Death & Other Lies

by Carol L. Ochadleus

  Somewhere in the night, as he thrashed about unable to sleep, Matt remembered a name from one of Kate’s sparse disclosures about her life. Matt was telling her about the stories he made up for his mother about knights and dragons, and she briefly mentioned a place that his story brought to mind. Such a funny name, he thought at the time. What was it? Ceridian, Currigean, something like that. Without exactly knowing why, Matt’s instinct told him it was essential and could have something to do with her aunt. On a hunch, he called the front desk about three-thirty in the morning and inquired of the clerk on duty if he’d ever heard of a place called something like Kerrigan. “Are you referring to Ceredigion?” was the response. “It’s a county in western Wales along the coast of the Irish Sea.”

  Hanging up the phone, Matt lay back and took a deep breath. I’d make a good detective.

  Instead of trying to locate every Elizabeth Champion in the United States and chasing down the right one, he might have better luck trying to find the aunt who accompanied Mrs. Champion to the hotel. There was little mention of her in the police report, but it did say something about Wales. His mind raced. Kate had talked of Ceredigion, and it was in Wales. It shouldn’t be too hard to find her. How big could a place with a name like that be anyway? His decision made; he was finally able to settle down into a deep sleep. The next day he was going to Wales.

  First thing in the morning, Matt headed down to the dining room and stopped briefly at the concierge desk. He made arrangements for a packet to be prepared with directions to get to Ceredigion and the city of Aberystwyth in particular. There was the National Library of Wales in the city, and that was where he could start his search. I’m going to hunt this woman down, he decided. I’ll go door to door if I have to, he vowed, nodding his head for emphasis to his reflection in the polished brass elevator doors. I’m not going home without an answer.

  After breakfast, he picked up the information from the clerk and went back up to his room to pack a bag. He stuffed his small travel bag with some overnight things and headed out to hail a taxi. The concierge had made a reservation for him on the First Great Western from the Paddington Station to Swansea with a connection to Carmarthen, a total of about two hundred-forty miles and nearly a four-hour ride. Not expecting to be back by evening, he thought it prudent to take along a change of clothes and a few toiletries. He grabbed some euros and his hotel key, shoving them deep in his pockets. As an afterthought, he grabbed his passport and slipped it into the fold of his wallet. Too big to fit in his back pocket he tucked the wallet in the side slit of his jacket, and he was off to Wales.

  The journey through the countryside was delightful and ran along a beautiful stretch of land. The train sped past mountains in the far distance and followed rivers which wound themselves in and out of forests where they puddled every so often to form pristine lakes. On he sped on the Teifi Valley Railroad past cities and villages, the names of which Matt didn’t even try to pronounce. They rode past the highway that would have taken him to Wiltshire and the mysterious Stonehenge boulders. Another trip, another time, he promised himself, he wanted to return someday when there was more time, and he wasn’t on such a mission. There was so much to see.

  Once they crossed the border into Wales, the signs became much larger, conveying both the English and the Welsh spelling for sites along the way. Here was the land of King Arthur that he used to dream about as a child. If only his mother could be here with him, for here was where the knights and damsels lived their storybook lives with dragons and castles as their props. Ah yes, he said to himself, I could have made her smile with my stories today with such a backdrop as this. They passed the charming border town of Monmouth, home of the twelfth Century Benedictine monk, Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote the original story of King Arthur and his Camelot. Had it been a different occasion, Matt would have enjoyed the trip more. The tapestry of the Welsh history was rich and fascinating, and he wanted to spend more time touring this ancient land from which notable people, such as kings and poets sprang.

  As the miles raced by, Matt dredged up what he could recall from his old history classes about Wales and its people. Although most of what he once knew was as foggy as the mist coming down upon the train, he remembered bits and pieces of stories of the Romans, the Celts, the Normans, and the Welsh. He remembered stories about the battles that tore apart the land and the fierce pride that put it back together. U.S. Presidents descended from here, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Richard Nixon. Three of his favorite movie stars were from Wales, Richard Burton, Sir Anthony Hopkins, and his favorite Catherine Zeta-Jones. Sure would be nice to see her skipping through the meadows on this trip, he thought with a smile, yet immediately felt disloyal to Kate as he did so.

  Thoughts of Kate brought him back to reality, and he worried how he would go about finding her aunt when he arrived in Aberystwyth, the biggest city of Ceredigion. But his heart was so much lighter. He was sure now that Kate was real, no matter what had occurred or what mystery took her away, she was real, and he was on his way to finding her. Nothing would stop him; he was surer of that than anything else in his life. “I will find you, Kate,” he whispered to the passing landscape, his head resting on the cool glass. “You may be angry when I do, but I need to see you, touch you one more time. At least you will know how much I love you. Then if you still wish it, I will let you go.”

  The city was much larger than he anticipated. The concierge in London suggested he pick up a taxi at the train station and instruct them to take him to the Red Lion Hotel. The ride by taxi took him through picturesque towns on one lane roads, often blocked by herds of sheep. A tractor that was probably a hundred years old slowed their pace to a crawl just outside of town. Sinking back in the seat of the taxi, Matt tried to slow his mind and his heart to the pace of the land.

  “No sense trying to hurry, ya knows,” the driver threw over his shoulder to his passenger. “It never does ya no good.”

  When they finally arrived at the hotel, Matt found it small and eccentric, but he was pleased to see it looked well-kept and clean. What a change from the Royal Arms, he thought striding through the door, only to be greeted by two of the largest dogs he had ever seen. The Irish wolfhound’s heads were bigger than his, and they probably weighed more than he did. Matt could have ridden them around the yard. Signed in, he was shown to his room, one of only six in the establishment. A colorful, clean, handmade quilt was upon the big four-poster bed, which looked to be as old as the building itself. There was no sign of a private washroom, but it did have a hand basin, a pitcher of fresh water and a pile of fluffy linens. An old wardrobe was painted with what he believed to be Celtic designs, and although he didn’t have his own loo, he did have a telly.

  Arriving late in the afternoon, he decided to find something to eat, and in the morning after breakfast, he would head out to the local library and begin his search for Kate’s aunt. Matt probably could have found a restaurant with something more familiar, but he decided to join the other guests of the hotel for dinner downstairs, which promised to be unique, at least to him. The menu for the evening meal was Welsh rarebit, potatoes, and carrots with laver-bread made from seaweed. Well, this will be a first. Having washed up from the long trip, he started down the stairs and his first taste of Wales.

  “Croeso gymru, Welcome to Wales,” his host said to him as he signed in to the hotel earlier in the day, trying to keep his balance while the great hounds rubbed against his legs.

  “Uh, thank you,” Matt replied.

  “Will ya be needing a room with us for more than a night?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I will probably be leaving tomorrow.”

  “That’s alright ma boy; we are happy to have ya. Do come down and join us for supper,” his host added. “My wife is a fair good cook; she will be pleased.”

  By the time he headed back up the stairs for the night, he patted his full stomach and applauded the landlord’s wife. She was a fair good cook he agreed, and he wondere
d what other surprises Wales had in store for him.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the morning it was softly raining outside, gloomy and cold. The clerk told him it had not let up all night. The world was wet and slippery. Matt successfully sidestepped the two great hounds and stepped through the door pulling the collar of his jacket up around his ears. With directions to the local library in his hand, Matt traveled nearly two blocks in the cold, with the dampness chilling him through to the bone. In spite of the weather, he was sure it would be his lucky day.

  As he approached the main street, he looked in both directions in an attempt to get his bearings. The mist was heavy and forced him to squint against the moisture blowing in his face. As he looked across the street, he could see an old church on the corner and stood rooted to the spot taking in the ancient decorative architecture. He was barely aware of a woman coming out of the door until something flickered in his subconscious, making him turn his full attention to her. What he saw caused his heart to stop. Strawberry blond hair escaped the hood she wore, which was pulled up around her face. Her frame was slim and petite. She was walking briskly in the other direction, but the little he could see, something about her seemed familiar. His heart thudded in his chest. He didn’t want to appear crazed, but he needed to catch her, see her face. He practically leaped forward in his haste, looking briefly to the left before stepping into the street, yelling out as he did across the mist, “Kate!”

  At the sound of the voice behind her, the woman turned to see who was shouting, just in time to see the motorcycle with two riders hit a dark-haired young man and send him flying to the curb. Matt never saw or heard the motorbike, which came from an unusual direction. His last thought before he passed out was of Jeremy York’s affirmation that tourists were often hurt in Great Britain.

  Elizabeth Champion heard the name Kate and turned to see a young man hurled to the curb by the force of the impact. Two other bodies went sliding past as the bike skidded by her, narrowly missing an oncoming car. The young couple was thoroughly shaken and badly bruised by the event, but they survived to enjoy the rest of their honeymoon. They were fortunate enough to walk away with limited injuries.

  Matt was not so lucky. He landed unceremoniously with his head and one leg on the curb, and his body bent in half like a broken toothpick. Immediately Elizabeth ran to his side as the two bikers began to pick themselves up off the road. Matt, however, was a different matter. Unconscious, he was bleeding from a broken leg bone which jutted raggedly through the skin. His face was scraped along one side, and mud, stones, and a cigarette butt clung to his hair. A pool of blood was forming under his head as a result of the blow to the curb. Several passing cars stopped and offered assistance to the young bike riders, and someone called for an ambulance for Matt.

  Elizabeth was drawn to the helpless young man without knowing why. She had no idea who he was or why he came after her, but he called her Kate and instinct told her it was something to do with her daughter. When the ambulance bundled him into the back, Elizabeth asked if she could ride along with him to the hospital. Matt had sustained a severe concussion and was bleeding from his ear. He was taken into surgery immediately, and the broken bone in his leg was set. After a series of x-rays, it was determined he also had three broken ribs, a sprained neck, and a depressed skull fracture. Although the doctors knew the head injury was serious, they were forced to wait until the swelling subsided to determine the extent of the damage. They could set his leg, wrap up his ribs, and put a brace around his neck, but surgery to repair his head injuries would have to wait.

  Elizabeth was anxious to talk to the young man and find out why he stepped in front of the motorcycle calling Kate’s name, but it was clear from the doctor’s prognosis, and Matt’s unconscious state, that might not be possible for several days. Without logic or reason, she felt a responsibility to this young man and became a frequent visitor to the hospital over the next couple of days, waiting for him to awaken. After the death of her sister-in-law, Elizabeth was more in tune with anything that seemed out of the ordinary. This was a mystery that needed an answer.

  Two days later, with the swelling subsiding, the physicians decided they waited long enough, and Matt was wheeled into surgery the following morning. Matt slept for two more days before he finally opened his eyes. The nurses immediately called the doctor along with Mrs. Champion, who had asked to be notified as well.

  Matt immediately panicked when his eyes eventually opened in a hospital room. He had no idea what happened but instantly knew it was not a good place to be. There were bandages on his head and his leg. Tubes were sticking out of his arm, which was strapped to a board. He had trouble breathing and felt like a vise was holding his chest. It was difficult to see anything, and he couldn’t turn his head. Every inch of him hurt. He had no recollection of how he got there or even where that actually may be.

  “Hello! Anyone?” he called out loud. The nurse on duty heard him, and happy to see him awake, rushed over to try and keep him calm.

  “There, there, my fine lad, don’t be going on quite yet.”

  “Where am I? What happened to me?” Matt asked, turning as best he could toward the strange woman who flew into the room.

  “You are in Saint Hedgewick’s Hospital,” answered the white-smocked nurse. “You had a nasty spill. The doctor will be with you in just a short while.”

  “Where?” he asked again.

  “Why, Aberystwyth,” she answered with a perplexed tilt to her head. “Aberystwyth, Wales.”

  Noting his alarmed look, she lowered her voice and gently asked him, “And just what is your name, my fine lad?” her voice thick with a Welsh accent. “You had no identification with you when you decided to pay us a visit.”

  “I’m not sure,” Matt searched his memory for a simple answer. His lips were cracked, and his mouth dry. His tongue felt thick. It was hard to talk. His name wouldn’t come easily to him, and it made his head hurt to think about it. “I’m not sure,” he said again.

  “Well, no matter,” the nurse said, patting his good leg, “it will come back to you shortly. You got a nasty bang to your head, and most likely it will just be a while before it all comes back to you. Try to rest now; the doctor will be here shortly to check up on you. Are you in any pain?” she asked before stepping out into the hall.

  “God, yes, I hurt everywhere,” Matt answered.

  “Everywhere?” she questioned.

  “Yes,” he replied, expecting her immediate attention. “I hurt from my head to my toes.”

  “Good,” she replied with a little shake of her head. “That is good. If you can feel all that pain, it means you will be alright.” She left him lying there and walked out the door.

  When the ambulance delivered Matt to the hospital, there was no information on him, so he was given a number, and they left the chart unnamed. The only thing found on him was some money in his pocket. No wallet, no I.D., nothing to help the hospital staff find his relatives if there were any in the area.

  Upon impact with the motorcycle, his body went sailing into the curb, and his wallet and passport went skidding through the grime and mud on the side of the road right through the grate of the gutter. There it fell to the bottom of the sewer, slowly buried by the steady trickle of bloody water and mud. The rain cleaned the pavement and washed away the evidence of the accident, and with it, Matt’s identity.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Here it is, number fifteen,” Lilly yelled, as she counted grave markers. It was the last one in the row, straight east of the huge black granite marker named Fleming, just where they had been told it would be. Kate headed in the direction of Lilly’s voice. They had searched for nearly a week to find this gravesite, checking ten different cemeteries and coming up empty. She hoped they had finally found the right one. Nothing exactly fit the description the Intel department gave them.

  “This has to be it,” Kate cried as she joined her sister. The twins were getting tired of chasing ghost
ly headstones. “What a place to leave your legacy,” Kate chuckled to Lilly.

  “No kidding, way out in the middle of nowhere. This guy can keep a secret,” Lilly quipped. Dirt and dead grass nearly covered the small plain marker, but when the girls brushed it aside, the name stood out clearly.

  “Edwin G. Forester. Yep, it’s the right one,” Kate remarked. “At last! We thought we would never find you Eddy old boy.”

  Edwin Forester had died nearly two months before. He grew up in a dirt field on the outskirts of Litchfield, Illinois, but his remains ended up one-thousand miles away in a neglected and overgrown cemetery in Las Vegas.

  An older model, tan car drove by slowly. The three occupants waved and nodded at Kate as she headed toward her car. Guess I should have changed clothes before we headed here, Kate thought, wiping the dirt from her slacks.

  “As soon as we have the cemetery director dig this guy up,” she yelled over her shoulder to Lilly, “I’m heading back to a nice cool shower.” Kate was feeling pretty bedraggled in the afternoon heat.

  Edward Forester, or Eddy as he was known, was a weird little gambler who haunted the casinos from Las Vegas to Reno for a few years. He was extraordinarily lucky. Too lucky, the casino owners thought, and decided to block him from their establishments. They never could catch him cheating, but the consensus was anyone with his uncanny luck was bad business anyway, so he was banned.

  Eddy never finished grade school, and the taunts of ‘dumb retard’ and ‘idiot’ followed him all of his life, ironic as they were. Far from it, Eddy was a savant and possessed an uncanny ability at cards. Years of watching the games while he was growing up on the streets gave him almost instant recall of the placement of the cards in the deck. It wasn’t perfect, but damn close. He could predict with nearly eighty to ninety percent accuracy what card would appear each turn—a talent not appreciated by casino management.