A car speeds down an open highway on a wet night in southern Ireland. CRACK! Thunder booms and lightning flashes. A tree falls up ahead. The screech of tires cuts through the air...deafening silence followed by blackness. Then the sound of rain slowly returns. Conor wearily wakes up to find his new jaguar crumpled. He has survived but with a huge shard of the windshield lodged in his left arm. He tries to get out of his car, but the tree has left a huge branch in front of the door. He wraps his old leather jacket around his foot and kicks away at the remaining glass. He climbs out of the car, nursing his arm as he goes.

"Not my best of days," he grumbles in a deep voice that is as scratchy as a smoke.

He looks around. Darkness. The only light comes from the occasional lighting. "AAAAIIIIEEEE!!!" A woman's scream pierces through the night air. Conor races to the trunk of the crumpled car to get his old oil lamp. And his father's six shooter. Quickly he lights the lamp and races to the sound of the scream. He comes to, what looks like, and old castle. Dark and mysterious, it stands proud in the distance. As the lighting flashes once again taking a snapshot of the scene he can see the castle in all its glory. The towers of the castle look like horns, and the windows, a thousand eyes. He hesitates going in, but that passes as he says to himself, "Someone is in danger, I need to help." And so he enters, not knowing whether or not he will come out again.

* * * * * *

In the dark and hallowed halls of an ancient Celtic castle, an eerie mournful cry echoes for what seems like an eternity. The air inside is dry and musty. Cobwebs stick to Conor's face in a static frenzy. And footsteps, aside from his own, walk in the distance.

The gray stone walls seem to crowd in on him from all sides. A flash! Thunder booms outside, asking to be let in. Banging on the doors and laughing as if possessed by the Devil himself. The sounds scour the halls and stick to the walls as if they too are alive. A chill goes up Conor's spine. He knows that something is wrong. The flame in his old oil lamp dances around in a frenzy to warn him of coming doom. Then in an instant, it is gone.

Only darkness now.

His thoughts alone are here to comfort him. Thoughts that would drive any other man insane. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Conor's heart beats fiercely. He scrambles to find a matchbook. His old leather coat is soaked and tight. His hands barely fit in any of the pockets anymore. A lone matchbook lies at the bottom of his top pocket. Only one meager match remains. He wonders if it will still light after going through the rain.

A spark. Oh, a glorious light. He scrambles to light the lamp, but the match has already burned down to his fingertips. With a gasp, he throws the match to the side and nurses his burnt fingertips. A light in the distance. Small, but just enough to light his path. He wonders if this could be a good thing or a bad thing. After a few seconds his eyes adjust to the new brightness and he sees the silhouette of what holds the light.

A big figure, a man, looms in the distant under the lamp and points to Conor.

Conor feels a sudden pain in the back of the neck and blackness fills his vision. As he feels himself slip out of consciousness he hears to men speaking from seemingly miles away, "Did ya get him Lou?" "He's on the floor ain't he ya big dope?"

* * * * * *

Conor wakes up with a jolt. To his dismay, he finds himself in handcuffs locked away in what appears to be the dungeon of the castle. His head is throbbing with pain. That little prick hit him hard.

A voice from behind him speaks with angelic like tones and breaks through the pain,"Are you alright?... My name is Catherine. They've trapped me here too. I guess was lucky though, they didn't beat me over the head."

Conor opens his eyes a little more to get a better look at her and finds that her voice doesn't do her face justice. She has gray eyes with the orange-red hair that his third wife had. He tries to speak despite the pain.

"My name is Conor O--AH!" C

onor grabs his head as a fiery hot knife of pain jabs itself through the back of his scalp. When the pain subsides he finds himself in her lap, with her hands stroking his hair. Hands that smell of perfume.

"Well Conor O'Ah, are you feeling better now?"

Her attempt at humor makes him laugh, and he instantly wishes he hadn't, but with her here, the pain was beginning to lessen rapidly.

"My name is Conor O'Rielly. I got in an accident down the road and heard a scream come from the castle here, so I came as quickly as I could. I take it that was you?"

Even from upside-down Conor could see her face light up, "You came running to save ME?! Aww...how sweet." "Shut up in there you two! Don't make me come in there and make you shut up!" Apparently the 'big dope' was reduced to babysitting duty. It made Conor wonder what Lou was up to. He stared at the large man and realized something about him that instantly inspired him to reach through the bars and strangle him, but he resisted. He had his father's six shooter. Conor decides that if her wants to talk to Catherine, it might be a good idea to whisper.

"Catherine, do you know why these men are here?"

"No, I just--" she moves away from Conor. He wonders if she is hiding something from him. The way she was holding herself now. The way she was pacing up and down the cell. His instincts are telling him to get up and spin her around putting her face to his to make her tell him.

But after 3 failed marriages, he's learned that the corny romance novel techniques just don't work. So he waited, knowing that eventually she'd give up and tell him. After about five minutes she turns to him. "Alright...I'll tell you." Catherine sits back down on the bench next to him, never letting her eyes see his, but always facing him.

"About 3 years ago I left my home in Dublin and came here. I had been researching legends of Ireland for my thesis when a package arrived at my doorstep. There were pictures of the banshee in there. The very banshee that has escaped photographers for over a hundred years. She even glowed in the dark. To top it all off there was a small piece of paper inside with a single address written on it with a date and time. That led me here. What I found was the scientific finding that would have won me a Nobel Prize."

At this point, she seemed to go into a trance as she began to recall past events. "When I came to the castle, one of the doors was open and I could see the slight flickering of candlelight inside." As Catherine spoke, Conor started to envision her going through this. She was a master at story telling. Catherine opened up the door a little further and cringed a little at the squeaking of the hinges. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she felt like she was short of breath. In the distance, the faint sound of rhythmic chanting could be heard. She didn't really know where she was going, or what turns to make as she made her way through the corridors, but wherever she was heading, the chanting grew stronger. Catherine rounded a corner and ducked down behind a box crate as she realized where she was. She had made it to the main courtyard, where whatever ceremony this was -- was taking place.

From what she could see at least a hundred figures cloaked in black, stood around a huge fire. They chanted, never moving, but things about this mystic circle would change subtly. A new cloaked figure would emerge where another had been. They may have all worn the same cloaks, but they each had different heights and postures. She couldn't understand what was going on. Lucky for this little shutterbug, she had her Canon-never leave home without it. Unfortunately at this angle the camera's lens didn't have a large enough field of view, so she would have to place herself in a better spot to get a few snapshots of this.

She placed the camera back into her sack and pushed on. A single corridor surrounded the main courtyard, as if it had been modeled after a Roman Coliseum. Could it be that the Romans had built this castle? She couldn't dwell on such things right now; she had to get a picture of this before they dispersed. As she came around the next bend she caught herself just in time to duck back into a doorway.

"What do you mean you lost her?!"

Another cloaked figure with a large headpiece spoke to two other clouded figures. Catherine guessed that he was talking about her. "But sir she can't go far we've got her car and our forces in the police have set up road blocks." Obviously one of the lessors was trying to justify a mistake; lucky for her she was the mistake. "I don't want to hear any excuses. Find her and find her NOW!" The other two bowed their heads, "yes master" they said, and scurried of their separate ways.

"I swear, if you want things done this way..."

The cloaked 'master' trailed off and walked away with his cloak seeming to envelope all that he walked by. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the wall. She was glad to have the three of them gone, but her relief was short-lived when she realized that she was being hunted now. She had to act accordingly.

Whatever it was they were hiding here was definitely worth at least a grant from the University. Catherine found herself in a better spot to take some pictures. She had managed to stay hidden but had actually emerged into the courtyard. There was enough foliage that her presence could remain unknown.

Snap after snap, Catherine got lost in the moment. She grew more and more excited with each click of the shutter. The chanting stopped. Catherine clicked and clicked taking picture after picture. She didn't realize that they had stopped chanting. She hadn't even noticed yet that the fire had died down completely. She completely missed the movement of the cloaked ones. What she didn't miss, what stopped her clicking finger, was the figure at the center of the circle. What she had mistaken for a fire earlier was actually whatever this was.

The chanting had just made it brighter earlier. A cloaked figure--this one in white--barely stood there, as if the weight of it's own body was too much to bear. The figure seemed to glow as if its body and clothes were covered in a luminescent pigment. Catherine HAD to get a picture of this.

CLI-....CLI-...."Damn it"

The roll was jammed. She started to fiddle with the rewinder and cursed herself for not buying that digital camera. But she trusted computers as far as she could throw them. A shadow fell over Catherine's light. That sinking reached her belly and she didn't have to look up to know what was in front of her. She started to reach for her bag, knowing that she had some semblance of a weapon inside but the cloaked figures standing before her grabbed both her arms while another gagged her. Then, the cloaked man with the headpiece came up and looked her up and down. A smug smile came across his lips.

"Catherine."(How did he know my name?)"I see you got my package?" At this point he turned to the crowd and in a much louder voice than seemed possible he said, "Brothers, Sisters, we have our next test subject."

Catherine struggled, but she couldn't fight the seemingly superhuman strength these figures possessed. They tied her up to a post in the center of the courtyard and stepped back. The tired glowing figure looked at Catherine. It looked sad.' The air grew calm and clouds started to multiply. As calm as the air around Catherine was, the glowing figure seemed to have a small wind about it making its clothes billow. It grew brighter and seemed to get stronger, as if it were using up the last of its strength. Its mouth opened and Catherine felt a rush of air sweep past her. She expected to hear something but there was only silence.

"And then I woke up here. I guess I passed out."

to be continued ...