Nightingale

Prologue

I was only 13 years old when I found Peter Foster's battered and broken corpse tangled in the underbrush along the river's edge. Inevitable as it was, I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't come to pass. As my best friend Marli and I stood there holding hands in fear, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed the river would reclaim our dead classmate. I opened my eyes to stare down into the milky blue deadness of his and knew I'd have to tell my secret...I dreamt about his murder before it happened.

I told my mama about the nightmares weeks before, when they first started. She told me it was just a bad dream and suggested I keep a dream journal. Something about writing them down would make them seem less frightening and maybe I could figure out why I was having them. The only thing my journal helped me figure out was where to find his body.

Marli stared at me with a strange calmness. "You knew where he was the whole time, didn't you?"

I nodded slowly, unable to tear my eyes from the carnage only feet away from us. "Yes."

"You gots it all in that notebook you been carryin' around, don't you?" she asked.

I began to shake with fear. "Yes, but you can't tell anyone, Marli. Folks around here will think I'm crazy for sure! We have to keep it a secret."

Marli never took her eyes off me and held my hand tight in hers. "How did you know, Sam? How did you know where he at? You know who did this to him?"

I swallowed hard and did my best to hold back the tears. "I've been dreaming about it for weeks now."

Marli's grip on my hand relaxed, and she reached into the pocket of her blue jean shorts. "Did you do it, Sam?" she whispered, as she pulled out a small pocket knife.

I stared at her in disbelief. "Hell no! You know I couldn't do something like that!" I yelled as I swung my hand towards Peter's body.

"Why you didn't tell nobody?" she asked calmly as she straightened out the blade of her pocket knife.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Was she scared of me? Did she think I'd asked her to come with me so I could hurt her? "Marli, I told Mama about it, but she told me it was just a bad dream. She told me it might help if I wrote my dreams down, but all I could remember when I'd wake up is the pictures I'd seen in my head. So I just started drawing everything I remembered, and all of it led here," I cried and threw my hands in the air. "I sure couldn't tell nobody else; they'd send me to Pleasant Manor for sure!"

Marli nodded. She knew firsthand about the asylum in the next county and told me all about it. Everyone in Crafton whispered about Marli's Aunt Earnestine being a voodoo lady. So many people talked about it that they finally had her committed. Marli had been to see her a time or two and said that place was creepy.

"Give me your hand," Marli said quietly.

I stretched it out, and she quickly made a tiny slit in the center of my palm. I screamed and jerked my hand away. "Why did you cut me?!" I watched her quickly slice her own and squeeze the blood from the cut until it dripped slowly from her hand.

"Now do yours," Marli said with urgency. "Hurry up before mine stops!"

I instantly understood and squeezed the tiny cut in my palm, but nothing would come out. "I don't think you got it deep enough, Marli. The cut is there, but it won't bleed."

Marli sighed impatiently and grabbed my hand. "Just give me yours and I'll drip mine on it."

I watched as she smeared her palm with mine and clamped it tight. "So what's the pact?" I asked.

Marli looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds. "I won't tell your secret if you won't tell mine."

I looked at her with confusion, "What secret?"

Marli stared blankly at our joined hands. "I can see spirits," she whispered.

I could tell she wasn't joking. "Can you see Peter?" I barely breathed.

She shook her head. "No, the only one I ever seen is my mama. She comes and talks to me sometimes," she said quietly. "Aunt Ernie used to see her, too. It's why Daddy stuck her in Pleasant Manor. That's why you can't tell nobody about it."

I nodded. "I'll never tell nobody. I swear."

We looked at each other and smiled and then realization struck. "What are you going to do about him?" Marli asked and nodded towards Peter's body.

I took a deep breath. "I guess I'm gonna have to tell the police. It's not right to leave him here and not tell nobody. Maybe they won't think I'm crazy. I've heard of police using psychics on murder cases. You think if I give them my notebook, they could use it for clues?"

Marli shrugged. "Don't sound like a good idea to me, but I don't think you got any other choice."

Without another word, we jumped onto our bicycles and quickly pedaled our way through the woods, following the deer trails leading us to Peter's final resting place and back to the main road. School would be letting out about now and our parents would know we'd ditched any minute. As we rolled into town, I told Marli to go on home so she'd be there in time to get her sisters off the bus. I watched her ride away and forced myself to head in the direction of the police station. I parked my bike next to the front door and made my way to the little office with the glass window.

I smiled politely at the older lady behind the glass and pulled my notebook out of my backpack. "Who is the detective looking for Peter Foster?"

She looked at me apprehensively. "Detective George Mitchell is leading the Foster case. Why? Are you a friend of Peter's?"

I looked down at the floor and swallowed hard. "Um...no, ma'am, not exactly."

"Then why are you here?" she asked cautiously.

I felt tears sting my eyes. "Well...I know where he is," I choked out.

She smiled so brightly that I felt my heart break. "Oh, thank God! His parents will be so relieved!" she screamed and jumped to her feet to look out the glass around me. "Is he with you, sweetie? Is he ok?"

As her eyes met my tearful ones, she collapsed into her chair. "No, ma'am," I sniffed. "He's not ok."

She pursed her lips tightly and began punching the buttons on her phone. "George, it's Karen," she said into the handset. "There's a girl here who says she knows where Peter is. I think you better come up here."

A man about my dad's age swung open the door beside the office. His eyebrows were pushed together, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or worried. "I'm Detective George Mitchell," he said gruffly as he hovered over me. "Do you have information on the whereabouts of Peter Foster?"

I couldn't help but stare at the large pistol on his hip. My courage was fading fast. "I'm, uh, Samantha Mathis, and, uh, yes, yes, sir, I do," I stammered nervously.

"Well, let's have it girl. What is it?" he bellowed impatiently.

I wanted to turn and run, but my legs wouldn't move. "He's down by the river, sir. He's... um...well...you see, he's dead, sir," I managed to choke out.

He looked at me in disbelief. "How do you know?"

I swallowed hard and looked him straight in the face. "I knew he was there because I had a nightmare about where to find him, so I skipped school today and rode my bike out there to make sure. He was there, Detective Mitchell, and this will help you find him," I said and handed him my notebook.

Detective Mitchell jerked the notebook out of my hand and slowly turned the pages. I watched his face pale and his chin quiver and then his jaw hardened as his face turned an unnatural shade of red. "Come with me," he growled as he grabbed my arm and dragged me down the corridor.

That day changed my life forever. Had I known what the future held in store for me, I never would have told my secret. Little did I know the next murder I dreamt of would be my own.