether and did it faster then it takes to cross yourselves, it was that fast too. How it t’wer done Oi cannot say for in truth, and I am I truthful man, I did not see this happen. But in spades, I saw the aftermath making evidence of the act plain for all to see.

  “Oi will tell you it must have been with a restraint the saint would be proud to have, that worse was not done. Aye, restraint Oi say because our Mr. Julian did not murther the man altogether.”

  A general agreement circulated again throughout the room.

  “To show the wisdom of our Mr. Julian, who is nearly an Irishman for he has that much wisdom and bravery, Mr. Julian says to me, ‘Friend, Sean Maher, you and Jimmy Grogan rest yourselves for Oi have a job of work to do that’ll take but a moment.’

  “Well, Mr. Julian, he looks upon the face of evil that is in a state of misery on the ground afore him. The creature has his legs at unnatural angles, which is often the way of evil creatures.

  “Our Julian, he just looks at the creature and before a heartbeat can pass the beast is beggin’ us to hear his confession. ’Twas a lengthy confession too considerin’ all the pain that was on him.”

  “Rightly so…” the pub patrons and the landlord agreed.

  “Well, after the nasty insect owned up to his sins, Mr. Julian, he just continues to look at the monster. Due to his moral superiority and having right on his side, ’twas that look alone that Mr. Julian employed that caused the monumental howl to rise up from the fiend. And that was the wail you all heard this very night. So much is the power of good over evil.” The patrons shivered with the memory.

  Julian let his head fall back as he looked at the ceiling and shook his head.

  Sean continued, “‘Aye, Sean Maher,’ says Mr. Julian, ‘get Jimmy Grogan to help you deposit these swine behind bars. As both of you are Christians you have nothing to fear from these wicked persons. To the cells with ‘em,’ says he to me.

  “Oi, meself and Jimmy Grogan too did witness these deeds as God Almighty is the judge of us all and ’twas we who deposited hell’s imps in the cells of the police station this very night in Cappel Vale.

  “And that is me story, Mike O'Gavagan.”

  “A better tale there could not be – nor a better or more truthful storyteller as we all know.” Big Mike cast a questioning eye over the crowd and they quickly agreed. Each patron was already planning his rewrite of history. “And proud it is I am to be able to call you – and Mr. Julian – me friends,” the barman said

  Julian whispered slowly, “I know it is your pub, Big Mike, but step to the end of the bar if you would.”

  “Julian?” Sean looked puzzled.

  “Mr. O'Gavagan, I said step to the end of the bar. Do it now, please.” Julian’s tone of voice was calm and low and allowed no further discussion. The barman backed away and looked troubled.

  The pub’s front door squealed on its hinges and filling the doorway was a very large man with a cloth cap and a shotgun. Without turning away from the bar Julian shook his head, smiled slightly and said in a clear voice that silenced the room, “Welcome Mr. Lynch. Would you join us for a drink?”

  “You two!” Lynch bellowed.

  ***

  There was a clear path from the front door to the bar. The barman reached slowly for the shotgun he kept under the bar.

  “Enough of that, O’Gavagan,” Lynch said and motioned for the barman to back away. “Everybody back up and take a seat,” Lynch said. “These two and Oi are goin’ to take a walk.”

  Sean was calculating the distance and began to balance on the balls of his feet. Julian too was calculating. He knew Lynch had his finger wrapped tightly around the trigger of the shotgun. The barrel cam
e up a fraction of an inch and was pointed squarely at Sean.

  “Maher, Oi know you by reputation and you’re a good fightin’ man to be sure. Unless you want your wife to be a widow and your children to be orphans, Oi would stay right where you are. As sure as there is a God in heaven and as sure as you have my men locked in your jail, Oi will spread your guts all over the wall if you move.”

  “Sean,” Julian said still with his back to the intruder, “as Mr. Lynch won’t join us, let us drink our drinks without him.” Sean was reluctant to take his eyes off the man with the shotgun.

  The thought came to Sean in Julian’s voice, “Sean, turn around and drink your drink. It would be such a shame to let good beer go to waste, no?”

  Sean turned slowly to the bar and whispered to Julian, “When we are both killt altogether, it is me hope God remembers which of us is the Christian and which of us is not.”

  “Turn around! The three of us’ll be going now,” Lynch said.

  “Sadly, I don’t think so,” Julian responded.

  “Don’t play the silly arse with me!” the man roared.

  “Why don’t you set your shotgun down?” Julian turned, rested against the bar and looked at Lynch.

  “Why don’t I kill you? There are those who would pay me handsomely. You are not very well liked.”

  “I have been told that in the past, although,” Julian turned, smiled at the pub’s patrons and continued, “not in a long time now.”

  To a man, the room stood slowly. Chairs and benches chalked the floor. Julian held up a hand and the other patrons stopped moving and waited.

  “Don’t do this,” Julian said to Lynch. “It isn’t worth it.” Julian was no longer looking into Thomas Lynch’s face. His focus had moved to the muzzle of the shotgun.

  “Oi have me orders. Now let’s go and get me men.”

  Tom Lynch looked alarmed. He looked down at the shotgun in his hands. The barrels were beginning to glow bright red and the stock was getting hot. He felt the words.

  Julian’s thought was calm, clear, and emphatic. “Do you have orders to die where you stand tonight? You see, your weapon is going to explode in your hands in five, four, three, two,,,”

  Thomas Lynch stepped down the shotgun’s exposed hammers and the weapon clattered to the floor.

  Julian turned to Sean who, like the other patrons, stood in stunned silence. With a mad grin, Julian said, “Was that cool or what! I never get tired of that sort of thing.”

  Chapter thirty-seven

  Jimmy Grogan was waiting in the police station. “This came for you,” Jimmy said as he handed Julian a thick package in brown paper. He set the package on his desk and cut the string holding it together. Inside there were several copies of the Irish Times.

  On the front page in bold type were the words Julian knew would be there, IRELAND INVADED BY ROMANS SAYS TRINITY PROFESSOR. Julian passed a copy on to Jimmy and the two sat in the rocking chairs and began to read the detailed account.

  “Professor Reginald Bragonier,” said the Irish Times, “while visiting a friend in the Irish countryside, happened upon a historical site that may overturn previous thinking about the history of Ireland.”

  Julian read the lead story and the various sidebars and associated articles, then reread them. Jimmy Grogan looked shell-shocked after his first reading.

  “Is this true?” the young man asked.

  “Well, according to the professor, yes and no. There were Romans here, but I believe the newspaper has taken some license by using the word invasion. Still it makes good copy and sells lots of newspapers.”

  “But, Romans in Ireland? Bloody hell. Although Oi shouldn’t be surprised. Every other sodding country has been here at one time or another.”

  Julian nodded and both men looked into the cold fireplace and brooded.

  “Stay sharp, Jimmy. Things are going to start happening.”

  “What things, Mr. Julian?”

  “I wish I knew. I wish I knew,” Julian said as he looked more deeply into the empty blackness of the fireplace and thought about a future he could not possibly know.

  ***

  A tall, thin, pale man seethed as he reread the Irish Times article detailing the discovery made by Professor Bragonier. No real mention of the monetary value of the treasure was given other than to say it was enormous.

  The Pale Man knew the professor had found nothing. “That American initiated all of this,” he said to no one at all.

  He saw his plans in total disarray. His helpers were all in jail, the treasure he had sought for so long had been found by another, there was no hope of recovering any of his losses.

  Faced with the futility of the endeavors that had taken up so much of his life, revenge suggested itself as a worthy alternative. To his mind, there was nothing left, but revenge. Killing Julian Blessing would satisfy that nicely he thought.

  ***

  Ailís, Timothy and Julian went to the holy well near the crossroads. It was a pleasant afternoon and a trip to the well and back provided a long but easy walk. For Ailís it was a chance to get out of her office. For Julian it was the prospect of spending time with a woman he adored. For Timothy it provided the opportunity to go for a walk with the two people he loved most.

  Although it was mid afternoon when they started out, Ireland’s perennial late winter had settled over the landscape softening the edges of everything and putting a chill in the air.

  “Tell me about the holy wells,” Julian said.

  Ailís began. “Well, as is so often the case in Ireland, there are two schools of thought and, of course, those schools are polar opposites.

  “One school contends the holy wells were pagan in origin and were co-opted by the Church as a way to more quickly and easily spread Christianity,” Ailís said.

  “Sounds reasonable and it isn’t like the Church hasn’t done that before,” Julian interjected. “What is the other school?”

  “That one believes the holy wells were nothing of the sort. They were Christian from the start and had no trace of paganism about them. They sprouted because there weren’t always churches nearby and the wells gave the people a place to come and pray and to join together at special times,” Ailís finished.

  “Timothy,” Julian said. “What does Sister Eugenia say about the wells?”

  The boy thought for awhile and then said, “Sister Eugenia doesn’t say much about ’em a’tall, Mr. Julian. There are times when she says they are Christian places. Other times she says they are much older. Still, at other times she says they are places where little people and fairies meet.”

  “What do you think, Timothy?” Julian asked.

  Again the boy thought before speaking. Julian liked that about Timothy. “Well, Mr. Julian, Holy wells is...”

  “Holy wells, are,” his mother corrected.

  “Holy wells are special places; places for prayer and protection. The why of it really doesn’t matter. That they’re here is enough, I guess.”

  Julian smiled his pleasure and said, “You are a bright lad, Timothy. It is that kind of thinking that will take you far.”

  Timothy beamed in the spotlight and Ailís put her arm around her son.

  Julian decided to pursue the discussion. “So we agree, Timothy, that the holy wells and other holy places can protect a person from harm?”

  “Yes, that can happen,” the boy said.

  “You say ‘can happen’ as though it doesn’t always happen,” Julian responded.

  “That’s right, they don’t always protect.”

  “So what makes the difference between who is protected and when?”

  The boy stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, looked at the ground as he walked and thought hard. At last, the answer that came was as simple as it was profound. “Faith.”

  “Faith in the well or faith in God?” Julian asked.

  “Either really. If you believe in the well it is because you believe God has made it special.”

  “What i
f you don’t believe in God?”

  With his forehead lined deeply, Timothy tried to imagine a world without a belief in God.

  “Well,” Timothy began, “everyone believes in something and everyone believes that something can keep them safe.”

  Julian said, “Timothy, you are the smartest young man I’ve ever met. To what do you credit your brilliance?”

  “Oi…”

  “I not Oi,” his mother corrected.

  “I would have to say it’s because of me Ma,” the boy answered without a moment’s hesitation and Julian’s laughter was unrestrained.

  He rested his hand on Timothy’s shoulder, but Timothy shrugged it off. He was walking between Ailís and Julian, but stopped and turned to face them. The young boy placed his mother’s hand in Julian’s and then looked at the two adults.

  “Everyone knows, you know,” he said as he grinned and with the joyfulness only found in childhood, Timothy darted up the road to explore the path ahead.

  Ailís and Julian looked sheepish, but neither would let go of the other’s hand. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Julian dropped Ailís’s hand and snaked his arm around her shoulder drawing her near. In turn, she ran her arm around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.

  What started off as a brisk walk in the country had slowed to an intimate amble with neither Julian nor Ailís having a need to talk, but each with a deep need for the other’s company.

  Ailís said, “You really are quite good with him. Thank you.”

  “He makes it easy. He really is a remarkable boy and you have done a wonderful job of raising him.”

  This close to Julian she felt no need to comment. She smiled in his embrace and knew he was right; she had raised a wonderful son somehow.

  Julian stopped in the road and Ailís looked at him. Something fundamental was amiss and he could feel it. The presence was dark and oppressive. It was the strongest impression he had ever experienced. The world suddenly wasn’t as it had been a moment ago.

  All of Julian’s senses reached a state of alert simultaneously. The road ahead was clear. Around the next corner, they would come within sight of the holy well. For now the road was straight, trees lined it on both sides with thick beds of dark leafed bracken laying down a carpet of green. Julian held his hand out in front of him. He nearly recoiled at the touch. He could feel it like a wall in front of him. This was malice, hatred and rage. This was evil.