Haunted Prey: Supernatural Mystery, #2

By DJ Jewett

Teen girls are vanishing, and the people of Black Cove are quaking in fear.

The police are baffled – because supernatural forces are involved; so they call in a team of ghost busters – Lu Jackson and Mo Rennik.

Lu and Mo are drawn to a demon-infested mansion and a haunted village. In a race against time, they must reveal the kidnapper, before the girls are killed.

Yet what they find is horrific …

Set near Salem, on the north coast of Massachusetts, Haunted Prey is the second in a series of haunting, horror, and mystery; featuring our intrepid psychic heroes, Lucius Jackson and Maureen Rennik.

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This story can be read independently, but follows on from Haunted Murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JT Media
• Release date: Jan 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393716266

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Haunted Prey

A Supernatural Mystery (book 2)

Copyright © 2018 by David Jewett.  All rights reserved.

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

If you have acquired this printed copy without a cover, then please know that the author did not receive a royalty payment for this copy, and this is, therefore, an illegal copy.

If this is an electronic book (eBook, Kindle, mobi, .pdf, or any non-printed form), then this eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.  If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

ISBN-13:  978-1393716266

Published by:  JTMedia

http://www.davidjewettauthor.com

www.jtmediapublishing.com

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Prologue

IN THE DARKNESS OF NIGHT , the torrent of rain descended from the heavens, spattering against the sidewalk with the staccato of machine gun fire.  The sound was urgent, an imperative; as though life were hanging in the balance.

Yet the rain shimmered in the glow from an overhead street lamp, illuminating the mirror-like sheen across the pavement’s surface.  It was a scene that belied the demands of the moment; indeed, it denied the quick pace of the tall man, striding along the sidewalk.

He wore a hat and a trench coat, his hands shoved deep into its pockets.  The collar was pulled high around his neck, and the hat was firmly planted, with the brim shedding rain onto his hunched shoulders.

His stride propelled him past the street lamp.  He brushed against it, in too much of a hurry to even notice.

He raised his head, and then a sneeze exploded outward into the air.  He didn't even break stride when he pulled out a handkerchief.  He wiped his nose then shoved it back into his pocket.

With his every step, the sharp click of a cleat striking stone rang out.  His footsteps carried him into the shadow between street lamps, and then quickly brought him into the light of an adjacent lamp.

But this lamp flickered, probably because of the dampness.  Yet like the torrent of rain, it too conveyed an imperative.

And yet the man's stride was constant – click, click, click – even as he coughed up a wad and spat it out to his left, in the direction of the curb.

He came to a house and turned into it, quickly climbing the stairway to a covered porch.  He found himself between two doors – the house was a two-family.

Stepping to the left, he raised his knuckles, then hammered on the door.

Silence.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement to his right and turned to catch it.  Yet the window was empty, and only the curtain swayed.

He knocked twice more on the left door and was rewarded with a shout from inside.  I'm comin’.  I'm comin’.

The door cracked open, and a woman with a leathery face peered through the opening.  Yeah, she slurred.  What you want?

The man brandished a leather wallet.  Detective Isaacs.  Essex County Sheriff's department.

Well why didn't ya say so, she replied as she pulled the door open.  Come on.  Come in and git out of the wet.

Isaacs stepped through the door and brushed past the woman.  He turned, watching her push the door closed.  Her shoulders stooped as she spun around and peered at him."

Lookin' for a girl, ma'am, Isaacs said.  Name's Rose Wilson.

Hmpf, she grunted.  Then she stared down at the floor and scratched her head.  Wilson.  Wilson,  she muttered.  Then she lifted her head and met Isaacs' eyes.  Nope.  I don't know no Wilson.

Isaacs furrowed his brow.  Really?

Really.  Now, why ya ask?

Because she walks by here.  Every day.

She gasped, her eyes fastening on Isaacs.  What?  I've ne'er seen her!

Isaacs rubbed his chin, said Maybe you know her under a different name?

Do – do ya 'ave a picture?

Isaacs reached into his breast pocket and produced a photo – it showed a smiling young lady, seated, immovable.  He held it up to her.

The woman carried it over to a nearby lamp, then brought it close to her eyes.  She scratched her head.  Hmmm . . .  I think – I think I seen 'er.

Where?

She gestured toward the street. Out there.  Walking.  She handed the picture back to Isaacs.

Does she come by here a lot?

Yeah.  Like clockwork.  She scratched her head and continued, But –

But what?

She looked into Isaacs' eyes.  – but I ain't seen 'er for two days.

Do you ever talk with her?

Naw.  Not really – maybe about the weather.

Last time you saw her, Isaacs continued.  Did you notice anything?

Like what?

Well, like someone following her?

The woman looked down, silent.  But then her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. There was a man – and a woman.

Can you describe 'em?

I can't ... can't remember.

How old?  Hair color?  Clothes?

About forty – both of 'em.  The man – he had brown ‘air.  The women ‘ad brown ‘air too.  The woman wore a Victorian dress.  The man ‘ad a suit, hat, gloves.

How far back were they?

Huh?

How far behind the girl were they following?

About – ah, fifty feet.

What time did you see this?

Afternoon – day before yesterday – same time she always walks by ‘ere.  She paused, said What did you say 'er name was?

Wilson.  Rose Wilson.

What do ya want her for?

Isaacs frowned, replied, She's missing, ma'am.

So?  There's lot's of people missing.

Yeah.  But we think she's been kidnapped.

Kidnapped!  She met Isaacs gaze.  Why – why nothin' that exciting ne'er happens here.

Well, Isaacs replied, it's happened now.  He paused, then continued, We’re not sure if she’s dead or alive, but we need to find her as fast as we can.

ISAACS DESCENDED THE stairs and turned left, retracing his steps along the street.  He was teamed with another detective, and was intent on rejoining him.

His head was sunken into his shoulders, trying to hide from the rain; now just a drizzle.  He looked forward, then glanced to his right and stopped.  He remained still, unmoving, as he peered toward the other side of the street.  Then he stepped off the curb and crossed.

He approached an object laying on the far edge of the road.  Producing a flashlight, he flicked on the switch and pointed the beam at it.  He stood over it, gazing at it, scrutinizing it.  It was a shoe, the kind that would be worn by a young woman.  The kind that might be worn by the missing girl.

A low whistle flowed between his lips.

He raised his head, looking along the street in each direction.  Then he turned and focused toward the sidewalk, past it, into a wall of trees and brush.

He approached the wall, then stopped directly in front of it.  The brush was dense, and it protected a stand of trees behind it.

A handkerchief appeared in his hand.  He attached it to a branch, then he began walking, slowly, following the edge of the wall, playing the beam of his flashlight along the ground.  Twenty feet in one direction, and then 40 feet back in the opposite direction.  Nothing.

He turned and retraced his steps back to the shoe, playing the beam in front of him.  He reached the shoe and stooped, shining the flashlight on and around it; then he grasped it, rising to a standing position.

As he resumed his hike, he directed the beam along the edge of the brush.  He was now retracing his direction, but on the opposite side of the street.

He walked about 75 yards when he spied a man.  The man was across the street, leaning nonchalantly against a light pole.  He had a faint glow cupped in his hand.  Isaacs crossed the road.

The man stood up as Isaacs approached.  He flicked a cigarette butt into the street.

What ya find out? he said.

Isaacs sighed. She came by here alright; but the day before yesterday, she was being followed.

By who?

I dunno.  He gestured back to the house he'd come from.  The lady said it was two people – man and woman – but she's never seen 'em before.

The man pointed at the shoe.  What’s that?

Isaacs held it up so he could see it.

Hmpf, he grunted.  Where’d you find it?

On the edge of the road.  Tossed away.

Hmpf, the man grunted again.  Then he peered at Isaacs.  We've covered a lot of ground with this one, and then there’s the girl who disappeared two weeks ago.  Nothing on either of 'em.

Yep, Isaacs replied, his shoulders hunched.

Whatcha gonna do? The man said.

What the Sheriff told me to do, Isaacs replied with a smirk.  I'll call Lucius Jackson.

Huh?  Who's he?

He's into ghosts.

What?  What's that got to do with anything?

Don't ask.

Monday, October 12, 1925, 9:30am - Lu and Mo Receive a Visit From Isaacs

ISAT ACROSS THE DESK and gazed patiently at her.  Well?  What do you think?

Maureen leaned back in her chair.  She held up a lit match between two fingers, then exhaled cigarette smoke.  Her breath flowed like a breeze from the ocean, dissolving the flame into a ghostly wisp.

She met my gaze and smiled.  I couldn't help but notice how her fingers closed around the cigarette holder, and her wrist was turned in a flirtatious gesture.  And then there was the smoke, wafting off the tip of the cigarette; rising in a narrow, curling column.

She looked into my eyes as she drew on the cigarette.

Well – what do you think? I said for the third time.

Oh Lucius, she replied, her eyes smiling, I think it's a grand idea – you and me as partners.

Her smile was infectious, and so I smiled too.

But then I became curious.  What name do you favor?

What?

I said, what name should we use for our business?  Especially, what name would you put on it?

Oh, she squealed.  "I'd like it to be, Rennik and Jackson Ghost Investigations."

Hmmm ..., I said while puffing on my pipe.  "Why not Jackson and Rennik, instead?"

Well ... I don't know.  She hesitated, then said, Why should your name go first?

Maybe because 'J' comes before 'R' in the alphabet?  Then I gestured with my pipe.  And besides, we would be starting this from my present business as a Medium and Hypnotherapist.

But what's that got to do with it?

Simply that I'm better known than you – and my name will attract more clients.

Her face described the inner conflict she felt – a grimace, a frown, a twist of her jaw.  And then she said, pouting, Oh, all right.

I gazed at Mo from across the desk, taking in her tightly curled red hair, groomed eyelashes and penetrating eyes.  And her lipstick; it was so red, and such a contrast from her complexion.  My eyes drifted lower, noting her flapper-style dress – loose-fitting blouse worn over her waistband, and with a relaxed skirt to match.  Damn but she's beautiful, I thought.

I leaned back in my chair and said,  "I suggest we call it 'Investigations of The Unexplained'.  I smiled at her, then gestured with my pipe.  What do you think of that?"

Ooooo, she squealed.  I like it!

The ringing from the telephone swept through the office.  I plucked the earpiece off its cradle and drew the microphone to my mouth.  I gazed at Mo as I spoke into the mic.  Investigations of the Unexplained.  May I help you?

I heard a gruff voice on the other end of the line.  "Jackson?"

I paused, then spoke into the mic, Maybe.  May I ask to whom I'm speaking?

"I'll be up in fifteen.  Let's talk."

Who is this?

"Isaacs.  Detective Isaacs from the Sheriff's department.  The voice paused, then continued, You remember – we worked on that Elysium thing a few months ago."

Oh yes, Detective.  I do indeed remember.

"Good.  I'll be right up."

But, I’m planning on going out.

"Stay put, Jackson.  And I'll make it worth your while."

Click!

I put the earpiece back into its cradle and frowned, gazing at Maureen.

She raised an eyebrow and said, Who was that?

Detective Isaacs, I replied.

What did he want?

Mo wasn't alone.  I too was wondering what he wanted.  I don't know, I replied.  He was quite abrupt.  Didn't tell me what it was about.  Just said he'd be up to talk in 15 minutes.

Strange.  Very strange.

It is, indeed, I replied, leaning back in my chair.  I drew on my pipe, thinking I'd already had enough of Isaacs and his rude behavior.

MAUREEN AND I WERE still discussing our new partnership when I heard a dead thud.  I turned my attention to the door – but before I could say anything, it flew open and banged against the side wall.

As before, Detective Isaacs' large frame consumed much of the doorway, blotting out the light coming from that orifice.  And as before, he wore a disheveled suit and a fedora hat.  The brim on the hat was pulled low, obscuring his eyes.

Well, well, Detective, I said.  We are so glad to see you.

Save it, Isaacs growled.  I could see his eyes peering at me from beneath the brim.

He stepped over to the guest chair and glanced down at it.

Yes? I said to him, puffing on my pipe.

He didn't respond; just fell into the chair and allowed his body to hang over the sides.  I mentally cringed, wondering if the chair would hold.

Whew, he whistled.  You have no idea what this case has been like.  He nodded to me and glanced toward Maureen.  Miss Rennik.

Then he turned back facing me and began to speak.  Jackson –

That's Mr. Jackson, to you, I interrupted with a firm voice.

Okay.  Okay, he replied, shaking his head.  And then he continued, We've had a couple of kidnappings out around Black Cove, Beverly Farms, and Manchester.

He stopped and looked at me as though he'd just given me a world of information.

So? I replied.

So, two girls disappeared.  One of 'em got lost about two weeks ago.  But the second – she disappeared two, maybe three days ago.

How old are they?

Seventeen; both of 'em.  Their families are upper middle class – they live comfortably, but they’re not wealthy.  The girls – they were both in high school.

Townships? I said.

What?

Which towns are they from?

One from Manchester.  The other from Black Cove.

I mentally chuckled, and then said, This sounds like kidnapping.  So why call us?

Isaacs tossed a shoe on my desk.

I looked at it, then I looked at him.  What’s this?

I found it last night.  On the side of the road.

I picked the shoe off the desk and turned it over.  This looks almost new, and certainly in good condition.

That’s right, Isaacs replied.  It’s not something that someone would just throw away.

But why is it important? I said, placing the shoe back on my desk.

Because I found it near the spot where we believe she was taken.

Really now, I said, puffing on my pipe.  That would certainly seem to add a note of interest.

You’re damn right it does, Isaacs replied, frowning.

Have you shown it to the girls’ families?

Not yet.  I figured you could do that – they’ve seen enough of me.

And why is that, Detective?

Because we have no leads.  No clues.  He grimaced.  It's like they just vanished.

Vanished?

Yeah, vanished.  Like – into thin air.

Hmpf, I grunted.

Do you have any ideas?

I rubbed my chin in thought.  I wonder if this has anything to do with Elysium?  Altair?

I looked into Isaacs' eyes and said, Have you searched the Elysium Estates?

No.  Why would I?

Because there's folklore that a warlock was abducting girls in that area.

Great! Isaacs said.  First lead we've had.  Gimme the details.

I pointedly gazed at Isaacs.  It happened about 200 years ago.

Isaacs deflated like a pricked balloon.  He remained silent for a moment, then said What kind of nonsense is that?  Can't you give us anything real?

I puffed on my pipe and then gestured with it.  Really, Detective.  Do you want me to investigate?  Or not?

Isaacs' face turned wooden.  Then he said, The Sheriff wants every lead turned up on this – he wants you to work it.

That's fine.  But how about you?  Do you want me to investigate?

Hmpf, he grunted.  After the way you left the Elysium case a few months ago, I'd just as soon you stay home.

Why?

He glared at me.  Because nothing was solved.  I was left with a dead man on the floor – a knife in his back, and a corpse hanging from a noose.

That's essentially correct, Detective.  So what's your point?

My point is, Isaacs replied as he stabbed a finger at me, that you didn't solve nothin’.

I leaned forward in my chair and eyed Isaacs patiently.  Then I said, Surely, Detective.  I explained the legacy of the warlock – his name was Altair – and how he abducted girls from the surrounding communities and used them in sacrificial ritual?

Isaacs looked at me, interest growing in his gaze.

I continued,  And surely I explained how he was finally killed by the townspeople who burned his home to the ground – with him in it?

Yes.  Yes, Isaacs replied.  You explained all that.

My point, Detective, is that this sounds suspiciously like Altair's work.  Wouldn't you agree?

Isaacs grimaced, then said, It sure sounds suspicious.  I gotta give you that.

So, I think after interviewing the families of the vanished girls, we should investigate Elysium Estates.

Isaacs eyed me.  Well ...

Well what, Detective?  We have girls at serious risk here.  They may even be dead – we don't know.

And that’s the thing, Isaacs replied.

What’s that?

This latest case – the girl’s more likely to be alive.

Well, then it sounds like Mo and I need to get on it right away.

Isaacs looked at me with a steady gaze and mumbled, Do it.

What did you say?

I said, you should talk with the two families, and then investigate Elysium!

What are the names of the two families?

The first one is named Ross.  The second is named Wilson.

Isaacs handed me a piece of paper and then pointed at it.  The names and addresses are on here.

Isaacs lifted himself off the chair and stood over me, watching as I perused the sheet of paper.  I looked up at him.  Two more things, Detective.

What's that?

First, accommodations, I replied.

He raised his eyebrows.

Miss Rennik and I require accommodations at Elysium Estates.  Will you please arrange that?

Yes – certainly, Isaacs replied.  "And the other thing?

My fee.

He looked at me, pointedly.  That's taken care of Mr. Jackson.  The Sheriff told me to give you twice your usual price.

Why, that's very generous of you and the Sheriff, I said.  Thank you.

I arose from my seat and continued, I will contact you as soon as either of us have something.

Isaacs made for the door and then turned to face me. 

Reviews for Haunted Prey

[Linda Summers · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my favorite of DJ Jewett’s books! His characters become real early on and I quickly became invested in their future. I couldn’t put this book down! The storyline is well thought out and quite interesting!

Each of the author’s books can be read as stand alone books. However, I recommend you read them in the order they were written since there is a timeline noted and the central characters of Lucius and Maureen are in each of these series books.

Try just one of this author’s books and I think you will be hooked!