An Unexpected Guest

by Heather Graham

  Jon had talked about murders in Boston and missing people. She knew the power of suggestion could be strong.

  And she had been in regression when she had seen herself as a victim . . . being killed.

  This was . . .

  She gave herself a shake. She’d pack. And on the way to the airport, she’d tell Jon what she had seen. And maybe he would make her feel . . . .

  Normal.

  As only he could.

  *

  “You came! Oh, my God! You came!” Julie Fletcher said, opening the door when Jon and Kylie arrived. She had donned a mask to open the door, but Jon could see she had bright green eyes and soft red hair to enhance them. “I’m so sorry. I’m Julie, Evan’s wife. And I am a mess and I’m so sorry, and you’re Jon and Kylie.”

  Jon smiled. He hadn’t met Evan’s wife until now, though he and Evan had kept in touch through the years. Evan and Julie had just decided to get married at the courthouse; they hadn’t wanted to wait until everyone could attend a big wedding.

  “Hey. Thanksgiving in Plymouth—what could be more apropos?” he asked.

  “This is a phenomenal house!” Kylie said. “And we’re happy to be here.”

  Of course, Jon hoped they could all figure out what was frightening Julie so much in the next day or two, but that was not always possible. He needed to be back in the Krewe offices. It was nice, though, to see Julie was so happy and relieved to see them.

  Evan appeared at the door right behind his wife. Evan was wearing a mask too, as were he and Kylie. But because of work, he and Evan were tested often.

  “It is the home of the first Thanksgiving!” Evan said cheerfully. “Hey, we’re supposed to be America’s hometown. And . . . well, the place has amazing history.” Evan was a tall, lanky man, and while he worked in the cyber division and had a computer-nerd look about him, he was deceptively strong.

  “Kylie loves history—and Massachusetts,” Jon said.

  “Under other circumstances,” Evan said, “this would be wonderful; us getting to meet Kylie, and you two getting to meet my new wife.” He smiled, putting his arms around Julie. She was a pretty woman, maybe five-two, while Kylie was a good five-eight.

  But to him, of course, no one was Kylie. Of course, no one was. But Kylie, with her long chestnut hair and green and gold eyes was simply beautiful. And no matter what happened, she always found an inner strength and set out to meet any challenge.

  Even when it frightened her terribly. He knew she had been shaken, though she tried not to let him see just how disturbed she’d been by the strange image she’d seen in the mirror.

  “I love this place!” Kylie said. “I’m a docent at a museum. Of course, we’re closed now except for research, but I do love Massachusetts, too. And I haven’t spent that much time in this area, so I’d love to hear more from you.”

  “The house is supposedly haunted,” Evan said dryly.

  “Evan, let’s get them in,” Julie said.

  Julie showed them a bedroom upstairs, and they left their computers and cases. Back downstairs, she’d prepared a light dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. Kylie glanced at Jon with a smile as they sat around the big expanse of the dining room table—almost six-feet apart but not quite. Still, they’d all discussed their last tests, and they’d have them again when they split up. Thankfully, they were available to agents and those they lived with.

  And they were both hungry. This had all started after one that afternoon, and it was nearly ten by the time they sat down to eat.

  “The first Thanksgiving was not called Thanksgiving,” Julie said. “But it was a day of giving thanks. So many of the Pilgrims died. Imagine how hostile the environment must have been to them when they first arrived! Forests full of wild animals and Native Americans they didn’t know! But the relationship here was amazing. Wampanoag peoples came to be with the settlers, all of them celebrating the harvest. And as I said, those who were alive were grateful to be alive. Most of the settlers were men and children by that point. Sad to say, the percentage of women lost was the largest. We forget in our days with giant grocery stores, food wasn’t that easily obtained by most back then. They planted. They were dependent on the harvest. So, they got together to be grateful. The autumn harvest celebration of November 1621!”

  “Did they have turkey?” Evan asked.

  Julie was silent. Kylie piped in. “A man named Edward Winslow kept a journal back then and wrote that William Bradford, the governor, sent men out on a ‘fowling’ mission. So . . . I take it they cooked whatever birds were brought back. We do know there were a lot of wild turkeys and deer in the area, so . . . maybe.”

  “You do know your history,” Julie murmured.

  Kylie shrugged. “Depends on what,” she said with a smile. “The world is a big place, and no one knows all about history. And remember history is usually told by the victors, so even in history, we have to look for the stories behind the stories.”

  “Well,” Evan said. “If you could stay long enough, there are great places to visit around here.”

  “I noted you’re between two cemeteries here,” Kylie said softly.

  “Right. Cole’s Hill and Burial Hill,” Evan said. “Jon, I know you guys in your unit go into the weird and all. But we don’t believe in ghosts. Right, Julie?”

  “I saw the turkey had moved! And it didn’t slip or slide, and we couldn’t find anyone inside the house,” Julie said. “But I’m also afraid. We don’t have a security system. You could break into any of the windows or even the doors easily enough. And until today, I didn’t even think about locking the door, but there have been three women killed in and just outside Boston,” she said. “I . . . I’m never afraid. I’m married to an FBI agent!”

  “Julie, it’s ten o’clock at night and these two didn’t even know they were coming,” Evan said. “Let’s let them get some sleep, and I’ll go over all the briefings with Jon in the morning—”

  “Not to worry. I studied on the plane,” Jon said.

  “Well, two young women and a young man have gone missing, too,” Julie said.

  Kylie made a strange noise; she must have been afraid it had been interpreted as a cough.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry! I’m not sick, just choked on a bit of cheese.”

  “Let’s all get some rest tonight. We’ll start searching everywhere and shoring up any possible entry tomorrow. It’s Thanksgiving, but I think I have the right hardware,” Evan said.

  Julie nodded. “Yes, please, try to sleep,” she said. “And tomorrow . . . well, I swear I’ll prepare a good turkey, too, but . . .”

  “We’ll get on it, both of us, I promise,” Kylie told her.

  Julie frowned. “But you’re a researcher or historian or—”

  “Docent,” Kylie said. “But I’m with this guy.”

  “And—”

  “You’d be amazed at the extent of her capabilities with research,” Jon said quickly. “Let us help you pick all this up—”

  “Oh, no! You two go on up to bed. This is nothing. Evan and I will have it done in no time,” Julie said.

  “Please. We’re just grateful you’re here,” Evan said. “Please! Get some rest!”

  Jon reached for Kylie’s hand, noting the concern in her green and gold eyes. He gave her an encouraging smile.

  “Have you looked up the ghosts of this house?” Kylie asked Evan.

  “No. There are no ghosts,” Evan said.

  “Then we do have a murderer running around and sneaking in,” Julie murmured.

  Evan shook his head. “We’re next to two burial grounds, as you noted, Kylie. One of the first fortifications was near here. Through all these years, countless people have died. But none of the stories were about a bad or vengeful ghost anyway. A Pilgrim who lost his wife is supposed to wander around. And a woman who died in childbirth. But not in the house—just on the grounds or in the area. There was a small structure here before this house was built.”

  “Good
to know you have friendly ghosts,” Kylie said lightly, and then she allowed herself to wave goodnight as Jon led her from the dining table and through the living room and up the stairs.

  “What do you think?” Kylie asked Jon when they reached the room. “Here’s hoping there is a playful ghost around who is trying to tease Julie and cause a little mischief.”

  “Right. Here’s hoping! Anyway, as we both know, they’re usually polite enough to knock. And a lot of these ghosts would have been Puritans . . .”

  “We could shock them, Jon!”

  “Okay, sounds fun,” he said.

  She smiled, laughed, and pulled him to her.

  It was a while before they curled together and tried to sleep.

  Jon felt Kylie’s easy breathing first. He lay awake, thinking about the notes he had read. The victims had been found by the sides of rural roads outside of Boston. They had weathered many cuts and abrasions. The medical examiner believed they had been held and cut and beaten before they’d been killed—a knife across the throat in the end.

  Which meant there was a possibility the missing two women and young man could still be alive.

  He wasn’t sure what drew him to the window, but he rose and looked out the back. He quickly caught his breath, noting a strange shadow by a massive pine out where the property line ended and some famous New England forest began. He waited, watching.

  And saw it again.

  He glanced at Kylie. She looked like the proverbial angel sleeping so sweetly. As silently as he could, he slipped into a shirt and jeans, got his Glock, and headed out.

  Part 2

  Strange Guests

  Somewhere deep inside, Kylie knew it was happening again.

  She could see the girl, but she was the girl.

  There were two others near her.

  A young man lay on the floor; the crooked length of his leg suggested it was broken. It appeared he had passed out from pain.

  Another girl was near the body Kylie seemed to be occupying. Like the girl Kylie could feel, she was tied, her wrists together, and her arms suspended from the ceiling.

  “He’s going to come back,” the other girl whispered.

  “Yes, he’ll come back,” the first girl said. Kylie could almost feel the voice coming from her. She could feel the despair and the pain the girl was feeling. “He’ll come back, and there is no help, no one who could hear us, the closest house . . . isn’t close.”

  “He’ll finish one of us this time!” the second girl whispered.

  Kylie never realized she had risen. Or that she had dressed.

  She didn’t know she was swiftly going down the stairs. Nor did she realize she left through the back door, as if she knew the house, knew the backyard, knew the neighborhood.

  She walked into the forest behind the house, guided by a great moon rising high in the night sky, not full, but full enough to guide her.

  She only knew she was headed for a farmhouse.

  Because she could remember getting there. He had slipped something into her coffee when they had been joking and laughing. She’d managed to walk out, thinking she was sick, trying to get out as quickly as possible. She had thought he’d been trying to buy pills, and he thought she sold them, but she didn’t, she . . .

  She was vaguely awake when he parked the car and dragged her through the woods.

  To the old barn. A red, old-fashioned—charming, even—New England barn.

  It was near the great cemetery where so many of the early settlers lay. Their memorials had been made of wood and had not survived the ravages of the ages. But they were there—the dead who had lived and learned and worked and strived far in the past.

  The farmhouse lay almost on hallowed ground. But it was just off in another grove of trees.

  Kylie paused when she reached it, torn. She knew who she was, and she didn’t understand how she was seeing into another woman’s mind.

  She had a moment—a terrible moment—when it dawned on her, that she had walked into the night.

  Alone.

  With nothing.

  But the barn was ahead.

  And those in it were still alive. Yet as she stared at it, the bushes rustled. And before she could react, a rope had been thrown around her. As she struggled, she saw her captor and heard him shouting insanely at her, “You! You will not save your friends! You—all of you peddling poison to children—will pay the price! You will pay the price!”

  She managed to kick him in the face.

  But she didn’t know if there was any way she could escape . . .

  Or if she would become like the victim she had felt and seen with her strange, emphatic mind.

  *

  Jon quickly saw the strange shadow he had seen in the back yard was not . . .

  Not someone among the living. And, of course, the person would not expect to be accosted by him. But he was an FBI agent, and harassing the couple in the house was wrong.

  There could be laws, he thought dryly, if only most of the population saw the dead, rather than just a percentage of a percent.

  The man was standing by the tree just watching Jon. His dress indicated he was a Puritan—cape with a collar, breeches, stockings, black shoes, and a hat.

  He was looking at Jon curiously because Jon was walking straight toward him.

  “What you’re doing is wrong,” Jon said, his voice even and modulated but strong. He stopped directly in front of the dead man. “Wrong!” he repeated.

  The ghost looked around and then at Jon.

  “Yes, I’m talking to you,” Jon said.

  And the man shook his head. “No, I would not do anything wrong.”

  “You made a turkey stand up as if it could stare at a woman.”

  “Oh!” the ghost said, but he shook his head. “No, no, my good man. I . . . he was in the house! The man who has taken the young man and the women. He was in the house. I feared for the goodwife in that house, sir! I moved the turkey, so he feared what he saw . . . and left!”

  “Someone was in the house? Someone—living?” Jon asked.

  “Aye, friend. And I must hurry now. Because she is living, and you are living . . . and you must do something, for I fear greatly for them. Though she walked by as you spoke to me; she was not coerced.”

  “Wait, wait! What, who?”

  “A woman, tall and lovely, like a whisper in the night.”

  “She went where?” Jon demanded.

  Kylie? Why would she walk out in the night—right past him? How did he not see or hear her?

  “Come. I will lead you.”

  The ghost turned and started into the woods. Jon followed, batting back branches, trying not to trip over tree roots.

  “Hurry, please, hurry!” he urged.

  They walked far, going uphill.

  It was much easier for the ghost.

  But by the moonlight, he could then see the remnants of an old barn through the trees, and he heard voices.

  Kylie’s voice.

  “What are you talking about? And what are you doing to people? No, I don’t sell drugs. And I know for a fact you have a woman who doesn’t sell drugs. You’re killing people! You think you’re judge and jury, and you’re killing people! You have no right. Don’t you see? What you’re doing is as bad as what you think they’re doing. Worse—”

  “They killed her. Mattie was sweet and innocent and lost, and they sold her poison, and they killed her. And they’re all going to pay. And you’re a liar, and you’re going to pay.”

  Jon heard the man’s voice, tinged with paranoia and tears and anger.

  He left the ghost behind and ran.

  Bursting out into a rough clearing before the old barn, he saw Kylie on the ground wrestling with her attacker.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop! Get up, or I’ll shoot!”

  The man didn’t hear him.

  Jon fired a warning shot. And the tableau before him went still.

  Then Kylie gave a mighty shove pushing the man o
ff her.

  “In the barn!” she cried. “He has three people in the barn!”

  Jon walked over. The man hadn’t risen. He was glad he always kept plastic cuffs in his pocket; the man was down, but you never knew when someone might get up.

  The fellow was young, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six.

  There were tears in his eyes.

  “They deserved to die. They killed Mattie. They will kill others. I had to stop them.”

  Jon looked at Kylie anxiously.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

  He dialed 911 and then he called Evan. Jon and Kylie hurried into the barn, hoping they had arrived in time.

  Thanksgiving

  The night went insane. And it stretched far into the morning.

  The three young people in the barn were alive. Two of them would be prosecuted for selling illegal drugs.

  But they would live.

  The young man who had killed as if he’d been judge and jury was Reginald Vector, and his little sister had died from a bad batch of a street drug.

  He’d suffered with mental difficulties, and his sister’s death had sent him over the edge.

  They learned all this as the hours went on, and they looked at one another and explained to the authorities that strange things had been happening at the house, and they’d followed a trail through the woods.

  Their stories were easily accepted.

  Finally, sipping coffee at the house, Jon explained to Julie he feared the man had gotten into the house, believing she or Ethan were part of the drug trade.

  It was while they were in the kitchen talking that Jon looked out the back window. And he saw the man who had helped him the night before.

  He glanced at Kylie and then looked at Julie. “Ghosts do exist,” he told her. “One saved Kylie’s life, and he scared a killer out of your house. Excuse me, please. I have to thank him.”

  He walked out followed by Kylie.

  “My good man,” Jon said. “I thank you. From the bottom of my heart. My name is Jon Dickson. This is my fiancée, Kylie Connolly.”

  “I am Jedediah Smith,” the man said, giving a courtly nod to Kylie.

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith!” Kylie said. “Thank you so very much. Today is Thanksgiving Day, and I have so much to be thankful for—my life, you.”