When the Shadows Come
Alyssa Breck
When the Shadows Come © copyright 2018 Alyssa Breck
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
When the Shadows Come
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
When the Shadows Come
What if the person you hated most was murdered and their ghost came to you asking for help to solve the crime?
Carolina Sinclair is surrounded by shadows that crawl up walls and dead people looking for the door to the other side. When her childhood nemesis, Mallory Kramer, is murdered, the deceased former troublemaker shows up on Carolina’s doorstep asking for help. Carolina’s instinct is to turn Mallory away, but there’s a problem. Mallory’s killer isn’t finished, and if Carolina doesn’t help her, he’ll likely kill again.
State Police Detective Nathan Claiborne gets pulled into a missing person investigation in the small town of Romance, Arkansas. When Carolina walks into the police station with a suspicious-sounding tip credited to a ghost, she quickly becomes the prime suspect. But what if Carolina’s right? With no other leads, Nathan finds himself relying on her clues in a case that could easily go cold.
Carolina’s involvement in the case draws the killer’s attention. In fact, he’s zeroed in on her now, and it’s all going well until ... the shadows come.
Chapter 1
The ticking of the Big Ben clock on her nightstand sounded louder than usual. Every movement of the second hand was like a fingernail tapping on a table. Insomnia was nothing new, but the telltale chill in Carolina’s bedroom reminded her she wasn’t alone. She pulled the down comforter up to her chin and refused to open her eyes. One night—she just needed one full night of sleep. Was that really too much to ask?
For as long as she could remember, Carolina had possessed a strange ability. Some people would call it a gift, but there were times it felt more like a curse. Like tonight. Carolina knew she wasn’t alone in the room, and she even had a feeling who might be there. Mallory Kramer had gone missing. Mallory had been the pretty girl with her nose in the air, the girl who tormented Carolina for being plain and nerdy and a weirdo.
Carolina hadn’t spoken a word to Mallory since their high school graduation. They’d been friends in elementary school, right up to the point that looks started to matter. Maybe around third grade. It was then that Mallory realized that she was the pretty one, and that little girls with stringy hair who talked to themselves weren’t the kind of friends she wanted.
With her mind racing a million miles per hour, Carolina gave up on sleep and sat up in her bed. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see the smiling, dark-haired girl sitting in the chair in the corner.
“Great.” Carolina sighed. “I just knew this kidnapping thing wasn’t going to end well.”
“So, you really can see me?” Mallory adjusted herself in the chair and tucked a long, dark lock of hair behind her ear. “I always thought you were just a nutcase.”
“Look, I have no desire to hang out with you and commiserate over the death you probably deserved. So, take a hike.”
Mallory didn’t flinch, and the evil grin she was famous for stretched across her mouth. “Wow. Who knew that sweet, little Carolina Sinclair could be such a bitch?”
“Fuck you, Mallory. And get out of my bedroom.”
“Tsk, Tsk. You don’t need to be so catty.” Mallory glided across the room and sat on the edge of Carolina’s four poster bed. The mattress didn’t move or squeak. Mallory’s form was solid, not transparent like most people thought ghosts would be. But there was no matter, no substance to her.
Carolina’s patience wore thin and her head started to pound from lack of sleep. Mallory had been a thorn in her ass since third grade and last night her perky, perfect face was plastered all over the local news. Mallory’s car had been found abandoned in the parking lot of Cookie’s Tavern, and no one had seen her for three days. Carolina knew instantly Mallory was dead. But the news anchor who’d been standing in the parking lot of the bar where Mallory had been seen last hadn’t known that. The wind blew the woman’s hair as she white-knuckled the microphone and pasted a phony smile on her face as if she wasn’t reporting about something bad.
Carolina willed Mallory to disappear. Unfortunately, she didn’t have telekinesis or she’d have levitated Mallory’s ass right out the window and dropped her two stories to the paved walkway below. “Get out,” she muttered.
“Not until you help me tie up some loose ends.”
“You couldn’t possibly have any loose ends besides those in the lower half of your body.”
“Ooh, snarky. I like it, Carolina. Remind me why we weren’t friends?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” Carolina fluffed her pillow and dropped back onto it. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. How long have you been dead? Did you purposely wait until the middle of the night to come bother me?”
“Don’t you want to know what happened to me? Even if only to satisfy your own morbid curiosity?”
“No. I really couldn’t care less what happened to you. I want to sleep and that’s all I want. So, get out.”
Mallory ignored Carolina’s demand, but she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. Carolina managed to tune her out enough to fall back asleep. With any luck, the wicked witch of Romance, Arkansas wouldn’t be there when Carolina woke up.
SOMEONE IN THE UNIVERSE had heard her plight. Mallory was nowhere to be found when Carolina rolled out of bed. She had a lot of errands to run that day. Douglas, the Yorkshire terrier, sat on the dining room table having his breakfast while Carolina tossed a handful of fresh blueberries into a carton of yogurt. She didn’t really care for breakfast food and wasn’t feeling ambitious enough to make anything that required more effort than peeling off a foil lid.
“Douglas, my boy, you have an appointment with the groomer this morning.” His lustrous hair hung in his eyes despite Carolina’s attempts to secure it back with pink bobby pins. She usually kept his fur in a puppy cut, preferring the teddy bear effect over the doggy prima donna look.
Douglas looked up at the mention of his name, then returned to his feast of kibble. “I have to feed Stellaluna before we head out.” She ran her hand down Douglas’s back then padded through the kitchen and into the sheltered patio attached to the back of the house.
The screened in room got plenty of sunlight and fresh air and afforded a stunning view of the flowered field behind the house. In truth, they were weeds, but they were pretty w
eeds. The white Pygmy goat rested on her faux sheepskin rug and jumped to her feet when Carolina unlatched the bottom of the double-hinged door.
“Stellaluna, come eat.” Carolina put the stainless-steel dog bowl filled with oats and sweet feed on the cement floor. She tousled the tuft of white hair atop the goat’s head.
Once back inside, Carolina brushed her teeth and pulled her blonde hair up into a ponytail. Even though she had a designated hook for her car keys, they never seemed to be there. She checked the table in the foyer and the pockets in her hoodie. She dumped the contents of her purse onto the couch and sifted through the receipts and candy wrappers. Her keys were amongst the mess that she ended up leaving on the couch. Snatching her wallet out of the pile, she scooped Douglas off the table and secured his collar to the seatbelt leash in her car.
The doggie salon was exactly two miles down the highway and Carolina had missed Douglas’s last standing appointment. The Yorkie was a free spirit, a hippie of dogs. If he had it his way, no one would ever touch his fur and he’d be left alone to eat whatever he wanted and to sleep wherever he wanted. On the way to the shop, he chewed on his seatbelt harness because he’d rather be free to roam the car.
Douglas’s eyes pleaded with Carolina not to leave him with Betty Jo who would shampoo and condition him, cut and style his fur and clip and clear-coat his nails. Carolina kissed Douglas on the nose and waved to Miss Betty Jo. “I have some errands to run. Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be back this afternoon to pick him up.”
“Take your time, sweetheart.” Betty Jo petted the dog and then kissed his ear.
Douglas barked once and then growled at the portly woman with the silver up-do.
Betty Jo laughed and wagged her finger at Douglas. “You lose that attitude, mister.”
Keys in hand, she crossed the parking lot and lost the skip in her step when she saw the raven-haired woman sitting in the passenger seat of her Honda.
Damn it.
Carolina climbed into the driver’s seat and angled a glare at Mallory. The dead woman smiled and cocked up one perfectly groomed eyebrow. She couldn’t deny Mallory’s beauty; nor that said beauty was only skin deep.
In high school, Mallory had been a cheerleader and honor student, president of the student body, a bully and a bitch. The quintessential overachiever. Most girls hated her, and all the guys wanted to fuck her. She was slightly selective, however, in who she shared her body with. During their senior year, rumors flew that Mallory was screwing both the basketball coach at their high school and a college professor who offered tutoring to AP students after hours.
Mallory teased Carolina for being a member of the FFA and vice-president of the Soroptimist Club and even went so far as to shoot rubber bands at her while she gave her salutatorian speech at graduation. Mallory had singlehandedly made Carolina’s existence miserable.
Determined to not let Mallory intimidate her, Carolina cranked the ignition and put the car in reverse. “I thought I told you to get lost. I don’t know why you’re here again.”
“Believe me, honey, I’m just as eager as you are to end this little affair. I hear the after death party is to die for.” Mallory tipped her head back and laughed. “No pun intended. Well, maybe a little. But apparently, I can’t get my name on the invite roster until I cross some items off my to-do list.”
Carolina looked up at the roof of her car. “Why me?”
“Good question. You weren’t who I expected to run to in this situation, trust me.”
“What do I have to do with your list? You need to handle your own mess.”
“I need you to go to the Romance Police Department and help them find who killed me.”
Now Carolina laughed.
The tiny police department in Romance, Arkansas was about as sophisticated as a herd of cattle, but they weren’t completely stupid. “You can’t be serious. Do you think anyone in that station would believe me if I walked in there and told them you were sitting in my car and that you had information for them regarding your own murder? They don’t even know you’re dead. You’re still being billed as a missing person.”
“I know where my body is buried. You could take them to me.”
“Fantastic idea. Let me run over there and draw a map for them so they can slap the cuffs on me.” Carolina shook her head. “You’re out of your God damned mind.”
Mallory bit down on her bottom lip and her face softened. “You have to. I can give you enough information for them to solve the case, and they’ll know you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Sorry. I have a full agenda today and being stripped down and cavity searched didn’t make the list.”
“What if I told you that if they don’t stop him, someone else will die?” The statement was absent any snark or sarcasm.
A cold chill skittered down her spine. Carolina put the car back in park and squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She had tried talking to the police before and had been laughed out the door. Growing up in Romance, she had been the odd little girl who talked to herself in the post office and played hopscotch with her imaginary friend during recess. People stared at her and whispered to each other in hushed tones while other kids laughed and made fun of her. Her parents had taken her to the finest psychiatrists that money could buy. She had been on medication for schizophrenia, attention deficit disorder and antisocial personality disorder.
Around the age of ten, she realized it was socially unacceptable to talk to dead people in front of the living; especially when she was the only one who could see the ghosts. When she stopped talking to herself in public, her parents took her off the medications with the exception of a sleeping pill. She still suffered from insomnia and took a pill each night that usually allowed her to sleep through any spectral visitors and the shadows that climbed her walls and watched her. For some reason, nighttime was the favored visiting hour for ghosts and the other things that ventured into her room.
Looking back at Mallory, Carolina shook her head, knowing she was about to concede. “Who else is in danger?”
“I’m not sure. But I wasn’t the first woman he killed, and I won’t be the last.”
Carolina wanted to doubt Mallory’s sincerity. She didn’t want to believe her story and risk opening herself up to public scrutiny again. She’d expended too much time and energy erecting the mental wall that kept everyone out, and she liked it that way. Douglas and Stellaluna were the only company she needed outside of the dead people and the shadows.
“How do you know?” Carolina picked at her black fingernail polish.
“He told me about it. He’s been killing women for a while.” For the first time, fear flashed across Mallory’s already pale face.
Carolina turned off the car and put the keys on her lap. “Okay. Tell me everything.”
Chapter 2
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. The bitch was stronger than he anticipated and she fought pretty damned hard. He sniffed the lock of hair before tucking it into his breast pocket. He never intended to kill any of them. But they refused to cooperate.
Dropping the hair into the old jewelry box, he stopped for a moment, admiring the different shades of brown, the various textures of thickness. He kept a lock of hair from each woman and one other small, personal item that he figured wouldn’t be missed.
Mingled with the hair was a button from number two’s blouse and a tiny, blue bow from number four’s bra. He assigned them numbers because he didn’t care to know their names. They weren’t worthy of that kind of acknowledgment.
In the bathroom, he stripped out of the clothes he’d bought at a thrift store specifically for the task at hand. He wasn’t going to waste his own personal clothing. Methodically, he placed the pants, shirt and shoes into a black garbage bag. Once the bag was tied up, he stood nude in front of the mirror while he brushed his teeth. He wasn’t a bad looking man. Nothing to write home ab
out, but his generic looks afforded him much needed anonymity.
The screeching came from the other room. The noise had become louder lately; the sound of a small animal being slaughtered. That’s what it sounded like to him. He’d stopped searching under the bed and inside cabinets because he never found anything. As soon as he walked out of the room, it started again. He closed his eyes and plugged his ears, but nothing made it stop. Not until he fell asleep.
And sleep had become scarce as well. He lay awake for hours, trying to quiet his mind and block out the sounds of his sister crying while his stepfather climbed into her bed. He should have tried to stop the son of a bitch, but instead, he had just turned over and covered his head with the pillow.
He’d been a pussy back then. Not anymore. He was a man now. If he’d been stronger then, he would have slit that motherfucker’s throat. The past couldn’t be changed, no sense in crying over spilled milk. That’s what his mother used to say.
Don’t cry like a little girl. No sense crying over spilled milk. It’s a good thing your father left because he’d be so disappointed in what a little pansy you turned out to be.
He hadn’t shed a single tear when she died. She’d made his life miserable. Good riddance to the old bag. She refused to seek treatment when the doctor told her she had cancer. It was fitting she’d die from a disease that invaded and strangled her lungs until every breath she drew became a struggle. She had been pretty once, but as she got older, the ugliness inside her began to show. She rotted from the inside out. He had no sympathy for her, just contempt.
He always thought of his mother when he dug the holes. They were never very deep. He wanted them to be found, but there was something satisfying about tossing dirt on top of the whores’ faces after he chopped off their hair.
He used a pair of kitchen shears for that task. He left them harsh and ugly looking like they were on the inside. He waited until they were dead to do that. He wouldn’t fuck an ugly whore. The shovel hit a rock, and he stopped digging and looked down at this one. Her dark hair stood up in spiky sections.
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