“And that was it, he shot the birds with the last bullet,” the policeman said. “Two birds, one stone. Literally.”

Declan was a bit stunned at the news but wasn’t surprised. Still, he felt like he should’ve done better for his employee. What if I raised the wage? Was it enough for him? The policeman read the worried man’s face like a book.

“You want to visit him, right?”

He shook his head vigorously. Would he be able to bear it? Would he be able to see the face of the man who worked for hours until his patience neared zero. 

The nights were now colder than usual. The birds moved south, no more nests to move to ground level, no more eggs to worry about either. Certainly not, those two blue jays have been dead for fifteen years. Snow covered the ground, Christmas was over, New Years as well. The holiday-less gap. Declan’s golf business had been passed on to someone else and he was living the best life in retirement. An incident still bothered him, though, leaving him with more questions unanswered. The biggest one was:

Whose fault was it and why?

All arrows pointed to a culprit but there was a man behind it. A careless manager who let one of his most trusted employees run the business when he was “rich enough” and didn’t keep an eye on him afterwards. The notion gnawed at Declan’s flesh; he must see MacLachlan.

The empty fields and hills of northern Scotland painted the scene with drabby green, storm clouds above and jagged rocks protruding out of the ground in some spots. At the foot of one of the highest hills that Declan could see was the lonely house, all lights off. Moss grew on the stony steps to the entrance. He felt smaller than his stature as he glared at the facade of what once was welcoming. He knocked once, twice, six times before someone opened it. It was Maud. She looked a bit brighter, in spite of her age. Her daughters Helen and Heather also looked better than they did before, but their faces were uncomfortably neutral. Maud told the girls to leave and she went outside to face Declan in the cold weather with no coat or some sort of protection from the unforgiving winds. 

“...not yet?” Declan asked with his head down.

“Not ever,” Maud replied in a grave tone. “He’s been in there for years. They should keep him. That is no husband of mine.”

Declan was semi-prepared for this but he wanted the bottom of this to be as clear as day. He nodded and trotted back down the steps. 

Over the week, he came back to her to squeeze out more information about the former employee’s whereabouts. “Somewhere” became “someplace”, and “someplace in the United Kingdom” turned to “Ramsey, Isle of Man.” Declan was desperate, this is the only place that has answers. To an extent, an island is the place that has his answer, waiting impatiently in solitude at a mental hospital. 

The rest of the hospital was normal to the patients, staff, and whoever else wanted to visit. MacLachlan, however, got a separate place of his own that seemed completely depersonalized from the rest of the building. For the past fifteen years it seemed like no one, not even the staff wanted to touch the door to his room. Until a gloomy Friday in February, Declan was the only one willing to see. The room was entirely dark, but not dark enough to conceal the man on the floor inside. 

“Are you sure?” a nurse asked.

“I was his employer,” Declan said. “I know most of him.

He wasn’t allowed to go inside so he spoke to him through a small letterbox on MacLachlan’s heavy door. 

“Mate, do you remember me?” he asked in the tone he personally addresses him in. 

“Who’s that?”

“Jockey! Jock-Jock. It’s your manager-- I mean, former manager. I haven’t seen you in…”

“Go play golf somewhere else.”

“No, I’m here to ask you a simple question.”

“Well, shucks, shoot.”

“Why?”

Declan’s creaky voice ached with desperateness as he caught a glimpse of a shell. Jock’s red-ish hair was lighter with gray streaks all around and it draped over his head like the leaves of a Willow tree. Behind the bangs of hair over his face, two wild eyes glared at the letterbox like two targets. The nurse looked over Declan with uneasiness, waiting for him to step away as soon as he was able. Declan wished the small space was wider to let the man on the other side see his familiar black hair. 

“Well,” MacLachlan started, kicking his feet. “I met a man a while ago after I hit the jackpot. He was friendly… He told me he has been near my place for a long time. But the one thing I did not get was… why he harassed me to the point where I lost my mind…”

He rambled on and on saying so much yet comprehensive nothings came out of his mouth. The nurse tapped Declan’s shoulder and gave him the short explanation. 

“This individual doesn’t exist,” she whispered. “But he’s saying  ‘it’ drove him to assault his coworker and later his own wife. We do not know how this started, but our best hypothesis is some deep seated disorder that decided to come out on one off day.”

“And that’s it?” Declan hissed. “Mild schizophrenia?”

“Yes.”

“Hold it, Jock,” Declan said. “I heard enough.”

He closed the lid and walked away, dissatisfied.

A simple explanation from an unreliable madman wasn’t the way. Who else has pieces to the puzzle? 

Standing alone on a tee box stood an ailing man eyeing a hole and some hazards across the course. He putted a tee and got a hole in one. He slowly marveled in his own glory, proud of himself for still being up to par after surviving a brain injury, but his locomotion begged to differ. Llywelyn stumbled across the green with the offspring of his Newfoundland guiding him along the way and keeping him upright. Though dogs were strictly forbidden on course grounds, they were for his sake only. Declan found him at the bottom of the hill petting his dogs, congratulating them for finding the ball when he couldn’t. 

“Ahoy, Mr. Rarebit!” he called from the top of the hill. “Remember me? It’s Mr. Gowen!” All of Rarebit’s dogs barked at him aggressively. Llywelyn calmed them down and stared at his old boss apprehensively as he trotted down the greens. 

“Sorry for that, Gowen,” he said in a slow, brooding voice. “My old sport was bred with a German Shepherd.”

Declan gawked at the massive dogs beside their master. Llewelyn looked like a villain, or a tragic hero. His style was less happy and lighthearted than it was long ago. Moreover, it was incognito. His slow articulation didn’t help his innocence either as it made him more gloomier than he felt seeing the boss of the job that spelled the end of his happiness. Declan felt a bit of him cry at the sight of a person who was once so happy, so hyperactive, be reduced to… this. Standing at a staggering 6’3, he hovered menacingly with the colorful leashes of his four loyal dogs intertwining around his cane like a Welsh maypole. 

“Sorry for the fashion shock as well,” he added. “I don’t feel like… myself anymore. I’m sure you know very well about how all of this came to be, yes?”

“Y-yes!” Gowan stuttered. “MacLachlan. I met him a couple of days ago and I just need for you to answer some questions…”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you sense anything slightly off about him?”

Rarebit’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. The day he won that lottery. I could never get that out of my head. You gave the warehouse, the business, everything to him. You skipped me because I wasn’t worth as much as he did. You named that place after me and you betrayed me. Didn’t you see the paper I mailed to you?”

“N-no… I-”

“You didn’t? Ain’t that a shocker. Barnaby stole a ‘Ruby’ and tried to ‘bring it back to Scotland where it came from.’ Aren’t you familiar with that ‘Ruby?’ It’s the Diamond Ruby, the largest ruby found in Scotland. It was this land’s secret to keep. And it was stolen.”

“So… Barnaby did it? Who is this??”

“Barnaby Delworth, the only Englishman who knew about the existence of it and the only man in the world who was able to touch it. He was sentenced to… I don’t remember how long. He was killed in prison. How Jock got the money is a mystery but my hypothesis is that Barnaby sold it and gave every penny that Ruby was worth to his friend.”

As the words poured out of his mouth a twisted scowl grew on his face and he gnashed his teeth. His dogs reflected his emotions, baring their teeth at the explicit mention of Jock MacLachlan.

“If there’s one thing I don’t understand,” he continued, his seething anger making him drool. “Is that he gave all of that insurmountable amount to his friend in debt when he knew that it was the most precious thing this country had to offer. So much so, that no one in the world knew about it UNTIL HE STOLE IT!”

His dogs barked erratically, whimpering and whining. Declan’s body was frozen at the image of his friend foaming at the mouth from pure unadulterated rage. The answer to the “Why?” was still hovering in the air, he just needed to squeeze one more thing out of the raging Welshman. Rarebit calmed down and started walking away. 

“So there, the case is closed.”

He walked slowly to the next course. Declan was scared to follow him but needed a bit more information… he was itching to have the last piece?

“One more thing-”

“What?!” Llywelyn sharply turned around and snarled at the small man. 

“...why did Jock try to kill you?”

The question diluted the man’s rage by a small notch. He sat at the base of the tree and told all he could remember.

“Let’s start at the beginning of the situation: After I showed him that paper I went to the bar for the night. I’m no alcoholic, Mr. Gowan, but I had a few drinks too much that night. But I was rational enough to know to not drive my car while intoxicated. I got a call from Jock at 1:22 in the morning. He was drunk out of his mind as well and he asked ‘Hey, I have this warehouse all to myself want to go golfing tonight?’ And I answered ‘Yes!’ So I walked all the way up to that place to get a couple of holes in… inside, of course. 

“We played until the early morning and that was when I heard him mumbling ‘Do it.’ And he answered himself ‘I can’t…’ And this small conversation continued behind me when I turned around and he hit me with a putter. …I have cataracts now.”

The money made Jock insane? 

Meanwhile at the hospital, Jock locked himself in a fetal position on his bed, reminiscing about the first time he saw his old boss. Suddenly a familiar voice interrupted his inner peace. 

“Miss me?”

At the edge of his bed, sat a person of familiarity. A ‘Friend.’ His appearance was also familiar but Jock could never pick out the exact details of him that seemed so usual. He has seen him before. He was the one that complimented his chanter skills, he was the one who knew what to do with the money, he was the one who drove him mad.

He was the one that made him choke his own wife. He was the one that made him hurt Llywelyn. He was the one who planned the death of Barnaby.

Jock tried to kick him off the edge but he felt a sharp pain in his side and fell off instead. The friend smiled sinisterly.

“What did I tell you? Stop hurting yourself trying to hurt me. It will never work.”

“What do you want from me now?!” Jock groaned. 

“I’m just back to tell you that someone’s on your tail again.”

“Declan?”

“Stop acting dumb, of course, Declan!”

“Don’t you DARE lay a finger on that old man…”

“I won’t. But you will.”

“Who cracked my friend’s skull?”

“Who carried out the act?”

“You forced me to do it!”

“You had the power to stop yourself. I didn’t threaten to kill you for not doing it, did I?”

Both glared at each other in silence until the friend melted into nothingness. Jock glanced around his dark gray cell and sighed in relief. Gowen is safe, as long as he stays in this inescapable room. He won’t get hurt, he thought. 

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

I can’t get out of here.

A week later, Declan pondered Rarebit’s story while looking at a forlorn lottery ticket on the side of the road. He gathered everything that was said in chronological order: Barnaby Delworth, a trusted guard of a Diamond Ruby stole the gem, sold it, and gave the money to MacLachlan, who then went insane from the amount of money given to him. In an attempt to redeem him, Barnaby went back and “re-stole” it, got arrested, was thrown in prison where he was stabbed to death by inmates…

This isn’t right.

“There's something I’m missing,” he thought out loud. “How can money drive a man mad? It makes them evil, not insane.”

He was stumped. There was one thing missing. One. He got information from all of the people who knew MacLachlan: Maud, the nurse, Llywelyn. 

That night he phoned Rarebit and asked him about the paper again. Newcastle upon Tyne was where the diamond was sold and stolen. After a long bus ride he arrived at the shop giddy with excitement. The old man was still there, less excited about a new customer coming into his shop. He looked similar to Barnaby. Uncannily similar. His curly hair was wavy now and he looked more overblown than before. 

“In a rush… I see,” he said condescendingly. “What can I help you with?”

“Sir, sorry to ask you about this,” Declan started, “But did your shop get ‘robbed’ a while ago? Do you remember at all?”

“...My son robbed this place, yes.” he said solemnly, eyeing the spot where the Ruby used to be. Declan numbed the shock received from the revelation and continued, determined.

“Okay, uhh, that diamond ruby thingy. How did you get it?”

“Hmm… Someone sold it to me because holding on to it was a huge burden.”

“Do you remember who he was?”

“Here’s one thing everybody must know, mister: he wasn’t my son.”

Declan just blinked. Senior Delworth explained the man who came into his shop. His memory was fuzzy, but he provided an almost accurate description. He recalled a man of average height, lugging in the ruby with towels covering it. Delworth asked him if he wanted to sell a precious gem for a grand or two and the man said “You read my mind ol’ chap!” in the best British accent he could do. From that point, Delworth knew he wasn’t from Britain at all, because his tendency to relapse into his Scottish accent was imminent. He eventually did though when he unveiled the ruby, and the quick switch from one to the other had been in Delworth’s head for years. As he continued, Declan’s body felt heavier and heavier with fear. It’s clear, and confirmation will seal the mystery.

Another dreary week went by and MacLachlan was finally let out into the courtyard of the hospital. He often gets a breath of fresh air after a couple of days shut in the same dark room, as the hospital allows his exposure to the light of day to prevent him from getting jaundice. The sky wasn’t gray and he felt a nice breeze wash his worries away. That was, until he caught sight of someone familiar out of the corner of his eye. Expecting the “friend” to be there, he turned his head against the wind and prayed. Declan walked up to him slowly with the nurse by his side. 

“Oh, it’s you again,” he said nonchalantly. “What else do you have on your mind…”

As he expected, the “friend” was there next to Gowen, smiling and pointing at the short man. He then started to make gestures around him, like running his finger across his throat or clocking his fist against his skull. He wants him dead, and for what? MacLachlan ignored him and listened to his old boss. Declan explained everything he knew to him, and Jock’s happiness faded away. The nurse’s face twisted into a surprised grimace, and she ran to get security. All other patients at the courtyard stared at MacLachlan. The friend felt a bit mad and angrily asked if he paid attention to what he meant. He repeated his gestures and pointed at Jock instead of Declan. Jock felt his rage overtake him and he tried to give his old boss the same treatment he gave to his wife the week he was condemned to this hospital. Both men were on the floor, Jock’s hands wrapped around the old man’s neck. He eyed his ‘friend’ and mustered a grin. This is what he wanted, right? The apparition didn’t react to his subordinate’s deed, he stared at him with a neutral expression. His gaze burned through Jock’s body. The latter’s grin faded away, along with his hallucination. His hands were still locked on Declan who was turning blue. Before he would notice it, MacLachlan was on the ground too, pinned by a police officer. His eyes looked to where his ‘friend’ was supposed to be, only finding nothing but blue sky. The sun shined on the grim scene, bringing light to a mystery finally solved after a fifteen year standstill. It’s clear now, this hospital was no place for Jock to be. A prison fit him better. 

Barnaby Delworth’s spirit can rest easy, Senior Delworth rested easy the next day, Llywelyn Rarebit and his dogs found tranquility, Maud MacLachlan and her daughters, heartbroken but satisfied, lived their lives without a family member, Declan Gowen recovered, 

and John “Jock” MacLachlan was sentenced to life in prison for pillaging Scotland’s greatest ruby.