Shadows Fall Read online

  Shadows Fall

  Asylum Trilogy #3

  Denise A. Agnew

  Denise A. Agnew

  Contents

  Evil spreads beyond previous boundaries, beyond the horrors of the past. Only one man and one woman can stop it.

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Dedication & Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Evil spreads beyond previous boundaries, beyond the horrors of the past. Only one man and one woman can stop it.

  Melissa Allan realizes something is wrong one windy, violent day. People are getting their just deserts. Karma is piling on the punishment, even for small offenses or misunderstandings hardly worth a blink. Melissa, owner of the only new age store in Simple, realizes that the air is disturbed, and that the former asylum on the mountain has something to do with strange happenings around town.

  Ex-marine Roarke O’Bannion hasn’t seen a freak out like this since he was in war. A search for his missing mother brings him to Tranquil View Condominiums for answers. He’s not interested in the paranormal and thinks people who believe in it just need more medication. He thinks Melissa fed his mother’s belief in ghosts, and he plans on giving her a piece of his mind. Instead he finds a woman who challenges everything he’s believed in, and makes him burn with desire. When Melissa is in danger, he discovers he’ll do anything to save her, and together they’ll battle the unseen until midnight comes or the evil seething inside Tranquil View consumes them all.

  Copyright © 2016 by Denise A. Agnew

  Cover design and editing by Stacy Chitwood at NimbleForce Creations.

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  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 person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-1-942583-35-6

  Created with Vellum

  Author’s Note

  Since I was a little kid I’ve been interested in the paranormal. I always hoped I’d get a chance to explore the unknown. I’ve had the privilege of investigating haunted places with two different paranormal investigation teams. In this novel I present only one way that a fictional team might investigate a haunted asylum. Many different techniques are used throughout paranormal investigation teams/groups. Proper techniques to investigate the paranormal is still debated among teams throughout the world.

  Dedication & Acknowledgments

  As always, to my husband Terry for supporting me on this journey.

  * * *

  To Lena for her invaluable critiques and never ending friendship.

  * * *

  To Stacy Chitwood for her fantastic editing skills, superb cover artistry, and book trailer genius. You rock!

  * * *

  To Bev Schninchak, Founder/Team Lead/Senior Investigator of CSPA (Colorado Springs Paranormal Association) for her advice on paranormal investigation. Thank you Bev for all your assistance.

  * * *

  To my own team, SOS Investigations. You’re the best!

  Chapter 1

  Simple, Colorado

  Present Day

  * * *

  The scream ejected Melissa Allan straight out of deep sleep.

  She sat up, bewildered and wondering if she’d dreamed the cry. Heart pounding, she waited. Her gaze fell on her studio apartment with its calm surroundings—recliner and wingback chair near the fireplace, kitchen at the opposite end. Light streamed through the buttercup-yellow curtains from the streetlight outside. Dark hardwood floors gleamed, covered with an arrangement of rugs that would warm her feet if she rose to face the day. Coffee brewed into the stainless steel carafe—the timer must have started as usual right at six o’clock in the morning. Out on the street, the day probably had already begun. At eight o’clock she’d head down the street to her new age shop, New Beginnings. All of this was ordinary and normal for a morning. The scream had been a nightmare. That was all.

  She rolled to her left and clasped her phone. Why hadn’t her alarm gone off? Just as she had the thought, Meatloaf blared. She jumped. “Damn.” She turned off the noisemaker and took a deep breath.

  She closed her eyes and took more deep breaths, visualizing a white light surrounding her body with protection. She repeated a couple of affirmations to keep even and calm throughout the day, and that her store would attract more customers soon. Granted, coming to this town with its reputation for conservative trends may have been a bad idea, but she’d been drawn here, and she intended to see it through. After she’d completed the ritual, she swung her feet out of bed and stuffed them into fuzzy lime green slippers that went with her lime green flannels. A huge gust of wind rattled the old windows and she shivered.

  Her breath seized as another scream echoed through the morning. It was sharp, piercing, and undeniably loud. Startled, she frowned and headed directly for the two large picture windows. She peeked between the curtains. Dawn hadn’t formed quite yet at this time of the year in Simple. With high mountains surrounding the area, daylight came later.

  Melissa’s brain remained foggy; she’d stayed up way too late reading. Half-remembered dreams of monsters from the novel danced in her head. Perhaps those dreams were coming to life, because what she saw defied reality. A hoard of birds had dive-bombed two teenaged boys and one girl on the sidewalk in front of her building. She rubbed her eyes. What the hell? Had an Alfred Hitchcock movie just popped into her dreams, or was she honestly awake? She unlocked the window and slid it upwards.

  Another scream issued from the teenaged girl as she flapped her arms in defense. Melissa winced.

  Old Mrs. Gunnerson opened the window below Melissa’s apartment and yelled out at the kids, “Shut the hell up! Can’t you see good folk are trying to sleep? It’s six in the morning. What are you kids doing up this time of day?”

  The woman slammed her window. As if Mrs. Gunnerson’s voice compelled the birds to give up the attack, the creatures sailed away. The teenagers ran down the street.

  Melissa yawned. “Interesting. At least it isn’t bloody murder.”

  Before she could close the window and curtain, a big garbage truck raced down the narrow road, straddling both sides of the middle line. It had to be hurtling down the street at least twenty miles over the speed limit.

  “Give me a break,” she said in a whisper. “Is it Halloween?”

  Not for another four weeks.

  A horn blared and the screech of tires added to the cacophony. A motorcycle went up on the curb to avoid the truck and came to a stop. Mesmerized by the craziness happening right outside her building so early in the morning, she watched as the truck continued down the road without pausing. The guy on the motorcycle drove it off the curb and into a parking spot. A black leather jacket fit over broad sho
ulders. Muscular legs encased in dark denim and ending in black boots caught Melissa's attention. What she could see looked intriguing, but she’d learned from experience that once the guy took off the helmet, the fantasy didn’t often go with reality.

  Motorcycle Man pushed down the kickstand, turned off the bike, and removed his helmet. Her breath caught. Holy guacamole. Talk about a fantasy. As the rest of Motorcycle Man was revealed, what she saw interested her beyond anything she’d seen in a long time. He looked over six feet tall. Very dark hair lay close to his head—a military cut, perhaps. From this distance, she couldn’t see his features that well. With his back to her she could see he had a nice butt in jeans that fit him well, but weren’t too tight. She smiled and wondered if he was as hot up close as she imagined.

  He took two books out of a pack on his motorcycle, and looked both ways before crossing the street. He walked down the street slowly, and she craned to keep him in view a bit longer. Even his walk intrigued her. How would she describe it? He projected a great presence with that walk, a self-assurance that said messing with him would be dangerous to the health of whoever considered it. He wouldn’t necessarily pick a fight, but if someone attacked him, he’d know how to bring it. When he went out of view she groaned. Interesting. Very interesting.

  She left her vigil at the window and opened her door to get the Simple Herald. She stood at her small breakfast bar with a bowl of nuked oatmeal and read the headlines.

  Tranquil View Condominiums Only One-Fourth Filled.

  Local realtors state that they’re having difficulty selling or renting apartments at the Victorian monstrosity that was once Tranquil View Asylum, a state hospital for the insane built in 1888. Speculation is that few people can afford the high rent or purchase price in this small town. Most individuals who have purchased or rented condos at Tranquil View are from outside Simple. Rumors have spread lately that Tranquil View Condos are haunted and that is the real reason why it is difficult to get and keep tenants or buyers

  The condo units, all with luxury features and expansive square footage, were built by Steele Company which is known for renovating old asylums rather than tearing them down. The asylum was abandoned after 1988 when allegations of patient abuse came to a head. It lay in half ruins until it was purchased by Steele Company. Steele Company has financed a haunted house feature that starts this first weekend of October. All money will go to local charities. Steele Company will also have its rental/buyer office open at the same time, in case patrons may be interested in looking at a model apartment.

  “It probably is haunted,” Melissa said out loud.

  She’d wondered about the asylum and wished they had paranormal investigation teams around here. With her sensitivities she might be able to help a team. Then again, maybe not. Some of them didn’t use sensitives or psychics in their work. She didn’t blame them. Trying to keep things scientific meant not relying much on the most woo-woo aspects of the supernatural.

  Melissa flipped the pages of the paper and didn’t find too much of interest, so she finished the bowl of oatmeal and readied herself for work. That meant a quick shower and shampoo, dusting of mineral makeup, tie-dye blouse, jeans, down coat, gloves, and snow boots. The weatherman promised snow, and she was ready. She slung her black leather cross body bag over her shoulder and was out the door. Steps creaked as she headed downstairs. She stuffed her fingers into the gloves as descended.

  Mrs. Ida Lakes stood at the front door gazing outside—not an unusual occupation for the seventy-something woman. Ida was sweet, but she could also be nosy as hell. Being on the neighborhood watch had turned her into a shark in many ways.

  “Morning Ida.”

  The older woman jumped, her hand going to her chest as she turned swiftly. Her red track suit coordinated with red sneakers and a visor. Her white hair stuck out everywhere. She looked like a fashionable tomato. “Lord, girl. What are you doing? Scared me to death.”

  “Sorry.” Melissa couldn’t help smiling. “What’s going on?”

  “Did you see that young man park his motorcycle in the parking lot?”

  “I did.” Melissa slipped her arm around the shorter woman and peered out the glass front doors. “Wasn’t he a hunk?”

  Ida’s eyes widened. “Well, he was handsome enough from what little I could see.”

  Melissa cleared her throat. “Hmm.” She released her hold on Ida. “I noticed that trash truck almost took him out.”

  “Nasty business. What is the world coming to?”

  Melissa laughed. Almost every time they had a conversation, the older woman added in doom and gloom somewhere. If Melissa stayed here, she wouldn’t escape a long drawn out diatribe about weather, the economy, the political climate, and how it all spelled disaster.

  “I’d better hurry up and open the shop.” Melissa smiled and hurried away. “Have a great day."

  Ida ran after Melissa as she stepped out of the building. “That boy on the motorcycle moved into that nut house on the hill.”

  At first Melissa didn’t understand, but swiftly put two and two together. “Oh, you mean Tranquil View?”

  “Yep, that one. He moved into his mother’s condo.”

  Melissa’s stomach sank a little. So the hunk was a momma’s boy maybe? “I see.”

  “I mean, his mother went missing some time ago, and he’s here trying to figure out what happened to her.”

  “Missing? That’s awful.”

  “You remember? It was in the papers.”

  Melissa shrugged. “Vaguely, I think. I was considering dropping my subscription. It’s not really that interesting.”

  Ida grunted. “How do you expect to know what’s going on in the world? Do you watch the news?

  “Sometimes. Most of it I don’t need to know.” Melissa smiled as Ida put on her most disapproving face. “I live a nice life without it.”

  Ida grunted again. “Hmph.”

  Melissa frowned. “How do you know that’s the missing woman’s son?”

  “I met him when he helped her move in to her condo originally. He was on leave from the war.”

  Aha. So the guy was in the military. “Which war?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “Uh-huh. And he told you all this?”

  Ida flapped one hand. “No, no. You know how Simple is. Like all small towns. Word gets around.”

  Melissa smiled. “I know.” She cleared her throat. “I’d love to talk more, Ida, but I’m going to be late for work at this rate. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Colorado winds shrieked down the mountains with icy teeth. Melissa was happy for the fresh, cold breeze against her face. At an altitude of nine thousand feet, Simple usually had plenty of snow in the winter. A warm spell had melted snow last week, and although things were damp, a visitor would never know they’d had six inches of the white stuff.

  Today the sun was bright and people had begun to emerge for work. Still, traffic was light and it seemed ... quiet. She looked both ways before crossing at the pedestrian crosswalk, but a car screamed around down the street, engine roaring.

  “Look out!”

  She heard the deep male voice as she half lunged, half ran back to the sidewalk. She tripped and landed on her butt. The white-haired man driving the black Cadillac didn’t stop, but glared at her as if she’d made a stupid error. As the car rushed away, she realized that no one along the sidewalk even took notice of her near miss. A man walked her way from across the street, movements swift and economical. Mr. Tall and Hot Motorcycle Man carried the two books and take out coffee. He tossed the coffee container in the trash; maybe he’d already gulped his morning caffeine.

  “Hey, you all right?” His voice matched the rest of him—deep and smooth and sexy as sin.

  Somewhat embarrassed and angry that the car had almost plowed over her, she pulled herself off the sidewalk and back to her feet.

  Motorcycle Man jogged across the intersection, muscular body moving with the grace and stamina of a predator.
His hair shone almost blue-black, its thickness inviting her to touch. This close, she could smell his leather jacket and sandalwood musk aftershave. Stubble lined his jaw, giving him a rough and raw appearance. A scar across his cheek close to his nose caught her interest. Put long hair on him and the appropriate attire, and he’d make a damned good pirate. He was pure man. Big. Intimidating. A stirring low in her belly reminded her she hadn’t been in the presence of such a handsome man in a long, long time. When had she last reacted so intensely to a man?

  A county sheriff’s car, lights flashing and sirens blaring, hauled ass down the street in front of them.

  “What is going on around here?” she asked out loud.

  “Armageddon,” Motorcycle Man said, his voice a low rumble. He cupped her elbow. His ocean-clear blue eyes peered into hers. “Are you hurt?”

  She found her voice and managed a half smile. “I might have bruised my rear and my ego, but that’s all.”

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  She brushed off her gloved hands, glad they’d protected her. Her right wrist twinged, and she gasped. “Ouch.”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “My right wrist. I just twisted it a bit.” Heat filled her face. Stuff like this embarrassed the hell out of her. “It’s nothing.”

  He hefted the two books under his armpit to free his hands. “Let me see.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  He cupped her hand and wrist gently. “No. Some med training in the Marines.” He examined her wrist. “Does that hurt?”

  “No. It’s just a little sore. It’s not—ouch!”

  “Uh-huh. I think you should get this x-rayed to make certain. You could have a hairline fracture and not know it.”