CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“We understand,” said Joseph nodding. “I don’t agree that you withheld that information from us but I understand why you did it, Michael. At least because of you those poor people were given proper burials.”
“I do think he’s right about one thing,” said Julia. “I don’t think O’Shan remembers his life. Not all of it. He put those people in that cave and let them die if they were no longer of use to him. He was dreaming up torture for them the more the cure failed.”
“We put a stop to it. Today,” said Conor. “Let’s go.”
With several vehicles filled they drove the short distance to Castle O’Shan. The moment they stepped out of the vehicles, everyone felt the oppressive hatred and spirit inside. He was angry and tired. His need was reaching a fever pitch and nothing was going to satisfy it.
“We will be with you,” said Eagle Feather. “You might not see us but we will be there.”
“Thank you,” said Gabi. She took Zulu’s hand, his body encased in the stealth netting. In his pouch was the stealth blanket should he need to get Gabi out quickly.
Joseph walked in first, taking the steps slowly again. This time, before when he reached the final step, he heard the voice of John O’Shan.
“I smell you Indian,” he said in a disgusted voice.
“Funny, I bathed this morning,” said Joseph standing on the landing. He could feel the presence of Zulu behind him but turning, he only saw the pale face of Gabi.
“Did you find my cure?” asked O’Shan.
“I found someone meeting the description,” he said. He pulled Gabi to the top step and John O’Shan nearly looked as if he might faint. Joseph wondered if ghosts could faint and then brushed the thought aside. “She is exactly what you asked for and more.”
“And more? What do you mean more?”
“I am a physician,” said Gabi. Joseph felt her hand shaking and took it in his own. He knew that Zulu was near her, probably touching her as well. “What you have cannot be cured by any blood. Nothing can cure it. You are dead.”
“I am in waiting!” he screamed with a pitch so violent Gabi covered her ears.
“You are not in waiting,” she said breathlessly. “You are dead. You’ve been dead a very long time and you’ll forgive me for saying this but if ever there was a man who deserved to die, it was you.”
He stared at her, his ghostly breath seemingly coming in shorter and shorter spurts. Stepping forward he reached for her but his hands were somehow bound, unable to move.
Grip, Archie, and Eagle Feather appeared. Apparently a ghost could restrain a ghost. Who knew? Hezekiah stepped forward.
“I am Dr. Hezekiah Morton. You suffered from a disease that could not be cured. Taking the blood of anyone would never have cured it.”
“You’re wrong!” he screamed struggling against their grip. But the younger men were much stronger. “She is my cure. Just let me have her blood. She is exactly what the priest said I needed. Silver hair, unnatural eyes, skin of pearls. She is everything!”
“I am not everything,” whispered Gabi. “I am much older than sixty.”
O’Shan froze, staring at her face, then at each of the men around her. He shook his head, then stilled, staring at her again.
“I am a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I am much older than you require. But not of that matters. My blood will not cure your death. John O’Shan you were not a good man. You were evil, torturing those who thought to fight you or go against your wishes.
“You followed what the priest told you to do because it felt right, it felt good. Your guards, so loyal to you, did as you asked until they themselves were sacrificed in the caves below. You are dead, John O’Shan,” she whispered.
“You are dead, John O’Shan,” said Grip.
“You are dead, John O’Shan,” said Eagle Feather.
“You are dead,” said Hezekiah.
“No,” he whispered. “I was good. I-I was good. The guards told me I was a good man.”
“Because if they did not, you would have killed them. They were loyal to you out of fear, not for any other reason,” said Joseph. Zulu lifted the veil off his head appearing as a dark floating head in the tower. John gasped, taking a step back.
“He is my husband,” said Gabi. “Stop this John. Let these people live in peace and move on, wherever that might be.”
Grip and Eagle Feather attempted to force him back into the seat. He tried to speak but nothing came out. His body was weak, feeble and falling to pieces, literally in front of them.
Stepping forward, he tried again to break free, then he stepped back attempting to take his seat again. But before he reached the cushion, his bones turned to dust, scattered across the tower floor.
They all stilled, staring at the dusty bones and then at one another.
“Is he gone?” whispered Gabi.
“He is gone,” said Eagle Feather. “For good.”
Gabi turned, launching herself into Zulu’s arms. He lifted her carrying her down the steps to security and safety. When they all walked through the outer gate, the others stared at them, waiting to hear what happened.
Julia looked at all of them, closing her eyes as her head tilted toward the tower. She took a deep breath and then exhaled.
“He’s gone. For good,” she said. “You did it.”
“We did it,” said Joseph. “Gabi was wonderful up there. All of you were.”
“What do we do with the gold in the room?” asked Zulu. “Does anyone own this place?”
“The historical society for Ireland owns it. They were never planning to touch it given the history but maybe now they will,” said Conor. “All those poor souls can now rest in peace. All these years, decades, centuries of suffering and pain and now they can move on and be with their families.”
“Michael was right. He didn’t remember his life and when he realized he was a horrible person long before the priest talked to him, he seemed to just give up,” said Gabi.
“Being slapped in the face with reality will do that to you,” said Rory.
Conor made the calls to the local authorities and to the government. When they arrived, he stood before them solemnly.
“I’m going to tell you a story and I need for you to hear me out,” he said.
More than two hours later the people around him stared in disbelief. At first they thought the head of the Laughlin family had finally gone mad himself. But when he showed them the tower room and the pile of dust, they nearly ran for their own lives.
Over the next few days, the journals, the maps, the drawings, everything was turned in for context and reference. Conor and Sean wanted no credit for what had been found. They wanted it to be credited to a mysterious security company that had investigated the murder of the American woman.
No names. No fanfare. No television or radio. Nothing. Just resolution.
“I wish you’d stay a bit longer,” said Conor. “I’ve enjoyed havin’ all the noise in the house once more.”
“Well, maybe it’s time Sean took a wife,” smiled Gabi. Sean laughed, clutching his heart.
“Oh, Gabi me dear, if you weren’t married I’d be runnin’ off with ‘ye today.”
“Don’t you sweet talk me you Irishman. I know how you are. Find a good woman, Sean. Find her and settle down. Give your father grandchildren before he’s too old to enjoy them. Have a huge wedding and invite me to it. Zulu and I will come.”
“Do you have to bring him?” smirked Sean.
“Careful little man, I’m still up for an ass whooping,” he laughed.
They all waved as the plane took off out over the sea, headed home to America.
“You know, Sean,” said Rose, “I know a few women that would be perfect for you. Not too old, not too young and lovely lasses they are.”
“No. No, no,” he said shaking his head, holding his hands up.
“Why not?” frowned his father. “You played matchmaker for me, maybe it’s our turn to play matchmaker for you.”
“Nope,” he said walking away. “Stay away from me. Do not crowd me on this.”
Conor and Rose laughed watching him run into the castle. He bent down and kissed the woman he intended to marry one day soon.
“Maybe I should meet these young women and find a suitable match for him,” said Conor.
“You let me worry about that Conor Laughlin. I know just what he needs.”