CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“A priest’s hole,” said Conor shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. Then again, there would have been no reason to believe there was need for one here. What did you find?”
“Bibles. Plural,” said Julia. “One had nothing in it but the other had a folded drawing.” She held it up and they all frowned at the sight.
“Castle O’Shan,” said Joseph. Julia nodded.
“The year O’Shan allegedly died,” frowned Sean.
“Exactly. If he was sick, sitting in that window and the priest saw him, perhaps he didn’t want anyone to know he was sick. The priest wrote on the back of the drawing in Irish Gaelic. Rose translated it for me.
“I thought I was truly going mad as I saw the man in the window. I’d been summoned to the castle by the local priest, asking me to give strange blessings and perhaps even an exorcism, my specialty.
“The guards refused me entry but I persisted, sprinkling the holy water along the sides of the keep. I could feel the evil, the heaviness in this dark place. The stories from the local villagers seemed unbelievable but having stepped foot on the land, I believe it all.
“His face, although far from me, still told me all I needed to know.
There is madness in this place. Madness laced with an evil so heavy I can barely breathe.
Two young men hung from their ankles dangled at the gates.
Their throats had been cut, their bodies stripped of clothing but for their undergarments.
“I knew they were not the only ones. I kneeled before the iron gates and began to pray, only for the guards to race toward me, their blades at the ready to make me their next victim. I looked up, staring directly into their eyes. They stopped, thanks be to God. A guard stepped forward and then stopped and stared at me and then whispered. ‘Be gone Father. Be gone before I’m forced to kill you.’
“I stood, saying the last of the prayer and left but my nightmares have plagued me these many days now. Chief Laughlin has given me a peaceful, quiet refuge here but I fear I am going mad. The man in that window is evil. Evil, unholy, and utterly inhuman.”
“Holy shite,” muttered Conor. “Sorry, Rose.”
“Don’t be,” she smiled reaching for his hand, “I said the same thing.”
She tried to pull her hand back but he held it tightly, not willing to release her soft fingers just yet. She blushed a lovely shade of pink and Julia hid her grin.
“You’re looking way to pleased with yourself,” whispered Joseph.
“Me? I’ve done nothing,” she said kissing her husband.
“What does all this mean?” asked Rory. “I mean, I get it. The dude looked sick and dying but… Wait. Is that why he rejected Sherilyn? She had leukemia. Did he have the same disease?”
“If we had a body we could run testing to see if that’s what he died from. Maybe he was told that only pure blood would cure him and that’s what he was looking for. But why not kill her?” asked JT.
“He might have believed that she was going to die anyway,” said Fitz. “They had no clue what leukemia was back then. Healers and others might have told him it was a disease of his blood. Maybe he sensed the same in her but didn’t know what it was.”
“It was said he needed someone to give him eternal life but maybe what he was really searching for, and didn’t know it, was blood that could replace his own,” said Rose.
“That doesn’t explain his cruelty or all the evil things he’s done,” said Marc. “It explains him seeking a pure blood or some shit but all the rest is on him and his sick mind.”
“Unless the sickness was in his mind,” said Dom. “What if the leukemia or whatever it was had spread to his brain and was affecting his mind?”
“That would make sense if it were gradual,” said Fitz, “but this dude was killing for more than a decade when he was alive and hundreds of years after his death.”
“Still, the image of him just before his death must be giving us some clues,” said Conor. “Given the date the priest was staying here, he would have had a long few days of travel between Castle O’Shan and our castle. Julia? Can you ask the ghosts to appear for us? Do you think they will?”
“I can ask,” she said softly. “Micheal. Michael Laughlin, Margaret. Saoirse and Finnegan. Please do me the favor and honor of appearing before my friends. You’re not in any trouble.”
“I would appear before you any day, my lady,” bowed Michael before Julia. She blushed, smiling at the handsome ghost.
“I appreciate your appearance but please remember she is my wife,” said Joseph frowning at the handsome ghost. He only laughed as the others appeared. Finnegan and Saoirse held hands, not willing to let go after all these years.
“I’m pleased you called us,” said Finnegan. “I should like to thank my kin for returning me to the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“You’re welcome,” smirked Conor, “but it’s the lasses you should thank. We have something we’d like to ask you.”
“It’s about the barbarian, O’Shan, isn’t it?” asked Michael.
“You know him?” asked Conor.
“I was not alive when he was but I’ve been here long enough to know what and who he is. I’ve listened to the residents speak of the missing,” he said with a serious expression.
“What about you Finnegan? Saoirse?” asked Rory.
“Aye, we were alive then,” said Finnegan with a sad look in his eyes. “The Laughlin’s never lost anyone to him but it wasn’t for lack of trying. He and his men scoured the area for people to torment and torture.”
“Was he sick, in the body?” asked Julia.
“He looked fit enough to me. Later, yes, he looked sick. One of my own stable hands had wandered too close to his property and witnessed the hunts with the boars. He said the chieftain looked weak, wavering on his own steed.”
“So he was sick at some point,” said Julia. “Obviously, he was cruel before then but something turned in him. He thought he might need someone else to save his life.”
“Of course he did,” said Finnegan. All eyes turned to the ghost, Saoirse hiding behind him.
“What do you mean?” asked Marc.
“A priest visited him, a priest from the Tsardom of Russia. He said he was experienced in such matters and knew that the chieftain was ill. He said the only way to cure him would be to empty his body of his tainted blood and refill it with fresh blood. But it had to be special blood. There were circumstances that needed to be met.”
“What kind of circumstances?” asked Wes.
“The victim had to be of a certain age, be of a certain size and coloring. A child of his own would be best but he had none and wouldn’t live to produce one that would be alive in sixteen years.”
“What was this priest like?” asked Rory.
“As evil as the chieftain himself. While he visited, more than twenty village girls were brought to him for his pleasure. None lived to return home.”