The Shadow

by Kathi Daley

  “Not exactly. Get in and I’ll explain the whole thing.”

  After turning onto the highway heading north, Alyson filled Mac and Trevor in on her conversation with Steve and her subsequent one with Jessica.

  “Do you think they’ll work it out?” Mac asked

  “I don’t know; they have a lot to deal with. But they might work it out. It must be a relief from Jessica’s perspective that her baby’s father is someone she cares about and not some creep.”

  “Yeah, but he just left her,” Mac said. “I’m not sure I’d forgive that, no matter what his rationale.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I think Steve’s a good guy, though, who made a really bad mistake.”

  “Hormones can make teenage guys do crazy things,” Trevor agreed. “This isn’t the worst thing I’ve heard of an otherwise nice guy doing.”

  “Really? Like what?” Mac asked.

  “Sorry; I’d be breaking the guy code if I told.”

  “Come on. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us. Change the names and tell us some stories.”

  “Well, there was this one guy who had a crush on this girl. His best friend told him the girl of his dreams had been skinny-dipping in Wellman’s Pond. He told his friend he had it on good authority that the girl liked guys who demonstrated their manliness with outward displays of virility. He suggested that he should strip down and take a swan dive off that big rock on the north end of the pond. Not only did he take his friend’s advice but before he dove off the rock he beat his chest and yelled like Tarzan.”

  “Are you making this up?” Mac asked.

  “I swear it’s true, and there’s a video to prove it.”

  “His friend taped it?”

  “His friend invited twenty or so other friends to the live show, but yeah, he taped it.”

  “It wasn’t you, was it? The naked Tarzan?” Mac asked.

  “No, it wasn’t me, but it could have been. Guys in lust have no brains. It’s a scientific fact.”

  “That statement at its core terrifies me in a way I can’t quite describe.” Alyson laughed.

  “Tell us another one,” Mac demanded.

  “Okay, but if you end up joining a convent after this don’t blame me. The journey into the male mind has many twists and turns.”

  “So I’ve seen.”

  “Okay; I know another guy who snuck into his girlfriend’s house while she was out with her parents. He had the brilliant idea that he’d hide in her closet and join her after she went to bed for the night. The problem was, he misjudged which room was hers and ended up in her parents’ room.”

  “Please don’t tell me they…well, you know, while he was in the closet.” Alyson grimaced.

  “Worse. He started off in the closet, but when he thought he had an opening he started toward the door. His girlfriend’s mother came back from the bathroom and he slid under the bed.”

  “Oh my God. He was under there the whole time?” Mac asked.

  Trevor laughed. “He was. I think he was pretty damaged after that. He broke up with his girlfriend because he knew he could never face her parents again. I think he might have ended up in a convent, or what’s the guy equivalent?”

  “The priesthood. He joined the priesthood?”

  “Probably not, but that’s what I heard.”

  Chapter 14

  “Here we are.” Two hours later, Alyson pulled up out front of a two-story house that seriously needed a coat of paint. “I wonder if anyone’s home. I don’t see a car outside.”

  “I guess the only way to find out is to ring the bell and see if anyone answers,” Mac said. “Everyone ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Trevor opened the back door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “You guys can wait here while I check it out.”

  Trevor walked up the walkway and rang the bell. Several seconds later, a girl of around twelve opened the door. Trevor talked to her for a few minutes, then walked back to the car.

  “Eric’s daughter said he’s still at work. He’s a gym teacher at the local high school. She said he’s either at track practice or in his office.”

  “So do we try the high school?” Mac asked.

  “We came all this way,” Alyson said. “If he’s busy we’ll wait.”

  “Does anyone know where the high school is?” Mac asked.

  “The daughter told me. Take a left at the next stoplight,” Trevor instructed.

  Alyson followed Trevor’s directions. Pulling into the mostly empty parking lot, she parked near the track. Several students were running drills. Two adults stood off to the side, talking animatedly.

  “One of them must be the guy,” Alyson guessed.

  “Should we interrupt?” Mac asked.

  “It looks like practice is mostly winding down,” Trevor observed. “I say we introduce ourselves and see if Eric is willing to speak with us now or if he prefers we wait.”

  “What if he’s not willing to speak to us at all?” Mac asked.

  “I guess we’ll have to convince him.”

  Alyson, Mac, and Trevor got out of the Jeep and walked onto the field. They headed over to where the two men were standing and waited until one of them acknowledged them.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for Eric Thompson,” Trevor responded.

  “You found him.”

  “Mr. Thompson,” Alyson began, “my name is Alyson Prescott. These are my friends, Mackenzie Reynolds and Trevor Johnson. We’re from Cutter’s Cove. We’d like to talk to you about something that happened twenty-five years ago.”

  Eric looked at Alyson and frowned. “Bert, can you take over?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Let’s go into my office,” Eric said.

  He showed them to a small conference table and invited them to sit down. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

  “You know about the cycle?” Alyson asked, taking a seat on one of the green folding chairs that were placed around the table.

  “I do now. After…” he hesitated, “after the last time, a man named Parker Gates interviewed me. He explained that the death of the girl I found at the bluff was part of a series of incidents.”

  “Yes, it’s happening again. To me, in fact,” Alyson explained.

  “If what Mr. Gates told me was true you should leave town until the whole thing is over. The girls who have the vision end up dead.”

  “I’d like to, but I can’t. If I leave someone else might get sucked in. At least I know what’s going on. Maybe I can end it.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “We’d like to ask you about the night you found Samantha Roberts. Exactly what you remember.”

  Thompson took a minute to gather his thoughts before he began. “I was out for my daily run. I was state champion two years running and I trained every day, rain or shine. On that day it was raining, and I had my music turned up high. I was trying to block out how truly miserable I was feeling with water sloshing in my shoes and trickling down my back. Anyway, I was running along, totally into the groove, not even consciously aware of my surroundings. The next thing I knew, I was looking over the bluff and seeing a body.”

  “What made you stop?” Mac asked. “Did you see something before that?”

  “I must have. Maybe my subconscious saw something; I’m not sure. I really don’t remember. The whole thing was like a dream. One minute I was running and the next I was looking over the cliff at a dead body.”

  “We’ve been researching this quite extensively,” Trevor said. “One of the theories we have is that every twenty-five years an event recurs that’s metaphysically linked to a past event. An event in which a woman is struggling with a man on the bluff and ends up falling to her death. We think it’s possible two innocent bystanders, a man and a woman, are pulled into the drama during each reenactment.”

  “You think I killed that girl?”

  “No, we don’t,” Alyson assured him.
“If that’s what happens, the participation of the male surrogate is as involuntary as the woman’s. If someone is pulled into the drama—and we aren’t saying that’s the only possible scenario—but if it’s what happens, both the man and the woman would be victims. It’s possible neither would even remember what happened. It might feel like a temporary blackout.”

  Thompson scratched his head as he thought about what Alyson had said. “I do remember something. Something I didn’t even realize until the next day. There was a scratch on my arm I had no idea where I’d gotten. I didn’t think much about it until Parker Gates came to see me.”

  “Did you tell him about the scratch?” Alyson asked.

  “No. I think I was afraid he’d read something into it and I’d be hauled off to jail for murdering that poor girl. I swear, I don’t remember anything. I have no idea how she ended up at the bottom of the bluff. I hope to God I had nothing to do with it, but after what you’ve said, I can’t be sure.”

  “Thank you for talking to us. What you’ve told us will be our secret,” Alyson assured him. “I don’t know what happened that night, but even if you were pulled into the drama it wouldn’t have been your fault. I think whatever happened was totally under the control of the spirits replaying the event.”

  “If you go to the police with what you know maybe they can stop it from happening,” Thompson suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe. Then again, maybe by figuring everything out we’ve already stopped it.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “What do you think?” Trevor asked as they drove back to Cutter’s Cove.

  “It certainly sounds like he could have been recruited to play Marcus’s role. I wonder what would happen if there was no readily available guy,” Alyson said.

  “I wonder who was involved in all the other incidents,” Mac mused.

  “An anonymous caller reported Andrea Jenner’s body. Whoever found himself looking at a dead body must not have bothered to stick around on that occasion,” Trevor pointed out.

  “Yeah, and fishermen reported Carly Reinhart’s body,” Alyson joined in. “I wonder why these people didn’t just call the police if they really had no memory of their involvement.”

  “It’s possible whoever found the bodies had police records and didn’t want to draw attention to themselves,” Trevor suggested.

  “I wonder who this Parker Gates is,” Alyson said. “Any luck finding him. Mac?”

  “Not yet, but I can keep looking. In fact, I’ll use my phone to poke around while we’re driving back.”

  Mac started looking for any information she could find on Parker Gates. She’d been at it for over an hour when she exclaimed, “I think I have him. Parker Gates was class valedictorian for Cutter’s Cove High School in 1967.”

  “The year Andrea Jenner died,” Alyson realized.

  “Maybe he knew Andrea,” Mac guessed. “Then he saw the same thing happen to Samantha Roberts and started to wonder.”

  “So he did his own investigation,” Trevor concluded.

  “See if you can find out where he is now,” Alyson instructed.

  “At least I have a name now. That’ll help,” Mac informed them. “It looks like he went to Harvard and got a law degree. He worked for a prestigious law firm in Boston until 1992.”

  “The year Samantha Roberts died,” Alyson realized. “Then what?”

  “That’s all I could find. I’ll keep looking.”

  “You said he graduated from Cutter’s Cove High School. Maybe he still has family there. Check the phone directory for any Gateses,” Trevor suggested.

  “Good idea.” Mac took a few minutes to change course. “Oh, I’ve got one: Brian Gates.”

  “Give me the number and I’ll give him a call,” Trevor said. Then he dialed and waited.

  “Hello, my name is Trevor Johnson. I’m trying to track down Parker Gates. I was hoping you could tell me how to get in touch with him. Yes, that would be great.” Trevor motioned for a pen and paper. “Thank you so much. Yes, you have a good day too.

  “He lives in Portland,” Trevor told them. “He gave me his home phone number as well as his work number.”

  “Try them both,” Alyson suggested.

  “What do I say if I get hold of him?”

  “Tell him the truth. He was interested in the case twenty-five years ago; maybe he still is,” Mac said.

  Trevor called the first number. “Hello. I’m looking for a Parker Gates.”

  He listened to the response before he continued. “My name is Trevor Johnson. I’m researching the deaths of Samantha Roberts and Andrea Jenner. I was hoping I could talk to you about the investigation you conducted twenty-five years ago.” Trevor tapped the end of the pen against his lap. “Yes, it’s happening again. Thanks, that’d be great.

  “He wants to talk to us,” Trevor said when he hung up. “He gave me the address for his office, Parker Gates Investigation.”

  “He’s a private investigator?” Mac asked.

  “It would appear so. He said he’s working late and will wait for us. It’s not all that far out of the way from where we are now.”

  Alyson merged into the next lane. “Let’s do this. Maybe we can put this mystery to bed once and for all.”

  ******

  Parker Gates’s office was in downtown Portland, where most of the businesses already had closed for the day. Alyson pulled up along the street and parked. She turned to look at the others before they got out.

  “It looks like he’s here.” Mac noted the lights in the window.

  “He said he’d wait,” Trevor confirmed.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” Alyson repeated and climbed out of the Jeep, then waited for Mac and Trevor to join her on the sidewalk. They entered the building through the street-level front door. The décor was dark and masculine, with shuttered windows and low-level lighting.

  “Mr. Gates,” Trevor greeted the weathered man. “I’m Trevor Johnson. These are my friends, Alyson and Mackenzie.”

  “Please sit down.” He indicated the chairs across from his desk.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Alyson said.

  “No problem. Tomorrow’s the 27th. I realized the urgency when you called. How did you find out about my involvement anyway?”

  “We borrowed the same police files you did in 1992.” Alyson left out the part about Mac’s hacking in to find the files in the first place. “We spoke to Eric Thompson today and he told us he’d spoken to you twenty-five years ago.”

  Parker narrowed his gaze as he studied Alyson’s face. “You’ve been having the visions?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should leave town. Tonight. Your life is in danger.”

  “I know, but I can’t go. I’m afraid some other innocent girl will get pulled in if I do. At least I know what’s going on. I want to try to stop the cycle.”

  He sighed and paused before seeming to come to a decision. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re not sure exactly. We thought maybe you could tell us what you know. You checked out the 1967 police records in 1992. You must have had a reason,” Alyson said.

  “On May 27, 1967, I was a high school senior on top of the world. I was the star pitcher on my baseball team, I was dating the prettiest girl in school, and I’d been named valedictorian. I was going East to start my college studies in Harvard’s prelaw program in the fall. The world was mine.”

  Parker began to pace around the room. “I had been to a dance with my girl. A guy on the baseball team brought a flask of something strong to the dance and suggested we celebrate our most recent victory. After dropping my girlfriend off at home, I met him and a few other teammates in the park to finish off the night with a few drinks. After we finished our impromptu celebration I realized I was much too drunk to drive, so I started to walk home.”

  “Along the bluff,” Mac guessed.

  “Along the bluff. I was pretty wasted and I’m not sure what happened, but one minute
I was swaggering my way home and the next I was looking over the edge of the bluff at a body below. I swear to you, I have no memory of anything that happened leading up to my looking over the bluff. I panicked. There were long scratches on my arms that hadn’t been there before. I was drunk, it was late, there was no one else around. I knew that if I called the cops they’d blame me for the girl’s death and my perfect life would be over.”

  “So you made an anonymous phone call,” Trevor concluded. “You got on with your life and then, twenty-five years later, it happened again.”

  He nodded. “At first I was haunted about what may have happened that night, but as time went on the memory dimmed. I finished school, made partner in a prestigious law firm, and married my high school sweetheart.” He continued to pace. “I first found out about Samantha Roberts’s death in the newspaper. Even though I hadn’t been back to Cutter’s Cove much since I graduated high school, I had a subscription to the local paper. When I read about Samantha’s death I took a leave of absence from my job and returned to town to investigate.

  “I became obsessed,” Gates continued. “Ultimately, I quit my job, moved back to Cutter’s Cove, and spent every waking hour trying to figure out what had happened. I found the reports of the other deaths, but I never could figure out the why and the how. Eventually, my wife threatened to leave me if I didn’t drop the whole thing. It was too late to return to Boston—I had burned that bridge—so I decided to leave Cutter’s Cove but stay out west. At first I took a job in a law firm, but then I realized I liked investigating, so I opened this office. Even though I gave up the other investigation for the sake of my marriage, I’ve always wondered. When you called I realized I had to know what, if anything, you’d found out.”

  “Quite a lot actually,” Alyson said. “Sit down and we’ll fill you in.”

  ******

  Alyson made the solitary journey to the bluff for the sixth time in as many days. She knew they wouldn’t be here tonight. Whitney Lincoln had shown her everything she needed to know for tomorrow night’s final event. She’d momentarily considered skipping the walk tonight in favor of an early night’s rest, but she knew she had to make sure her friends believed the curse was broken, so she went through the motions.