My Pulse

Chapter 5: Quinn Keane

The week had flown by, I thought while eating a stolen donut from the conference room.

"What was the final score of the game last night?" Rowan asked, eyeing my donut suspiciously. "On second thought, where did you get that?" he asked.

"Conference room," I managed to say through a mouthful of powdered sweetness. I smiled at him and jumped when Fidah Cully asked, "He's cute, don't you think?" Her eyes greedily followed Rowan as he walked away.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied, focusing on my computer screen. I glanced at Fidah and laughed when I saw her still staring after him. "He'd probably be interested, you know," I told her, suggesting she should ask him out.

"Really?" she asked, a gleam in her eye.

"Really," I confirmed.

"Well, would you go on a double date with me?" she asked hopefully.

"Oh, no, I'm not dating right now," I told her.

Meanwhile, I tried not to think about Cian. What had he said his last name was? O'Shean? No, that wasn't right. It was... I froze in my tracks.

O'Shea. That's what he said, and I remembered the gleam in his eye when he told me his name. It was like he had been waiting for my reaction, and now I knew why.

"Are you okay?" Fidah asked, a tinge of worry in her voice.

"What? Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I just remembered I forgot to email someone yesterday before leaving work," I mumbled, trying to explain my strange behavior.

"Oh, okay. Well, anyway, let's get coffee soon; I miss you," she said sincerely.

"I miss you too," I replied, meaning it, and promised we'd catch up soon.

Right now, though, I needed to research like my life depended on it.

Everyone in Ireland knew the bloody story of the O'Shea family and how they were mercilessly pursued and killed by the now-reigning O'Connors to transition into a new criminal regime.

To gain all the power, they had to eliminate everyone. The only survivor was Cian O'Shea, who miraculously survived one of the deadliest takeovers in Irish history.

The story went that he woke up in the sick ward of a local orphanage after a car bomb nearly killed him. He was estimated to be about eight years old when the battle occurred, and his whereabouts afterward remained unknown, as I found during my search.

Well, I knew exactly where he was, I thought grudgingly, tormenting my days and haunting my dreams.

It was believed he had healed and recovered at the orphanage. No one thought to look for him because everyone believed him to be dead, like the rest of his family.

His younger life remained largely unknown, making it impossible to read between the lines. How could I figure out who this man was and what he wanted from me?

It didn't take long for goosebumps to crawl over my skin as I read through his criminal history. Although he had eluded both the police and his enemies, he had a documented history of theft, assault, and murder charges. It was estimated that he had killed over 20 people, leaving bodies and pain in his wake, driven by vengeance.

It was sad, but he had become a dark legend. His life would always be one for the history books. As I browsed through the image section on Google, the only photo they had was a sketch of a man who would be roughly his age now.

The sketch didn't look anything like him, and a wave of relief washed over me. What was this feeling? I faltered. He deserved to be caught for his crimes, and I should tell the police what I knew.