Chapter 4 - A New Dawn

By morning, the world had shifted. The next day dawned in soft pinks and blues, but something was off—nothing tangible, but a creeping unease lingered about our case of the foreigner from yesterday, the nagging sensation we had forgotten something vital.

I found myself rested, except for the black circles under my eyes. Half-asleep, I dragged myself to the kitchen and started the Keurig.

Larry’s footfalls thudded behind me, followed by the pitter-patter of Rex’s claws.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I called over my shoulder to Larry. He yawned, his hair mussed, stretched, and scratched his belly.

“You sitting with me?” I teased Larry.

He yawned again, poured some oatmeal, and muttered, “I’ll have to bring Rex to the vet. He won’t stop licking his paw.”

My heart lurched with a jolt of guilt and worry. How could I forget to check him? I glanced at Rex’s paw, relief washing over me as I saw the bald spot wasn’t as bad as before. In that moment, I realised how intertwined our lives were—his and ours, mine and Larry’s—and how much Rex’s well-being mattered to us both.

“Perhaps we should leave more time for him to change,” I suggested.

“Rex, listen to your dad and don’t dig too many holes today,” I said, my head flicking towards Larry. Then I told him, “I think he’s fine enough. Just give him a little more time.”

While my hubby was the feeder, I had the honour of being the dog walker and belly scratcher. With one last pat on Rex’s head, I grabbed my coat and headed out, shifting from home mode to work mindset.

As soon as I arrived, the sounds and smells of the office surrounded me in the familiarity of a blanket: the whirring of copiers and printers, voices, wet carpet, and the faint remnant of cheap perfume. Yet, hidden within this familiar hum was the unsettling flicker of a fluorescent light overhead, casting a jittery glow that mirrored the unease gnawing at the edges of my morning.

I made a beeline for the kitchenette, shoved my lunch into the fridge, and refilled my “Cop of the Year” mug with enough caffeine to power a small village. Now I was ready to skim emails and messages.

My chair groaned as I sank into it. The cell rang.

“Morning, chief,” Bailey’s voice crackled through the line, hinting at the weariness from the previous night. He should have been a little more formal, but perhaps he nursed a hangover.

Being nice, I let it slide.

“Any news about our man?” I asked. “Any Lugdash or similar missing? Heard from the hospital?” I prayed he hadn’t.

“Not yet,” he said. “And no, no reported man matching our description or name.”

“Within Ireland or outside?” I raised my brows.

“Everywhere. I checked even Interpol.”

Yesss! I had a legitimate excuse to leave the office. “Bailey,” I said, summoning my most professional tone, “This case seems serious enough to require my involvement. I’ll take over. Just finish your preliminary report.”

“Very well, chief. You’ll get it by the end of the day.”

Did I feel a note of satisfaction and relief in his voice? With my next words, I killed his good mood. “Also, as I head to the hospital, you’ll take over the meeting. Call me after. A quick verbal summary will do.” I felt benevolent and merciful. Almost omnipotent.

He stifled a small exhale. “Will do it, chief.”

“Good. I’ll send you the agenda.” I stood, grabbed my coat, and slipped out to the hospital, careful to stay clear of the Inspector or risk having my outing cancelled.

The drive on the motorway toward Mullingar helped shed office worries. My mood lightened as the clouds drifted away. A smile crept on my mouth.

The red-brick building loomed like a sleeping giant. I parked in the first available spot

and trotted toward the emergency entrance. A single, piercing scream cut through the air, and the sharp scent of disinfectant hit me. I shuddered.

Still, better than a meeting.

Inside, another set of nurses hovered near the main desk. The senior one, with a rotund, motherly figure, eyed me with suspicion. As soon as I flashed my badge, she melted into a warm smile.

“How can I help you, officer?” she asked. I seemed to detect a hint of wariness.

“I came to see the man we brought yesterday. Is he still in the same room?” I asked, repeating the file number.

“So, you’re the one charged with him, huh?”

I nodded. “Anything new?”

She smiled. “The doctor will see you in her office. Give me a sec to confirm.” She disappeared around the corner.

“Room 114. Please follow the yellow dots,” she said upon returning.

The handle felt cold and smooth under my fingers. Inside, a petite brunette greeted me.

“I’m Dr Walsh,” she said.

“Sergeant O’Reilly. It’s a pleasure meeting you,” I said, plastering a fake smile and grasping her extended hand. “Any news about him?”

“He seems in perfect health, but his responses seem abnormal,” Dr Walsh said.

“How so?”

“Startled by his environment. Jumpy and wary as if he’s seeing a hospital, a laptop, or a nurse for the first time. Ever,” she explained.

“Perhaps he just immigrated from another, less-developed country? Or from a remote village?” I ventured.

Her face brightened. “I’m happy you care for him as a person; he’s worth it.”

My mother had been a refugee. A family had helped her integrate long ago, and it hadn’t been easy.

Now, it was my turn to help him. It was nothing personal, but my job and moral obligation.

And a promise of promotion if I succeeded.

“Could he be a mental patient or have a brain tumour?” I blurted out my thoughts. Shame heated my cheeks at my supposition.

She didn’t glare at me but skimmed over some test results, then nodded. “I suppose anything is possible. We still have a couple of tests scheduled for today, but we must find a way to communicate.”

I

stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr Walsh. Please keep me updated,” I said, offering my card. “Could I visit our patient?”

If by ‘patient’ we meant someone waiting to be served, that is, he was mine, too.

“Of course. He’s still in the same room, and for now, he’s calm.”

I left for Room 12B.

I approached the half-open door and peered inside. The man rested in bed. Was he sleeping? After my earlier blunder, I didn’t dare ask if they had sedated him before to assess his health.

This time, I took my time to examine him, trying to assess his trade without touching him. Despite his restful, peaceful state, something else drew my attention that I had missed yesterday. Hidden in the large, powerful jaws, or in the thickness of his neck and arms, or in his broad chest, was the sensation of might under his skin.

I approached, my feet silent so as not to wake him, while my gaze scanned every inch of skin I could see. His breathing came out regular and even.

Muscular arms betrayed physical labour or regular training. He could be a soldier. I hadn’t considered the most obvious option. Did his limbs or torso display any scars or tattoos?

More hypotheses popped into my overactive brain. As I examined him more closely, I searched for faded bruises or calloused knuckles that hinted at some sort of physical altercation in the past. Perhaps he was a mob killer, hardened by years of underground activities. Or maybe he was a soldier trained in combat, but I couldn’t find any scars on his arms or face.

And I couldn’t touch his hands to examine his fingers, not without his express consent.

Power. Retained power.

Perhaps he was a re-enactor brought from the North to represent Lugh? Could our patient throw a spear?

A stone?

I chuckled.

His lashes trembled. Sky-blue eyes peered at me with alarm, pupils dilated like a startled animal. A pulse throbbed at his neck, signalling the adrenaline flooding his system. His muscles tensed, ready to jump out of bed.

Despite the gravity, I offered my most charming smile. “Sergeant O’Reilly,” I touched my chest. “We met yesterday.”

Could I defend myself if he attacked? He was in bed, but much taller than my paltry 5’ 2”, and I was unarmed. He couldn’t read my mind, thankfully.

His shoulders relaxed slightly. His lips stretched in imitation of a smile, exposing perfect whites. “Lugh.”

“I come in peace,” I said, uneasy, raising my palms.

Unmistakable confusion flashed in his eyes. Somehow, his smile stretched without reaching his eyes, becoming more threatening. If he intended to express friendliness, he failed pathetically.

A chill ran down my spine. His stare had sharpened to a spear, piercing my soul. Was he a lost, confused man or something with pointed teeth, which nature I just glanced at?

Maybe I was out of my depth.

My heartbeat spiked to new heights, and I shook.

What will be his next move?