Ghost Walk
Cassandra Gannon
Text copyright © 2016 Cassandra Gannon
Cover Image copyright © 2016 Cassandra Gannon
All Rights Reserved
Published by Star Turtle Publishing
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Also by Cassandra Gannon
The Elemental Phases Series
Warrior from the Shadowland
Guardian of the Earth House
Exile in the Water Kingdom
Treasure of the Fire Kingdom
Queen of the Magnetland
Magic of the Wood House
Coming Soon: Destiny of the Time House
A Kinda Fairytale Series
Wicked Ugly Bad
Beast in Shining Armor
Coming Soon: Happily Ever Witch
Other Books
Love in the Time of Zombies
Not Another Vampire Book
Vampire Charming
Cowboy from the Future
Once Upon a Caveman
Ghost Walk
If you enjoy Cassandra’s books, you may also enjoy books by her sister, Elizabeth Gannon.
The Consortium of Chaos series
Yesterday’s Heroes
The Son of Sun and Sand
The Guy Your Friends Warned You About
Electrical Hazard
The Only Fish in the Sea
Coming Soon: Not Currently Evil
The Mad Scientist’s Guide to Dating
Other books
The Snow Queen
Travels with a Fairytale Monster
Everyone Hates Fairytale Pirates
Coming Soon: Captive of a Fairytale Barbarian
Coming… Eventually: The Man Who Beat-Up Prince Charming
For Mom
And vacationing at Williamsburg on the 4th of July.
Prologue
4th of July- One Year Ago
The alleyway was a gory mess.
At this point in her career, Grace Rivera had learned to block out the full horror of it, but she still felt a surge of sadness for the poor woman lying on the pavement. The girl was young, with stringy blonde hair and three piercings in each ear. Given her revealing clothes and the location of her body, it seemed likely she worked as a prostitute and had met up with the wrong man. Still Grace took her death as seriously as she would’ve the mayor’s.
As a crime scene technician it was Grace’s job to collect whatever evidence the murderer had left behind. Fibers, fingerprints, blood, and a thousand other small things that even the smartest perpetrators missed. All of it was cataloged and analyzed in hopes of it leading back to those who stole the lives of others. Very often it did. Grace was good at her job and she took it seriously.
Some people said too seriously.
They were probably right. But, the poor woman on the ground, with the two bullet holes in her head, was counting on her. Just like all the other victims whose cases Grace investigated. She didn’t want to let them down… Except, she always felt as if she already had. They were gone and she couldn’t help them.
Couldn’t save them.
To make up for it, Grace did everything she could, every single day, whether she was investigating a dead hooker in an alleyway or a wealthy businessman from Richmond. She studied and worked and did her best to ensure that they received at least some form of justice. She never stopped. Never took a moment to relax. Never breathed.
Touching the darkness, with no light to balance it out, was too much for her. At least, that’s what they said later. Grace had always been a glass-is-half-empty sort of girl. All that pessimism overwhelmed her. If you stared too long into the abyss, the damn thing would start to stare back.
Being a savior to the whole world was impossible. It got harder and harder for Grace to recall that her job was really about helping people. About stopping killers from striking again, and bringing comfort to the families left behind. All she saw were the victims she didn’t save. The futile, hopeless, failure of it all. Somewhere along the way, her positivity and optimism disappeared.
Until one day --inevitably-- the darkness swallowed her.
She’d pushed herself too hard. Everyone would tsk about it after her breakdown. It was no wonder she burned out, really. But, who could’ve predicted that even a Rivera would snap so completely?
On that 4th of July morning, Grace lost her mind in front of half the police force.
It started with a torn glove. Just a tiny rip in the latex that exposed Grace’s fingertip. She was so focused on her job that she didn’t notice. Not at first, anyway. She went about her business, gathering up the shattered bits of evidence. A few stray hairs… Glass from a broken beer bottle… A cigarette butt… Maybe it belonged to the killer. More likely it belonged to any of a dozen people who had frequented the alley in the last month or two. Still, it all had to be checked. No detail was too small in forensic work. The key to solving the entire puzzle could literally be a grain of sand.
Grace meticulously sorted through the dirt and debris littering the asphalt, finally coming to a flyer for a local band called “Cornelius and the Monkey-Men.” They had apparently played at the bar next door on July third. The Planet of the Apes inspired font promised an incredible one night only concert.
Grace wasn’t sorry that she missed it.
All she cared about was the single drop of blood on the blue paper. The speck was so small most people wouldn’t even have noticed it. The page must have gotten wet in the storm the night before, because the ink was running. It was crumpled and at least twelve feet from the body. A less experienced technician might have overlooked it entirely. But, Grace was very good at her job.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t make a mistake, though.
She snapped some photos and picked up the flyer to put into an evidence bag. When she did, the pad of her thumb inadvertently brushed against the dried blood drop. For the first time in her career, Grace’s bare skin touched the blood evidence she was examining.
As soon as she did, it started raining.
It happened so suddenly that she didn’t process what was happening for several precious seconds. Water poured down, not like the beginning of a shower, but like it had been storming for hours.
Grace frowned in confusion and looked up at the sky. What the hell…? How did the rain blow in so quickly? It was even blocking out the sun! The alley was abruptly dark, making it seem as if night had fallen in the middle of the day. In fact, was that the moon? Why was the moon out at two in the afternoon?
She got to her feet, her mind racing. “Guys, are you seeing this…?” Her voice trailed off in surprise as she realized that the rest of the investigative team was gone. Gone. Grace’s head whipped around, her heart pounding. She was standing there all by herself.
No. Correction: Not by herself.
Despite the rain and rancid smell, two people were using the dark alleyway for a convenient place to have sex. Grace goggled at them for a beat, her hand coming up to slap over her mouth in shock. Jesus, what was happening? She quickly turned her back on the grunting duo, trying to think.
She’d always been a cotton-underwear-buying, never-skipping-work, two-coats-of-clear-nail-polish kinda girl. Practical. Normal. Saving for retirement and watching the news at six every night. Despite her eccentric family and their endless search for “troll powder,” Grace dealt with everything that came her way with a healthy dose of logic. So why was she completely lost as to w
hat was going on? Why couldn’t she think of one rational explanation for why her colleagues disappeared, or why the moon had risen, or why two strangers were copulating behind her?
And what the hell was that noise?
It sounded like someone in the bar next door was shrieking into a microphone to a thrash rock beat. Except this song had no beat, so it was just discordant wailing. Even her cousin Halcyon had better taste in music and he mainly listened to the “hidden messages” in TV static. How was she supposed to think of a logical explanation for this craziness when she couldn’t hear herself think?
Grace staggered to the entrance of the alleyway, peering up and down the street. Cars whizzed past, but very few would stop in this part of town. Should she try to flag someone down? Should she just drive to the police station and ask where everyone went?
She looked closer. Well, scratch that idea. Her car wasn’t there anymore, so she wouldn’t be driving anyplace. She’d parked the beige four-door in front of the bar and now a black jeep was in the space. Had someone stolen it? If they did, they must have taken the ambulance and three police cruisers, too. None of the vehicles were in sight. It was as if no one but Grace had arrived at the crime scene.
Grace found she couldn’t breathe. It was like oxygen refused to fill her lungs. She bent over at the waist, her hands braced on her knees and tried to calm down. It was alright. She would figure this out. There had to be a reason for all of it. She just needed to focus on something calming and not panic.
Her mind settled on the lush fields of her parents’ farm. Before they died, they’d owned two hundred acres of rich Virginia soil. Growing up, she’d spent her days running through the tall stalks of corn. The smell of the earth, and the vivid green of the plants, and the absolute security of her parents’ love. Nothing since had ever made her feel so safe.
Think about those peaceful green cornfields.
The music from the bar reached unbearable levels and Grace’s frantic brain seized on a target for her terror. The “singer” was screeching about chimpanzees of all things. She couldn’t deal with a song about chimpanzees. She couldn’t think when he was screaming about chimpanzees. God, if their idea of music was chimpanzees and the same two notes on an electric guitar played over and over and over again, they all must be drinking more than just…
Wait a second.
Chimpanzees?
Grace looked down at the band flyer which was still clutched in her hand. The words couldn’t have been clearer, even in the dim light. “Cornelius and the Monkey-Men. Appearing one night only! July third.”
Yesterday.
A slimy, hot/cold ball began to form in her stomach.
Running a hand through her drenched hair, Grace marched over the entrance of the bar. “Hey!” She stalked up to the bouncer, who happened to be a massive guy in a GNR shirt, reading Dickens. “Is that Cornelius and the Monkey-Men in there?” She gestured to the open door and the grimy interior beyond.
Oliver Twist pointed to the marquee without looking up from his book. “That’s what the sign says. Five dollar cover, lady.”
“They were supposed to be here yesterday, though.” She held up the flier, her hands shaking from the cold rain and her strained nerves. “See? One night only. It says so right here.”
The bouncer flicked her a bored look. “Yeah and tonight’s the one night. You wanna see the band or not?”
Grace shook her head. “No, I don’t want to see them! I can’t see them. July third was the one night they played!”
“What are you high or something? It is July third”
“Today’s the fourth.”
The guy was apparently used to dealing with lunatics. Rolling his eyes, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and held up the illuminated screen. “See?” He gestured to the date in the corner. “The third. The holiday’s tomorrow, but I guess you started celebrating a little early, huh?” He arched a brow. “Now, are you gonna pay to come inside or are ya just going home to sleep it off? ‘Cause you can’t stand here and listen to the band for free.”
Grace stared at the glowing numbers on screen, not even processing his words. It was impossible. He must have rigged the phone with the wrong date somehow. He was trying to trick her. Trying to make her think it was still the night before.
Why would he do that, though?
What could his motivation possibly be? She’d never met this man before. Why would he waste his time on such a useless prank? And where had the sun gone? And her car? And the rest of crime scene guys, police, and reporters? And there had been a rainstorm last night…
The gunshots interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
Even over the terrible, pulsating music, she heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon firing twice in quick succession. Grace’s head snapped around just in time to see a male figure fleeing the alleyway. He was running too fast for her to get a good look at him, but she still knew exactly what had happened.
“Call 911!” Grace screamed to the bouncer and raced back the way she’d come. “No!” She saw the woman’s body on the ground, precisely the way it had looked when she arrived at the crime scene two hours before. “No, no, no.” She dropped to her knees beside the victim and quickly took stock of the situation. There was nowhere to apply pressure and no way to administer aid. Grace tried, but it was hopeless. The girl had been shot twice in the face. She was dead.
Again.
It was the same woman. Grace knew it. Only her body was still warm and the blood pouring out of her was fresh. Grace couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was true.
Somehow she’d been zapped back to the time of this woman’s murder.
Not that she’d done her much good. The woman had been killed all over again while Grace stood five yards away. If only she’d known what was about to happen she could’ve helped the girl. Could’ve stopped this. Could’ve…
Just as suddenly as the weirdness started, it was over.
Between one blink and the next, everything went back to normal. The sun was back in the sky, the rain was gone, and Grace was surrounded by her colleagues. It was as if the universe took back its do over and just plopped Grace right back where she’d started. …Or maybe it had never happened, at all. Yeah, that was it. It had been some kind of hallucination, brought on by the July heat and fumes from some leaky gas line in the neighborhood.
Except, if it was all in her head, why was she still soaking wet from the storm?
Grace didn’t know. She didn’t know. She had no frigging idea what had just happened, except that her nice, normal life had just imploded. She looked down at the fresh blood covering her palms and did what any nice, normal girl would do in that situation.
She started screaming.
Chapter One
June 20, 1789- The Summer Ball was as dull as I expected. Nothing in this town ever changes, so I’m not sure why I even bothered to attend. The same ordinary people and ordinary conversations…
How I long for something exciting to happen!
JMR provided the only distraction of the evening. He no doubt came to see me, but --of course-- he had to dance with a few other ladies, too, else Father and Mother have conniptions. They detest him merely for being alive, when they’re dead inside. Still, it was good for a laugh to see him flirting with those foolish girls. I declare, the Pirate charmed even the unlikeliest of targets with his wicked smile. And Anabel Maxwell and Clara Vance could not believe their luck to be singled out by such a handsome and notorious man!
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
“You are --by far-- the worst tour guide I’ve ever seen.” The guy in the souvenir tri-corner hat shook his head in irritation and hoisted himself up onto the top slat of the split rail fence. “The Good Lord knows I’ve seen a lot of them in my time, but you make even the bad ones seem grand. You’ve just no talent for this job, a t’all.”
Grace pretended not to hear that, just like she’d been pretending not to hear his complaints for the past
half hour.
…But it was pretty darn hard.
“Where’s your stage presence, lass?” He waved a hand like a frustrated director, trying to film a hopeless actress in her big scene. “These are supposed to be ghost stories. Ya have to give them some feeling. Ya won’t scare anyone if you sound like you’re reciting a dinner menu. Put some pizzazz into it, for heaven’s sake.”
For the entire tour, the heckler had been hovering at the back of the group, making snide comments in a Scottish accent. He didn’t even bother to lower his (admittedly beautiful) voice, although the rest of Harrisonburg’s Official Ghost Walk had the decency to ignore his bitching. Grace couldn’t be so composed. She took this job to avoid stress and this moron was definitely beginning to stress her out. It was all she could do not to kick him right off the tour.
He wasn’t even looking her way, so he missed her angry glower. Instead, he was staring up at the night sky, the angles of his striking face reflected in the moonlight. The guy was incredibly, sickeningly handsome, which explained his lousy attitude. Good looking men always thought they were exempt from civilized conduct. He was probably used to acting like a dick and everyone accepting it, because he was so frigging pretty.
Peaceful green cornfields.
Think about peaceful green cornfields.
Dragging her attention away from him, Grace smiled determinedly at the un-irritating portion of the group. There were fifteen other tourists who’d paid to walk around the historic town by lantern light and hear spooky tales for an hour. No wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was going to ruin this for them.
Not that anybody else looked thrilled with the Ghost Walk, either.
That was what pissed her off the most. The wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was right. She sucked as a tour guide. Unlike the rest of her family, Grace refused to live her life inside of a Supernatural episode. Consequently, she talked about Harrisonburg’s significant places and noteworthy citizens, not ghosts and goblins. She tended to go off on academic tangents, which, her boss assured her, bored the tour groups senseless. They wanted to hear about monsters and mayhem. She told them about architecture.
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