Seeing Darkness

by Heather Graham

She nodded and then gushed, “Dr. Sayers is so wonderful! He is definitely worth seeing again and again.”

  Kylie nodded vaguely and started for the door to the street. Before she could get to it, the door swung wide and a group of young women came in. It was the same group she had seen earlier by the Roger Conant statue.

  They were talking loudly, boisterous, and while not rude, it was immediately evident the receptionist found them annoying.

  “Please,” she began, “if you could—”

  One of the young women, a slender redhead of about twenty, almost crashed into Kylie. She apologized quickly. “I’m so sorry—Oh, you must have just seen Dr. Sayers! Was it great? I’ve been trying to see him forever! He was great, right? I’ve heard it’s so great!”

  “He was great,” Kylie said.

  The girl smiled and moved past her.

  Kylie and Jon continued out to the street. She knew he was patiently watching her—and watching her hopefully. “Where and when do you want me to talk?” she asked quietly.

  “We can go to my office,” he said.

  She nodded and started walking down Essex, trying to hold on to everything she’d felt, remembered—and seen.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the empty shop space. Jon held the door open for her, and then he locked it behind them. She watched as he hurried over to his desk and picked up pictures, quickly putting them into a file. Then he looked at her and indicated the cluster of folding chairs.

  “You good to do this?” he asked her.

  She nodded gravely. He sat down opposite her.

  “If that automobile accident was in any way connected to what happened,” she began, “I believe I know what it was Jimmy might have seen.”

  “Oh?”

  Kylie nodded. “This time, it was strange, I was with her while she was waiting for him. Just for a few minutes. Her mind was going in a few directions—the same way all our minds wander. She was thinking about her students and school. And then she was getting excited because she was going to see him.” She looked away for a minute, flushing slightly. “She was thinking about being with him. Physically.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” Jon said.

  “What?” Kylie demanded, horrified.

  He quickly shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. During your regression, you just...moved.”

  “Oh, great!”

  “Honestly, it was nothing. I swear, I wouldn’t have let you put on a strip show on Sayers’s desk,” he promised her.

  “I’m sorry, I’d be bothered by a lot less—”

  “Kylie,” he said, growing serious, “I swear to you, I would have stopped everything if I’d been worried your actions would make you uncomfortable afterward in any way.”

  “Not much choice but to believe you,” she said.

  He was quiet.

  “Hey, I’m the one who...who really doesn’t know what I did!” she protested.

  “And I’m disappointed you still have no faith in me. Kylie, at this point, you have to believe in me,” he said.

  She sighed softly. “Sorry. I’m touchy on being out of control, you have to understand.”

  “I do. Please, go on.”

  “A memory came to me. There was a performance at the memorial and Annie was there—and Westerly was there with his wife. Annie believed that even with his wife there, he looked at her in a way that showed her he wanted to be with her. He was planning to extricate himself from his marriage in the most amiable way possible.”

  “Or the most politically acceptable,” Jon said.

  “When she saw him at the cemetery, she wasn’t afraid at first to go with him deeper into the tombstones. She believed in him, and accepted that their love had to stay hidden. But then he jerked her around and she protested—and then she knew he meant to hurt her. Everything had been a lie. He wasn’t in love with her. He’d been using her. And she had become a political liability. She’d wanted to believe him, but she was smart beneath the longing for love, and she knew she was going to die. He couldn’t afford to have her in the picture, not with the future he wanted for himself.”

  “So, Jimmy possibly saw something,” Jon mused. “He saw them together at the performance. And that’s what he meant to tell the police.”

  “That’s what I believe. I’m not sure how it helps.”

  Jon sat back in his chair and Kylie knew he was thinking. They still needed evidence.

  “Angela,” he said suddenly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Angela Hawkins. Jackson Crow’s wife. He’s the field head for our unit and she’s our office...magician. Angela can find almost anything. She’s the one who’s had a small army checking out Matt’s activities. Her team leaves no digital stone unturned. If there were email communications or text messages between Annie Hampton and Michael Westerly, she’ll find them.”

  “Do you really think Matt meant to hurt me yesterday?” Kylie asked.

  He hesitated. “I couldn’t take the chance that he didn’t. I mean that seriously. He had a knife in his hand, and he was standing over you.”

  “I believe that. But today reinforced what I know,” Kylie said firmly. “Michael Westerly killed Annie. He did it himself, and he did viciously. He didn’t kill her with sorrow. Or in a fit of passionate rage. It was calculated.”

  “Yes, he killed Annie. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t use other means to get rid of anyone else he thought to be in his way.”

  “All right. So what now?”

  He was hesitant.

  “What?” she pressed.

  “I want to see Obadiah.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said.

  “No?”

  “No.” Kylie sighed softly. “Okay, yes, I’m frightened and entirely freaked out. But feeling as if I was Annie... She was sweet, she was loved. She made a difference for a lot of young people. So, I’m stuck with this. And I’m not saying that in a good way. I think if I could run away from it, I would. But I don’t believe running will do me any good. I’ll spend the rest of my life terrified if I don’t deal with this all now.”

  She shrugged. “So, I’m ready. I’m even ready for Auntie Mina. It all is what it is, I guess. I don’t like it, I wish we’d never gone for that regression... No, that’s not true. If it weren’t for this, no one would suspect Michael Westerly. He’s a horrible human being, and he would have gotten away with it. If I can stop him or help you stop him, then it’s worth it.”

  “That’s how we all see it,” Jon said. “Come on, let’s walk. Maybe Obadiah has found something out. After we see him, we’ll take a cruise by the station.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll make my peace with Matt.”

  “You’ve decided he’s innocent?”

  “Nope. But I’ll make my peace with him anyway. When you’re the one hunting the monsters, you have to believe in guilty first, and all must be proven innocent. If not...”

  “If not?”

  “Then you can fall prey to the monsters. Come on. Let’s go speak with the dead. It’ll be great. I’ll give you a formal introduction.”

  * * *

  “It was in January, 2016, that the Gallows Hill Project determined it was Proctor’s Ledge, and not Gallows Hill as had long been the general thought, where the victims of the witch trials were brought to be executed. They were brought by cart, and it was expected that the populace would witness the executions. This was not because the people were a vicious group relishing the agony of others. They came out to see the devil could be beaten, that evil could be put down. Perhaps it was also a warning, lest others fall in with the devil, who meant to seduce them and bring them into his nefarious fold.”

  Carl Fisher’s clear voice rose above the noise of the street as Jon and Kylie walked toward the Old Burying Point.

  There were several to
ur groups gathered by their guides in the area by the cemetery. It was midday, and Salem was alive with the business of tourism. Carl went on, informing his group they could look at the stones in the memorial to see the dates that claimed the lives of each of the victims.

  “Bridget Bishop!” he announced. “She was the first to be executed, alone, on June 10, 1692, while the others were executed in groups. Bridget was a bit on the outside—she dressed in a red tunic. She owned property, inherited from her deceased husband. An apple orchard, right where one of our popular restaurants stands today.” He winked at his group. “Haunted, of course. But the point remains she was a natural target—an outspoken woman, and one who denied to the end she had cavorted with the devil, signed a book, or practiced witchcraft in any way. Today, she might have run for Congress!”

  His group laughed softly.

  Carl saw Jon and Kylie watching him. He smiled and lifted a hand in greeting and then continued to tell his group about the accused honored at the Witch Trials Memorial by the Old Burying Point.

  “Is Obadiah here?” Kylie whispered to Jon.

  “I don’t see him yet,” Jon said. “But we’ll wait a bit.”

  At his side, she nodded.

  “We’ll wander into the cemetery, look at the Hathorne grave...act like interested tourists,” he said.

  As they walked into the cemetery, Kylie asked him, “Do you think we’ll find Mrs. Martinelli? I mean, the police haven’t found her car. Not that there aren’t dozens of ponds and marshes... I pray she’s all right.”

  “Me, too.” He paused, wondering if she thought he was wasting time. Perhaps she thought he should be out driving up and down the highways, looking for her. “I learned a long time ago that an agent—a cop, any kind of law enforcement officer—needs to be a team player. I’ve known Ben Miller a long time. Our other agents who know this area well have worked with the police, too. I’m having faith in my fellows. They’re checking the roads. If something else is going on, well... I’m using that talent you hate so much. I’m hoping Obadiah, or one of his dead friends, can give us some insight.”

  She smiled. “I think you’re right where you should be—keeping me alive!” she said lightly.

  They came to the gravestone of Judge William Hathorne, a stone persevered within another stone.

  “It’s so incredibly hard to imagine what this man was thinking and feeling,” she said, looking at the grave. “They called him the ‘hanging judge.’ It’s said he behaved far more like a prosecutor than a judge, that he assumed people were guilty without giving them a chance, and demanded they speak against their neighbors. I’ve always tried to reconcile this history—how people could be so cruel to other people. But I guess nothing really changes...”

  “Westerly,” Jon said quietly. “His political career meaning more to him than the life of an innocent woman.”

  He noticed Carl had finished with his group, smiling as he collected tips. As the crowd dwindled, he walked into the cemetery toward Jon and Kylie.

  “Hey, you two,” he said cheerfully. “I’d have thought you both know this place backward and forward already.”

  “We do,” Kylie said brightly. “I mean, I do. But it’s still an interesting place to come. You must know that.”

  “I do,” Carl said, then he looked at Jon. “Any news on poor Annie Hampton? Was Matt able to help in any way?”

  “No news yet,” Jon said. “We will find the truth. We’re just hoping it’s sooner and not later.”

  Carl let out a breath, shaking his head. “And Annie becomes another ghost story,” he said quietly.

  “Is that another tour group looking for you?” Kylie asked, pointing to people gathering by the memorial.

  “Yeah, that’s my next tour. Well, see you all,” Carl said, and walked off.

  Jon felt his phone vibrating. He quickly answered it, and immediately Ben spoke, “We’ve found Marla Martinelli’s car.”

  Jon glanced at Kylie, who was watching him anxiously.

  “Just the car. No sign of Marla, no sign of blood.”

  Jon let out a silent breath of relief. “Where was the car?”

  “Near Salem Woods, just off the street.”

  “And officers are—”

  “Looking for her. But I’m assuming you’re getting out there.”

  “Good assumption,” Jon said. He hung up and looked at Kylie. “I think she’s hiding.”

  “Marla Martinelli?”

  He nodded. “I need to take a walk. In the woods.” He was already dialing Rocky.

  She reached out, touching his hand. “I’d love to take a walk in the woods.”

  “We’re worried about your safety.”

  “Then bring Devin and Rocky with us, instead of leaving the three of us here doing nothing,” she said.

  He hesitated.

  She stared at him with her green eyes wide and certain.

  Rocky answered the phone.

  Jon looked at Kylie. Then he told Rocky, “It looks as if we’re all taking a walk in the woods.”

  * * *

  In Colonial times, Salem Woods had been pastureland. It was still a common area, but now it was filled with jogging paths, picnic areas, and more. A beautiful place to be used and enjoyed.

  Kylie was glad the sun was out. Today, the trees seemed heavy and thick, and where they grew dense, it seemed they covered the paths in a strange, green darkness. The place seemed ominous, even as she looked on from the road.

  She didn’t have to be here; Jon would have left her with Rocky and Devin. Instead, they were gathered off the road with a group of police cars. Local officers were also searching for Marla Martinelli.

  “We’re operating under the belief Westerly did kill Annie,” Jon told Kylie as they exited his car. “Whether he was able to get near Jimmy or not, we don’t know. And whether he’s hiring people to make hits or create chaos, we don’t know. We do know Jimmy is in the hospital and Marla has disappeared.” He was quiet a minute. “We’re going to find her, dead or alive. We can still have you wait in the car. One of us can stay with you, or we can have an officer watch the car.”

  Kylie just walked into the woods—not looking for a trail, but simply stepping over a large tree root. Jon scrambled after her, followed by Rocky and Devin.

  She immediately came up to a trail and then a little clearing in the dense woods. She stood for a moment, surprised by the soft, cool breeze that touched her face. She felt as if she’d stepped not just a few feet into the trees, but into a different world.

  “What is it?” Jon asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  She took a step into the center of the clearing and closed her eyes, not understanding the strange, almost enveloping feeling that seemed to take her to a new realm. Nothing had moved; the trees were there, and the others were there—but there was something else.

  She felt fear. Trembling, shaking fear seemed to send rivulets of cold through her limbs and into her blood. She saw herself hiding, terrified to come forward—and lost as well, aware she was not equipped to hide in the woods forever.

  “Kylie?” Jon said.

  “She’s here,” Kylie said. “Marla Martinelli is here, and she’s afraid. She doesn’t trust anyone.” She started to move down the path. “Marla!” she called out. “We’re here to help you. We’ll get you safely to the police and to see Jimmy. Please! I swear, we’ll protect you!” She wasn’t sure she could protect a fly herself, but she was with people who could. “Mrs. Martinelli, please, trust us, trust us...”

  She was running then, with Jon and Rocky and Devin right behind her. She wasn’t sure how she knew which way to go, but she could envision the woman deserting her car and racing into the woods, desperate for cover.

  Kylie came to another clearing and paused. This one was surrounded by thick bushes with small
scrub trees growing between the more towering pines and oaks. She stood still, the others all but piling up behind her, and then she heard a rustling in the brush.

  “Marla, on my life! I swear to you, it’s all right. These are FBI agents, special agents. They’re here to help you. Please.”

  The bushes parted.

  Marla Martinelli made her appearance.

  Under most circumstances, she would have been an attractive woman. She had smoothly cut silver hair with a contemporary swatch of indigo racing through it right at the temple while little wings of the silver framed her face—interspersed with a few pine needles and leaves—and large, beautiful, almond-shaped dark eyes. The lines on her face suggested that she smiled a lot. She was dressed in jeans and a tailored blue shirt, rumpled now at the sleeves and hem, also covered with bits of leaves, moss, and dirt.

  “If you’re going to kill me—kill me!” she said, standing in the center of the trail, hands on her hips, chin high.

  Kylie didn’t get a chance to speak. Jon went past her with his badge out. “Mrs. Martinelli, you’re safe. I’m Special Agent Jon Dickson. This is Special Agent Craig Rockwell. You heard Kylie Connelly calling to you and Devin Lyle is one of our consultants. We’re incredibly grateful to find you. We heard you were a savvy woman and might have decided to hide if you thought you were in danger.”

  Marla stood still, looking at them with some doubt still.

  Devin pulled a bottle of water from her bag and walked forward to give it to her.

  For a moment, Marla looked at Devin suspiciously, though it was painfully clear just how badly she wanted the water. And just how scared she was.

  Kylie came to life. She hurried forward and took the bottle from Devin, broke the seal, and lifted the bottle so that it wasn’t touching her lips, and let the water flow into her own mouth. If Marla feared that they’d spiked the water, she had proof otherwise now.

  She was also thirsty. She grabbed the bottle from Kylie and drank several deep swallows, paused, and drank several more.

  “Slow... It must be hard, but drink slowly,” Devin warned her. She looked at Kylie, who nodded solemnly.