SHE’S BEING MURDERED.
It was supposed to be a fun girls’ weekend in Salem, but when a past-life regression session instead sends a terrifying vision of murder to Kylie Connelly, she’s shaken and doesn’t know what to think. Worse, later she identifies the attacker from her vision: he’s a prominent local politician.
Special Agent Jon Dickson of the FBI’s Krewe of Hunters is on the trail of a suspected serial killer based on the scantest of clues and unreliable witness testimony. When he realizes Kylie’s vision might be his best lead, he must gain her trust and get close enough to guide her new talent. Though she doubts herself, the danger Kylie sees is all too real—and the pair will have to navigate a murderer’s twisted passions and deceptions to stop the killer from claiming another victim.
Praise for the novels of Heather Graham
“The Seekers will keep you glued to the pages. The danger, drama, and energy of this book will blow you away, and just when you think you got it figured out...wrong!”
—Fresh Fiction
“An intense murder-mystery that kept me turning the pages. Graham never fails to pull me in.... Offers rich history, an interesting murder-mystery and a new romance.”
—Caffeinated Book Reviewer on The Seekers
“Graham proves that she is still at the top of the genre with the latest Krewe of Hunters book.... Evil lurks in the background and readers will be trying to figure out the motives of the killer while flipping the pages to see what can possibly happen next. Another great book to add to this long-running series!”
—RT Book Reviews on Fade to Black
“Graham takes us on a thrilling ride... A bone-chilling read.”
—Fresh Fiction on Pale as Death
“Sizzling chemistry, murder, and ghosts deliver another fantastic case.”
—Caffeinated Book Reviewer on Pale as Death
“Graham is a master at writing stories that weave the paranormal with the everyday.... A great read with twists and turns on every page that is classic Graham style.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wicked Deeds
“Graham is a master at world building and her latest is a thrilling, dark, and deadly tale of romantic suspense.”
—Booklist, starred review, on Haunted Destiny
“Graham is the queen of romantic suspense.”
—RT Book Reviews
Also by New York Times bestselling author
HEATHER GRAHAM
THE STALKING
THE SEEKERS
THE SUMMONING
A LETHAL LEGACY
ECHOES OF EVIL
PALE AS DEATH
FADE TO BLACK
A DANGEROUS GAME
WICKED DEEDS
DARK RITES
DYING BREATH
A PERFECT OBSESSION
DARKEST JOURNEY
DEADLY FATE
HAUNTED DESTINY
FLAWLESS
THE HIDDEN
THE FORGOTTEN
THE SILENCED
THE DEAD PLAY ON
THE BETRAYED
THE HEXED
THE CURSED
WAKING THE DEAD
THE NIGHT IS FOREVER
THE NIGHT IS ALIVE
THE NIGHT IS WATCHING
LET THE DEAD SLEEP
THE UNINVITED
THE UNSPOKEN
THE UNHOLY
THE UNSEEN
THE EVIL INSIDE
SACRED EVIL
HEART OF EVIL
PHANTOM EVIL
NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRES
THE KEEPERS
GHOST MOON
GHOST NIGHT
GHOST SHADOW
THE KILLING EDGE
NIGHT OF THE WOLVES
UNHALLOWED GROUND
DUST TO DUST
NIGHTWALKER
DEADLY GIFT
DEADLY HARVEST
DEADLY NIGHT
THE DEATH DEALER
THE LAST NOEL
THE SÉANCE
BLOOD RED
THE DEAD ROOM
KISS OF DARKNESS
THE VISION
THE ISLAND
GHOST WALK
KILLING KELLY
THE PRESENCE
DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR
PICTURE ME DEAD
HAUNTED
* * * * *
Look for Heather Graham’s next novel
DEADLY TOUCH,
available soon from MIRA.
HEATHER GRAHAM
Seeing Darkness
To Dr. Cuevas and Southwest Animal,
and for
Caitlin, Danielle and Sean.
Their compassion for all creatures is amazing,
and I’m so grateful to them for Ozzie, Nimh,
Rocket and Z,
and the care they gave all my creatures
throughout many years!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Deadly Touch by Heather Graham
Prologue
In his life, Jon had never heard anything as horrible or heart wrenching as the mother’s cry when she first realized that her child had been taken.
It happened just off Essex Street, by the Charter Street Cemetery, or Old Burying Point. Just a block or so from the heavy pedestrian traffic near the Peabody Essex Museum and the hordes of tourists who enjoyed the unusual shops and restaurants in the heart of the city of Salem, Massachusetts. Some were coming and going from the wax museum; some were buying the herbs and whatnot that made Witch City so famous.
The tragic history of the 1692 witch trials, of course, made the city infamous.
Even at twelve, Jon knew the city’s history, and he also knew there was a decent-size population in the city who were truly Wiccan. He didn’t quite get it; he liked the earth well enough, but he didn’t ascribe it any magical properties. His parents weren’t Wiccan—they were Episcopalians—but they never disparaged the Wiccans.
Jon’s father had told him, “What a man believes comes from his heart, mind, and soul. And our great country is founded on freedom of religion—something we must thank our founding fathers for having assured us. The Puritans hanged Quakers as well as those they accused of witchcraft, sad affairs indeed. So, unless it causes pain or injury to others, we respect every man’s belief.”
Having grown up in Salem, Jon and his family tended to avoid the heavily touristed area. There were normal things to do in Salem as well. Even if his Little League team was called the Broomsticks.
Their coach was a newcomer to the city, with a slightly twisted sense of humor, in Jon’s mind. But he liked his teammates. Jon was the pitcher, and a good one. And that year, as he approached his thirteenth birthday, he was becoming more appreciative of the fact that Amy Larson, a knockout blonde, liked to sit in the stands to cheer him on. They’d gone to their first dance together.
Jon had mentio
ned to his father that his coach was an atheist.
“And that’s his right, too,” his father had said.
The woman screaming nearby with such fear must be a tourist, Jon thought. He was only in Salem’s historic center because his mom’s cousin had come in from New York with friends, and they were showing them the sights. He was a good tour guide. He knew his city well; it was impossible to grow up in Salem without having its stories drummed into one’s head.
But they weren’t on his mind now.
The sound of the woman’s scream erased all else except for compassion for anyone who could cry out in such pain. The sound seemed to rip through his gut. There had been several kidnappings in New England lately—two bodies had been discovered. Jon’s parents had even discussed it with him so he could be on his guard. It was scary.
This woman probably hadn’t been thinking it could happen to her—she’d have her daughter’s hand the entire time they were in the city. But somehow, in the blink of an eye, someone had spirited her child away.
Jon understood, innately, there could be no agony greater in life than losing a child.
At first, he stood there, horrified with the others, as the woman screamed. Someone rushed off and found two police officers who happened to be walking the beat past the cemetery.
Jon wound up shoved back by the growing crowd, but he was tall for his age, almost five-ten already. He could clearly see the devastated mother, hysterical as she talked to the father. Police tried to calm her and figure out what had happened.
The family had been in the cemetery, the woman managed to tell them. Tracy was ten, old enough to read the gravestones and take a few steps away. She had been right there—and then she was gone.
While Jon stood in the back of the crowd, he heard a man say, “Now, one of you must see... Now, if you don’t stop him now, he’ll have her! Get to that van, block the road, don’t let him drive away!”
He turned to look. There stood a man in traditional Puritan garb, from his black hat to his white socks and navy vest and breeches.
Jon stared at him. “If you know something, you have to tell the cops.”
The man looked at him, his eyes widening. “You heard me?”
“Of course, I heard you. Tell the cops what you know!” Jon said impatiently. “Someone took a little girl—go help!”
The man shook his head. He strode toward Jon and took his shoulders.
Jon never knew if it was the feel—or the lack of feeling—when the man seemed to touch him, or the sound of his voice, as raspy as the wind in a nor’easter... Or maybe it was just the chill that swept through his body.
But he suddenly knew the man facing him was a ghost.
He was a dead man. A dead man who hadn’t walked the streets of Salem for hundreds of years.
“You tell the police,” the man urged him. “Tell them you saw a man sweep the girl away and out on the street by the old house—do it now! You saw him dragging her to a white van with an ad for a dog-grooming business, and he’ll get away with her if they don’t act immediately!”
For a moment, Jon stood frozen.
The dead man couldn’t shake him; his touch was like a breeze. But then it seemed that he did.
Jon burst into action. He forced his way through the crowd and over to a police officer.
At first it appeared that the cop didn’t want to hear him or believe him. But another policeman said, “Sweet Jesus, Matt, let’s get to that van. We got nothing else!”
“Aw, come on, the kid didn’t see anything. No one saw anything. The little girl just ran away, she’s hiding somewhere, she’s—”
Jon didn’t wait for more. He leaped the wall of the cemetery and ran across the graveyard to the house and street behind. And there was the van, just as the ghost said. Jon catapulted himself toward the van when he realized the driver was just about to take off.
He caught hold of the rear door handle, wrenching hard just as the driver tried to veer into the street. His feet flew off the ground. He wouldn’t let go, even though he felt a surge of terror.
By then, the cops had caught up. One of them jumped in front of the van. The driver didn’t slow down and seemed as though he was about to bulldoze over them, but then a shot rang in the air.
Jon wrenched the door open. A little girl was lying on the floor of the van, unconscious.
Next to another girl. One who...
He closed his eyes; he’d never seen anything so horrible. She was decomposing. She looked like something that might have been a prop at a Halloween haunted house.
Except that she was real.
Jon fell away from the van. He wasn’t needed anymore. Cops were swarming the van. More sirens rang out nearby; someone was calling an ambulance.
His own family surrounded him. “Oh my God, Jon!” his mother exclaimed. She wrapped him in a hug as though he were still a toddler.
In the following days, they let him know repeatedly that they were proud of him. They couldn’t understand his reticence to talk to reporters, or even to accept thanks. He had surely saved a life.
But he had also seen the other girl. The one who hadn’t been saved.
He was also embarrassed. He didn’t want to be hailed as a hero. He wasn’t. A dead man had come to him and told him what to do. The dead man was a hero, but it was hard for a dead man to accept any acclaim. And it was hard for Jon to accept what he’d seen.
Jon lay awake, night after night, wondering if he had really seen the man in Puritan clothes, if he’d been mistaken, if it had been an actor.
Years later, he again met the man who had helped him. The dead man.
By then, Jon was looking at sports scholarships to just about any college he might want to attend. And it wasn’t anywhere near Essex Street, the cemetery, a museum, or the memorial. He had just spent a good day at Dead Horse Beach with friends, and was zipping up his backpack when he heard a voice.
An unmistakable voice.
“You’ll be heading out soon, eh, son? Leaving this place.”
Jon turned around slowly. He was dressed in the same Puritan garb, a harsh-looking man of about forty-five. Not harsh; maybe weathered was a better way to describe him.
“No,” Jon said simply. “You’re not... You’re no Puritan. I’m not hearing a thou, or a thee. You’re an actor, and why you chose to make me crazy—”
“I was a Puritan. I’ve been walking these streets for...well, a very long time,” the man said. “And why I haunt you? Haunting matters sometimes. We saved a life that day. Be thankful for your gift. It’s rare.”
“What gift?”
“You see the dead.”
Jon shook his head. “I’ve seen you. I don’t see the dead. And whoever or whatever you are—”
“Obadiah Jones,” the man said. “Feel free to look me up. Everyone remembers those who were hanged, and old Giles Corey, who was pressed to death. They forget how many were arrested—how many died in jail, how many were ruined for life, who went on to die, their bodies ravaged with disease and malnutrition from imprisonment. I died in prison, but I was never convicted, so I lie in holy ground. And I watch, and I do my best to see that such horrible injustice never comes to this place again.”
Jon stood still. His friends were still out on the sand. He waved to them and forced a smile.
“This can’t be real,” he murmured.
“Open your heart and soul, my dear young fellow—open to the possibilities of this world. Use your talent. Use your gift. You have the rare ability to listen and see, and maybe not change the world, but maybe change the world for some.”
“I...”
“You’ll know what to do,” the man said. He walked away, disappearing into the sun and sky.
It couldn’t be real.
But as Jon watched him go, he knew that the man—apparition, ghost,
whatever—had certainly changed one life forever.
Jon’s own.
One
Kylie Connelly could feel it.
First, the terror.
Then the knife, slicing into her flesh, slamming into her bone. It was agony. As the blade rose and fell, again and again, she began to feel a strange numbness, the unbearable pain lessening, fading, the light before her eyes...
But her mind fought the vision. She couldn’t remember exactly where she was, what she was doing, how she was seeing this...
She had to see and feel something else: the past, the future, anything. This place, her friends, the laughter that had come before.
As if in a little bubble, she could see the immediate past; her friend, Corrine Rossello, third up with the hypnotist for their bizarre bachelorette party. Like a small screen before her eyes, she could again envision what she’d seen. Corrine, happy as a lark. Under hypnosis and enjoying her beautiful vision.
“I’m walking... I’m walking along, and the day is bright. I’m in a park... I can feel my dress, I believe it’s satin, and it makes a delicate little swishing sound when I move. And in front of me... I see a carriage,” Corrine said in the bubble of Kylie’s memory. “It’s a beautiful carriage, and there’s a man who steps from it, but not before he’s assisted by a footman in a truly regal costume. And then...he has his hand stretched out to me. He’s so good-looking, gorgeous actually, and he’s waiting for me. I start to hurry... A maid is following me, she’s my maid, but we’re very good friends, and she’s happy!”
Corrine was a beautiful young woman with raven-dark hair, broad cheeks and deep brown eyes. She looked like she was in rapture, lying on the hypnotist’s couch, her head and shoulders on a bed of pillows...
No. Kylie knew that she was now the one lying on the couch.
But the bubble of the memory fell back into place. Corrine’s eyes were closed; she had consumed her tea—something that helped with regression, or so the hypnotist had told them—and she was smiling as she recalled her former life.
“Yes. You’re making us see you,” declared the hypnotist, Dr. Sayers. “You, as you were. I believe it’s Hyde Park. And you are going to the man you love. Your husband, I believe, and he’s...he’s a duke!”
Seeing Darkness Page 1
