FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2)

by Jack Flanagan

  I let out a deep sigh that started the evacuation of all the tension that I had accrued during the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t care what the next day had in store. I willing surrendered, as the bard put it, “to that balm of hurt minds . . . death of each day’s life” and “sore labor’s bath . . . . Sleep.” And I slept well too, that is until my mother paid me one of her nocturnal visits.

  #

  CHAPTER 17

  I was walking into a large stone church; a cathedral it seemed to be. The surroundings felt familiar. Yet my memory couldn’t put it into the category of certitude if I have ever been to or have seen the place before. The gray hazy air had the sweet smell of burnt incense. The light streamed in diagonal columns through the tall stained glass windows and formed pools of colors on the white marble floor. The puddles of collected light rippled as I walked through them.

  “Am I in New York City? Is this St.Patrick’s Cathedral?” I wondered aloud as I eased my way down the aisle toward the chancel. Before my foggy brain could resolve the question, there came that voice from seemingly nowhere.

  “My, my, Richard, you’ve had an exhausting day, haven’t you?”

  Without me taking another step, I found myself standing in the sanctuary. I was just a few feet from where the altar would have been. But instead of an altar, there was my mother. She sat on a throne-like, high oak chair, not looking a day over fifty, and — she was nude! She hadn’t a stitch on, except for man’s necktie, delicately worn around her neck in a broad Windsor knot, that flowed down between her breasts to the top of her thighs.

  “Mother!” I gasped, as much in horror as in shock, and I abruptly turned away in the vain attempt to block out my mother’s image.

  “Richard, stop acting like an idiot.”

  “You’ve outdone yourself this time. This is more than embarrassing — ”

  “I’m your mother, Richard. I’m the one who used to bathe you in the kitchen sink and wipe your bottom . . . without any help from your father, I might add.“

  “When you washed me in the sink, I was a child, a baby, and I was the one naked, and you were the one with clothes on. But now I’m the one wearing clothes — ”

  “Which are very, very damp.”

  I looked at my arms and legs and found that I was wearing the same bedraggled, waterlogged clothes that I had on when I pulled myself out of the river.

  “And you are very, very . . . naked!” I said back.

  “No, I am not. I’m wearing a tie.”

  Keeping my back toward my mother, I tried to focus on something less unnerving. The only thing that captured my attention was a nearby statue of St. Sebastian, who had dozens of arrows sticking in him. I quickly noticed that each protruding shaft had a little pink bow tied to it. Stranger still, the martyred saint looked very much like a twenty-year-old version of me.

  A new plan came to mind. I would keep my eyes shut and not look at anything.

  “Richard,” commanded my mother, “open your eyes and turn around. No one wants to talk to a wet and dirty backside. I promise that you won’t see anything that will disturb you. Now turn around.”

  I turned to face my mother, and I opened my eyes.

  “You’re still naked!” I made a quick one-eighty on my heels.

  “You can’t see anything that you haven’t seen before.”

  “Mom, I saw your breasts!”

  “Richard, of course you saw my breasts, I nursed you. Besides, you always enjoyed looking at women’s breasts — like those of the women in your father’s men’s magazines and your old girlfriends’ breasts. You like Serena’s breasts. And you especially delight in seeing Morgana’s breasts — ”

  “Yes, but not yours.”

  “Why not my?”

  “Is that important, Mom?”

  “Turn around, Dear, and look at me. Tell me what else do you see?”

  I don’t know why, but I slowly did an about-face.

  “Open your eyes, Richard, and look closer. I won’t bite. Look carefully.”

  My eyes opened. They were instantly drawn to the tie my mother wore. But unlike the other phantasmagoric encounters with my deceased mother, where visual details were elusive upon close inspection, this time I could examine the particulars of my mom’s most singularly mode of dress and the specific details stayed intact. They didn’t fade away, or become jumbled, or transform into something else.

  The tie was mesmerizing. It had horizontal red, white, and blue stripes. In the center of the white stripe, there was an embroidered golden triskelion with its three curling branches swirling out from a large scripted letter M. I noticed that two of the branches were outlined in black while the remaining branch was outlined in green.

  “Do you see something curious, Richard? You always liked puzzles.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure of the meaning of what I’m looking at,” I muttered as I peered at the ancient Keltic symbol.

  “Do you want me to take it off and give it to you?”

  “No . . . Please, Mom, I’m doing quite fine.”

  “You were the smarter of my two boys. But don’t be too proud to ask for help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Your brother could help you with your dog.”

  “I don’t have or want a dog.”

  “Your brother could check the papers of the Irish Setter that you found.”

  I was about to ask my mother what the devil she meant when I suddenly shuddered, feeling a wave of cold air rush over my body. I glanced up at my mom and discovered that she was fully dressed in a finely tailored blue pants suit minus the tie.

  “Richard, put some clothes on.”

  Immediately I gazed at myself, and surprise, I was bare as a peeled potato.

  My mother eyed me in a curious fashion. “I love you, Richard, but I don’t see what Morgana sees in you. In either case, talk with your brother.”

  My eyes opened and I found that the night floor nurse was pulling some of the covers off me to check my bandages and my vital signs.

  “Good evening,” I said, having assumed that it was evening because the room was dark.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. MacKenzie,” said the startled woman. My nocturnal visitor was pretty young thing, a little on the chubby side, and whom I guessed was in her late twenties. She gave me an awkward half-smile as she made notes on a small electronic pad. “I tried not to wake you.”

  “How am I doing?”

  She cleared her throat, then softly said, “Good. Very good, in fact. Don’t quote me, but you may have a chance at being released tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s good news.” Then a naughty idea came to me as my night visitor was about to leave. “Nurse is the Sheriff nearby?”

  “I really can’t say.” My question made her ill-at-ease. She avoided my gaze and looked down at her feet. “You should try to rest.”

  “The Sheriff is my brother. Is he okay?”

  “Yes, I know that the Sheriff is your brother, but I am not allowed to discuss the condition of patients with other patients.”

  “By whom, your boss?”

  “It’s general policy. I really can’t say. You must get some sleep.”

  I thought it best to let my last question go. “Please, how is the Sheriff? After all I have gone through, it would help me immensely if I didn’t have to worry about him. He’s my younger brother. I looked after him when we were boys.”

  “I wish I could say — ”

  “I could get back to sleep if I knew that he was okay or at least that he was being well taken care of. Maybe I could even to see him; that would help me so much.” I thought a little guilt-trip may work on her, taking advantage of the possibility that she might already feel bad since she woke me up in the first place.

  “Like I have said, I am not permitted to . . . But one can assume the Sheriff is well since he is in the process of leaving the center if you get my drift.”

  “He’s leaving? Checking out at this time of night? . . . By the wa
y, what time is it?”

  Looking at her portable blue lit screen, she replied, “ It is 1:05 in the morning.”

  “He’s leaving at 1:05 in the morning?”

  “Yes, temporarily . . . Oh, I said too much.”

  I put on the longest face that I could manage without seeming overly dramatic. “I need to tell him that — ” I had to think quickly, but the best that I could come up with was — “I love him. With this concussion, I could go to sleep, and never wake up.”

  “Mr. MacKenzie, I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  “Or, I could wake up and not have the mental wherewithal to tell my brother that I did love him. The doctors have warned me that concussions are tricky things. Could you live with yourself if I woke up tomorrow, and I wasn’t able to tell my brother that I loved him, and you prevented me from doing so? If our role were reversed, I know that quilt would haunt me until the end of my days.”

  “There’s a guard in the hallway. I’m sure he wouldn’t allow visitors at this time.”

  “Just get the word to my brother that I really need to see him. If he can do it, fine, if not, well, you can take some comfort that you did your best. Please, do this, for an old man with a concussion.”

  “I . . . ” she paused for a second or two, “will go and try to catch the Sheriff before he leaves the building. I still don’t think he will be allowed, but if he is, it will only be for a moment, you hear.”

  The poor woman must have had a bad day, or I laid it on pretty thick because I thought I saw her starting to tear up.

  “If the Sheriff is able to come,” said the nurse, wiping her eyes, “he can tell you himself that he’s doing fine. And you can tell him — ” she sniffled — “eh, what you have to say to him. But please, don’t tell anyone what I did that I let — ”

  “Of course not, I wouldn’t . . . What is your name?”

  “Cheryl Whitmore.”

  “Thank you, Cheryl. Thank you very much. God bless you.”

  Cheryl quickly slipped out of my room as quietly as she came in and minutes later, arrived my brother in a neatly pressed uniform.

  “How are you doing, Rich? Morgana told me you almost drowned.” Kyle said in a husky stage whisper.

  “Almost is right. But I’m fine, as far as I can tell. And you?”

  Kyle sat down in the chair next to my bed. “I’m good, for the most part, just a little coughing from the smoke and some bruising, some cuts, scratches, nothing much.”

  “Yeah, I heard about your tackling the long table in the inn’s lobby.“

  Kyle made a little grumbling sound like he was clearing his throat. “I tried to see you earlier, but I was told to leave you alone.”

  “Morgana?”

  “No, Agent Wagner and a mean looking friend of hers in a dark suit told me. They firmly said that you weren’t to be disturbed. I was too tired myself to argue with them, and I thought maybe you really did need your rest. I didn’t know what to do, Rich. So I — ”

  “Don’t tell me anymore; let me guess. You wrestled with this great dilemma on whether you should push your way to see me or not and you fell asleep in the process.”

  “Lord, Rich, you know me like a book. So if you’re okay, I’ll get going. This place gives me the creeps.”

  “You’re allowed to leave?”

  “Ayuh, for a little while at least. At first the FBI didn’t want to let me go. They said it would be best that I stay here until everything gets sorted out. They are worried about the press getting a premature jump on the happenings at the inn.”

  “But they are letting you go.”

  “Well, I just told them that if they want a press blackout, the Sheriff of Starkshire County can’t be locked up in a hospital against his will. People will ask questions. I told them that I had important work to do back at the office, with the storm damage, the flooding, and stuff. I’m not someone who — ”

  “So you bluff your way out of here.”

  “Ayuh, with the promise that I get back here before 8 AM. I also had to promise that I wouldn’t talk to anyone about what happened. So, now I’m off to my office.”

  “How did you eventually get in to see me, now?”

  “Well, little Cher found me as I was leaving my room and told me that you needed to see me.”

  “You know her, Cher. . . eh, Cheryl?”

  “I’ve been seeing her mom, Taylor, for a couple of months now.”

  “You sly dog, you. You never told me you’re dating someone.”

  “Anyway, I went to the FBI guy guarding the corridor and told him that I’d watch the hall for him if he wanted to he take a bathroom break.”

  “He took you up on your offer?”

  “Not at first. But I reassured him. I said as the local sheriff, I know just about everyone in the hospital, that is both the medical staff and the folks from the Whyte Post, who are staying here. I convinced him that no one could go by me whether they were trying to get in or out. After a few moments thinking about it, plus the fact, Cher told me the poor slob had two cups of her coffee, he accepted my offer.”

  “Good job.”

  Kyle and I said our good nights, and as my bottom heavy brother struggled to get out of the chair, I chuckled as I wondered which would prevail — gravity or Kyle. To his credit, on the third try, he succeeded getting to his feet. Securing a steady footing, he nervously asked, “Oh, Cher said that you had something personal to say to me?”

  “Yeah, I did. Do me a favor, research something for me.”

  “Sure.” Kyle sounded relieved. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need a background check on an Irish Setter.”

  “A what?”

  I quickly told Kyle the details of my request, and he promised the results would be delivered to me in the morning. Without much more ado, he left. And as far as I know, he got back to his temporary post and was never missed.

  #

  CHAPTER 18

  Early the next morning, I had managed to read the research that I asked Kyle to do. My brother sneaked his findings to me by hiding them inside a newspaper and persuaded Cheryl to leave the paper conveniently by my bed when she changed the bandage on my head. Morgana joined me for breakfast in my room and patiently listened to me bemoan the fact that I had been ordered to take it easy by some doctor who had my case. I was about to tell Morgana what I had learned from Kyle’s research when an Agent Stubbs arrived, a very determined, hulking, no-nonsense looking man in a dark suit. He came with a wheelchair.

  “What is the wheelchair for?” I asked as if didn’t know.

  “For you, sir, doctor’s orders. You can’t go to the meeting without it.”

  “I’m not going any meeting,” I protested, “and if I were, I’m certainly not going anywhere in that!”

  “I’m afraid you are, sir, even if I have to put you physically on the chair and push you to the meeting myself. I hope that it doesn’t come to that.”

  I don’t like to be ordered around. And I didn’t want to be at a meeting. And I especially didn’t want to attend any meeting in a wheelchair, doctor orders or not. I naively believed that Morgana and I could have some alone time — together. But our watchdog wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I had hoped that Morgana would back me up, but she didn’t. It happened that Morgana wanted to go to the meeting, more out of curiosity than out of any mandate from the FBI she insisted. She readily yielded to the request and she got me to agree, too, by making me certain promises of an intimate nature, to kept at a later date. Also, I got the concession that I could go in my clothes and not the flimsy hospital gown that I had on. After I had changed into my own things — which, to my surprise were already cleaned and ironed — we waited for Morgana. It was another damp day and Morgana had to fuss about with her hair — much to Stubb’s chagrin.

  As Morgana slowly wheeled me down towards the conference room with our escort, Agent Stubbs, leading the way, I tried to express to my wife my feelings
about the meeting. “I think that this meeting is a waste of time.”

  “Be on your good behavior,” Morgana whispered.

  “You needn’t have bothered to fix your hair; we’re in a hospital, not a beauty pageant. The hair you woke up with this morning would have done fine; a quick run through with a comb would have been sufficient.”

  “Does it really make a difference, Rich, if we are the last to arrive.”

  “If I have to attend this stupid meeting, I don’t want to make a grand entrance being pushed around in one of these things.” I slammed my hand on the wheelchair’s armrest. “It’s . . . it’s embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You were injured. The people here know that. No one is going to say anything.”

  “I can walk, you know.”

  “If you want to move around in the center,” admonished Morgana under her breath, “the doctor said that you must use the chair at least for today. Now behave, or I’ll dump you out of this thing onto the floor, and that, I assure you, will be embarrassing.”

  I could tell by her tone that she would do it too.

  When we reached our destination, we passed two humorless fellows, guarding the door. Our chaperone silently left us to take a position at the room’s far end. At his departure, I vented. “I told you that we would be the last ones to arrive.”

  She gave an abrupt forward push to my wheelchair. “I had to fix my hair. You could have wheeled yourself down here by your lonesome self, you know.”

  “Good morning, MacKenzies, you’re finally here,” said Mrs. Prosper as she waved her greeting from her wheelchair. “Come, sit next to me.” The old bird had herself parked in the front row of the conference room on the right side of a podium. From her position, she could see everyone who entered through the room’s main door. No doubt, she was waiting for me.

  “Oh, great,” I murmured. I half smiled and waved back to Prosper and wondered if Lady Fortune had something else lying in wait for me. “I still feel like an ass in this chair, and this bandage on my head doesn’t help either.”

  “Then today shouldn’t be any different from any other day for you,” quipped Morgana.