by Kathi Daley
“Wow, that’s harsh. But if she was sleeping with everything in pants, why bother with a Native American?” Alyson asked.
“Keep reading.” Booker instructed.
Alyson turned to the next page he’d bookmarked.
Emma Tromberg told Eleanor Wright she saw Whitney Lincoln with a huge bruise on her cheek. Maybe her poor husband finally beat her, what with her whoring herself all over town. Emma said her own Phillip witnessed Barron Lincoln beat a house boy who was caught stealing food almost to death. It seems he can have quite a temper when provoked. It’s too bad he only left his young wife with a bruised cheek. I see the way my Bernard looks at her; maybe a broken nose or cracked cheekbone would ensure that good men like him won’t be tempted by the she-devil again.
“Sounds like this gossip was a tad on the jealous side,” Mac observed. “Maybe her accounts of Mrs. Lincoln’s infidelities were born more out of jealousy than actual fact.”
“Good point,” Alyson agreed.
“Keep reading,” Booker urged.
Alyson turned to the next section.
They found Whitney’s body at the bottom of the bluff. Good riddance. A stable hand was hanged for the deed, but I doubt it was his action that ended the woman’s life. Any of dozens of women would be justified in pushing her onto the rocks. One cannot expect to commit all sorts of indiscretions and not incur the wrath of those you harm. It’s a shame about the baby, though. Last I saw Whitney, at the theater with her handsome husband on her arm, she appeared to be quite pregnant. At the time I wondered if the baby was even his.
“Are we thinking jealous husband or maybe some former lover’s jealous wife?” Mac asked.
“At first that’s exactly what I thought. Then I found this.” Booker handed Mac an old newspaper clipping. It was an etching of a very pregnant Whitney on the arm of a very handsome young man. She had her hand on his chest and was gazing up at him with something akin to adoration.
“The husband?” Mac asked.
“Yes. The picture was from an article about a charity event. The etching was made just two weeks before Whitney’s death.”
“This doesn’t look like a woman who’s cheating on her husband,” Alyson concluded.
“Nor does it look like a man who would kill his wife,” Mac added.
“It appears the town gossip may have produced a volume of fiction rather than fact. But she sure seemed to hate Whitney Lincoln,” Alyson said.
“I believe the one factual thing she wrote was that her husband had eyes for the young woman.” Booker passed a plate of brownies across the table.
“What about the bruised cheek? And the husband’s violent temper? Do you think she made that up too?” Mac asked.
“I’m not sure we’ll ever know. Men did tend to treat their wives like possessions in those days. He may very well have backhanded her if he became angry.”
“So what’s our theory now?” Mac asked. “If Marcus did kill Mrs. Lincoln, why? Our whole theory about her being pregnant with Marcus’s child goes out the window if she wasn’t sleeping with him. And if she had already delivered her baby before her death but it wasn’t with her, where was it?”
“Let’s review what we know,” Alyson suggested. “The original article we found stated that Whitney Lincoln was pregnant with her fifth child when she went missing. When her body was found a week later she had already delivered, but there was no sign of a child. A stable hand was accused of the murder and hanged in the town square. We assume Mrs. Lincoln was kidnapped before her death, but she may have just left to have her baby. The only logical reason for that is that the child wasn’t her husband’s.”
“I’ll keep working on it. Come back tomorrow,” Booker suggested.
“And I’ll go back to the bluff,” Alyson stated. “Maybe I’ll notice something new.”
“Be careful.” Booker placed a concerned hand on her shoulder.
“Always.”
“I think we have time to stop by Chan’s before we meet Trevor,” Alyson said as they went to the car. “He’ll be late because of the game, but I have a feeling he might know something new. He usually does.”
“That’s a good idea. Even if Chan didn’t own the shop when Samantha Roberts was hanging out there, he’s almost always good for some insight from the beyond.”
Chan owned the occult shop in the oldest part of Cutter’s Cove. Alyson and the others had first met him when he helped them find two missing friends. The shop sold a variety of items from eye of newt to crystal balls, but it was the man’s insight rather than the things he sold that kept them returning time and time again.
“It looks like he’s there.” Alyson pulled over on the street in front of the brightly lit shop. Various books, crystals, and mystical objects were strategically displayed in the large window.
“Yeah, the light’s on.” Mac unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the Jeep.
“Chan,” Alyson called as they walked through the door.
“It looks like he’s gotten in some new stuff since we were here.” Mac picked up a jar with what looked like cloven feet.
“Yeah, I think the display with the scary-looking statues is new.” Alyson picked one up and turned it over, trying to figure out what exactly it was supposed to be used for.
“Careful. I think that’s a fertility god,” Mac warned.
Alyson hurriedly set the statue back on the table. “Won’t be wanting one of those any time soon.”
“Alyson and Mackenzie. It’s so good to see you.” Chan walked in from the back room. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” Alyson asked.
“Of course. I’ve sensed a disturbance in your life force the past few days.”
“My life force?”
“I’ve been tracking it and monitoring the shadows since our first meeting.”
Alyson remembered Chan had made a similar reference to shadows the first time she’d met him. “Am I in danger?”
Chan placed a hand on my arm. “It’s not for you to worry about today. What can I do for you?”
Alyson glanced at her friend, who looked as freaked out as she felt, and Mac didn’t even know that someone had been following her. Of course the danger Chan could be referring to might have to do with the curse surrounding Whitney Lincoln. Deciding that was most likely, she explained the nightly appearances on the bluff and the information they’d uncovered about their origins.
“Samantha Roberts’s police reports mentioned that she’d become obsessed with the occult and used to hang out here. We weren’t sure if you owned the shop back then, but we thought we’d check. She died in 1992.”
“I remember her. She was seeing the same visions you have. She was certain the figures on the bluff represented a past life experience. I tried to tell her otherwise, but she was adamant. I finally referred her to a past life regressionist I know and trust. The woman confirmed that the incident on the bluff had nothing to do with a past life, but I don’t think Samantha believed her.”
“I can see why she thought that. The girl on the cliff had my face. My exact face.”
Chan paused before he answered. “While the woman on the bluff is not from a prior life, your energies are linked. The person who becomes part of this reenactment is not chosen randomly. Your life force has become entangled with that of the event itself. You must be careful not to let it overtake you, as it has the others.”
“Overtake?” Alyson felt her stomach drop. “What do you mean by that?”
“The unwilling participants in the drama enter the theater as observers,” Chan explained. “With the passage of time, the line between observer and participant is blurred. In the final act, the person becomes the victim and so meets with her own untimely death.”
“The other ghost throws the victim to her death?” Mac asked.
“Not physically. Spiritual beings don’t have form. It’s my belief that either the reenactment of the drama becomes so real that the victims simply fall to the
ir death, completing the cycle, or the energy surrounding the reenactment somehow pulls another unwilling participant into its dimensional space.”
Alyson frowned. “So some guy is walking along, minding his own business, and the next thing he knows he becomes entangled in this supernatural force that causes him to throw a perfectly innocent girl off a cliff?”
“Possibly.”
“The police reports didn’t mention another person being involved.”
“If another person is pulled into the drama, he or she may not even remember what happened when the reenactment has run its course,” Chan explained.
“The jogger,” Alyson speculated. “Samantha Roberts’s death was reported by a jogger. He said he found the body while jogging, but we didn’t think someone just jogging by in the rain would have noticed a body below in the dark.”
“If he pushed her and somehow blacked out during the event, when he came to he would have been looking over the edge of the bluff,” Mac guessed.
“He probably didn’t even know how he got there. Could that really happen?” Alyson asked.
“Possibly,” Chan repeated.
“But the police reports state there were no signs of a struggle. If both the participants in the drama had human form, wouldn’t there be evidence of their presence?” Mac asked.
“Probably, which leads to the theory that the women simply fall in the middle of an otherworldly encounter,” Chan pointed out. “There’s more we don’t know about the event than we do. Either way, it’s clear that your energy has become entwined with the event itself.”
“How do we stop it?” Alyson asked. “How do we stop the cycle forever?”
“The answer is for you to know. Listen and you shall see.”
“Listen to what?”
“You’ll know.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
“Yeah,” Alyson groaned. “But something more concrete would be helpful right about now. Like maybe a magic spell or a secret powder that fixes everything.”
“Magic isn’t the answer. The cycle was caused by human pain; only human understanding can break it.”
Alyson took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She knew Chan well enough to be sure he would only tell her what he thought she needed to know. “Okay, thanks for your help. If you think of anything else or if you sense my life force getting all loopy, call me. You have my cell number.”
Chan looked into her eyes. “You can trust me, Amanda. For now, be well.”
“Amanda?” Mac asked when they got in the car. “He knows? For how long?”
Alyson paused before she answered Mac, the only person in the world who knew her secret other than her mother and her handler, Donovan. “Since the first day I met him. He knew, I don’t know how.”
“Wow. That must have freaked you out.”
“Big-time.”
“Have you talked to him about it? Explained how you became Alyson?”
“No. He didn’t ask. He probably knows. I’m pretty sure he knows a lot more than he lets on. It’s sort of creepy, but comforting at the same time.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s creepy that he knows all your deep, dark secrets. That he knows you better than you know yourself. But comforting that he seems to be looking out for you.”
“Exactly.”
******
Once again Trevor was waiting when the girls arrived at Alyson’s house. He really was a good guy to not only bring them dinner but to be patient when they kept him waiting.
“Burritos are getting cold,” Trevor said, holding up a takeout bag.
“Sorry,” Alyson apologized. “We got held up at Chan’s. So, did you kick some butt?”
“There was butt kicking all around. Cutter’s Cove is now the only undefeated team in the league.”
“I’m so sorry I missed it.” Alyson unlocked the door and, after greeting Tucker, who had been waiting patiently all day for Alyson’s return, led them into the kitchen.
“Me too. It was awesome.”
“We’ll have to have a real celebration after your next game.” Alyson let Tucker out the back door. “Something that includes food of the nontakeout variety and conversation that doesn’t involve the words death, rape, or murder.”
“Was he helpful?’ Trevor asked. “Chan, I mean.”
“Sort of. We’ll fill you in as we eat,” Alyson promised.
She took out plates and napkins while Mac and Trevor chatted in the dining room. Once they all were seated they chatted while they dished up their plates and began to eat.
“Chan thinks a physical person might actually throw you off the bluff?” Trevor asked after Mac and Alyson had finished filling him in.
“Maybe; he wasn’t sure.” Alyson dipped a tortilla chip into the fresh guacamole.
Trevor took a giant bite of his burrito, chewed twice, and swallowed. “No problem, then. We stay away from the bluff and you’re safe. Right? It has to happen on May 27 or no death, right?”
“I don’t know. The drama has always played itself out, no matter what.”
“Maybe Trevor has a point,” Mac mused. “If we prevent the drama from unfolding the spell should be broken forever.”
“Possibly, but I sort of doubt it. I really feel like we have to resolve the conflict, meet the needs of whichever apparition is causing the loop in the first place. Can you pass me the salsa?” Alyson asked.
“We’ll do the homework, but you’re still going to stay away from the bluff until this is over,” Trevor insisted. “And you might want to skip the salsa. It’s really hot tonight.”
“I can’t. Stay away from the bluff, I mean. I think I’ll take your advice about the salsa, though.”
Trevor looked annoyed. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“People tried to keep the others away from the bluff, but they failed. I think when the event occurs the specter takes over the body of the person who’s become a participant. The spirit needs the act to be completed. I’m afraid if I don’t go someone else will be pulled in. At least I know what’s going on.”
“But ...” Trevor started to argue.
“In fact, I’m going tonight and every night until we get this figured out.”
Trevor raised his hands in protest. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“I need to do this,” Alyson insisted. “I haven’t been in any danger so far and I don’t think I will be until the 27th. Each time I go I get some new information that can help us figure this out.”
“Each time?” Trevor frowned. “You’ve been back?”
“Twice,” Alyson admitted.
“Trevor,” Mac intervened before he could blow his top completely. “I know how you feel. I feel the same way, but I think Alyson’s right. If the cycle does need to be completed by the 27th and we keep Alyson away, some other innocent girl may end up at the bottom of the bluff. We need to stop the cycle altogether and the only way to do that is to see it through. Chan said the answer was with Alyson. That she needed to listen to know what to see.”
Alyson thought about the voices she’d been hearing. Maybe that was what she was supposed to listen to. “I have to try.” Alyson put her hand over Trevor’s. “I love that you want to protect me, but this is something I have to do.”
Trevor sat quietly, sorting through his emotions. “I’m going with you.”
“You both can. From a distance. I don’t want to upset the events that are unfolding by having anyone too close.”
“But if you get into trouble…”
“I won’t. I’ll take Tucker. So far the spirits haven’t seemed to mind his presence.”
******
Later that evening, they waited in Alyson’s Jeep near the road, outfitted with walkie-talkies, binoculars, and cell phones that had been predialed to 911. Alyson got out and walked to the edge of the bluff with Tucker. They stopped and waited. She could feel a light breeze on the back of her neck, even though the leaves on the trees hung
perfectly still. She held her breath and listened. It wouldn’t be long now.
“You’ve hidden it.”
“I had to.”
“Where is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Please, you can trust me. No one will know.”
“He’ll know.”
“He won’t, I swear. I don’t know how you can do this.”
“We’re talking about my life. Everything I hold dear; my husband, my children. I can’t risk it.”
“What about me? My life?”
“Do you know what my husband would do to you if he found out? I’m trying to protect you.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Won’t he wonder where it is?”
“I’ll tell him I lost it. I have to go now.”
“Please, just tell me where it is.” The man grabbed her arm.
“It’s already gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I’ll never tell you; now let me go.”
“Why won’t you tell me? I don’t understand. You don’t want it anyway.”
The couple struggled, and as before, the woman fell to her death. This time Alyson saw the woman try to jerk her arm free and in doing so fell backward. The man tried to grab her, but it was too late.
“He didn’t kill her. He tried to save her,” Alyson whispered.
Trevor and Mac came running up to Alyson, who stood staring out to sea.
“It started earlier this time. The dialogue.”
“Did you get a look at the second participant this time?” Trevor asked. “Are we sure it’s Marcus?”
“No, it’s strange. Except for the one good look I got at the face of the woman, who I assume is Whitney Lincoln, the images of the participants are blurry, almost distorted. But I saw the ending better, how it played out. The man had a hold of her arm and she tried to jerk it free and fell. He reached for her, but it was too late. He tried to save her; he didn’t kill her.”
“But he was hanged for it anyway,” Mac concluded.
“Do you think that’s the reason for the recurring event?” Trevor asked. “Is Marcus trying to exact retribution for his wrongful death?”