Seeing Darkness

by Heather Graham

  Michael Westerly, in his jeans and hoodie, came around the holding house. Jon fought his instinct hard; he couldn’t jump until he saw that Westerly was carrying a knife and going for Kylie.

  Westerly walked straight toward her. She pretended to become aware of him and stood, turning to look at him.

  “Miss Connelly, we meet alone, face-to-face,” he said.

  Kylie stared at him for a moment, as if she was equally curious. Her fear didn’t show in her face. “Michael Westerly,” she said at last, shaking her head. “I’m just at a loss.”

  “A loss?”

  She shrugged. “You could have had the world at your feet.”

  “You weren’t in that cemetery,” he told her. “I kept telling Sandra there was no way you could know anything, that you couldn’t have seen anything.”

  “But I did. I saw you do it.”

  Jon waited, certain Westerly would make his move.

  There was a burst of static over his earpiece. Then he heard one of the officers say, “I don’t see anyone else in Westerly’s car. I never saw Sandra move, but she’s not in there anymore.”

  “I see her,” Jackson said heatedly. “She’s moving into the cemetery.”

  They had waited forever. Then everything happened at once.

  Kylie was facing Westerly. “I know what you did,” she insisted. “I was there. Just in a very odd way, you see.”

  “Did you have a séance? Are you really a witch?” he mocked.

  She shook her head. “No, something a bit different. But I saw you. I felt you. And I know you killed Annie Hampton. I guess that means you’ll have to kill me.”

  Jon was ready to leap. He wanted an arrest, but he was willing to shoot.

  Westerly shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m not going to kill you,” he said.

  “You’re not?” Kylie asked.

  “No. I left that for someone else. Someone who really hates you!”

  It was then Sandra Westerly came racing across the cemetery, leaping over broken stones as if she’d memorized every one of them. She didn’t trip or stumble—she moved with an ungodly speed, racing toward Kylie.

  A large kitchen knife was in her hand, catching the brilliant rays of the sun, appearing as deadly and sharp as a razor.

  Jon saw Obadiah warn Kylie.

  A warning was good, but it couldn’t stop a knife.

  That was enough. Jon stepped from the cover of the cherub, shouting, “Stop!” He fired a warning shot.

  Sandra either didn’t hear his warning, or she didn’t care. She let out a scream like a banshee. She was too close to Kylie. Jon lowered his gun and threw himself at the enraged woman, aware Jackson and the others were right behind. He tackled Sandra to the ground, slamming her arm against the earth so the knife went flying.

  Jon heard shouts all around, but when he rolled off Sandra and looked up, Westerly stood above him, his rage so deep that his face had turned red.

  And he carried his own knife.

  Jon reached for his Glock.

  Westerly suddenly looked shocked. And fell to the side.

  It wasn’t Jackson, Krewe, or the police who had come to his defense. Kylie stood above him, looking like an avenging angel.

  She had felled Westerly with the book. The hardcover book. Not enough to knock a man out, but enough to surprise him, throw him off balance.

  As Westerly staggered, spewing incoherent rage, Jackson, Rocky, Devin, and the officers arrived.

  Jon came to his feet, his gun on Westerly, and he reached for Kylie. They stood holding each other, somehow both shaking and strong. They watched and listened as the couple was arrested: Westerly, the man who would be king in his own world, and Sandra, the woman who would be his queen at all costs.

  The murderous pair was led away, still fighting, still swearing vociferously, crying entrapment and swearing they’d come to tell Kylie to stop spreading lies.

  The day had felt like it lasted forever and ever.

  Jackson came up to Jon and Kylie.

  “That regression experience sure was something. The grass is green. The sky is blue...starting to darken just a hair, but still, even now, a beautiful blue. It worked,” he added. “We have two knives. I feel certain we’ll find proof on one of them. It worked.”

  Pleased, Jackson left them there, heading to the front of the cemetery.

  “Let’s get out of here. In fact, somewhere out of Salem,” Jon said. “Somewhere...”

  “Where no one has ever died?” Kylie teased.

  “Somewhere...else,” he said. His arm was around her. She fit there so well.

  They started to walk out, but she stopped him. “Obadiah!” she said.

  The ghost appeared, looking as pleased as everyone else.

  “Thank you,” Kylie said.

  He moved to lift her hand; she did it for him and Obadiah placed a spectral kiss upon her flesh. “My pleasure! Justice... It is my reason for being.” He stepped back. “Get thee out of here!” he commanded.

  “Indeed, good sir! As you command,” Kylie promised.

  Jon laughed, and they made their way out of the cemetery, moving quickly under the archway.

  In the back of his head, he knew they had caught the copycat. There was still a serial killer out there.

  But Kylie was safe; that was enough for the moment.

  Eighteen

  They all convened at the Cauldron. Matt Hudson was back, except he wasn’t working the bar that night, other than to show one of the reporters filming him how he made the restaurant’s famed drink, the Witch’s Brew. Matt was widely being hailed as a type of hero, willing to sacrifice his reputation for an important police and FBI operation. He’d definitely achieved some celebrity.

  He had a chair at the table with their group, along with Detective Miller. They were also joined by Dr. Sayers and Carl Fisher, and in the middle of the evening, the owner of the place made sure another bartender came in so Cindy could join them as well.

  It seemed she and Matt were a pair, something they’d kept quiet until now. Since Matt was on top of the world, he just didn’t care who knew.

  He excitedly told Kylie that it had all paid off—he’d been offered spots on half a dozen national news stations and one late-night show.

  “And you—you were all right?” he asked her anxiously.

  “Better than I thought I would be,” she told him. “But I had a lot of help.”

  She was glad of the celebration; she was equally eager for the night to come. But dreading it as well.

  She had worked long and hard and beaten out a lot of applicants for the job she was due to start on Monday in New York City. And however long Jon stayed here to clear up details and paperwork—though the FBI had given the arrest to the local police—he would eventually go back to Washington, DC. She’d never heard of a good long-distance relationship.

  But food and a sense of satisfaction were being enjoyed by all. She could afford to not think about the future for a little while.

  Devin sat by Rocky, hand in hand, and Kylie wondered if it got easier each time they went through something like this. Kylie sat between Jackson and Jon, her chair so close to Jon’s that when she turned to talk to someone else, she was leaning against him.

  It was a good place to be. And yet she hoped they’d leave soon.

  Carl was talking about the difficulty of being a tour guide when something was close and emotional, yet also part of the city’s history. And Jackson was talking to Dr. Sayers, probing into just what talent the doctor had and how he might control it.

  Dr. Sayers lowered his voice. “I don’t think the talent really lies with me. Let’s face it, people are susceptible to suggestion. When clients come for a regression, they’ve been curious about past lives, and they’ve wondered if they were kings and queens, happy and triumphant, o
r if they were scullery maids and grooms. Most people want to believe in the beauty of the life they’re living, and that there was beauty in the past as well. You were different. Kylie was different. I wish I could take the credit. I do make a nice income doing those regressions, but in all honesty, I believe it has more to do with the person being regressed.”

  “Still, quite an interesting talent,” Jackson said.

  That Jackson was intrigued impressed Kylie. She noticed Jon was listening in to the conversation as well.

  “I love what I do,” Dr. Sayers told them. “Most of the time, it’s young women, and they’re very seldom scullery maids! They’re usually noble young ladies and the knight on the white stallion comes riding along to save them.”

  “Ah, well,” Jon murmured, smiling at Kylie, “sometimes those damsels are darned good at saving themselves.”

  Dr. Sayers laughed. “I’ve never had a man come in and regress to being saved by a woman.”

  “Hey,” Devin protested. “It happens.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Dr. Sayers said. “It’s just not most men’s dream, to be rescued by the woman they love. Not macho enough, I guess.” He shrugged.

  He started to say more, but just then Cindy and Carl came back up to the table, bearing a cake alive with sparklers. It was in honor of Matt, and he was beaming.

  They all lifted a glass in his honor, but eventually, it was time to leave.

  Exhausted and back at Devin’s, Kylie discovered her new friends had applause and honor for her as well.

  “You, young lady, are amazing,” Jackson said once they were in the door.

  “Absolutely,” Rocky agreed.

  “It took you long enough to get here and tell me about it!” Auntie Mina said, arriving in the midst of the group, her hands on her hips. “Thank goodness for that lovely Obadiah Jones... You know, I had never met him before?” she said, shaking her head. “Anyway, he made sure I knew everything was all right!”

  She chastised them again, but she, too, came to Kylie, giving her another ghostly hug. “This group... It’s what they do. Well, Devin tells stories, but she’s been in this with the group often enough. You, Miss Kylie Connelly, were amazing.” She glanced at Devin. “The house phone has been ringing off the hook, people wanting interviews with Kylie.”

  Kylie grimaced. Matt wanted the exposure. She did not.

  “We’ll deal with it,” Jon assured her.

  “For now—” Jackson began.

  “Bed!” Jon announced.

  “Then get away from my couch, all of you,” Jackson commanded.

  Alone at last, Kylie meant to talk. Except that she and Jon fell together in a kiss almost as soon as the door closed. Fear could bring about passion. Relief could do the same.

  They luxuriated in one another, savored each touch, each kiss, and made love a long, long time before lying together, awake but replete.

  Then they both started to speak at once. Kylie laid her hand on his chest and said, “You first.”

  “I will never know anyone like you again,” he began. “Our time together has been short, but I know there’s no one else out there I could feel this intensely about. You are you, of course, but perfect for me, and I believe I’m perfect for you. I’d never want to change your life and what’s good in it. Like your job.” He stopped for a breath; she was going to speak, but he went on, “And there’s nothing I can do. There’s only one center for the Krewe.”

  “You have to do what you do!” Kylie exclaimed, sitting up on an elbow. “Not everyone can to it. And what you and the Krewe do is important. You have to stay with it.”

  “Can we stay together long distance?” he asked quietly.

  Kylie was silent.

  He smoothed her hair back. “Two hundred and twenty-five miles,” he said. “Four hours or so to drive, depending on traffic. A quick hop on a train.”

  “I do have to report to work on Monday. But I can actually do that now. Because of you,” she said.

  He nodded. “Because of us all, including you, especially you.” After a moment, he added, “We can’t let this end.”

  “We can’t,” she agreed.

  She curled against him. They wouldn’t let it end. Because it was true. They couldn’t. She’d known him just days, but that meant nothing. There was no going back.

  She’d been “regressed” and been murdered in another woman’s body by a heinous killer. She’d begun to see the dead. And she’d almost been murdered in the flesh.

  Just days. And yet, they were days that changed her life.

  * * *

  Jon sat with Jackson and Rocky in his makeshift office on Essex Street. They’d come from the jail and an interesting session with Ben, who told them about the current state of affairs with Michael and Sandra Westerly.

  “They turned on each other like pit bulls bred to fight, both of them blaming each other,” Ben had said. “Westerly claimed he didn’t kill anyone and Sandra was the killer. She went all teary, swearing that he was the murderer, she was just desperately trying to be a good wife and keep herself safe. Then they both claimed they didn’t do it, they’d been framed by the FBI and the police. And then their lawyers shut them both up.”

  It wasn’t a surprise to Jon the two had turned on one another; neither was a particularly good person, no matter what masks they had worn.

  “What will happen with them both denying it? Westerly never touched Kylie in the cemetery, and the best against either of them might be attempted murder,” Jon had said.

  But Ben had grimly assured him someone would be going down for murder. “There was trace blood on that knife Sandra had. I’m pretty darned sure it will prove to be Annie Hampton’s. Her fingerprints will be on the knife now, but I’d be willing to bet that she’ll turn on her husband and give us all the details of Annie’s death for her own plea deal.”

  Back in the office with Jackson and Rocky, Jon found himself unhappy as the three of them went through the photos and notes he had there. It should have felt over. But he still had a sense they were missing something.

  His phone rang; it was Kylie. He smiled. He’d left her soundly sleeping, safe in the cottage with its state-of-the-art alarm system, Devin, Auntie Mina, and Poe.

  She was a little anxious at first, asking him if the Westerly couple was still locked up. He assured her they were.

  “I talked to Corrine and then Jenny and Nancy,” she told him. “They were thrilled to know the killer and his accomplice were caught and locked up. I obviously played down having too much to do with it. But I’ve thought of something, talking to them. It’s a little mundane after all this, but... I do need a date for Corrine’s wedding.”

  “I will be delighted,” he told her. “It happens I’m hanging with my boss. I can make sure right away I have the time off. You still have until Sunday night here, right?” he asked quietly.

  “I do.”

  “Maybe we can head down to Boston for the weekend. Or if you wish, I can even go back to New York with you so you don’t have to feel so rushed on Sunday morning.”

  “We’ll talk.”

  After a minute, they ended the call. Kylie and Devin would drive into town shortly and they’d all meet up for lunch somewhere.

  Anywhere but the Cauldron. They’d been glad to be there, helping Matt segue into his role as hero rather than villain, but now, they needed something new.

  Jon hung up and drummed his fingers on his desk, wondering why he felt so disturbed. They’d taken down Westerly and Sandra. But Jon had come to Salem because of the murders of three other women. Deanna Clark, Willow Cannon, and Cecily Bryant.

  The difference in victimology was the factor that mattered—even if Westerly had committed a nearly perfect imitation of the other murders with his wife’s help. How did they know all the details of those crimes?

  The other vi
ctims had been down-and-out, all dabbling with drugs or alcohol and prostitution. It was the matchbox from the Cauldron that had led him here. And he’d found another one, too.

  “What is it?” Jackson asked.

  Jon looked over at him. “The serial killer is still out there.”

  “Yes,” Rocky agreed. “And we still know nothing about him. Or her. Unless... Do you think Sandra was the murderer? We know where Westerly was. We don’t know where she was during the other murders.”

  Jackson was studying Jon. “No,” he said quietly. “Sandra had an agenda. She wanted to be the wife of a powerful man. Kylie threatened that, so Sandra wanted to rip her to pieces. But his political future was Sandra’s fight. We can check the video we have of Westerly’s speeches, but I think we’ll find she’s always nearby.”

  “She was with him at the time of one of the murders, at least,” Jon said. “I watched those tapes several times to see if I could fathom anything at all from them. So the serial killer is out there.”

  “He could have moved on. He could be in Maine for all we know,” Rocky said.

  Jackson shook his head. “There is a connection here.”

  “The matchboxes,” Jon reminded Rocky. “It was a matchbox that brought me here from the start. The killer has been here, is probably from here. And he’s either thrilled to see Westerly in jail and blamed for the crimes—”

  “Or he’s furious that another man is ‘taking credit’ for his work,” Jackson finished.

  Jon nodded. “Back to the drawing board.” He picked up the notes he’d received from Angela: dossiers on Carl Fisher, Matt Hudson, and others they’d come to know who spent time at the Cauldron. Notes on those who ran history and ghost tours, notes on—

  He stood suddenly. “There’s someone out there I need to see. Now.”

  * * *

  “Done!” Devin said. She stood from her computer, folding her hands together and stretching them over her head. She looked at Kylie, who had just finished talking to Corrine—for the third time that morning. “Sorry, just sent a manuscript off—under deadline! Were you able to have a decent night?”