by Ford Murphy
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and he put himself through a very heavy workout session that evening. “Tomorrow’s another day,” he said aloud as he settled in for the night.
~ * ~
Julia lay awake in her bed unable to sleep for even a moment. What are you doing? This is so crazy.
She chastised herself for feeling like a schoolgirl asked on a date by the star football player. She knew it could never go anywhere no matter how attractive Finn was, nor how good it might feel to have someone strong on her side for a change. Eventually, she decided she would tell him “no” tomorrow. It’s the only sensible decision.
She lay awake all night staring morosely at the ceiling.
Chapter Seven
August, 1983
University College, Cork
Finn and his colleagues had survived the cyanide experiment in June. It had been a long day but it had been a fun day also. The whole experiment took just under twelve hours and apart from bathroom breaks and grabbing a quick bite to eat, Finn stayed in the isolation lab the whole time. He hadn’t been alone there for a single minute. His lab mates and friends rallied round and took it in turns to spend an hour each with him as he attempted one of the most dangerous experiments ever tried in the chemistry department.
Throughout the day, various people popped their heads into the lab with differing reports of massive bird kills on the roof or that the emergency services were on their way and that the building was evacuated. It was all in good fun and Finn took it in his stride. When the experiment was completed, they all gathered in the bar where Finn bought several rounds.
“It’s the least I can do for you gobshites. Putting your lives on the line like that. Who knew chemistry could be so exciting.”
Of seemingly more danger to his health than the cyanide experiment was the series of parties that had been organized in his honor in the days before he left for Kentucky. These were serious drinking sessions that culminated four days before his departure with the age old tradition of drinking a pint in every pub on Barrack Street in a single day. This mightn’t have amounted to such a big deal ordinarily, but Barrack Street, which started just a few minutes’ walk from the college, stretched for almost two miles and was home to no fewer than twenty-seven pubs.
Finn knew for certain that there wasn’t a hope in hell that he could accomplish this. There were stories of a few hardy souls who had successfully completed the challenge and lived to tell the tale but most participants came to an unhappy ending well before the finishing line.
“I’m definitely in the latter category,” said Finn ruefully. He tried pleading to no avail to his friends that, since he was only going for six months and was returning to complete his doctorate, technically this tradition didn’t apply to him on this occasion. His friends were having none of this.
“Take off your skirt and man the fuck up,” Frank told him in no uncertain terms. “If you’re looking for sympathy, go look it up in the dictionary. It’s right there located between shit and syphilis.”
“You have such a way with words. Any more wisdom you’d like to share?”
Frank smiled broadly. “Certainly. Here’s another: when they release the bulls into the ring, you have to decide whether you’re going to get out there and swing the red cape or be up in the stand selling tacos. And guess what, my friend, those bulls are coming for you.”
And so it went on until the morning of the big day when about twelve of them gathered outside the first pub at eleven, just as it was opening up for business. They had all consumed a hearty Irish breakfast of sausages, rashers, eggs, black and white pudding and beans. This was accompanied by mounds of buttered toast and several cups of strong tea.
“You’ve got to line that stomach or you won’t make it to four in the afternoon otherwise, not to mention to twenty seven pints,” his friends assured him.
Finn groaned. He was already full and his belly felt so heavy. “Okay bitches, let’s get the show on the road.”
The first five pubs were pretty easy going. Finn stuck to Harp lager which he reckoned was the lightest option and far less filling than Guinness or Murphy’s stout. By the time they got to number eight at about two thirty, he was really starting to feel it though. His head was buzzing, his speech was beginning to slur and his legs were getting noticeably less steady. Each time they exited a pub, the fresh air seemed to make him feel worse.
Just after four in the afternoon, they reached pub number thirteen. Finn was in a bad state by now. He had already thrown up on two different occasions and needed the support of his “so called friends” to navigate his way into the bar. He flopped in a chair, head in his hands, and would have been happy to just fall asleep there and then.
“Half ways there,” Frank told him helpfully. “You’re on the home stretch.”
By now he was drinking two glasses of water along with every pint in a futile attempt to somehow dilute the effect of all that alcohol. Trouble was, he had consumed so much liquid already that he could feel it all sloshing around inside him and he was fit to burst. He somehow managed to force number thirteen into him and after a long break in the bathroom, staggered out to his friends.
“Your chariot awaits you outside, my lord,” Kevin Burke informed him.
Finn nodded. His chariot? What the hell was Kevin was talking about?
He learned soon enough when he weaved his way out the front door. There stood a shopping cart that some of his friends had evidently persuaded a nearby supermarket to let them borrow. “We told the manager what it was for and that we’d return it intact.”
“And he believed you?” slurred Finn.
“Ah, sure. Your man was a good sport. He just said you weren’t to drive it drunk. So, you’ll have to leave that to us.”
So, with difficulty, they loaded Finn into the cart and wheeled him down Barrack Street, in and out of four more establishments, much to the amusement of passers-by and local workers.
By pub number eighteen, Finn hit a wall. He had now thrown up five times and a sixth didn’t seem like it was far off. Reluctantly, his friends called it quits after showering him with insults that he barely heard because he was drifting in and out of consciousness by then.
The last think he remembered was being wheeled back to Frank’s flat, dumped on the sofa with a bucket placed near his head. He didn’t wake up until two the following afternoon and he was still plenty the worse for wear for another day.
~ * ~
Now, sitting on the plane to New York two days later, he was just about fully recovered.
“No thank you,” he turned down the air hostesses’ many offers of wine and beer adding a silent, never again, each time. Once he got to New York, he had just under an hour to catch a connection to Frankfort, where he was to be met by a post-grad student from Professor Spalding’s lab.
Everything was on time and he arrived in Frankfort’s bustling airport none the worse for wear. After he collected his bags, he headed over to the designated meeting area where he spotted a sign with his name. He walked towards it then stopped dead in his tracks. Holding the sign above her head was a stunning, statuesque blonde about five foot ten with a figure that couldn’t have been carved any better by a sculptor.
He chuckled to himself. Man, I think I’m going to like it here. He was already thinking of his first report back to his guy friends who had all begged him to send pictures of pretty American girls.
He started walking again until he reached the blonde. “Hi. I’m Finn. Thanks for coming to meet me.”
The blonde literally gasped, looking equally as surprised by Finn as he had been by her.
“You’re Finn? You’re Irish Finn Lane from Cork? Holy shit, you are not at all what I’d expected.” She checked him out from top to bottom without a hint of subtlety or discretion. “Wow. Are all Irish chemistry postgrads as hot as you? I am so glad I volunteered to come get you. My friends will be so pissed.”
He winked. “No, unfortunately, I’m
the ugly one. And you are?”
“I am so sorry. I’m Whitney. Whitney Campbell. You made me forget my manners.”
Everything about Whitney Campbell was perfect as far as Finn could see. Her curly blond hair cascaded softly over her shoulders. Tantalizing round breasts, unhindered by a bra, were displayed perfectly under a thin tee-shirt that failed to conceal her erect nipples. Long, tanned legs that seemed to go on forever emerged from a tight mini-skirt. Deep blue eyes, dazzling white teeth and rosy cheeks made her face easily one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Even the sprinkling of freckles across her nose seemed like a perfect addition.
Finn noted she was also wearing a diamond ring on her left hand. Engaged.
Whitney caught his glance and in a perfectly mellifluous Southern accent, looked Finn directly in the eye with an unmistakably provocative expression and said, “Just say the word and I’ll dump it in the trash can right here and now.”
She held his gaze steadily until Finn could feel himself beginning to blush. “Hmm, tempting as that is, I don’t think it would make either of us popular with a number of people. Besides, I wouldn’t want your fiancé beating me up on my first day in America.”
Whitney laughed. “Bless your heart, I guess you’re right. It’s probably a bit too soon for that. Anyway, just so you know, I doubt my fiancé could handle you. He might like to think so but something tells me that would be a very bad call on his behalf. Well, if we’re not going to elope, are you hungry? Thirsty? I’m in no hurry to deposit you in Edgarville.”
“I could stand to eat. I slept through two meal services so I am feeling a little peckish.”
“Peckish, huh? As in turkeys and chickens?”
Finn laughed. “No, as in I’m starving.”
“Excellent. Then I’m going to introduce you to some down home, good southern cooking.” Whitney linked her arm in his, holding tight enough that he felt the swell of her breasts, causing his glance to stray back to them.
She’s trouble. While she was sexy and stunning, Finn was not attracted to her physically. Still, he liked her immediately, even if her directness was a tad disconcerting.
Whitney chatted up a storm in the car. When they reached the restaurant, she insisted on ordering for him. “How does fried catfish, collards and okra sound? It’s tonight’s special.” At his questioning look she added, “You want the full southern experience, don’t you?”
It sounded far from appetizing to Finn but he merely shrugged. “Sounds great. Thanks.”
She flashed a huge smile at the waitress. “He’ll have the special. I’ll have a salad with ranch dressing on the side.”
Finn arched a brow at her. “You aren’t having the special?”
“No, I had a late lunch.” She smiled up at the waitress again. “And bring us both a sweet tea.”
The catfish wasn’t terrible. The collards tasted a little like cabbage but they seemed to have been cooked in bacon fat. However, the okra was nearly inedible. He had never tasted anything like it. He reached for the tall glass of sweet tea to chase the horrible stuff and nearly strangled. Sweet tea turned out to be cold tea with so much sugar in it was nearly as sweet as syrup.
Not wanting to be rude, Finn struggled through the meal gamely. Finally putting his fork and knife down, unable to eat any more.
Whitney smiled sweetly. “I thought you said you were starving. You still have a little okra left.”
“I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Finn Lane, your mama raised a nice boy, but you don’t lie well.”
“No really—I-I” he sputtered.
Whitney’s eyes flashed with mirth. “It’s okay. You did well. I wouldn’t eat any of that shit.”
Finn grinned at her. “This was a prank?”
“Just a little one. But I bet you have room for peach cobbler. It’s really good here.” She laughed at his skeptical expression. “Honestly. I’m telling you the truth. I would never lie about peach cobbler.”
And, indeed, she hadn’t. He quite liked the peach cobbler.
Once they were on the road again, Whitney kept up her running stream of conversation.
Finn learned that Whitney was less than a year from completing her doctorate and had already started to write up some of her thesis. Her fiancé, Morgan Herman, was also doing a chemistry doctorate but he was in a different lab and working on very different experiments.
“We met when we were both freshmen and have been together for almost eight years now. Morgan was a star quarterback in his high school in Mississippi. Apparently, a lot of the top universities scouted him. He was a shoe-in to get a full-ride somewhere.”
“A full-ride?”
“Scholarships. Enough to completely pay for college. But in the fall of his senior year, he and a friend were coming home from a party when they got into a bad car accident. Morgan had been driving and was way over the limit. He broke his leg in two places which ended his football career there and then.”
“What about the other guy?”
“He was less fortunate and ended up paralyzed from the waist down. Morgan’s father, who was a very successful businessman in their town, managed to keep Morgan out of jail but he was banished to KenTech as part of the deal.” She shrugged.
Whitney recounted all of this in a matter of fact manner that Finn found very curious. It was as if they were discussing some distant cousin instead of the guy she was planning to marry in less than a year.
“He still has a chip on his shoulder about it.” She huffed. “Actually, scratch that. He has a chip on both shoulders. He’s generally pleasant but watch out for him when he’s drunk, which is often. Then he has a bad temper and can be downright mean.”
Finn looked at her. She was this gorgeous woman who clearly any man would love to be with. And yet she had just painted an extremely unflattering picture of the man she’d been in a relationship with for a big chunk of her life and who she was seemingly going to marry. He found it all very strange and was curious now to meet the infamous Morgan Herman.
Conversation drifted to other topics and two hours later, Whitney dropped him off at the well-appointed, single bedroom apartment that had been leased for him. It was far better furnished than any student accommodation he had come across in Ireland.
“This is really close to the college. You can catch the local bus at the corner, or if you prefer, you can bike it in about ten minutes—you’ll have the use of one for the six months you’re here. It should be here somewhere.” She opened a closet by the front door. “Yup, here it is.”
“That’s great—really thoughtful.”
She shrugged, giving him another appreciative appraisal. “We do it for all visiting post-grads but I suspect you may be the first one who’ll actually use it.”
Finn wasn’t sure what to say so he remained silent.
“Anyway, I’ll collect you in the morning and get you oriented. I can’t wait to show you around. Trust me. You are going to cause some stir.”
Again, Finn was speechless.
Whitney flashed her perfect teeth at him and tossed her hair back. “Now is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Not tonight. You’ve been so generous already. Thanks.”
“Well, if you’re sure. Sweet dreams. I won’t come get you until about eleven, so sleep in. There’s food in the fridge and in the cupboard, enough to get you through a week or so. After that, you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
Finn smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be able to manage. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
After she left, Finn decided he wasn’t tired and set off on the bike in the direction of the college to do some exploring. It was a warm evening and it seemed like half the people who he saw were students on bikes. The campus itself was amazing. It consisted of a large number of classically designed, domed red-bricked buildings, evenly spaced. The lawns and grounds were pristine and there were flowers and shrubs everywhere. Despi
te the bustle of large numbers of students milling about, Finn couldn’t see one single scrap of litter anywhere.
Not like home. I must send pictures. They’re going to be so pissed off. He smiled at the thought of the reaction that Whitney’s photo would generate and wondered if some of the lads wouldn’t now make do on their promises to come visit him when they saw it. That alone would be enough of an incentive for a few of them to get their asses over to visit.
Chapter Eight
Friday, June 27, 1986
Week One: Day Five
At eight-thirty that morning, Finn called in sick to Roan. He felt bad doing it on his first week but he rationalized to himself that current circumstances dictated such action. He went back to bed for a few more hours sleep to maximize his rest. It was a measure of his calmness and composure that he could actually sleep given the day he had ahead of him.
By 12:20, he was in his car driving out to Roan’s facility. He parked, walked directly to the canteen and walked straight over to Julia’s table. He smiled and sat down. “Hey, I thought I’d swing by to see if we’re on for tonight?”
Around him the canteen reacted initially with gasps and then an eerie silence fell.
So many emotions flitted across Julia’s face it was impossible to even guess what she was thinking. Eventually, she spoke. “What—Jesus Christ, Finn—what are you doing? You won’t make it alive to tonight.”
“Now, now, that’s not a positive way of looking at things.” He smiled, but was acutely aware of a group of about five or six men heading his way. He stood up and turned to face them. This time he didn’t feign civility. “What do you pussies want now? Fuck off. I’m tired of this shit. If you want me, let’s go outside right now and settle this. Come on, all of you. Let’s go.”
They just sneered back at him and one of them said, “No need for us to do anything, motherfucker. You’ll be taken care. Today. You just signed your own death warrant, you ignorant prick.”
