Titanic 2012

“Perhaps another time, when we have more of it.”

“He was such a storyteller… loved to relate a tale over a pint—had such a knack for a twist or shot to the senses at the end!” Thomas laughed to recall a certain moment with his uncle. “Lovely man, wickedly funny and always with a kind word and a broad—”

“Enough with the sentiments, Thomas! We haven’t time right now,” Declan warned, moving about the room, preparing instruments, “and dawn is fast approaching. Dr. Bellingham is going to come crashing through that door, and when he does—”

“He’s going to have a cow.” Thomas finished for Declan.

“And he’s going to want answers. Hell, I want answers! Ready the Petri dishes for culturing samples, Tommie, while I prepare some slides. I want to see this thing under the microscope as soon as we do the incisions on our friend here, Mr. McAffey.”

“Why McAffey first?” asked Ransom, curious.

“We—or rather I—suspect he was the first to die of this thing, down in that mine.”

“That beastie found with McAffey is most likely what contaminated the man,” Thomas explained. “So we begin with him.”

“O’Toole was with him in the mine,” continued Declan, “but he managed to get out, and Reahall agrees that Anton—Mr. Fiore quite possibly crossed paths with O’Toole sometime later at the shipyard—as both men’s bodies were discovered inside Titanic.”

“Where inside Titanic? What deck?”

“Lowest deck. Mr. O’Toole here, he was found stuffed behind a bulkhead in the manner of a ragdoll, jammed between the interior and exterior iron walls. Mr. Fiore was jammed into a locker where he would’ve suffocated had he not died of this black disease.” Declan worked as he spoke. “Constable Reahall’s quite smart to’ve ordered Titanic searched.”

“Yes—quite brilliant deduction.” Ransom assumed his sarcasm was lost on the young men. Musing further, he said, “Obviously, someone hid their bodies in an attempt to conceal the crimes.”

“Not clear on that; Reahall says they could have just curled up in there to die.”

“But the missing Pinkerton agent, this man Tuttle… was not found on Titanic although he was there with others to guard the ship?”

“We spoke to Tuttle,” said Declan, removing the elbow length leather gloves and putting on the more comfortable and agile white cloth gloves. “Asked him if he’d seen Mr. Fiore. Said he had not.”

“He was on Titanic, yes,” added Thomas, placing on cloth gloves as well, “Tuttle shouted down to us from what seemed a mile overhead. Can you imagine the lifts on Titanic?”

“Upper decks near the forecastle and bridge,” Declan narrowed it down. “But he’s disappeared completely now.”

Thomas was rattling around with instruments and microscopes before finally declaring, “I’m ready.”

At this point, Thomas and Ransom turned to find that Declan was well underway, having sliced into McAffey with that ready scalpel of his. He had some trouble, however, as the darkened skin was like leather, but in short order, Declan managed to begin a classic Y-incision. Diagonally from each shoulder to the solar plexus, and from there straight down to the navel. The skin ripped like cord wood against the axe—creating a nerve-shattering noise as it split apart. Declan remarked on this, adding, “I can’t believe our teachers and the dean simply want to burn the bodies.”

“So you’ve said, and by whose authority? I mean who has ordered it?”

“Local judge awakened by Reahall and on recommendation of Dean Goodfriar and Dr. B.”

Thomas chimed in with, “But they have no idea what might result from burning the bodies in those ovens.”

“Yeah… what if this disease is spewed out with ash from those chimneys at the mill and it goes airborne?” asked Declan. “Well… who knows how far it might spread?”

“They have no idea what they’re dealing with,” added Thomas, but Declan stood frozen, staring into the open carcass he’d begun to autopsy. “Look at this, Thomas. Tell me what you see… or rather what you don’t see.”

Thomas went closer to stare into the open chest and abdominal cavity. Ransom looked over Declan’s shoulder. Together, Ransom and Thomas Coogan gasped at what they saw.

Ransom asked, “Where’re the bloody organs?”

“And for that matter, where’s the blood?” Thomas wanted to know.

“The man’s organs are here just… well…”

“Where?”

“Camouflaged against the backdrop of his insides—all discolored inside as well as out.”

“And dehydrated, reduced in size and weight as a result.” Thomas’ voice quivered with his nerves.

“And bloodless, drained of it along with any bile or fluids usually found in a decaying corpse.” Declan reached deep into the open chest cavity with forceps and easily pulled forth a shriveled heart through the ribcage. He spoke as he did so, taking his eyes off his work for a half second, saying, “Don’t even need the rib cutters to get it through the bones.” His hand unsteady, his forceps banged against a rib, which immediately gave way, informing them of just how brittle the bones had become. It was unnatural.

This froze Thomas in place. The breaking of normally sturdy bone via a mere bump that would typically cause no more than a casual scrape made Thomas shout, “Damn it! God blind me. Did you see that, Declan?”

But Declan and Ransom were staring at the tiny, shriveled heart about the size of a plum. Totally deflated. Shriveled ridges and tiny threads that were once major veins like the vena cava now indistinguishable in color and too small to be believed. “What could possibly do such damage in… in…”

“In so short a time,” Ransom finished for Declan. “To an otherwise healthy man?”

Declan laid the prune of a heart onto a scale; it weighed a mere third of its normal 300 grams. “No water, no weight,” he muttered, then added, “and the other organs are the same, one after the other.”

Ransom could not believe what he was looking at. Hiding within the body cavity were the other organs, so shrunken, misshapen and discolored as to be unrecognizable.

“And look here, the bone!” shouted Thomas “Empty—empty within, not so much as a trace of marrow.” Thomas had cut a section off the broken bone, and he held it up to the lamp they worked under.

“What’s it all mean?” Ransom asked, astonished.

“It appears… no—it is a fact that whatever this thing is… it utilizes every ounce of fluid in the body—to the absolute final degree.”

“But how? Shriveling every organ… and-and the bone marrow?” Thomas sounded and looked as if he might bolt.

“Hold it together, Tom… Tommie!” shouted Declan, steadying his own nerves.

“I don’t think I can take this, Declan!” Thomas tossed his forceps and the bone segment he’d cut onto a steel tray, creating a clanging metallic response so loud it felt as if the room shook. Then he started for the door, but Ransom grabbed him.

“Hold on, son. You’re seeing this thing through; you came to me, remember?”

“I need a drink… water, absinthe, whiskey, something… .”

“There’s the sink—running water. Have at it, but you get straight; we’re all seeing this through till dawn.” Ransom remained a barrier before Thomas.

Declan went to his friend and placed a hand on his back. “We’ve two more bodies yet to go, Tommie. Buck up. This thing… whatever it is… it could devastate all of Ireland if not Europe. We’ve got to confront it here and now.”

“You want to die like them?” he nodded at the petrified corpses. Suppose we’re already… that it’s already inside us, Declan, draining us like… like it did to Uncle Anton and the other two?”

“We have to put slivers of the organs beneath the scope, Tom—all of them, and document the condition of the body and the bone with photographs to… to document what we do here for others to know, to learn, and to understand.”

“And if it kills us?”

“And yes, if it kills us in the bargain, then… well then so be it. We are men of science after all. Dr. B says men of science must be brave beyond compare.”