Together in Darkness Read online

  "Okay, get some coffee and call me back."

  A small light appeared on the driver's console, reminding him he needed gas. He pulled into the first gas station he came upon. After filling the tank, he went inside, grabbed two bottles of water, some donuts, and a huge carton of chocolate milk to ease the sting in his stomach.

  His cell phone shrilled as he came out the door. “Austin."

  "Where are you?” Linc Anderson asked.

  "New York. Why?” He peeled open the carton of milk and took a swig.

  "The Storm is a book and movie based on a true story of the Andrea Gale, a fishing vessel lost in a freak storm in 1991."

  "Where?"

  "Gloucester, Massachusetts."

  Jake threw the package of donuts on the passenger seat. He jumped into his car and dug out the road atlas.

  "I guess I'm headed to Gloucester."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Allison, it's a pleasure to see you again,” Dr. Paul Kincaid said, moving toward her.

  "I wish I could say the same."

  Paul Kincaid, a friend from her college days, had taken over Dr. Lomax's practice when he retired. It felt strange being here and not seeing the warm smile and twinkling eyes of Gil Lomax. She remembered the first time she'd come here, nineteen years old and unsure of her sanity. It had seemed at first, she'd lost touch with reality. Dr. Lomax had helped her realize only she could take control of her life and move past the tragedy.

  "Come, sit down. If I weren't a professional, I'd say my heart was crushed."

  Her brief laugh was stifled by nerves. As he sat down, Paul switched on the nearby tape recorder. “Now, tell me what upset you enough to call me."

  Allison sat stiff-backed in the soft leather chair, her hands clasped in her lap to keep them from shaking. What could she tell him? How much would she reveal?

  Allison looked around the office, taking a moment to calm her nerves. Paul had painted the room a peaceful beige color and replaced the old, worn desk with one that had deep, rich cherry coloring. The bookcase was not more than a quarter full, where Dr. Lomax had kept it overflowing. Paul would fill it in time, she had no doubt.

  Allison gathered her nerve. “I've been having strange visions—I mean, dreams,” she said, and then licked her lips. “Violent nightmares."

  Paul nodded as he flipped through a thick file with mountains of notes, test results, and letters accumulated during the spell when Allison thought she'd lost her grip on reality. “How long have you been having these dreams?"

  "Not long. They just started a couple of days ago.” This time.

  "The anniversary of your parents’ death is coming up. Do you think these images could be your mind recalling the tragedy?” Paul's powerful brown eyes filled with compassion, making Allison want to cry.

  "They aren't dreams about my parents, Paul. It's more like I'm in someone else's head."

  "You're outside yourself.” Paul leaned forward, elbows on the desk and fingers steepled in front of him. “What is that telling you?"

  "I don't know.” That she'd lost her mind, again. Allison shook her head.

  "It's been a long time, Allison. Ten years. Perhaps you're trying to break free, wanting to heal."

  At first she didn't speak. What good would it do? Let him believe what he liked.

  "I'm not broken, Paul. I have a nice home, a good job. My life is fine,” she snapped.

  "Now you're getting defensive.” His smile patronized her.

  She started to say something, but he held his hand up. “I'm just offering you a reasonable alternative."

  Allison sighed. “I know. I'm sorry. I haven't slept for the last few nights. I have no right to vent on you."

  He smiled. “You know you can call me anytime, day or night."

  "Thanks.” Gathering her purse, she rose.

  "You don't have to go,” he said. “We've only just begun, and there's still time."

  "It's all right,” Allison responded, trying to smile. This was a mistake. “I should go."

  Paul turned off the recorder before following her. He braced his hand against the door to keep her from opening it.

  "Since we're no longer in doctor/patient mode, can I say something?"

  She leaned away from him. “Sure."

  "I meant what I said before. Call me anytime, day or night."

  She nodded. “Thanks."

  "We are friends, Allison. That hasn't changed. If you're uncomfortable talking to me as a psychiatrist then talk to me as a friend. We used to do that. Why don't you have dinner with me?"

  "I don't know.” Her face turned toward the door and her body followed. “That's...."

  His right hand brushed her shoulder before falling away. “It will do you good to get out. You work those late hours, spend too much time alone, and now you're not sleeping. You need to be around people, even if it's only for a little while."

  Allison seemed frozen to the spot, at war within herself. She and Paul had been good friends in college and she'd known he'd wanted it to be more. It certainly wouldn't hurt to have dinner with him, or would it? Would he analyze every word she spoke, every movement, no matter how small? Would he read something into the slightest hesitation?

  "I'll leave my shrink cap at home,” he said, almost as if he'd read her thoughts. Paul peeked around to look at her face. “I promise."

  His perfectly lined white teeth winked at her from his full-lipped smile. Uncharacteristically handsome features pleaded with her to accept.

  "Okay, dinner.” Allison sighed. “Call me later."

  She quickly opened the door and rushed away from his confident response, not sure she'd made the right decision.

  Allison couldn't believe she'd agreed to dinner. Although she and Paul Kincaid were friends in college, he was now her psychiatrist, so it seemed inappropriate. Okay, so he had inherited her case from Dr. Lomax, but that still made him her doctor.

  "Maybe he's right,” she said, clicking her seatbelt into place. “Maybe I need a night out to clear my head."

  "That is not all you need."

  Allison screamed and slammed on her brakes. A car honked as it passed. The voice behind her went on.

  "I see your driving has not improved so much."

  Allison cringed as she looked at her great-grandmother in the back seat.

  "Hello, Yanni.” She knew Yanni showing up meant something was about to happen. Allison had first seen her great-grandmother when she'd turned thirteen. It had been ten years since she saw her last.

  "I have always been here, little one. You chose not to see me."

  "You're dead, Yanni, a ghost. Choosing to block you out of my life was part of my healing process."

  Allison pulled into traffic and drove home as quickly as the speed limit allowed.

  "So many things have changed. Everything goes so fast."

  Not everything changes, Allison thought as she passed the fisherman's statue and the quiet waters of the inlet. She glanced back at the small woman peering through the window, her dark curls partially hidden under a colorful kerchief and a bright yellow, silk blouse brightening her bronzed skin. “It's been a long time."

  "Longer for you than me. Something bad is coming. Waffedi."

  Allison wondered what her grandmother meant, but when she turned to ask, Yanni was gone. Puzzled and a little frightened, she hurried home to her sanctuary and solitude.

  That evening, in front of the full-length mirror, Allison studied the dress she had chosen to wear for dinner the next night, holding it up to her body. It had been years since she'd been out to dinner, much less on a date.

  "He cannot help you, tarno luludi."

  Allison jumped, startled by the voice, and tripped when she turned around. Yanni stood in the doorway. Her flowing floral skirt went all the way to the floor. When she moved, the bracelets on her wrists jangled. At the moment, her arms were folded across her chest and her ruby lips puckered in a frown.

&
nbsp; "I suppose you already know what's going on."

  "I know that your powers have suddenly burst free after years of confinement and neglect."

  "You helped me confine them, as I recall."

  Allison forced back the hurt that came remembering the night her parents died. The night she'd sworn never again to use her gifts.

  Yanni sat on the corner of the bed. “Kincaid does not understand your abilities."

  Allison said, “He's a friend, someone to talk to."

  "He is a head doctor.” Yanni pursed her lips. “You can talk to me."

  "Sure, that would help. Then he really would think I'd lost my mind.” Allison sighed. “I need conversation with a living, breathing body. A person I can see and others can see, as well."

  "Humph! ‘Tis not so important for those like us."

  "Says you,” Allison mumbled. “I still don't want this. I've been doing fine without it."

  "Bah! You have had no life.” Yanni spread her arms wide and turned in a circle. “You close yourself up here, work late at night so you do not have to be around people."

  "I'm stronger alone.” Allison hugged her waist.

  Yanni's eyes softened. “You have no idea how strong you can be. Your visions are only the beginning."

  "I don't like these visions. This man frightens me.” Allison fiddled with the sugilite pendant she wore around her neck.

  "You are linked with him,” Yanni said matter-of-factly.

  "But why now? Why someone like him?” Allison combed slender fingers through the hair on her forehead.

  "Questions, questions. Can you not just accept that you are blessed and embrace it?"

  "Cursed!” Allison fumed. “I watched my parents die in my head then had to go identify the bodies. That's no blessing."

  "It was meant to be."

  Allison winked back the hot sting of tears.

  "You have gypsy blood flowing through your veins, Allison. Although Christine loved Michael very much, your mother's choice not to embrace his heritage played a role in their deaths. She would not believe."

  Yanni moved to her side. “It was not your fault."

  "I should have told her I had a vision that night, but I said nothing."

  "It would not have made a difference."

  "I should have talked to Daddy or told Nick to pretend to be sick or something, anything. I let them drive off."

  Yes, they had driven away. A light drizzle had begun, making the roads slick. Her mother had laughed at something her father had said. Allison smiled. He had a quick wit. Her smile withered. They went around the curve, straight into a head-on collision with a drunk driver, over the edge and down the embankment. Michael had died instantly.

  Allison threw up her hands. “I can't do this, Yanni.” She left the room. Yanni followed her.

  "The time is coming when you will have no choice,” Yanni whispered, and then she disappeared.

  Allison only relaxed again when she sat on her comfy chair, legs curled under her, holding a nice warm cup of tea. This had been a day from hell. Pressure pulsed in her head, shooting pain behind her left eye. She set her cup on the small table next to her chair and massaged her temples, but it didn't help. Sluggishly, she padded her way to the kitchen to find her pills.

  As she stood at the sink filling a small glass with water, a sharp, jabbing pain in the front of her head caused disorientation. Suddenly, places she recognized flashed like a slideshow—Gloucester High School, St. Joseph's Chapel and R&N's Department Store. She trembled, and the glass shattered as it fell from her nerveless fingers. She saw a young woman's face and notes scribbled on paper.

  She knew this was the next victim.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was early evening when Jake Austin blew into the East Coast town of Gloucester. The suit he'd changed into looked as though he'd slept in it, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He headed straight for the police station. Parking in front of a local restaurant on Main Street, Jake secured his gun in its holster and grabbed his jacket. He walked a block to the building that housed the police station and courthouse.

  No one else knew this killer so well ... too well. Every sign, every perverse pleasure the killer took in his deeds were fused in Jake's mind. He hadn't been able to think of anything else for so long.

  Bone weary and frayed, Jake stepped into the police station. Inside the small lobby, the desk officer sat behind a window. Jake picked up the black phone on the wall and buzzed in, asking to speak with the lead detective.

  A haggard-looking man in his fifties, slightly graying and a little overweight, appeared several minutes later.

  "Hello,” he said sticking out his hand. “I'm Detective Bill Lancaster."

  "Jake Austin, FBI.” He shook Lancaster's hand and showed him his identification. Lancaster looked at it long and hard before returning it to Jake.

  "How can I help you, Agent?"

  "If we could go some place more private, I can explain,” Jake offered.

  "Follow me."

  Jake followed the older man to a small conference room, and Lancaster motioned for him to sit. “Now?"

  "I'm tracking a killer."

  "Are you out of the Lowell office?” Lancaster dropped into a chair opposite him.

  "No.” Jake said, a little too impatiently. He stopped, and took a deep calming breath.

  "I'm straight from Virginia. I was in New York, following the trail of dead bodies."

  "What brought you here?"

  "A logical progression.” Couldn't this guy make the connection without a map?

  "How do you figure?"

  The detective appeared uninterested, but Jake pressed on. “He's following a path, a route he's planned down to the last detail, and Gloucester is the next point."

  Lancaster straightened. “You just follow along?"

  Jake inclined his head.

  "What do you need from me?"

  "He targets women in their early twenties, reddish brown hair, five feet two to five feet five inches tall."

  "The last murder we had here was a year and a half ago."

  Denial. Great. “It's coming.” Jake's voice sounded hollow, even to him.

  His expression guarded, Lancaster leaned forward. “What do you expect me to do, Austin?"

  Jake didn't even hesitate. He stared into the other man's face, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. “Help me try to stop him before he murders again."

  "I can't track down every woman who fits that profile,” the other man said with a snort. “Do you have any clue what you're asking?"

  "What about DMV records?” Damn, couldn't Lancaster see how important this was?

  "That would take time and resources we don't have."

  Jake sat back abruptly. “He'll kill again, damn it."

  Lancaster said nothing.

  Disappointed but not deterred, Jake pulled out his card. “Okay, Detective. Here's my cell number. I'll be in town for a couple of days. If anything suspicious happens, please contact me."

  Lancaster took the card and slid it into his shirt pocket. “I'll keep that in mind."

  "No need to show me out. I'll find my way,” Jake said, opening the conference room door.

  Lancaster headed back to his desk. “Hey, Rich."

  "Bill. Who's the suit?” Rich Simpson asked as he hiked his butt onto the edge of the desk.

  "Fed.” Lancaster sat down in his raggedy chair and picked up a folder from the pile in front of him.

  "What's he doing here?"

  "He wanted to warn me about a killer who's stalking women.” Lancaster shook his head at the absurdity of the Fed's request.

  "Why?"

  "Because he thinks the next victim lives in Gloucester."

  "That's strange, to just show up out of the blue. Is he alone?"

  "We didn't really get into it, but I think so.” Lancaster gave up trying to work and found his coffee cup.

  "What do you think?
” Rich leaned back and stretched his hands above his head.

  "He looked real ragged."

  "Burn out? Nut case?"

  Lancaster thought the same. “Could be, or maybe he gets off chasing killers.” Lancaster walked over to the small table that held the coffee maker to fill his cup with muddy liquid.

  "Maybe he loves his job.” Rich snickered.

  "Sure, that's an option."

  "You gonna tell the Chief? He'll curse three sides of Sunday."

  Lancaster had been a cop too long not to understand the seriousness of the situation if a serial killer was loose in Gloucester.

  "I'll make a call, check his credentials.” Lancaster returned to the well-worn chair behind his gray metal desk and dialed up the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Time to find out more about Jake Austin.

  He spoke with an agent on the phone. “Are you sure it's Jake Austin?"

  "That's the name he gave me,” Detective Lancaster said frowning.

  "Six-one, dark hair, superior attitude,” the agent ground out.

  Lancaster chuckled. “Yeah, that's him. Are you going to answer my question?"

  "I can tell you that Austin has been the lead on The Surgeon case. I'll get back to you, Detective."

  Lancaster stared at the buzzing phone receiver in his hand. “Typical Bureau bullshit.” It left more questions.

  * * * *

  It had been a while since he'd eaten, so Jake kept his eyes open for a restaurant. He saw a sign for The Stern Trawler, which boasted both food and lodging.

  "Perfect.” He strode up to the brick building's brightly painted front door and went inside. A few people sat at the bar, while a fair-haired woman with a pleasant smile wiped the counter. He took a seat on one of the open bar stools.

  She looked up when he sat down. “What can I get ya?"

  "Beer."

  She tossed the wet rag under the bar, grabbed a bottle and flipped the cap before setting it in front of him.

  Jake took a swig of the brew, letting an appreciative moan escape before saying, “I saw on your sign that you offer lodging."

  "We do,” she replied, adding a nice smile.

  Looking over the bottle he said, “Do you have anything available?"

  "Actually, sweetie, one room just opened up. Normally, this time of year, we're full."