by Diana Ryan
Monday, October 20th
Darcy came to see us off the next morning wearing her routine skirt suit and two-inch heels. She stood on the street curb leaning onto the passenger side door of a metallic blue BMW Z4 Roadster.
“Hot ride, Darcy,” I called, wondering how she got her hands on such a fancy car.
“Woo!” Drew hooted as he dropped his suitcase on the sidewalk and scooped up Darcy, swinging her around. “Yes! This is it?”
“What?” I asked as I picked up Drew’s bag and brought it closer to Darcy and him.
“The IIA has issued you this junker to drive across the country to County Kerry. I hope she’ll do.”
“Sweet,” I said, eyes wide.
“There is a GPS unit installed into the dash and I’ve taken the liberty of programming a trip map for you. In the accommodations screen is the hotel information for when you get to Killarney.”
“Thanks for your help, Darcy. It was a pleasure working with you.” I shook her hand and then opened the passenger side door. Once inside I could see Darcy and Drew kissing outside the window. I wondered just how attached Drew had become in the short week we were here. A soft mumbling of their voices filled my ears, and I painfully remembered the last farewell I said to Ava.
Several minutes later the door opened and Drew slid in. He sat still for a moment, keys on his lap, and let out a loud sigh. Then he said with little enthusiasm, “Let’s do this.” He started the ignition, slid the shifter into drive, and pulled out into traffic, leaving Darcy waving on the sidewalk.
“You’ll be back for her.” Then the thought hit me that we’d both be suffering from a broken heart on our journey to County Kerry.
* * * *
The trip across Ireland was absolutely amazing. We spent four hours driving on rolling roads through lush green mountains that towered over small crystal clear lakes with little colorful rowboats waiting at the rocky shorelines. We passed many beautiful country farms with white, fluffy sheep grazing on the grassy hillsides around ancient grey stone fences marking territories. I’d only once before seen scenery so spectacular, and that was in Wisconsin Dells.
Right outside of Limerick we took the N21 southwest into Killarney. I noticed a beautiful mountain out in the distance, and put on my best Irish accent. “According to this website, that mountain is Carrauntoohill, Ireland’s highest mountain.” Drew laughed at my obviously murdered pronunciation of the mountain. I continued, speaking louder as a protest to his poking fun. “At the base of the mountain sits the majestic Lakes of Killarney: Lough Lea, Muckross Lough, and nearby Lough Guitane.”
Drew’s laughter had settled into a breathy giggle. “You are a wealth of knowledge, my friend, but you better stop there before you find your end.” He smiled through the windshield, humming a tune.
“Another song rolling around your brain?”
“Roger Doger. There’s always a tune floatin’ around my noggin.” He hummed a few more notes until the voice on the GPS interrupted, telling him to turn. Drew followed the N22 to Port Road—a local hint from Darcy to avoid one-way streets. We followed along the Killarney National Forest and then drove into the quaint village of Killarney.
The FBI had booked us two rooms at the handsome Killarney Randles Court Hotel. We parked the car and then took our suitcases up the stairs to the front entrance. The white-walled lobby was very fancy. Two fireplaces sat on either side of the room and very expensive looking oversized artwork hung on the other walls. Red velvet chairs were clustered in fours around mahogany tables under crystal chandeliers. Exorbitant collections of fresh flowers filled the room with an air of high society.
We approached the pleasant-looking lady at the front desk and she directed us to our rooms on the second floor, wishing us a restful stay. Upstairs we stopped in the hallway between our rooms. Drew twisted his torso to crack his back before he stuck his key card in the door. “Man, I could use a visit to the ol’ chiropractor.” Then a thought hit him and his eyes lit up from the inside. “Oh my God. Did I ever tell you about my gorgeous chiropractor?”
I shook my head.
Drew opened his door and set his bag in the way to hold the door open. “She was smokin’ hot so I faked some back pain so she could lay her sweet hands on my skin twice a week.”
Drew jumped to a new level in my book. Faking back pain to get touched by a doctor?
“She was totally into me, too. I just knew the way she smiled her cute little pink lips at me. Anyway, our sessions were awesome. She mixed in a little massage with her chiro junk and God, she knew exactly how to put me right into a state of pure relaxation, right?”
“Seriously, Drew?”
“So this one time,” he went on, ignoring me, “I was lying on the table half naked while Dr. Hottie was cracking my back and everything was going just fine until she put the perfect amount of pressure directly between the T10 and T11 and…I farted.”
I burst out laughing, and Drew continued his story, talking over me.
“Oh jeez, it smelled like week-old raunchy egg salad in that little room, but she went right on working! Dr. Hottie didn’t even crack a smile! It’s like there really is a genuine gas button right between the T10 and T11!”
“Oh my God, Drew.”
Then he slapped his hand on my lower back and said, “Come here. Let me see if I can find the fart button!”
I pushed Drew back into the wall. “Knock it off! You are no Doctor Hottie!”
Drew laughed and then picked up his bag and let out an overly obnoxious yawn. “I need a nap from that long drive.” He walked through the door and then stuck his head out for one more comment. “After a few winks let’s hit the pub I saw down the street for supper.”
“See you in a few hours.” I opened the door to my room just as Drew’s started to close.
The guest rooms were just as lavish as the lobby. When I used the bathroom I noticed heated marble floors, and when I slid under the bed sheets I felt the softest linens I had ever touched. What I wouldn’t give to have Ava with me enjoying this beautiful country and comfortable hotel.
My sleep wasn’t very restful—I dreamt of Ava kissing another man in a vast, dark room filled with masked people. I woke up feeling delusional, heartbroken, and tired, but more motivated to get started on our research than I had felt since the trip had started.
At the pub that night we read the mission documents Bowman had sent us and discussed our plan. We knew church archives, graveyards, and public records would be the first places to search. We needed to find Myers’s relatives and figure out what prompted Myers to become the person he is.
Doubt was looming in the back of my mind. Our quest to find knowledge wouldn’t be too easy.
* * * *
Tuesday, October 21st
Drew checked online and found nine churches in town, but decided to take us to St. Mary’s Church of Ireland since it looked the oldest and probably had the largest source of records.
The church looked like it had been occupying that green patch of grass for several hundred years. The front doors were comprised of ancient wood with two circular iron door handles.
“Should we knock?” I asked as we approached.
“I don’t think so. Let’s just go on in.” Drew lifted one of the metal rings and pulled open the heavy door. It creaked in protest as it swung open into a cozy nave which opened into a large sanctuary.
“Hello?” He called as we walked into the cold, open space. His voice echoed over the pews.
We wandered past a few rows, but there was still no sign of anyone. “Hello?” I repeated.
“Can I help you, gentleman?” A quiet and peaceful voice spoke behind us. We turned around to see an old greying man wearing a brown robe enter the sanctuary.
“Yes, hello there. My cousin and I are researching the history of certain Irish surnames and suspect your church may have some helpful information for us. We were wondering if you’d be kind enough to share some of your church records?”
The old man agreed to take us to the record room. We found books after books on shelves lining walls much like the basement room at St. Patrick’s.
“We are looking for information about a family with the last name Ó Meidhir.” The old man gave me a perplexed look. Maybe my Gaelic wasn’t up to snuff. I wrote the name down on a piece of paper and handed it over.
“Ah, Ó Meidhir. You wouldn’t be speaking of Alec and Lara Ó Meidhir, would you?” The old man walked over to the shelf without waiting for my reply.
“Possibly. Do you know them?” My heartbeat began to speed up. Could this be the break we needed?
He set an old dusty book onto the table in front of us and began to page through it as he spoke. “My father was a parishioner at this church for many years before me. He became good friends with Alec and his family, who were active congregation members long ago. Alec was the local physician in town and was well known for his research medicine.”
“What exactly do you mean, ‘research medicine’?” I took out my tablet, ready to take notes.
“In the early twentieth century, several townsfolk were suffering from unusual and unexplained symptoms. Some even progressed to extremely violent behaviors. Word floated through town that Dr. Alec kept a medical study on his patients’ digressions. He spent his life dedicated to solving the medical mystery surrounding these poor people.”
If this man was a friend of Myers’s ancestors, it’s possible he was still in touch with Myers and we wouldn’t want to say too much in front of him.
“That sounds interesting. Do you have any more information about these strange symptoms?”
“The answer is always in a book.” The old man flipped through until he finally found the page he was looking for. “Here.” He pressed his finger to the page. “Our records indicate that Alec, Lara, and their only child, a boy named Clennan, lived on Pluckett Street in an apartment above Dr. Ó Meidhir’s office.” He looked up from the text. “I believe the office still stands and is property of family members.” He looked down again. “This says Alec went to our Lord in 1933, only two years after little Clennan was born.”
“Does it indicate his cause of death?” Drew tried to peek at the open page in the book but the old man noticed and pulled the book closer to himself, running his fingers down the page.
“This book does not list a cause of death, although if I remember correctly, he did not pass of natural causes.”
Drew was onto the next question before I could ask the old man more about his last statement. “What about the strange symptoms the people of Killarney were suffering from? Do you perhaps have additional information about that?”
He looked nervous and paused for a second before answering. “There isn’t anything written down about that, young man. Dr. Ó Meidhir wouldn’t allow it.” The old man started to get fidgety, like he was saying too much.
“He wouldn’t allow anyone to keep track of their symptoms?” There was something fishy about this story. Perhaps the old man was going senile. Could we really trust anything he was saying?
Drew and I waited for the man to answer my question, but he stood staring at the wall, silent.
“Well, cousin,” Drew slapped me on the back. “I guess we are at a dead end here. Poor Grandma will cry tears.”
The old man jerked to life, “I suppose I would be dishonest if I said my knowledge of this topic ended there.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “My father told me the story many times. You see, all this took place ten years after the meteor shower of 1901. Some of the residents of Killarney began experiencing strange and unexplainable symptoms.”
“A meteor shower?” I whispered.
Why were we whispering?
“Yes. The gates of heaven itself opened up and dropped colorful rocks from the Promised Land onto the earth.”
“Rocks from space?”
This couldn’t be a coincidence. I remembered my visit to Hayward Kubas at the campsite in the Dells and how I thought he was crazy at the time.
The old man continued with careful caution. “These weren’t any ordinary, run-of-the-mill rocks, boys. They were glowing blue with purple blaze and they fell from the sky with great abundance.” His intensity turned up as he continued sharing his secret. “Cottage roofs were damaged and vegetation caught fire. Mass panic and confusion ensued as the people of Killarney thought the end of the earth was near.” He stopped to take several deep breaths. Drew and I thought he was finished, but he started up again. “Once the storm settled, everyone in town picked up several meteors as curious keepsakes of that horrible night.”
“Wow,” Drew commented.
“For years after, Alec concocted very strange remedies to relieve the headaches and violent mood swings in his patients that he thought were associated with exposure to the space rocks. Soon some of the members of the community began to think Dr. Ó Meidhir was going insane and convinced local officials to revoke his medical license. Finally, Alec made a newspaper announcement indicating his office was closed to the public, and then began privately and secretly treating his patients.”
“Wow,” Drew said again.
“But what happened to him?” I inquired. “To his patients?”
“I haven’t a clue. That’s where my father’s story always ended.” He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. “I do know that our Lord took Dr. Ó Meidhir when he was—” he calculated in his mind “—thirty four years of age, leaving behind a young child and a journal full of research.”
I needed to get my hands on that book.
I carefully crafted my words. “What an important piece of medical history. Do you know what happened to that journal?”
“Last I knew it was lost in the family archives.”
I hoped Myers held it secure in a secret safe in his temporary office and not in the CBB building that we had blown up. I decided not to press the issue with the old man on account of him acting so skittish.
“Thank you for this information. I know this will help us with our research.” Drew and I turned to leave the book room when the old man grabbed my forearm forcefully with his weathered, wrinkled fingers. He looked me straight in the eye and his voice dropped into a frightening tone. “I’d be careful if I were you. Some people don’t like the skeletons in their closet rattled.”
I felt a chill down in my bones. “Uhh…thanks. That’s good advice.” But he didn’t let go of my arm right away. I tried to gently shake it loose, but the bony fingers held tight. I looked at Drew for help.
“Right, well, we should be going. Thank you, sir.” He grabbed my other arm and pulled me in the direction of the door. The old man finally loosened his grip, and I left the room perplexed.
Neither of us said anything until we reached the car, got in, and slammed the doors shut.
“What the hell was that?” we both said in tandem. Drew laughed, but I felt too weirded out by the old codger and couldn’t join in. I knew Myers was nothing to mess around with, but could that elderly clergy actually be afraid of the ghosts of Myers’s ancestors?
Drew and I decided to try to find Pluckett Street and search out the site of Dr. Alec’s old office. The in-dash GPS took us right downtown and over to Pluckett easily. Several scummy, two-story stucco buildings with dark brown shingles stood in a row down the block. Each house looked exactly the same except for their worn-out colors: cream, canary yellow, hunter green, or light grey.
As if someone was looking over our shoulders guiding us, we came upon a building with a wooden carved sign hanging from two rusty chains above the front door. It was quite worn, but we could read it: Dr. Alec Ó Meidhir, Medical Physician. The place looked run down and possibly even abandoned.
Drew slowed the car and stopped just past the house. “Well hot damn, here we are. We should go knock.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Drew turned off the car and reached below his seat for his Glock. “You never know what we’ll find i
n there.” I knew he was right, so I reached into the glove compartment and retrieved two flashlights.
“Let’s get the journal and get the hell outta there,” Drew advised as he reached over and grabbed one of the flashlights from me.
“Deal,” I agreed.
Drew knocked on the wooden door and we waited, but heard nothing.
“Hello?” he called. “Anyone home?”
I looked up and down the street. There was no sign of life anywhere, and not even a car had passed on the street since we parked in front of the house.
“Let’s check the back,” I quietly suggested.
There was a small patch of grass behind four rotted wooden stairs leading up to a back door. Drew climbed the stairs and knocked on the back door. It swung inward with the force of his knock, creaking the whole way. “Well, Agent Hill, I think the luck of the Irish is on our side today.” Drew smiled as he pushed the door open further and called into the house. There was still no answer. “In we go!” he sang, and disappeared into the house before I could protest.
I anxiously followed into a very old and dirty kitchen with filthy wooden floorboards, dusty furniture, and a nasty smell that could only be described as stale death. I wrinkled up my nose and whispered to Drew, “Go toward the front of the house; look for something that could be an office.” Apparently it was empty, but we held our guns at the ready position anyway and shone our flashlights straight ahead.
There were no lights on in the house, and the curtains had all been pulled closed. Our feet creaked as we shuffled across the floorboards through a dark living room, and into another at the front of the house. A long wooden table sat along one wall, and a desk and antique bookshelf were pushed into the corner. It had to be the office.
Drew approached the bookshelf and scanned the spines as I opened the drawers in the desk. There were pens, papers, and a blank prescription pad, but nothing that looked of importance. I found a picture of a young boy who looked suspiciously like Ethan Myers. I threw it back in the drawer and picked up a piece of paper with a handwritten symbol carefully drawn on it. My mind raced back to the book Brynn showed us at Eneclann. The same symbol was drawn in the margin of that book next to the name, Ó Meidhir.