“Thanks. I’ll be fine here,” I said and tried to pull away.
Michael’s hand tightened. “You need to realize that you’re on your own from this point. I can tell you where things are and answer any general questions about the church’s structure itself, but I can’t talk about its history or—”
I looked hard into his eyes. “I appreciate that, but I paid a thousand dollars for two nights here and I know exactly where I am. Do whatever is appropriate, but please understand, I came here to get answers.
We held each other’s stare for a long second and Michael removed his hand. “Very good, Father. As I said, please let me know if there’s anything I can do within the guidelines.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Michael turned and hustled back to the stairs like he was late to catch a train.
I walked into the room. There was a small bathroom with a little white sink and a shower to my right. I set the suitcase down by the dresser. Through the window I could see that the rain had stopped but the sky was still a blanket of gray. I walked up to it and set my hand on the glass. The tombstones stretched the entire length of the church and a thick row of trees behind the cemetery pretty much blocked my view of anything else.
I tapped my fingers against the window and stared at the tombstones. Daniel had also known what he was getting into when he came here—I didn’t buy that he’d died of heart failure. I’d known the man for eight years and he was as healthy as a horse; three Iron Man Triathlons, a hell of a tennis player, and a brown belt in Judo—no way his heart just gave out on him at forty-four years old.
I rubbed the side of my face. My skin was so grimy from the long day it was like it had scotch tape stuck all over it; I headed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on it. Taking a neatly folded green towel that hung on a hook next to the sink, I dried off. Feeling a little bit fresher, I put the towel back and headed downstairs. Michael was nowhere in sight as I walked down the hall towards the library and I suddenly felt very small, almost like a child whose parents had left him inside a cold mansion by himself.
I got to the library and went straight to the stacks of hardcover books lined up on the floor-to-ceiling bookcase next to the window. Tracing my finger along the alphabetical titles, I stopped when I reached a black book with gold lettering called Ghosts of the 1,000-Year-Old Church. I slid it off the shelf.
The cover showed a black-and-white photo of the church I was standing in.
Opening the book, I started to thumb through the pages. Chapter after chapter described the volatile past of the church. Accidental deaths, suicides, and even murder. Daniel had been fascinated with the place ever since I’d met him. When he’d touched down in Ireland he’d called me to let me know he was here and then again the next day to tell me he was going to check out the basement.
That was the last time I ever spoke with him.
A sharp knock on the open door made my heart jump. Michael stood in the doorway. “Just wanted to let you know that dinner will be ready at six o’clock sharp.”
“Sounds good,” I said, nodding.
Michael took a step inside. “Settling in OK?”
I closed the book and looked around the room. “Yeah; it’s a fascinating place you’ve got here.”
Michael put his hands in his pocket and walked over to me. His face had softened. “Look, I want you to know that I do understand why you’re here, and as I said before, I can’t answer many questions,” he leaned in a bit, “but I can offer you a bit of advice. Although I’m sure you’re already planning on it, don’t go into the basement.”
I set the book back on the shelf and looked at him. “You said dinner’s at six, right?”
Michael stared hard at me, but I didn’t think it was to intimidate—more like he was trying to show me just how serious he was. There was a hint of fear in his eyes. His face then relaxed. He nodded, “Correct. Six.” Michael turned and walked out of the library. I then headed back to my room to take a nap.
I woke up an hour and a half later and looked over at the window to see a starless black sky. Pushing myself out of bed, I stretched my arms out and went downstairs to the dining room. Michael was already seated. Sitting in the middle of the table was a thick slab of roast beef, a loaf of fresh-baked bread, and a bottle of red wine.
“Hey, Michael,” I said as I walked to my chair. He didn’t answer and I saw that his eyes were closed and he was mumbling to himself. “Michael,” I repeated. His eyes opened and for a second he stared at me like he didn’t know who I was. I sat down and reached for the wine. “You OK?” I asked.
Michael nodded, his eyes lost their blankness, and he smiled. “Yes, yes. That’s a fantastic merlot. Please, enjoy it. We have a collection of over two hundred bottles.”
I poured myself a glass and for the next hour Michael and I made pleasant small talk but the hidden tension was there. He knew I hadn’t come all the way from Boston just to leave without answers and I knew that the fear in his eyes was real.
When I finished eating I went back into the library. Michael had started a fire in the fireplace and I flipped on the lamp next to the couch. I’d taken Ghosts of the 1,000-Year-Old Church from the
