Heather Graham - Dying Breath

Ballantine. The family targeted again?

“It’s him,” Griffin said quietly. “It’s the Undertaker. We need to get over to the Ballantine house as quickly as possible. Get ahold of the media; find out about a note—a clue.”

Jackson studied him and nodded.

“Detective Barnes?” Jackson said.

Barnes didn’t argue. “I’ll get my car.”

“No need. It’s a short sprint from here,” Griffin said.

“You remember the house?” Barnes asked him.

“I remember it well,” Griffin said.

* * *

“Step light, my friend, for here I lie

Just steps away from a place to die

Boston Neck, and about the neck,

A rope I was forced to wear,

Years later was I found and cleared

By children bright and oh so dear

So now I rest in hallowed ground,

My story to be found.

No witch was I, no cause to die.”

Vickie Preston read the words from the monument aloud to her group of older teens, glad her dramatics—and simple, sad history—seemed to have them enthralled.

She had a group of ten with her: teens who had nearly been lost in the system. She had case files on all of them—if they hadn’t been neglected or abused by their own parents, they had fallen prey to the evil vices of others.

Most had bounced about in foster care. They would all turn eighteen soon and enter the world on their own, where statistically they didn’t seem to have much of a chance. Vickie had come home to Boston after college to work with a private charity called Grown Ups that was trying very hard to give such young people a better chance at survival in the real world as adults.

It had also just been a good move on her part. She’d split ways with her boyfriend, Jared Norton, several months ago; he’d liked to surprise her by waiting on the doorstep of her brownstone apartment in New York, convinced that she wanted him back in her life.

It wasn’t going to happen, and he needed to move on.

It was still nice to have a home with an address he didn’t know—and where he wouldn’t show up.

“Miss Preston!”

“Yes,” she said quickly.

“I thought they only killed witches in Salem!” One of the boys, Hardy Richardson, said, shaking his head in disbelief. He was a handsome kid, dark-haired, tall and broad-shouldered, with a quick and boyish smile. It was nice that he had maintained his smile; without it, he appeared to be years older than his true chronological age.

“Ah, no. The ‘craze,’ as we consider it, happened in Salem. Salem was part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. And, sadly, while the Puritans came to the New World in search of religious freedom, they were the least tolerant people one could imagine. Quakers and members of other religious groups were banished or punished severely—several were hanged at Boston Neck. Also, there were a number of people who lived here who were hanged for witchcraft—even before the horrific events began in Salem,” Vickie said. “A woman named Anne Hibbins was hanged in 1656—long before the trials began in Salem. We don’t know the name of the woman buried here, honored by this tombstone. That’s because she wasn’t legally buried here.”

“Right. So, how can she be buried here?” Hardy asked. “I thought they dumped the bodies right by the hanging tree or in some marshy plot nearby?”

“Sometimes, a brave and intrepid family member went out and found the body. If you study this stone, you’ll see there is a date carved into the stone—1733. She was probably found and buried here secretly by the family—and they marked her grave when they dared,” Vickie said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s down there—progress and decades and then centuries mean that stones get moved around sometimes. Still, I love this memorial.”

“Vicious people,” Cheryl Taylor, a petite—but very pretty and well-built—brunette murmured, before looking over at Vickie. “Do you think that’s why we have such a bad reputation now?” she asked Vickie. “I mean, Bostonians, we do have a reputation for being snobby. Think that dates back to the Puritans?”

Vickie grinned. “Maybe—who knows? It was an extremely repressive society. In fact, when King James II ordered that an Anglican chapel be built in Boston, he had a hard time getting land. The cemetery was here first—he took part of the cemetery to build the chapel. We’re standing in the oldest cemetery in the city. You can actually learn a tremendous amount about people and society by visiting graveyards. Of course, remember, a lot of original old grave markers would have been wood—long gone now. Time and the elements take their toll. But you can see on some of the oldest stones that the art is severe—a skeletal head with wings, rather scary-looking. The stones, for such a serious people, could be expensive to buy and carve. Over time, the appearance becomes more that of a cherub or angel—life itself becoming more valuable, the terrors of death less extreme.”

“Whoa, those Puritans!” Cheryl said, shaking her head. “Still I don’t get it—when did they begin to die out? I mean, if everyone was banished or hanged for not being a Puritan...”

“All legal machinations, as well as religious. Charters came and went. James II of England was forced to abdicate his throne; William and Mary became King and Queen of England. They opened the colonies to others. Actually, it’s complicated, but—as in many cases—it had to do with politics and government,” Vickie said. “But in my mind, William and Mary made the greatest changes when they came to the throne of England in 1689 after the Glorious Revolution.”

“The Salem witch trials were 1692! So, William and Mary let that happen.”

Vickie nodded. “True. A large part of the world believed in the evil of witchcraft back then. Communications were very slow. William and Mary turned it over to their royal governor, William Phips. Phips set up the trials of oyer and terminer—which meant to see and to hear. When the dregs of society were being accused, William Stoughton, a tough old buzzard who wholeheartedly believed in Satan and witchcraft, allowed spectral evidence. Then suddenly everyone was being accused—including the governor’s wife. So, in a way, public opinion turned the tide. And Phips—when his wife was accused. Rather than going out with a bang, it rather all ended with a whimper. In the years following, there were many changes in the entire colony, by law, by religion and by people. Like most things, change came about slowly. And the land for King’s Chapel was actually taken during the rule of James II. Like I said, it had a lot to do with charters and laws and who was running what when. What’s actually good here is that execution for witchcraft was far less frequent in the colonies than in Europe. And, when we did create our American Constitution, we set forth a separation of church and state. That guaranteed freedom of religion when we became our own country.”

“Right. Now we just have weirdo cults!” Hardy said.

“True, but they don’t run the country,” Vickie said.

“Thank God, have you seen some of the stuff on some cults? Scary!” Cheryl said.

“Really scary,” Hardy said. “If spectral evidence was allowed in court and the dregs of society were killed first, we’d be goners,” he said. “I mean, heck, the right person just had to accuse you and your ass was in jail.”

“Pretty much—but you’re not the dregs of society. You’re about to be adults and choose your own course,” Vickie said. “There will always be room to improve, but laws do protect us now.”

“Speaking of us as a country, though, is Paul Revere here?”

The question was voiced by Art Groton. Like Hardy, he was nearly eighteen. He was tall, blond and wiry strong. In Vickie’s mind, he was just beginning to come out of his shell.