James Kirby sat looking at the phone in his hand with disbelief; the call had lasted all of ten seconds. The woman he knew as Margret did not even bother to say hello, she had simply told him to expect a client and the line went dead. In another life he would have slammed down the receiver in anger, but normal emotions no longer felt part of his makeup.
Sometimes all he felt inside was a coldness he could not quite understand. Almost as cold as the ghostly hand that had staunched the blood pouring from his chest, back in the woods at Cedar Grove. Kirby sometimes fancied that he could feel that cold hand on him still, his world had really become a strange place of late.
The young woman could have been very pretty, if she dressed differently and did something with her hair. Something about her projected unhappiness, at least that was the underlying vibe that Kirby felt from her. The clothes she wore were obviously expensive but could have easily come from another era; her face looked as if it had never had a hint of makeup applied to it. But yet the simple necklace she wore and the gold watch, hinted at major money. Ever since she had sat down, she continually worried at the clutch bag she held with both hands.
The silence in the tiny office had become almost suffocating, as he waited for her to divulge the reason for her visit. Kirby lit a cigarette and offered one to the woman; this simple gesture seemed to unnerve her even more. Her cheeks went scarlet and she shook her head from side to side vigorously, before answering him in a timid voice. “No thank you me Kirby, mother doesn’t….” Her voice trailed off before she composed herself and spoke again. “Sorry, I mean no thank you, I don’t smoke”.
Kirby had to eventually cajole her into telling him why she was here; even then he watched her bracing herself before she spoke. “You were recommended to me, the lady said you might be able to help me. My name is Katlyn Murray”, she added almost as an afterthought, before clearing her throat and continuing.
“My mother passed away lately and she was predeceased by my father a number of years ago, I now find myself alone in the world and with little or no history regarding my family circumstances. I want you to find out who I really am”. The last sentence was blurted out and she blushed again, but having eventually got it out she seemed more relaxed.
Kirby leaned over to get a note book and pen from the drawer, he needed to take down her address and phone number. When he sat back up, the blonde girl stood behind the seated woman with one hand on her left shoulder. It was blatantly obvious the woman had no idea that the spectral figure was even there, but it caught Kirby unawares for a moment and he lost his train of thought. The intense blue eyes of the ghostly figure flitted between the seated woman and Kirby; he knew instinctively she was telling him that there was something bigger here than even the woman realized.
Kirby parked the car outside the address Katlyn had given him, but for a moment he thought he had misread the address. A quick look at his note book confirmed he was where he was supposed to be, the houses lining the leafy avenue would be beyond the price of everyone except the mega wealthy. Kirby stood at the top of the elaborate stone steps and pulled the cord at the side of the door, somewhere in the bowels of the building he heard a bell ring.
He fidgeted with the ornate handle of his cane while he waited, for some reason the fact she lived in a mansion had somehow disrupted a preconceived idea about her in his mind. After what seemed a very long time the door was finally opened, the elderly lady in the maid’s uniform eyed him suspiciously through the gap in the open door.
He had the distinct feeling that something about his presence or his appearance, did not sit well with the woman. Moments dragged by and it began to feel like a Mexican standoff, eventually he asked to see Katlyn. “Who shall I say is calling”? The woman asked condescendingly in a thick Irish brogue, when he gave his name she closed the door and left him waiting on the step. The next time the door was opened it was by Katlyn herself, she gave him a nervous smile and invited him inside.
The interior of the house was palatial, all antique furnishing and expensive oil paintings. He wondered what her parents had done for a living; the young woman led him to a drawing room at the rear of the house that looked out on a spacious garden. The area covered by the garden would be classed as prime real estate in another part of the city; obviously Katlyn Murray was quite the little heiress.
Kirby tried to remember if she had mentioned any siblings, mind you the house was big enough to accommodate a number of families. Katlyn offered him a seat on one side of the ornate marble fire side, when she offered him refreshments she looked slightly shocked when he asked for a whiskey.
Katlyn would never have made a bar tender; the crystal glass she handed him was almost over flowing with whiskey. She in turn settled for a glass of soda water before taking a seat opposite him. She looked every bit as nervous in her own home as she did in his office, and her hand trembled as she took a sip from her glass.
Kirby took a stiff hit from his glass before leaving it on a side table; the whiskey was a good one, mellow on the throat before creating a warm glow in his stomach. Irish he guessed and at least a twelve year old, the whiskey like everything else in this house would have been expensive.
Her soft voice brought him back from musing on the whiskey; she gazed into the empty grate as she spoke. “Please forgive Mrs McNamara’s abrupt manner, I am afraid she is much too protective of me at times, believe me she has a heart of gold. But for her, my life would have been intolerable. She is the one person in this world I can truly say loves me”.
Katlyn paused and sipped nervously at her glass, as Kirby pondered on what she had just said. He was aware that some upper-class families could be dysfunctional, but this young woman did not appear to be a privileged brat, like the off spring of such families often did. Instead there was something sad about her, and it was also obvious she was painfully shy.
“I am sorry Mr Kirby, I am afraid my social skills are not what they should be, and this is making the situation more awkward. I think it is best if I just get straight to the point, I would like to engage your services. As you may or may not have guessed there will be no problem with any fee you see fit to charge for these services. What I need you to do for me, is find out who I really am”.
Kirby paused in the act of lifting the glass to his mouth; he had not been expecting this. She had already introduced herself as Katlyn Murray, now she tells him she needs him to find out who she is. Katlyn obviously spotted the confusion in his expression, and she began to tell the whole story.
She was under the impression for a while now that that the Murray’s were not her natural parents, however any time she broached the subject her mother refused to discuss it. She had been too young when her father died, to even understand why she felt that way. So now that she was an orphan she wanted to know.
She also explained how her mother was a distant and even cold person; she had never bonded with Katlyn. Old Mrs McNamara had filled the void her mother never could, but now she needed to know why she had always felt disconnected from her mother. Kirby now began to understand where the feeling of sadness she projected came from.
Even though her birth certificate clearly stated she was their natural daughter, she could not shake the suspicion that she had been adopted. Katlyn had gone through her mother’s private papers, and came across something that hinted at that she may have been correct. Katlyn told him that she had reoccurring dreams from a very young age, and in these dreams she had siblings and older brother and sister.
Katlyn handed over the papers and Kirby promised to look into them, the old woman in the maid’s uniform was waiting in the hall to see him out. Kirby was on the door step when she spoke. “The past is best left behind Mr Kirby, what lies there can only hurt her”.
Before he could even ask her what she knew, the old woman had closed the door. Kirby had a strange feeling the Irish woman knew something she was not saying, he was tempted to ring the doorbell again but thought better about it. The old woman did not look like she was going anywhere soon; Kirby decided it was better to leave any confrontation with Mrs McNamara until he a better understanding of the situation.
In the meantime he would head back to the office and look over the papers Katlyn had given him. Katlyn had obviously been sent to him for a reason, and he had a feeling there was something more than just her suspicions on being adopted. The fact that his ghostly companion was showing an interest in all this, seemed to confirm his suspicions.
The envelopes were yellowed with age and in the bottom left hand corner a sender’s address was stamped on them, they had come from Saint Aemilian’s, orphanage, with a return address in Massachusetts. The letters themselves were mainly regarding donations the late Mrs Murray made towards the running of the orphanage; it was a fairly routine thing that institutions such as these depended on wealthy benefactors such as the Murray’s.
However something about the contents of the letters bothered Kirby, what it was he could not say. But he had a feeling they were more than just a run of the mill thank you letter.
Among the bundle of papers he found a small black and white photograph, it was of a stern looking woman holding an infant. The baby was wrapped in a white blanket and could not have been more than a couple of months old, something about the woman immediately told him she had no love for this child.
The hatchet faced woman held the child as if to display it to the camera, like a fisherman posing with a trophy catch. Kirby sensed her close to him, and when he looked up the blonde girl was by his side staring at the photograph. The expression on her face told him she despised the image.
Kirby leafed through the other documents and wished his ghostly companion would speak at least once; he had the sudden urge to ask the little blonde girl to explain her presence. He longed for her to explain exactly what was happening; he just wanted her to tell him where exactly he was and what world he belonged to.
But just like every other time, he looked up and she was gone. Disappeared from sight like the ethereal being she was, leaving Kirby to contemplate once again whether he had descended into absolute insanity. Kirby had realized for a while now that he walked an undefined line, but whether that line was between this world and another or between sanity and insanity he had yet to learn.
Katlyn Murray’s birth cert and baptismal lines looked the genuine article, but Kirby still had a niggling at the back of his mind about her mother’s correspondence with the orphanage. He read the letters over and over again, he knew there was something odd in them and yet he could not put his finger on it.
Kirby took the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a good size glass; he lit a cigarette and stared out the window lost in thought. Nothing in the letters hinted at Katlyn being adopted, they were just routine explanations on how the late Mrs Murray’s kind donations were being used by the orphanage. Then it began to make sense to him, there was a little too much detail in the correspondence.
The letters could easily have been a monthly report on the running of the institution; it was almost as if the people who ran the orphanage were solely dependent on Katlyn’s mother. It was almost as if the sender of the letters was enticing her to invest in the orphanage as a commercial concern. The detail was all a little too sketchy to make any real sense, but he knew instinctively that there was a bigger picture he was not seeing.
Kirby turned back to staring out the window; if he was to get anywhere he would need to speak in greater detail to Katlyn. There was nothing in any of the personal papers she had given him belonging to her mother that backed up Katlyn’s suspicions; however she did not strike him as a person taken to flights of fancy. That and the cryptic warning from the Irish woman to let sleeping dogs lie, had him thinking something may not be as it seemed.
Kirby turned once again to the stack of papers, and he suddenly found himself staring at the photograph of the stony faced woman and the infant. For some reason the hard faced woman looked vaguely familiar to him. An intense cold feeling suddenly manifested itself on the wrist of the hand he held the photograph in, and a soft voice whispered in his ear “Evil”.
He dropped the photograph back onto the desk as a numbness spread from his wrist to his fingers, the spot where the coldness started was red as if ice had been applied. But the redness had the shape of a small girl’s fingers, just like the faint outline above the scar on his chest left by the bullet.
Kirby cracked open a second bottle of whiskey and filled the glass, once again he turned to the view of the street below him. It was getting dusk and the rain ran in rivulets down the grimy window, distorting the scene outside where people hurried to and fro. It made the outside world appear totally alien to where he sat in the small office, a feeling that he was becoming increasingly familiar with.
The tinkling of the bell deep inside the big house had scarcely finished when the door opened, this time the old woman with the maids uniform stepped aside immediately to allow him entry. The expression of distrust on her face was not present this time; it had been replaced by something different. Kirby followed her to the drawing room where she offered him a seat; the old woman walked to the liquor cabinet and filled two generous measures of Jameson twelve year old whiskey.
Kirby was shocked when she handed one to him and took the other for herself and sat opposite him, Mrs McNamara raised her glass in salute before taking a good hit. Kirby suddenly recognised the expression she wore since opening the door; she was weighing up an adversary.
The old woman had something on her mind, and she was trying to figure out how to broach it with him. He immediately formed the opinion that this was a woman to be reckoned with, there was far more to Mrs McNamara than just a simple maid. The old woman sipped her whiskey as she stared at Kirby, he felt as if he was being measured up by a hangman.
“I am afraid Katlyn is out for the day Mr Kirby, however perhaps it is a good opportunity for you and me to have a little chat”. She drained her glass and gestured for him to do the same, this time she brought the bottle over to refill the glasses and left it on the side table by his elbow.
Kirby waited for her to resume talking, he could almost see the cogs of her mind turning. She was weighing him up alright, and he was sure now that there was a lot more to this situation than even his new employer realized.
“I have been with this family for a very long time, ever since Katlyn first came into this house. I have dedicated the past twenty four years keeping her safe. I see it as my duty to look out for her interests. You could say Mr Kirby that she is the reason I get up in the morning”. Kirby wondered why she had not said since Katlyn was born, instead of the phrase since she came into this house.
The old woman paused as if to allow the gravity of what she had just said to sink in with him, all the while her rheumy eyes stared at him above the rim of the whiskey glass. There was something going on behind those eyes that Kirby did not like, he had a peculiar feeling the woman was almost deciding his fate. Mrs McNamara no longer looked as old and feeble, as he first thought.
“Delving into her past will not make her any safer. That orphanage has no bearing whatsoever on whom Katlyn is, and who she is destined to become. It is all just a foolish flight of fancy from a childish young woman; let sleeping dogs lie Mr Kirby for all our sakes.” The little blonde girl standing just behind the woman shook her head from side to side, and Kirby knew Mrs McNamara was lying to him.
Kirby was just about to lock the office door when the thought came to him, and he returned to the office cabinet and took the gun and shoulder holster with him. The drive to Massachusetts gave him too much time to think, and thinking back had become an experience fraught with images and memories that were beginning to make less and less sense to him.
Lately his memories of the past seemed more and more sketchy; James Michael Kirby was coming to the decision that the man called Jim Kiely probably was a figment of his troubled mind. At the very least Jim Kiely was a man he did not recognise anymore; he no longer felt any connection with that person. Something deep in his mind told him Kiely had been dead a long time now.
The leaden skies threatened a deluge to come, and the wind buffeted the car as he drove the coast road. The wild North Atlantic was cooking up a storm as he neared his destination, Kirby could almost taste the sea salt on his lips, there was a darkness about the day that somehow matched his mood. The storm clouds were gathering alright, and in more than one sense Kirby believed.
By the time he reached the orphanage the rain was making it almost impossible to drive, visibility was down to about sixty feet and he had to drive at a snail’s place. The huge grey stone building suddenly loomed out of the grayness of the storm; it was surrounded by a high limestone wall. The wrought iron gates were slightly ajar, a broken lock hung from a rusty chain.
One look at the place told him it had not operated as an orphanage for years now, the gardens at the front of the building were unkempt and overrun with briars. But he could just make out fresh tire tracks on the gravel driveway, someone had been here lately. Kirby was glad now that he had brought the gun, he had a feeling something bad was about to take place.
By the time he reached the weathered oak door he was wet through, Kirby grabbed the wrought iron door handle and turned it. To his surprise the lock turned and the door swung inwards, layers of dust covered the once polished wood of the floors. It was getting dark now and he tried the light switch in the entrance hall, nothing happened either the bulb was gone or the power was shut off.
A large room to the left was set up as a chapel of sorts, here he found some wax altar candles and lit one. The flickering light of the candle gave an eerie appearance to the place; every item of furniture had been covered with dust sheets. The dust sheets had been in place for quite some time, and like the floor were buried in a thick layer of whitish dust.
The correspondence he had read from the orphanage to Mrs Murray must have been many years old. A movement in his peripheral vision caused him to turn quickly, just in time to see the small blonde figure move down a hallway. Kirby followed her and found her staring out a rear window, a bolt of lightning lit up the rear garden outside and Kirby spotted the mound of freshly dug earth.
The storm had reached its zenith now and the old orchard was almost constantly lit by lightning flashes, who ever had made the grave had done so hastily. He just needed to scrape back a thin layer of brown dirt to expose the body wrapped in a white shroud; Kirby moved the shroud from the face with the tip of his cane.
Katlyn Murray looked as if she was just asleep; she looked more serene in death than she had in life. A tug on the sleeve of his coat made him turn; he was just in time to move slightly out of the path of the swinging spade. The glancing blow was still enough to stun him, and send him crashing to the sodden ground. Kirby lay by the fresh grave among the gnarled old apple trees; he was still trying to clear his head as his attacker approached.
“You could not leave well enough alone, could you Mr Kirby? Now your stubbornness has cost Katlyn her life. She was just six months off her twenty fifth birthday, the day when she would have inherited all her family’s wealth. You see I was going to persuade her to reopen this place; it would be a sound investment. The right children can fetch an enormous price Mr Kirby, and the ones that won’t sell can fertilize my orchard just like her siblings did. I have invested the best years of my life to nurturing her for this, and you had to go and spoil it all. Now you must become fertilizer Mr Kirby, and I will start over somewhere else”.
The deranged woman looked nothing like the feeble old woman in the maid’s uniform; she came forward with the spade held high above her head. There was a manic expression in her features, and her eyes were like dark holes in her pale face. The woman looked as if she was possessed, and Kirby had no doubt she would kill him without remorse.
“You see Mr Kirby certain people of wealth, like to buy children as playthings. While others covet them for sacrificial ceremonies, it is a lucrative market. I intend to continue in this business, and like Katlyn you have become a loose end. She would never have agreed to it once you uncovered the fact that I sold her to Mrs Murray, and especially when she discovered I planted her brother and sister here in this orchard like seeds”.
The sound of the nine millimeter pistol was lost in the clap of thunder, the evil woman’s head exploded like an over ripe Mellon. Kirby was almost at the back door of the house when the blond girl tugged his sleeve again, he turned to see Katlyn standing in the middle of the orchard. On either side of her stood a young child holding her hand, on her left a little boy and on her right a little girl. The three of them were smiling and the little blonde girl at his side with the ice cold grip, she too was smiling for once.
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