Back to Salem

by Alex Marcoux

  “If you’re looking for the unusual—something FRESH, COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, AND MARVELOUSLY ENTERTAINING—then read this book. Marcoux’s writing is superb. . . You won’t be able to put the book down. . . An entertaining novel with a lot of twists and turns.”

  —Laura DeHart Young, Lambda Book Report

  “Page-turner of a mystery. SPELLBINDING. Perhaps the recall of a past life doesn’t release someone from its influence. Maybe it increases its impact.”

  —Henry Reed, Venture Inward, Magazine of the A.R.E./The Edgar Cayce Foundation

  “Compelling stories about enduring women who triumph in a patriarchal society.”

  —Sapphic Reader

  “Back to Salem is the perfect combination of metaphysics, mystery, love and adventure. Alex Marcoux has captured a relationship that transcends time…it makes us hope to find something like it for ourselves…Believable and compelling! I can’t wait to read the next book in the series.”

  —Murder on the Woo Woo Express

  “A POTENT witches’ brew of romantic mystery. A NAIL-BITING tale of how love can last through the ages—and we CAN’T WAIT for the next installment.”

  —Insight Out Book Club

  “Fast-paced, can’t-put-it-down novel…an exciting and provocative metaphysical mystery. Back to Salem is one of the most engrossing, imaginative, suspenseful and revealing novels written in the last fifty years!”

  —In Light Times

  “Warning—reading this book may cause you to become lost for hours in the world of Alex Marcoux. Fantastic. Intriguing. Provocative. An EXCITING JOURNEY.”

  —OutLook Press

  “Can’t put it down.”

  —Spiritsearch.com

  “Goes beyond a mere mystery. You don’t have to believe in reincarnation to enjoy this book. The page-turning excitement will keep you reading into the wee hours of the morning.”

  —Virginia GayZette

  “If you enjoy a good mystery, with many twists and turns in the plot, you’ll enjoy Back to Salem. It is a very good read!”

  —Mega-Scene

  “COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...Get this book and make sure she can afford to keep writing.”

  —The Liberty Press

  Back to Salem

  Alex Marcoux

  2012

  Copyright © 2001 by Alex Marcoux

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.

  Originally published by The Haworth Press, 2001

  First Bella Books Edition 2012

  Cover designed by: Sandy Knowles

  ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-303-5

  About the Author

  When Alex Marcoux began writing novels, something within her changed. It started while writing Facádes, her first lesbian romance. When writing Back to Salem, the Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Lesbian Mystery, Alex discovered an innovative and unique way to access creativity, write and live. Trusting this spiritual process, she was guided to write the controversial and acclaimed suspense thriller, A Matter of Degrees; a Gaylactic Spectrum Best Novel Nominee and Golden Crown Literary Award Finalist for Speculative Fiction. All three of her novels were originally published by The Haworth Press and subsequently picked up for republication by Bella Books.

  Back to Salem drew the attention of Atlantis Moon productions, an independent film company which produced Back to Salem–the Short Film using Alex’s script in 2008. The film was produced as part of a development package for a feature-length version, which is in development.

  After studying her spiritual practice for ten years, Alex wrote Lifesigns: Tapping the Power of Synchronicity, Serendipity and Miracles (2012), in which she brings to light her unique approach to recognize and find meaning in metaphysical signs. Alex is an intuitive, an inspirational speaker and student of various philosophies and teachings, including the Science of Mind and Spirit. She conducts workshops on creativity, inspirational writing and her Lifesign process. Alex resides outside of Denver and is currently writing a conspiracy novel, among other things. Visit her on www.AlexMarcoux.com

  Acknowledgments

  There were many people acknowledged in the initial publication of this book. I remain grateful to them. They are: Paula Vaughan, Janet Nelson, the Wayshowers, Lynn Walker, Natalie, Liz Goodenough, Lady Sabrina and her book, Secrets of Modern Witchcraft Revealed, the St. Barnabas congregation, The Haworth Press, Preston, and Susan.

  Additionally, I am grateful to Linda Hill and Bella Books, and blessed by my wonderful family, Michelle and Preston, who continue to love and support me through life’s interesting times.

  Each soul has its own journey,

  a trek simply unique.

  We all continue searching,

  love and respect we seek.

  This book is dedicated to all those who strive to be themselves, but are persecuted because of it.

  In Essex County of Massachusetts, 1692, over 150 men and women—along with a four-year-old girl—were arrested. This was the foundation of one of the most hideous chapters in American history, the Salem witch trials. At least four people died in prison, one man was crushed to death, and 19 were executed, all because they were suspected of practicing witchcraft. Witchcraft is one of the oldest religions, surviving centuries of persecution.

  —AM

  Chapter 1

  At first, it was so faint, it was barely noticeable, and then the soft whispers intensified. As the noise built, so did the fidgeting. Elbow-to-elbow they sat on the hard wooden pews, waiting calmly, and then they became restless. The pews of the tiny Salem Town courthouse were filled to capacity and the rear walls were lined with men and women waiting for the ruling. The September sun filtered through the windows, elevating the temperature of the courtroom, contributing to their discomfort.

  Rebecca Johnson, the accused, sat in front of the room, her eyes fixed on the wooden floor beneath her feet. A white bonnet harnessed her long dark hair. Her blue dress was offset with a white collar and apron, matching the head covering.

  A court officer stood silently near Rebecca, pike in hand, guarding his prisoner. Beads of sweat trickled from beneath his armored helmet.

  Although Rebecca sat alone, she felt the presence of her beloved husband sitting directly behind her.

  The rear door of the meeting room creaked opened, jury members paraded to the front of the courtroom and sat at the vacant benches adjacent to the accused. None of the men looked at Rebecca.

  Chief Justice Stoughton entered the courtroom and Daniel Johnson could feel his pulse start to race. Everyone rose to greet the magistrate and Daniel stood taller than most. Beside Daniel was John, his closest friend and comrade. Daniel could feel the palms of his hands sweat and perspiration glistened on his forehead and temples.

  How could this be happening to us? Daniel asked himself. He stared at the back of his wife, needing to make eye contact.

  As if hearing him, Rebecca turned, her big blue eyes meeting her husband’s brown eyes. She smiled at him, reflecting her outward beauty and touching Daniel’s soul as she always could. No fear registered in her eyes. Although her full lips were silent, with her mind she spoke to her husband. “I love you Daniel. It’ll be okay. Just remember—I’ll always love you.”

  Daniel smiled at his wife, but she recognized the concern in his eyes.

  A court officer moved to Rebecca and placed his hand on her shoulder, directing her attention away from Daniel to the judge. Stoughton sat at his high bench. A bla
ck cauldron sat on the side of the large desk, while a tapestry of the king’s crown hung from the front of the furniture.

  “Everyone may be seated,” the magistrate instructed. As Rebecca sat, Stoughton said, “Not you Goodwife Johnson. Remain standing.” Then Stoughton turned toward the jury members. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  A man from the jury stood. “Yes.”

  Daniel could feel his heart beat harder and faster as he anxiously awaited the fate bestowed upon their lives.

  “We find Goodwife Johnson…” The foreman turned to look at Rebecca, but when her innocent eyes returned the stare, he averted his eyes. “Guilty.”

  “No,” Daniel shouted.

  The court officer quickly moved to Daniel and attempted to seat him, but Daniel resisted. His friend, John, also had his arms around him trying to control him.

  “Goodman Johnson,” Stoughton’s voice escalated. “I will have you removed from the courtroom if you do not sit quietly.”

  It was Rebecca who was able to calm him. She turned and offered him a smile, “Daniel, I’m fine.”

  Daniel’s eyes met his wife’s. He could not help but admire her courage and strength. His resistance disappeared and he sat quietly, maintaining his eye connection with Rebecca.

  Immediately the guard moved to Rebecca forcing her to face the judge, breaking her visual connection with her husband.

  Stoughton turned to the jury foreman. “Thank you, you may sit.”

  “Rebecca Johnson,” the judge began, “the Court of Oyer and Terminer has heard and determined that you are guilty of witchcraft. This abomination is punishable by death. On September 22—you will be hanged by the neck until dead, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul.”

  Daniel’s temples started to pound and his vision became distorted. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He was aware that John’s arm was around his shoulders and he wondered if it was there for comfort or to control a disruption. Tears formed in his eyes as he watched the officer slowly move to Rebecca’s side, to remove her from the courtroom. Daniel approached her but was stopped by another officer and when he pushed past the man, another officer stopped him. Within seconds, the courtroom was in chaos and Daniel desperately fought to reach his wife. His focus to connect with Rebecca was not broken, even when he took a blow to his head and fell to the floor. Quickly he stood, blood streaming from his forehead, but now he could see Rebecca and she saw him.

  John broke into the chaotic circle of confusion. “For the love of God, let them bid farewell!” he shouted.

  The opposition weakened long enough for Daniel to approach Rebecca and embrace her. Both remained silent as they clung to each other. Then the outsiders pulled them apart, trying to sever their connection. Rebecca’s and Daniel’s eyes remained fixed on each other, connected, as the sheriff pulled Rebecca to the door.

  Although Rebecca’s lips did not move, Daniel clearly heard her voice in his head. “We’ll be together, again. Next time. I promise. It’ll be the same.”

  The door closed between them and Daniel felt his heart race. He screamed, “Rebecca!” The courtroom blurred and the light dissipated until there was no more light.

  “Rebecca!” Jessie cried out in her sleep. Abruptly she sat up; her heart felt as if it was going to burst from her chest. She could feel the sweat on her palms, on her temples and beneath her long free-flowing hair. My God. It was just a dream, she thought. She glanced at Ellen lying beside her, got out of bed and went into the bathroom. At the sink, she studied her reflection in the mirror. A full moon provided enough light to notice the glistening sweat on her temples. She ran water over a facecloth, twisted it then raised the cloth to her face. Slowly she washed the sweat away as she studied her face in the mirror.

  Three times. The same dream three times in two weeks. What the hell does it mean? Her heart was still beating faster than usual. She lifted her long hair and placed the cool wet cloth on the back of her neck.

  Chapter 2

  The following morning Jessie and Ellen were awakened by music from the alarm at 6:00 A.M. “Good Morning LA, rise and shine,” the deejay sang. “We’re going into a 30-minute music set starting with a new one from one of LA’s hometown girls—Taylor Andrews.”

  Rather than getting out of bed, Jessie lay still trying to recall her dream from hours earlier. Halfway through the song, she found herself drawn to the lyrics. She couldn’t understand all the words, but there was one phrase she found interesting. “We’ll be together, again. Next time. I promise. It’ll be the same.”

  Jessie rolled over and kissed the back of Ellen’s neck. “Good morning,” she whispered.

  “Morning,” Ellen stirred. “Why do you get up so early? You work out of your home.”

  “I like getting up early,” Jessie answered. “What time do you have to leave?”

  “By nine thirty.”

  “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours,” Jessie said.

  In her kitchen, Jessie made a pot of coffee then turned her attention to Maxwell, her cat, who was rubbing against her legs.

  “Good morning Maxwell. How’d you sleep?” She picked up the black cat, who purred at the attention.

  When her coffee was finished brewing, she poured herself a cup and moved into her study. Cherry bookshelves, filled nearly to capacity, lined the walls. A large cherry desk centered the room, accompanied by a desk chair and a soft chair. Jessie sat in the desk chair and gazed out the windows that viewed a distant Los Angeles from her elevated location. Even at this hour, traffic lights could be seen overwhelming the highways that approached the city.

  Jessie pulled an old journal from the desk drawer and turned the coffee-soiled pages until she found an empty page. She started writing in her journal, but was interrupted.

  “Who’s Rebecca?” Ellen asked softly. She stood at the entry of the study.

  “Who’s who?” Jessie’s large brown eyes looked up, surprised.

  “Rebecca. Who’s Rebecca?”

  Jessie shook her head; her long sandy brown bangs fell, covering one eye. “I don’t know. Come in and take a seat.” She tucked her bangs behind an ear then gestured toward the soft chair in the study.

  Ellen sat. She fingered her shoulder-length blond hair away from her eyes revealing her pretty face. “Rebecca?”

  “Ellen, I don’t know a Rebecca.”

  “You sure did last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “You kept screaming her name in your sleep.”

  “Really, about what time?”

  “It was right before you got up and went to the bathroom.”

  “Really?” Rebecca? Jessie thought. Yeah…that feels right. She went back to her journal and wrote “R-E-B-E-C-C-A.”

  “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Jessie looked at her friend and hesitated. “I’ve been having a recurring dream over the last couple of weeks.” She lifted her dream journal.

  “How many times?”

  “Last night was the third time.”

  “Always the same?”

  “Pretty close. Except they’re getting a little longer and more detailed.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “In the dream I’m a man. I’m in a crowded courtroom and either my wife or girlfriend, someone I care very much for, is convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to be executed.”

  “Witchcraft?”

  “Yes, witchcraft.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I keep pulling the symbols out of it—but it doesn’t make any sense. I remember the floor was wooden with gaps between the boards, like an old floor. Usually floors represent our foundation.”

  “What other symbols?”

  “There was a judge and jury, the costumes and crown…”

  “Crown?”

  “On the judge’s desk, there was a cloth that hung in front of the desk and there was a crown on it.”

  “That sounds like a good thing. What about
the costumes?”

  “Everyone was dressed in clothing from another time. The court officers carried pikes; you know those long-shafted spears. The women wore bonnets to hold back their hair.”

  “Did anything from this dream reflect the 20th or 21st century? Or was everything from another period?”

  Jessie thought for a minute. “There was a man who sat next to me. I don’t know what it is…he seemed familiar, but I just can’t place him. Other than that—nothing was familiar to me.”

  “Did you ever consider that you had a past-life dream?” Ellen asked.

  “I wondered about that. But I’ve read past-life dreams occur when you run into the same problem you’ve had in another lifetime. What could this relate to?”

  “Maybe you haven’t run into it yet.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better.” Jessie smiled.

  “Could it have anything to do with the novel you’re working on?” Ellen asked.

  “I can’t see how. It’s a suspense mystery involving two women in the music business.”

  “How about some of your other work?”

  Jessie thought for a moment, her head turned toward the computer on her desk. Then she studied the shelves that were lined with books she had used to research the twenty novels to her credit. She shook her head. “None of it fits.”

  Ellen changed the subject. “How’s your book coming?”

  “Pretty good. I’m in the final editing stage. I’m hoping to finish within a month or so.”

  “What are you calling it?”

  “Deceptions.”

  “Do you think this has a chance of getting to the big screen like Beyond Paradise?”

  “Travis Sanders has already asked me for the manuscript. I think the story is good enough to attract a large crossover market. That’s what we need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Beyond Paradise was a more traditional suspense thriller where there’s a hero and heroine. But Deceptions has a couple of heroines, which breaks one of the ten commandments of mystery writing. Before Sanders agrees to make a movie out of it, the story has to be good enough to attract a straight audience, not just a gay and lesbian audience.”