by Kathi Daley
“Sure. I’ll check online,” Mac offered.
“While Mac’s doing that, I thought I’d get a soda. Does anyone want anything else from the kitchen?” Alyson asked.
Trevor spoke up immediately. “Do you have any popcorn?”
“I’m sure we do. Anything else?”
“Maybe some chips. Oh, and soda’s all around,” Trevor instructed.
“I’ll be back in a jiff.”
Tucker followed Alyson into the kitchen. “Hungry?” she asked the German shepherd as she waited for Orville Redenbacher’s to pop.
Tucker thumped his tail against the floor at the first sound of the electric can opener.
Alyson set his bowl on the laundry room floor before gathering all the requested items on a serving tray she’d taken from a cabinet next to the stove. Rummaging through the refrigerator, she added a block of sharp cheddar and a bowl of fruit to the tray.
“Wow, that’s strange,” Mac was saying as Alyson returned to the living room.
“What?” Alyson set the tray on the coffee table.
“It took a while, but I finally found the information I was looking for. It was raining on May 27, 1992. It must have been a pretty big storm too.”
“So how did the jogger see the body?” Trevor helped himself to a handful of buttery popcorn. “And, more importantly, why was someone out jogging in a storm? Is there any information about the jogger?”
“His name is Eric Thompson,” Alyson picked up from the police report. “A senior at Cutter’s Cove High. He was state champion in long-distance running two years in a row. I guess that could explain his willingness to jog in the rain. A lot of athletes are pretty committed to their sport.”
“Maybe. We should see if he still lives around here. If he does we should try to interview him,” Mac suggested.
“I get why Eric Thompson might have been out in the rain, but what was Samantha Roberts doing on the cliff?” Trevor asked as he sliced the block of cheese. “Most people don’t decide to take a stroll in a rainstorm. What else does the report say?”
Alyson sorted through the folder containing the files Mac had printed. “Oh,” she grimaced. “There’s a picture.” She handed it to Trevor.
Trevor frowned, then passed it to Mac.
“No, thanks. I’d prefer to keep my dinner on the inside.”
“You know, this girl really does look a lot like Alyson. Blond hair, petite, about the same age.”
“What else is in the file?” Mac opened a can of soda. “I downloaded and copied them while I was at my internship but didn’t have a chance to look at them.”
“The file was originally opened on May 21, 1992. Samantha was driving along the coast road when she saw a couple struggling. She said she pulled over just as she saw one of them fall over the cliff. She turned around, headed into town, and reported what she’d seen. As we already know, the police found no signs of foul play, but Samantha stood by her story.”
“Anything else?” Mac picked up a kernel of the still-warm popcorn.
“A passerby notified the police that a woman was standing in the pouring rain at the edge of the cliff late on the night of May 22. He offered her a ride, but she refused to leave. He notified the police because he was afraid she was suicidal. The woman was Samantha Roberts. The police conducted a series of interviews after her death: with her parents, friends, teachers.”
“Are there copies of the interviews?” Trevor asked.
Alyson sorted through the papers. “Her mother reported that Samantha had been having nightmares since she saw the couple. She had withdrawn into a state of depression. She couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, and stopped hanging out with her friends. Mrs. Roberts had arranged for a counseling session, but Samantha refused to go.”
“Have you had any nightmares?” Trevor asked Alyson as he tore open a bag of Doritos.
“Dreams, but I wouldn’t call them nightmares. Of course I dream some pretty strange stuff on a pretty regular basis. It takes a lot to freak me out.”
Trevor took a handful of chips and passed the bag to Mac. “Witnessing what she thought was a murder on the cliff, having there be no body, then having dreams about it would be enough to send most people into a total tailspin. For Alyson, it’s just another day.”
“Is there anything else?” Mac asked.
“There are interviews with three of her friends,” Alyson answered. “They all reported that Samantha had become obsessed with the occult during her final days. She was convinced what she’d seen was somehow supernatural and the only way she was going to get the nightmares to stop was to figure out why she’d seen it. She began skipping school to hang out at the local occult shop.”
“Did Chan own it back then?” Mac took a chip from the bag.
“I don’t know, but I think it would be worth our while to pay him a visit.”
“Is that it?” Mac nibbled on the corner of the chip.
“Not really. Some other interviews that all say the same thing. There’s a lot of use of the words depressed and obsessed. One friend even thought she was possessed.”
“Do you think she could have been?” Trevor asked. “Possessed? It would explain the total change in personality.”
“I doubt it, but at this point I’m not ruling anything out,” Alyson answered.
“What do we have on the other victims?” Trevor asked.
“Andrea Jenner was found at the bottom of Dead Man’s Bluff on May 27, 1967. An anonymous caller reported the body. There were no signs of foul play and the police ruled it a suicide.”
“What else is in the file?” Trevor asked.
“Another picture.” Alyson passed it to Trevor. “And oh, that’s weird. There’s another initial report dated May 21. Andrea said she witnessed a murder while walking her dog. She said she saw someone thrown from the cliff. As with Samantha, no evidence was found. There are also reports of her behavior as being depressed and withdrawn. As Samantha did, she had nightmares, strange visions, and voices in her head. She was found wandering alone on the bluff late at night three times between May 21 and 27. Her mother had planned to admit her to the psychiatric hospital in Portland, but Andrea died before she was able to do so. Her death was ruled a suicide.”
“Is there anything unique about her case as compared with Samantha’s?” Trevor asked.
“Not really. In fact, it’s disturbingly similar.”
“I wonder why whoever called the body in did so anonymously,” Mac said.
“Maybe he didn’t just find the body at the bottom of the bluff. Maybe he was instrumental in putting it there,” Trevor suggested.
“Is there any information on the caller at all?” Mac asked.
Alyson sorted through the folder. “It just says that an anonymous caller notified the police department that the body of a white female was at the bottom of the bluff. The call came through at ten twenty-six and it was believed to be made by a male.”
“And the other police reports?” Trevor asked.
“Carly Reinhart was found dead on May 27, 1942, at the bottom of Dead Man’s Bluff by two fishermen. There were no signs of foul play, but it had been a stormy night, so the police ruled the death an accident. They figured she just fell.”
“Anything else?’ Trevor wondered.
“No, that’s it. No initial report of another murder, no interviews with family and friends.”
“If there was no initial report on May 21 do we think the pattern was different in this instance?” Trevor asked.
“Not necessarily. Maybe she saw something but didn’t report it,” Alyson speculated.
“If you saw a murder why wouldn’t you report it?”
Alyson shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be on the bluff. Maybe she snuck off with her friends or boyfriend and she knew if she reported the murder her parents would find out. Maybe she’d been out drinking and didn’t want to call the cops. There are probably a lot of reasons why a teenage girl wouldn’t want to call the police.�
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“So we have incidents dating all the way back to 1892 and Booker said there appears to be an initiating event in 1867. Are there any other police reports pertaining to these other occurrences?” Trevor asked.
“No, that’s it. If there were any records pertaining to the earlier deaths they weren’t there.”
“I’m not sure Cutter’s Cove even had its own police department back then,” Mac added.
“What do we do now?” Trevor asked.
“Get a good night’s sleep and get back to work tomorrow. We’ll talk to Booker again and maybe try to track down Parker Gates and Eric Thompson. If we have time we can go have a chat with Chan. If he was around in 1992 he might remember something.”
“Maybe he can even help us figure out exactly what’s happening,” Mac added.
“Yeah, he knows a lot more about this kind of stuff than we do. Oh, did anyone find out anything more about Jessica today?” Alyson asked.
“Sort of,” Trevor said. “I overheard a girl in my history class saying she saw a group of guys—maybe five or six—hanging out in Tommy’s bedroom when she went upstairs to the bathroom during the party.”
“Did she say who they were?”
“No, she didn’t get a good look. The door was partially closed and most of the guys had their backs to the door. I heard her say one of them had shoulder-length blond hair with a purple streak.”
“Do we know anyone with blond hair and a purple streak?” Alyson asked.
“No, I think if I’d seen a guy with hair like that I’d remember,” Mac said.
“Okay, let’s see if we can find anyone else who went upstairs. They might have seen something if they were still there when Jessica went up.”
“Yeah, or one or more of them may have done the deed,” Mac added.
“Either way, let’s see if we can find out. Tommy gave me the names of the guys who were tending bar for him at the party when I spoke to him today: Jim Smith, Victor Brown, and Jason Sandalwood. Do either of you know them?”
“Jason’s in my English class,” Trevor said. “And while I’m not friends with Jim or Victor, I know who they are. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
“I guess we’ll just keep looking around and hope something falls into place,” Alyson said.
“Alyson told me on the way home that her mom decided to stay in San Francisco a couple extra days, so I’m going to stay the night,” Mac spoke up.
“Really, I don’t need…” Alyson started.
Mac cleared her throat.
“Sounds like a plan,” she acquiesced.
After Trevor left Alyson started putting on her shoes. “You know I have to go to the bluff. I might pick up a new clue. It occurred to me that maybe once the death scene begins on the May 21 it repeats every night until the climax on May 27. We only have four more nights to figure this out.”
“Okay, but I’m going with you. I’ll wait in the car. Bring Tucker, and those walkie-talkies you showed me a while back. That way I can hear what you do. And some binoculars. Maybe I’ll see something you miss.”
“Okay, but promise you’ll stay in the car. I’m not sure they’ll come if there’s an audience.”
“At least it stopped raining, and it’s not foggy tonight,” Mac commented as Alyson pulled up next to the trail leading to the edge of the bluff. “Be careful.”
“I will. Come on, Tucker.”
Alyson could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she walked to the bluff. The surf crashing on the rocks drowned out the sound of her own beating heart. She knew they’d be here. She wasn’t afraid of them; she was afraid of herself, of getting sucked into the drama to the point where ultimately, she became a participant to its bloody ending.
She heard them before she saw them. The argument was the same. They appeared in front of her, repeating the death scene that must have been played out hundreds of times by now. He wanted something she’d hidden. She wouldn’t give it to him. In the last fraction of a second, as the woman was thrown mercilessly to the rocks below, she turned and looked at Alyson.
Oh my God.
Alyson froze as the images faded away. Was it always like that? Was the face of the victim always the mirror image of the observer? Or did Whitney Lincoln look exactly like her? Exactly, down to the nose, lips, and blue eyes.
“Did you see that?” Mac ran up behind Alyson, who was still staring at the spot where the drama had just played out. “She looked exactly like you. I saw her through the binoculars.”
Alyson frowned. “You saw them?”
Mac nodded. “It was just the way you said. One minute you were the only one standing there and then poof, they appeared.”
Alyson took Mac’s hand and led her back to the car. “The fact that you could see them seems significant. I see ghosts all the time, but as far as I know you never have.”
Mac paled. “You’re right. They were ghosts and I saw them. You don’t think that means I’ll be the next to die?”
Alyson opened her door and let Tucker in the back. Then she slid inside the car as Mac climbed into the passenger seat. “No, I don’t think you’ve been chosen. For one thing, I’m pretty sure I’ve already locked down that position, but for another, your hair is red and all the victims were blondes. I do think it’s important that they were visible to you, though. What exactly did you see?”
“I told you: I was watching you on the bluff and they just appeared. It all happened so fast. They argued, and then he pushed her down to the rocks. She looked exactly like you. I mean exactly. Did you know she had your face?”
Alyson turned on the heater. “I’d never been able to make out the features of the couple at all before tonight. Until I heard the voices last night, I wasn’t even completely sure they were a man and a woman.”
“Okay, this is freaky. We have to call Trevor. I know you don’t want his He-Man, protector-of-all-things-female instinct kicking in, but this is too strange to keep to ourselves.”
“You’re right, but let’s tell him tomorrow. I think the excitement is over for tonight. In the meantime, I’m going to see if Booker can track down a photograph of Whitney Lincoln. She was rich, married to an important guy; I’m sure there must have been a picture. Maybe a portrait; rich people used to do that, have portraits done.”
“Good idea. For now, let’s go. I’m freezing.”
******
Alyson woke in the middle of the night. Mac was breathing softly in the bed next to her, but Tucker was awake and looking around the room. Alyson put a finger to her lips, indicating that he should be quiet. She led him out the door, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of milk and then stood at the window, looking out to the spot where she’d seen the figure the previous night. She didn’t see anyone, but she couldn’t stop the chill that started low in her spine and worked its way up until it felt like someone was clutching her neck.
Alyson, you need to go. It isn’t safe. The Shadow knows.
She felt the words more than heard them. They were like a whisper murmured against her cheek, although there was no one else in the room.
“Why isn’t it safe?” Alyson said into the darkness. “Who’s been watching me?” Her question was met with silence.
She sat down on a nearby chair and closed her eyes, trying to focus her breathing. She needed to open her mind, free her thoughts, and let the words wash over her. Someone was trying to tell her something. She needed to listen.
Alyson, you need to go.
“Go where?” she asked. “Am I in danger? Who’s watching me? Have the Bonatello brothers found me?”
Alyson listened, but there was no reply. She sat there for a few more minutes before opening her eyes. She looked around, paused to check and recheck to make sure the door was locked, and then went up the stairs to bed.
Chapter 8
Wednesday, May 24
The next morning Alyson and Mac dragged into first period just minutes before the final bell. T
hey sat down at the table in front of Trevor and Chelsea without saying a word.
“You guys look tired. Late night?” Trevor guessed.
“Yeah, you know, girl talk. One thing led to another and it was late before we got to sleep,” Mac answered.
“Speaking of girl talk,” Chelsea joined in, “you’ll never guess what I heard on my way to class this morning.”
“Do tell.” Alyson yawned.
“Preston Winkle is going around school telling everyone he’s the father of Jessica’s baby.”
“Preston Winkle? He’s such a…”
“Nerd,” Mac finished Alyson’s thought.
“Well, yeah, but I was looking for a nicer way to put it.”
“I don’t know. Preston doesn’t seem like the type to, you know, do the deed that would lead to a child,” Mac argued.
“Yeah, and even if he is the father, why would he be bragging about it?” Alyson wondered.
“Are you kidding? You bag a girl like Jessica and as a bonus get her pregnant. That’s currency,” Trevor explained.
“Currency?” Alyson asked.
“Yeah, like in terms of coolness points. Jessica’s quite a babe; lots of guys would like to feather her nest, if you know what I mean.”
“‘Feather her nest’?” Alyson demanded.
“Let’s face it, proof of a night of passion with someone like Jessica is worth big points.”
“Guys are seriously disturbed,” Alyson concluded. “Besides, I don’t think what happened could be classified as a night of passion.”
“Jessica is such a fake.” Chelsea’s words were an accusation. “She goes around acting all virginal when in reality she’s hitting the sheets just like everyone else. I hope Preston is the father. It’d serve her right for going around acting all superior all these years.”
“Chelsea, that’s a horrible thing to say, even for you,” Alyson scolded.
“Hey, I just call ’em like I see ’em. So, are you going to the Cannery tonight?” Chelsea asked Trevor. “I heard they have a new band. Word is that most of the team will be there to celebrate the huge victory we’re going to get this afternoon.”