Her parents were special people. A true love-match. They only had one child—her. That was because her dad had been sixty when she’d been born, her mother nearly forty. People—well-meaning people, friends and family—had thought the age difference might be too much.
Some had thought her mother was after his money. Rather silly, since her mother was an important banker and made way more than her father.
Her father thought it important for a girl to learn everything; he was such a cool man. He cooked as often as her mom. If her mom made dinner—even if it was icky fish sticks—her father said thank you and told her what a wonderful meal it had been. Then he did the dishes.
She’d heard someone ask him once if for his “one shot,” he was sorry he hadn’t gotten a boy. He had shrugged and said, “We were thrilled with a happy baby. And a girl? Well, heck, she can do anything a boy can do!”
Stacey adored him.
She loved her mom, too.
And she didn’t want them fighting.
“No, Mommy, no, you’re right. It was just a nightmare. And it’s over.”
“See?” her father said proudly. “Judith, she’s smart as a whip.”
“We still have to do something about...whatever it is!” her mom said.
“We will,” her father promised.
They kissed her good night.
“Leave the hallway light on?” she asked.
“Yes, sweetie,” her mom promised.
They left her. She fell back to sleep, and the dream didn’t come again.
Not that night.
* * *
Her name was Dr. Patricia Blair, and she was very nice. Stacey liked her just fine. She had worked with her dad and David Hanson Investigations before.
Dr. Patricia encouraged Stacey to talk and she listened, and she didn’t mock. Stacey might have been ten, but she’d spent a lot of her time with grown-ups and she knew how to deal with them. She never resorted to tears or dramatics. She tried, in a calm and even voice, to explain the way the dream had come.
First, just the burning eyes.
Then the demon face.
Then the man in her father’s study...
The good doctor did everything a psychiatrist was supposed to do, Stacey knew. She asked if Stacey was having any problems at school. Was she, perhaps, being bullied?
No. She loved school. She liked her friends. She was in a magnet school for music. Nerds did not bully nerds. They were all nerds.
She was surprised when the doctor asked her to describe the nightmares in more detail. And she was equally surprised by the way the woman listened to her. The doctor then asked her mom if she might have a friend speak with Stacey as well.
Was he another doctor?
No, just an amazing man with incredible insight.
He seemed old; tall and thin with white hair and a face that was somehow beautiful.
Stacey liked him. People around her were calling him Mr. Harrison, but he told her his name was Adam, and he liked being called Adam.
He asked her to go over the details of the nightmare as well. He listened to her so intently, and his nod was sincere as she finished.
“Someone is going to kill my dad...and my mom, I think. But they don’t believe me. Everyone just thinks I’m a kid with crazy nightmares. Well, I am a kid with crazy nightmares, but I’m still so scared!”
“Let me talk to your parents,” he told her. “They’ll listen to me, I hope.”
Adam did talk to her parents. They were in another room, but she could catch parts of the conversation.
“I don’t think my family is in danger, but I guess the most worrisome case I’ve been on is the McCarron case,” her father told Adam Harrison. “And what I have strongly suggests something more far more nefarious than money-laundering and even his illegal drug running within his company. I have pictures of McCarron himself going into the hospital the night Dr. Vargas and Dr. Anderson died in the stairwell—and it sure as hell looks like he’s carrying a gun of some kind in a holster—his jacket moved while he was walking.”
“You think McCarron forced them down the stairs?” Adam asked.
“I don’t have any solid proof. Proving anything on this...well the prosecutors need more. I think McCarron and his pharmaceutical empire are guilty in many cases of ‘accidental’ or ‘natural’ death, but I don’t know if what I have is enough. I’ve kept gathering, but not everything has gone to the police yet. Obviously, I go through what I have and try to sort the wheat from the chaff. That’s what I do.”
“But you have pictures of McCarron entering the Anderson Building—thirty minutes before Richard Anderson and Dr. Vargas were found dead next to each other on the landing at the foot of the stairs,” Adam said.
“Anderson and Vargas were found were found by one of Dr. Vargas’s associates, Dr. Henry Lawrence, and Lawrence was so upset at finding his beloved mentor that he moved the body and tried every conceivable medical maneuver to bring him back, but...Anderson was gone.”
“Yes,” Adam said. “I’ve read all the reports. Richard Anderson’s was supposedly a natural death—a heart attack at the top of the stairwell, causing him to fall all the way down. That’s what the M.E. said. And Dr. Vargas supposedly tripped on the same steps and accidentally killed himself in his haste, trying to reach Anderson to help him—so the scene made it appear. It was ‘tragic,’ everyone said, so there wasn’t much of a police investigation.”
“Here’s why I’m involved. Sally Anderson didn’t believe it. She said she’d heard her husband arguing with someone a week before his death. All he would ever say to her was there was nothing she needed to worry about. She’d hired me at that point to investigate the situation. Supposedly, Anderson was a good guy; he gave a lot to philanthropies. He was a major supporter of organ transplant research and more. Anyway, I already had him under surveillance on the day of his death. Yes, I have pictures. But I don’t have pictures of McCarron doing anything to Anderson. We did have a video that somehow magically disappeared. One of my investigators took a video of McCarron going into Anderson’s office. The video was the best possible proof. To the best of my knowledge, after I turned it over, someone managed to delete it from the prosecutor’s files. Of course, the defense said it was gone as well,” her dad told Adam.
“You and I both know,’ Adam said, “that the prosecution has worked hard on this. Another doctor and a nurse are planning to appear as witnesses for the prosecution—to swear they heard McCarron threatening Dr. Vargas. But Vargas wasn’t afraid; he dismissed McCarron’s words later, saying he was just a bunch of bluster when he didn’t get his way.”
“What I’ve dug up,” said her father, “is that it seems McCarron doesn’t think his family get a fair shot—his brother died, in need of a kidney transplant. But he hadn’t come up on the list yet. And Vargas was the best of the best at kidney transplants. By all accounts, Vargas was a straight shooter—he always followed hospital criteria and couldn’t be bought. I think that McCarron had tried just that—to bribe both Anderson and Vargas—and when it didn’t work, well... I guess he thought that anyone could be bought. We just need a bit of physical proof. We know McCarron’s criminal activities go far beyond insider trading and money-laundering. The man rules through fear. He’s managed to bribe cops, buy off witnesses, and slip through the justice system time and time again.”
Adam was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “You’re a danger to this man. You brought in the first proof against him, and he probably knows there is more you might have obtained.”
“I was a Marine, for God’s sake! I can protect myself—” her father began.
“No one man can protect themselves against the kind of killer that might be sent in against you,” Adam said. “Think of your wife and child.”
That was it. Her father was a capable man, but he’d also been qu
ick to say no man was an island.
And when it came to his wife and his child, he wasn’t taking chances.
Adam made the arrangements. Agents discreetly came to the house. Then it became a tense waiting game.
Four nights after Stacey first met Adam Harrison, it happened.
She learned about it later.
Stacey and her mother had gone to stay with an Aunt; her father was at home with the agents when a man wearing a demon mask broke into her father’s home office.
The agents stopped the man before he could fire at her father. Under arrest, he confessed that he’d been hired by McCarron.
Later, Adam was in the courtroom when the work David Hanson, her father, had done for the local police proved to be invaluable, as several exceptionally malicious and devious criminals were brought to trial, and in the end, brought to justice.
Stacy watched it all on TV. She saw McCarron, and the man who had tried to kill her father, and those who went on the witness stand and cried and said McCarron was a wonderful man—several of them women who were somehow in love with the man.
Had he paid those women to swear that he was a good man? The man who had intended to kill her father—and possibly her mother and her—had sworn under oath that McCarron had hired him to do the killing.
“Money can do powerful things!” her mother had muttered. She hadn’t gone to court, either. She’d stayed with Stacey. But she hadn’t kept Stacey from watching the trial.
Stacey saw the widows of Dr. Vargas and Mr. Anderson try to be brave but break down on the witness stand and cry.
Dr. Henry Lawrence’s testimony might have been the saddest of all—he cried on the stand, saying that not only had he lost a friend and mentor, the entire world had lost out on a great man.
McCarron was remarkable on the stand. He also broke into tears, denying all charges.
Despite his Oscar-worthy performance, he was convicted, and sent away.
So, the McCarron trial was over.
But Stacey’s father didn’t think it was the end of it. She heard him telling Adam that even though McCarron went down, he was pretty sure there was someone higher up the chain—or, at the least, in place to take over.
But McCarron didn’t talk, and those they had found who he’d hired for certain of his deeds—such as the attack on Stacey’s father--thought he’d been the top dog.
“I’m telling you, there was someone there. Someone else who was really pulling the strings,” her father said.
“Maybe,” Adam said. “And this is life—‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.’ There will be someone out there to take McCarron’s place. But we’ll be there, too. We’ll just keep going after the bad guys.”
Adam Harrison and his agents saw it all the way through. Then it was time for them to move on.
Stacey was so grateful to them.
She hero-worshipped her parents; and now she also felt that way about Adam Harrison. When they talked next, she was no longer having the nightmare. She was grateful, telling him he had saved her parents—and her.
“No, Stacey, you saved them,” he told her.
“I want to be a PI, like my dad!” she said. Then she frowned. “What’s your job?”
“Me? Ah, I don’t do anything special. Well, maybe I do. I find people—the right people,” he told her.
“Am I a ‘right’ person?” she asked him.
He knelt by her, giving her a hug. She wasn’t sure how such a kick-ass man could also seem like the world’s sweetest grandfather.
“You sure were this time!” he told her. “But you’re only ten years old. Let’s see where life takes you. You have high school, college...a lot of living to do. But when you’re older, if you want to see me...well, I will definitely want to see you again!” He gave her a business card with his name and phone number on it. It felt terribly grown-up to her, and she beamed.
She hugged him tightly; she knew he was leaving. She hoped she’d see him again.
But it wouldn’t be soon.
Her mother insisted they move away from Georgetown and Washington, DC.
Their new home was situated on a beautiful hill in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. It was still easy access to the country’s capital, but distant enough so Stacey’s mom felt they had a quiet and normal life.
Her mother left her job to teach. Her father retired.
Life was pretty good. Despite her mom not being particularly fond of anything that had to do with guns or law enforcement, Stacey joined a young citizens watch group in high school. And through local police programs she learned a great deal about averting and investigating crimes and learned how officers and forensic investigators often solved crimes together. Leg work...the art of interrogation...and science.
She also spent many an hour watching the ID channel—learning all about crimes, both past and present, and the way they were solved.
Sometimes—just now and then—she’d have strange little dreams. A dream about a broken zipper on her parka seemed almost silly. Yet putting on her parka the next day, she found that the zipper was broken. Then she dreamed that the underdog—Charlie Waters, worst player on the school’s team—scored the winning touchdown for the school’s football team.
The following Friday night, remarkably, Charlie did just that.
But it wasn’t until she was almost eighteen when she had a dream that was frightening again—one that really mattered; a piece of life and death she had to hope she could change.
And that time it had to do with a friend, Kevin Waverly.
Kevin was a running back for the high school football team. He was well-liked, did decently in all his classes, and planned on either professional ball, or if he didn’t quite cut it as pro, going into coaching or therapy for sports injuries.
Then he fell in love with Elaine Gregory, who was sweet, and beautiful. But easily manipulated.
Elaine met an older boy who introduced her to cocaine. Soon, Elaine and Kevin were missing classes, and coach was threatening to kick Kevin off the team. It wasn’t a large school, and Stacey had heard the gossip.
Stacey’s dream started with her walking through the night. She was walking in a cemetery. She knew, somehow, it wasn’t the historic Harper Cemetery with the fantastic view that was a must for any tourist—no. It was the almost forgotten Miller Cemetery just a bit to the south toward Port Royal. It offered no view except by night, when the fog rolled in and the trees seemed to drip eerie fingers of moss, and the greatest danger was tripping over a broken headstone or footstone.
Only one angel stood guard over the place, and her wings were both sadly chipped; her face appeared eternally muddied. There were a few above-ground tombs and obelisks scattered between the overgrown grasses, shrubs, and trees.
It was a perfect place for teenagers to come.
To drink, or to sell drugs, and to do drugs.
The first time the dream came, Stacey just saw herself walking through the cemetery.
The next time, she saw Kevin and Elaine and a shadowy figure were by the broken angel, and the three were arguing.
The third time she heard a gunshot.
She told her father about her dream. He didn’t want to listen at first; then Stacey reminded him about Adam Harrison’s faith in her, and he did. He told the local police he believed drug deals were going down in the cemetery. The police ignored him. The officer on the phone told him that yes, they watched the cemetery. They didn’t have the manpower to watch it day and night. But they thanked him; they were forewarned.
The dream came again, night after night. But this time as she walked through the broken stones in the eerie darkness punctuated by the light of the moon, someone touched her shoulder. She turned and trembled and tried to scream but could not.
It was Chastity Miller; she knew that from pictures. Chastity Miller had been one of
Washington’s spies during the Revolutionary War. She had been beautiful and charming, and part of an elite group that became known as the Culper Spy Ring, set up by Major Benjamin Tallmadge under Washington’s orders. It was said he kept the identities of those in the ring so secret that not even Washington knew all their names. In 1778, Chastity worked in British-occupied New York, bringing valuable information to the table. She could charm any British officer with her façade of sweet innocence.
She had, however, been discovered. Her body had been found hanging from a tree outside the city, but taken down secretly at night, and returned to her family in the Harpers Ferry area. Her tombstone had long ago disappeared. It was believed she did rest in the Miller Cemetery.
Except in Stacey’s dream, she didn’t rest. She stood there as if she were real.
Terrifying at first, but in her sleep, Stacey struggled to remind herself it was a dream.
“It’s coming. You must do something. You can do something. It’s coming,” Chastity Miller said.
“I know. I’ve told them!” Stacey managed to say at last. “I’ve tried!”
“It’s coming soon; you must try harder!” Chastity said. “You can, and you must!”
Stacey spoke to her father again; he wearily reminded her he’d been to the police. The police were dismissive of a man telling them something bad was about to happen. They wanted to know how he knew. Was he selling drugs himself?
“Call Mr. Harrison,” she told him.
“Stacey, for the love of God...” He walked away, distraught.
That night she had the dream again. She saw Chastity Miller again, beckoning her to follow and hide. And she heard the conversation. Kevin wanted the shadowy figure to leave Elaine alone. Elaine was addicted. It stopped, or Kevin would go to the police.
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