Crossing the Mists

Sometimes the most ordinary days brought the oddest surprises.

 

He arrived in our lives like a muted storm — mysterious, underrated, a bit strange; upending our fates before we even realised it. The veil had been lifted, but glued to our phones, we didn’t stand a chance of grasping it. We, mere mortals, had no notion of such things.

​

I got the call one rainy morning, while sipping, by exception, my Barry’s in peace, my eyes drifting over the endless list of administrative emails from the higher-ups — more upcoming changes, budget cuts, reallocation of funds, the usual. Didn’t bother me much, so long as my job wasn’t on the line. I was still a Sergeant, and my ambitions pointed higher. Thirty-five, still young enough to aim for the next rung. By habit, I clicked on the job offers, listing all available promotions. If something interested me more, perhaps I’d finally give in and let Larry persuade me to move to a grander place.

​

Here, too close to my birthplace, I felt at peace. Sometimes, comfort and proximity to kin are priceless. This made me think about the need to buy something, perhaps a small trinket, for Mum’s upcoming birthday. I have not decided yet, and she refused to tell me whether she needed anything. She loved unusual things, and collected those small Hummell figurines that grated on my nerves. Had she said which one she wanted to get?

Perhaps Ebay would have it…

​

The discreet, but insistent knock on my closed door brought me back.

“Come in.” My voice came out sharper than I meant because of the creeping guilt for daydreaming mid-shift.

 

Bailey, one of my more pleasant subordinates, opened the door with his usual flourish, but this time held the doorknob, preventing it from hitting the wall behind. A tiny smile stretched my lips while I gestured to him to sit across from me on the unpleasant and squeaky office chairs.

​

Procurement always bought the cheapest ones to save a buck.

Breathless, with his copper hair sticking in all directions under his cap, he dropped onto the chair, then wiped his brow. The water droplets glistened over his uniform. “Ma’am, I just returned from a call, but there is something quite strange. We found a lad, bare, in Carn Lugdach.”

 

I shrugged. “So? Another lost tourist too high on substances or a new-age hippy?”

 

Bailey’s face twisted in an unmistakable expression of unbounded excitement untampered by my apparent disinterest - wide eyes, trembling lips, barely retained words, ready to spill; and this intrigued and amused me a lot more than the event. My colleague was newly minted from the academy, and this was his first posting. No doubt, the inexperience…

 

“No identity on him and he speaks a language I don’t understand,” blurted out Bailey, his brows moving comically up and down.

 

“A tourist then. Where is he now?” I suppressed a giggle. He would take it as an insult. Also, to my knowledge, he was not a linguistic specialist, nor did he travel enough to identify the speech pattern.

 

“Skin colour?” First hint as of his identity.

 

“He’s Caucasian, I’d guess between thirty and forty. Ivory white skin, almost shining, blond, shoulder-length hair, blue eyes.”

 

So many dialects and languages in Europe… Perhaps it was one of those Eastern Slavic languages, a Polish or Latvian.

​

I didn't share my thoughts.

​

"Where is he now?"

​

He pursed his lips, his brown eyes narrowing while twisting on the seat. “In the hospital in Mullingar.” His foot tapped on the floor without him realising, and his fingers drummed on the hand rests.

 

Or Bulgarian? I humped and then looked him straight in the eye. He squinted under my gaze. With grave slowness, I took another gulp of tepid tea.

“They’ll fix him there.” I waved a hand. “Then, we’ll see. You know the procedure.”

 

Or, perhaps he was born elsewhere, say in Africa, and spoke a language we didn’t even suspect. The world was vast.

​

Bailey waited for me to issue an order.

​

I exhaled with forced slowness. “So tell me, Bailey, what affects you so much? You seem…excited?”

 

I’d say unnerved, but telling it to the face of a police officer and a colleague would sour the delicate balance of our work relationship. I didn’t need a quarrel with a subordinate. Or being sent to a mandatory course for anger management. Patience was not one of my virtues.

 

He gulped hard, his mouth opening and closing as if in search of words. His gaze darted over my desk to the walls, where posters of individuals, notes, and whatnot hung, as if they would give him the clue to what he tried to say. Then, clenching on the headrests, he finally grumbled: “The man said a single word I recognised, but it didn’t make sense.” His features twitched, and he gulped hard, forcing the rest out. “Lugh.”

 

Confused, I scowled at him. “So? What’s there to it? After all, you said he was found in the cairn-”

 

“No, no, you don’t understand!” His voice rose, and he clenched his jaw, drawing rapid breaths through his nose to calm his nerves. “When he saw we didn’t understand him, he touched his chest and repeated the same single word, ‘Lugh’.”

 

First, I didn’t react. Then, a distant memory stirred in me, an old forgotten story Granny used to tell me long ago. It dawned on me. I shook my head in denial. No longer capable of retaining my incredulity, I scoffed. “You try to tell me he is Lugh?! As in the sun-god, the old Irish god Lugh?!”

​

“To me, it seemed as if he was trying to say his name.”

 

“Perhaps you misheard him. Maybe he’s called Lughaid, shortened to Lugh?”

The gaze Bailey threw at me dripped with disappointment and unease, but also some hopefulness. Then, his shoulders fell, he exhaled noisily and shook his head like a wet dog. “Yeah, sure, you’re right, boss. But even this is rare nowadays.”

 

“But not unused,” I pointed out.

 

He shrugged, “Possibly.”

 

“Go check if any Lugaid has been declared missing then.”

 

A hopeful, trembling smile stretched his lips, and he stood up. “I’ll check, boss.” He stood up, rotating his cap between his fingers and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Uh, thank you.”

 

“No prob’. Now, go!”

 

In two large strides, he crossed my small office and carefully opened the door. Before he disappeared, his head appeared in the crack: “I’ll keep you posted, boss!”

 

“You should,” I replied. “Reporting to me is your job.”

 

This time, a genuine smile illuminated his face.

 

Before the door closed, I added: “And keep those nosy hacks away. Keep mum.” As if I’d need only a media circus in front of the detachment!

​

He nodded and disappeared. Alone now, I snorted. If my Mum were nearby, she would have scolded me for acting unladylike. But she wasn’t.

 

Lugh!

 

Ha!

 

Ridiculous!

 

Yet, lately, there had been a renewed interest in Irish lore, but going to such lengths…

 

His incoherent speech was another clue. Surely, it was someone of a weak mind or on drugs.

​

Then, another possibility occurred to me, one that made me shudder.

 

Human trafficking.

 

Or a religious sect.

 

Or both.